Yesterday, worked Monday Night RAW (WWE thing). It was pretty funny.

A fellow technician, Nathan*, was there. I enjoy his company, a little too much perhaps, because I suspect he has a girlfriend.

We have friends in common, interests in common. Being near him makes me say stupid things and then facepalm when he's not looking.

He is tall, maybe 6'1" or 2". Straight, well-turned limbs, shoulder breadth of an appropriate size for his height, astonishingly pale skin and medium brown ponytail that persistently tries to curl.

He stumbles and blushes a little, but since we've gotten to know each other a little, he has calmed down and smiles more.

He does have a lovely smile.

Anyway.

He ended up inviting me over to another friend's place, for some beer drinkin'.

I'd been trying to figure out whether he had a girlfriend or not.

His car had no feminine touches, nothing a girl would have left in there, and he flirted with me all the way to beer.

~

Several hours later, most of the drinkin' guys have left. It's just Nathan, our host, and me.

The host, who was already pretty smammered by the time we arrived and now is even more so, sits up and announces: "You know what time it is? SHIRTLESS HOUR!"

And promptly whips off his shirt.

Nathan looks at him, looks at me, shrugs, and pulls off his shirt. (Ah, he has chest hair, a shoulder to shoulder and collarbone to navel triangle of light brown curls. I prefer hairy men.)

Then they both look at me with hopeful puppydog grins, and I laugh.

It's been long enough since I've shocked a man, and I had had just enough liquor to feel reckless.

Also, I was dressed entirely in shapeless work clothes, which included a maroon flannel man's shirt, rolled up to the elbows. Despite the cotton materials, I was still soaked with sweat.

"Well," I said in a resigned tone, tucking my cup between my knees and undoing the buttons of my plaid shirt. "Gotta abide by the rules."

The boys are a little stunned as I peel my sweat soaked shirt off my shoulders and down my arms, dropping it casually off the side of the couch and shaking my hair around my white shoulders.

There was a moment of silence.

Then, the host, who is the least tactful of the two, declares: "DAMN, WOMAN! How the hell did you hide those from me?"

And I laugh and laugh, and we discuss my breasts for a while.

I am pretty proud of my breasts. I have taken good care of them.

~

It is very late. I have had three glasses of mead, and one of something apple which was deceptively alcoholic.

The host is telling a story.

A story in which Nathan's girlfriend makes an appearance.

Well, fuck.

Fortunately, I am just drunk enough to maintain my amused smile without faltering.

~

The host has gone to the bathroom. Nathan is sitting on the chair, and I am on the loveseat.

He is talking about leaving, but first gets up and sits on the loveseat beside me.

We are both still shirtless, but after the initial novelty, everyone relaxed into comfortable conversation.

"I haven't macked on you nearly enough," he says. He opens his arms for a hug, and I all but leap into them.

It feels good to hug, warm skin on warm skin, arms entirely around each other in such a perfect fit that it makes me hate his unknown girlfriend a little bit.

The hug was a long one, and ended too soon.

He must have thought so too, because after a moment and a few forgotten words, he opened his arms again, and the hug was repeated.

Then, all to quickly he was gone, and I was left to fight off the amorous intentions of the host.

~

I slept on the futon.

It was hard as a rock, and reminded me of my childhood mattress.

I slipped out in the morning, without waking the host, leaving a thank-you note on his fridge.

I wonder if he will tell his girlfriend about hugging another girl, topless.

I wonder if he will get all weird around me. I sincerely hope not.

~

It was a peculiar day, it was.

Ach, Nathan. Why aren't you single?

You say the sexiest things to me, like: "You should come to the science fiction convention!" and "My band is covering Ghostbusters. I play the kazoo." and "This is the worst mead I've ever had. It's sour. Isn't it supposed to be made out of honey?"

Ah well. C'est la vie, right?

.

Rosie.

*-Name has been changed, just in case.

Before&After