Who knocks on your door Sunday morning? Knock, knock, knock. The sound was dull and plodding; maybe it was zombies. Carie smirked and shook her head. ...he knew who it was. She sighed and cinched up her robe. Her rainbow striped socks dusted the floor as she shuffled over to the door. She peered through the peep-hole; all she saw was a chest. “What?” she asked. “Is apartment seven.” It was a deep, monotone voice. She rolled her eyes. “I know, Vasily. What do you want?” “Open door. I have. “I’m shaking a bit, but I think it’s from the adrenaline rush. I was scared, excited, and turned on, all at the same time.” “I think you were probably scared, at least initially,” I paused, and let thought that sink in. “It’s not exactly your everyday event in your life, hell it’s never been in my life. Seeing you step out on stage, and then the kicker was grasping that you were completely naked underneath that dress. “Yeah, I know. I decided since it was a short dance, I was just going to. More

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