short storytelling

When he first came to me, that pair of big brown sultry eyes overwhelmed me. He said: Damn girl! You sure look like a boy, but your skin is so fine. Where do you live? I knew right away he was cocky and pushy, but I played along. I live in the suburbs, I said. Huh? In London? No, in the suburbs of my own skin. Do you need a ride?I asked him. Bedazzled by my boldness, he lingered before he answered. Oh..girl! Are you inviting me to your place?Uhm, I replied, what a simple mind you have there...No, I am inviting you to take a closer look at that skin you cagily admire. Touching may be involved.
He said to himself this must be the best hook up ever, and he wasn't even trying that much. He followed me to my place with more than a hundred wicked thoughts on his mind. As guys usually call it a lucky night. I used to live in a basement back then, in London actually. No one else but me had seen the room. It was dark, so this time it didn't count. But never mind, I am not much of a housekeeper. And I am sure he wasn't expecting that from me that night either. His need to closeness was imminent, he would only touch my neck to feel my skin and wouldn't go below. I liked that about him. He was really into my skin. I have something he needs in a way he couldn't explain. How come he didn't notice me before? And why is this happening so fast? These questions wandered around in his head while he was trying to make head or tail of this awkward situation.

The night passed while our skins were engaged in a playful chase. Eventually our squeezed skins silently thanked us. Maybe I wasn't wrong about him after all.