Erica Orloff - Freudian Slip

“No!” he screamed. “No! No! No! Cotton briefs? No, Kate girl, no. Boy shorts, a thong, silk. Not that.”

He leaned over her shoulder and stared into her underwear drawer. Though he had seen lots of women’s underwear, he had never been privy to the mysteries of a woman’s underwear drawer before. He’d taken them off with his teeth, ripped off thongs and judged panty contests on his show. But a woman’s apartment—the way she actually kept her things—that he wasn’t familiar with. His underwear drawer was a laundry basket of clean—or semi-clean—clothes in his closet. Kate’s drawer was, he decided, without enough silk. There seemed to be a shortage of sexy. That would have to be remedied.

She sighed aloud. “Maybe these.”

She pulled out a cotton pair—but at least they were bikinis. Then a bra.

“We’re going shopping today,” Julian said. “I hope you have a high limit on your credit card.”

Kate dressed, fixed her hair, dabbed on makeup, grabbed a soft-sided briefcase and headed out the door with Julian close behind. He wondered if she took the subway. He loathed the subway. But, to his pleasant surprise, she walked to work.

Once in her office building, she made a beeline for the newsstand and coffee bar in one corner of the lobby. He said, “Buy a paper, buy a paper, buy a paper, buy a paper, buy a paper.”

Thankfully, she did. And as Julian soon discovered, he was front-page news: “Shock Jock Clings to Life.”

Well, he mused, at least he was alive. He hadn’t been shuttled down to Hell, or sent up to Heaven.

As Kate walked, Julian noticed more than one appreciative stare. So, apparently, did she. He saw her blush a little. The black skirt she wore fit her perfectly, about two inches above the knee, and she had on black heels with a strap around her ankle. Fuck-me pumps, he decided. The blouse was hot. It was colorful, sort of tropical, like a watercolor on silk. And she had her hair pulled up, but with some loose pieces around her face. He was ready for Leslie. And he hoped she was, too.

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