Friday, June 19, 2015

Moving Man

OK, so I called Isabel. I just got back from her place.

When I called she remembered me, which made me feel good. I wasn't too awkward talking to her, though just the sound of her voice gave me a tiny thrill. It went something like this.

"Hey there, is this Isabel?"

"Yeah. Who's this?"

"Um, this is Marc, from the Abbey last Saturday. Do you remember? I really appreciated the phone number and was wondering if you would like to get coffee, or maybe even lunch?"

Isabel was quiet for a moment. I heard her cover the phone and say something, but it was muffled. Then she came back on.

"Yeah. That's right. Marc. Sure. Look, I am busy right now but why don't you come over Thursday after work. There's some potential we could discuss."

My heart was in my throat. "That sounds fine. What time?"

"Maybe 7:00. Here's the address." She gave me an address in the Hollywood Hills, a rather nice address. I continued to be impressed.

"That's cool Isabel. I will be there."

"Oh," she said at the last moment, "and wear loose clothes."

She hung up.

It was obvious she had someone over. My heart was swirling around, flipping with possibilities and disappointments. The three times I had come into contact with her she had someone else with her, probably romantically. Yet she told me to come over. The order to wear loose clothes puzzled me.

That was three days ago. Today I went over to her place after work. I changed and put on some casual jeans and a nice but relaxed shirt. Driving into the canyons I found her house, secluded behind tall hedges and trees. The only indication it was there was a drive with the house number. I drove down the drive to the house, modern place surrounded by trees with a wood deck leading to the front door. There were more windows than doors, though with angle of hills and the trees the house was absolutely secluded.

I rang the bell, and waited a minute. There was no movement in the house and I was nervous, like sweaty nervous about what was going to happen. I rang the bell again, and peered inside through the large glass windows. Isabel came out of a side room, toweling her hair dry and opened the door. I stood speechless. She was topless, her perfect breasts just on display.

"Well, this isn't exactly a great start to whatever relationship you had hoped to have. First, you hammer my doorbell, forcing me to come answer before I finish dressing, then you stand there staring at my boobs."

"Oh. Oh! I am sorry! I just hadn't expected..." my voice trailed away and I snapped my eyes up to her face, which was gorgeous. It was the first time I had seen her in daylight, and it suited her. She looked so much more naturally beautiful.

"Oh, you are sorry. Well, tell you what. No more looking at my boobs. In fact, no more looking at my body, at all. You can look two places. My face, right in my eyes, or my feet. Either one. And I am being generous letting you look at my face. Live with that?"

She turned and walked into a room off to the side without waiting for an answer. I hesitantly walked in and shut the door behind me.

What is it about Isabel that disarms me, makes me into such a pathetic loser whenever I am around her? Around other women, like Val... I am in control. Around Isabel I lose myself. She is just so beautiful, and strong and... in control.

I waited and she returned wearing a tight fitting top. I fought hard not to look at it, and straight at her face. That was enough; she was beautiful. Her dark hair glowed in the diffuse sunlight from the many windows.

"So. Marc, right? Well, let's head to the bedroom."

My heart leaped.

"I have to move a couple of bookcases out of the bedroom and into the study. I am having that wall remodeled to include some built-ins."

My heart sank.

She had been serious about having me move furniture. Which I then did. Her bedroom was downstairs with several other rooms I couldn't see into, and I had to move some damn heavy bookcase units up the stairs into the study on the top floor.

All the while I was careful not to look at her, except at her feet (she was wearing running shoes) and sometimes her face. I felt privileged to look at her face.

Once she smiled at me, and I think my whole soul lit up.

After the furniture was moved and we stood admiring the result of my hard work, Isabel said, "If you would like to pour some iced tea it's in the fridge. Pour me some too, while you are in there."

Her kitchen was spotless. I got the glasses and pitcher of tea out, filled the glasses with ice and poured the tea. "Do you take sugar?"

"No, just straight. Like my men."

I brought the glasses in to the living room. Isabel was sitting looking at a fantastic view of Beachwood Canyon and the city beyond. I sat in a chair next to her.

"Fuck, don't sit there, you are filthy from all the dust and dirt moving the furniture. Sit on the floor, at my feet here."

So I did, and didn't think much about it. The view was amazing, but I kept glancing back at Isabel. Her long legs were crossed right next to me, hair fluffed and tousled, and I imagined her perfect body under the clothes.

Then I noticed she was looking at me with a disapproving stair. I suddenly remembered and shifted my gaze to her feet.

"That's better. You have potential, Marc, with some manners."

We spent just a little longer together, and then she told me to leave.  On the way out the front door I turned to try and talk to her, to set up a date for the weekend. She interrupted me.

"Don't spoil it Marc. You've done OK your first time. I'll let you know."

Isabel then stepped closer to me, leaned forward, and kissed me on the cheek. I could smell a tiny hint of perfume, mixed with a tropical shampoo in her hair. Her lips were soft, and a tiny strand of hair slid over my face as she pulled back.

"Give me your number."

I did.

So that was it. In retrospect it was one of the most bizarre events of my life. I did things I would never have thought possible. Obeying her command not to look at her body; quietly moving furniture for her without expecting at least a make out session if not a fuck in return. Fetching and serving her a drink after I had worked for her. She made me sit on the floor, and I didn't think twice.

What the fuck? What is happening to me?

Isabel can not be manipulated the way I have manipulated most women like Val or the many other babes that have clawed my back in ecstasy in the past. I realize that I need to give in to her personality to conform to her expectations if I wanted to be with her at all. It came naturally today, though it would never have come naturally with anyone else.

And I want to be with her more than anything.


  1. Great story, and it feels so authentic. I can really feel your struggle.

  2. Great story, and it feels so authentic. I can really feel your struggle.