Delivering a Care Package to a Friend (open rp)

[DorianBlack]

I thought I'd start my public contributions here by submitting a group RP fantasy I had while riding home from work yesterday. I had to pick up some groceries from the store. When I got off the bus, a woman stepped off before me and acted nervous once she realized we were headed down the same street.

Of course nothing happened as I crossed the street to make her feel more comfortable, but what if I'd just done that to throw her off the scent. I thought it would be a good theme for us to build off in this forum.

Please don't hesitate to write whatever you wish, take over any character, or add anyone at all. It's fun to see where these things go.

=======================================

It's been a long day and you're tired. Twenty minutes ago you were actually running in your workout clothes to catch the bus. The workout going long and not being able to change before you had to rush home were just the icing on the shit cake today has been from the time you woke up (late) to the time you were finally able to break away and leave.

Thinking about leaving makes you even more frustrated. I mean you get it, your manager wants to fuck you. He's wanted to fuck you since you walked in the door after being transferred here. It's pathetic really. Not that he wants to bend you over his desk and take you, but that after all this time he's only worked up the courage to harass you with little requests and hallway "meetings" about nothing.

You barely notice the bus slowing down for the next stop, but you sort of notice the man who gets on and fishes for exact fare. He's tall and looks to be strong, but not all stretched with muscle. He's dressed in a high collar shirt under which you can just make out what looks like rough tattoos. "Oh great," you think to yourself. "Either he's actually been in prison or he's one of those posers who want to look like they've been."

He shifts the grocery bags he's carrying into one hand and finally starts to drop money into the slot.

Crap. Now you'll be even more late.

In a huff, you turn away and look out the window. The man stumbles by as the bus lurches forward. Then he's out of vision and out of mind.

A few stops later you step off the bus and head straight home, looking neither right nor left. You just want to get home, draw a nice hot bath, and soak the sweat and the entire day out of your system. You step up the stairs and are surprised by a slight wobbling and burning in your legs. You must have really needed to work off some frustration. Good. You deserve it. You might as well pop open that bottle of wine you've got in the fridge as well. It's not like you've got any plans this weekend now that you tossed your boyfriend to the curb.

You fumble in your purse, feel the sharp edges of your keys, and unlock the three security locks in your door. It's a little extreme, but a girl can't be too careful. Once inside, you drop everything in the hallway and head straight toward the bathroom.

Inside you turn on the tub valve until hot, steamy water starts gushing out. You pull the tie out of your hair and shake it loose. It's still matted and sticky from your workout so it falls unevenly. You hook your fingers under the lycra of your shirt and start to pull it over your head, when you freeze.

Did you just hear something? You listen more intently. You can't be sure. Quickly you turn off the water in the tub and listen again.

Yes. There's someone knocking on your door. Wait ... did you lock it after coming in? You always lock it. Did you this time?

You head back toward the door and look. Sure enough, the locks hang unlatched. The security chain dangles uselessly from its rails.

"Hello," you can almost hear when the knocking (pounding really) pauses. "Is there anyone home?" You look through the peephole and see someone vaguely familiar. He's tall, a little round in the middle, broad shoulders, nice clothes, and what looks like a tattoo ... it's him. It's the guy from the bus and he still has his grocery bags in each arm.

"Hello?" he calls out again. "I promised to pick these up for a friend. Do you know Sheila Armstrong?"

"No," you say loudly and forefully. "I don't know her. Now go away!"

"Hello?" he yells again. "Is someone there? I can barely hear you."

[DorianBlack]

Sorry. I appear to have broken one of the conceits of this form. Let me rephrase the last line and continue. If any women would like to take on the role of the victim(s) please just jump in. Alternatively if any of the men would like to be my accomplices, I'm sure I can work you in easily enough.

And so I continue ....

"Hello," I yell again. "Is someone there? I can barely hear you."

Of course that's lie. I can hear you moving around behind the thin barrier of wood. I can smell your sweat and musk still lingering in the enclosed entryway. The only reason I don't smash the door down right now is I want to take my time with you here. If I smash the door in, it might attract attention from the street or if you have visitors.

The bags in my arms are getting heavy, even for me. I wish I hadn't put crap like eggs, milk, and juice over my tools like this, but it seemed like a good plan at the time. Now my arms are getting heavy and I'm starting to get pissed off. It'll go better for you if you just let me in, bitch.