It was her sophomore year in college. She figured it would be like this. Up all night and day. Working constantly for play money, but with no time to play. Her days at the dry cleaner were hot, sticky and mundane. She did get good study time waiting for the drive thru “ding”.

The actual task of working the afternoon shift at a dry cleaner wasn’t as bad as she told her friends. Mostly digging through pockets, putting plastic over the clean clothes and matching ticket numbers/filing, it wasn’t too horrible, just mind numbingly boring.

Her mind would wander to the men who wore the clothes. Even to the explicit things, like jacking off in men’s rooms, fucking women without removing his belt. The men’s dress pants and jackets were occasionally a thrill. The things she found in those pockets were mind blowing! Often she had made up stories of the circumstances that led to a golf tee, receipt from a book store, 2 binder clips and a folded up sticker that said “I voted!” in one man’s pants pockets. If those things could only talk!

Not always, but regularly Mr. Storm had condoms in his pockets. Un-used in the wrapper and often with different types and flavors. Rather than return them with his money and collar stays that she often found and returned, she discreetly threw them away. No need to embarrass him, she was making up her own vivid history of his weekly night life. It was a small window, but one she often liked to peak into, whether at work or on her stomach late at night trying to relax. She could imagine a romantic night seducing the prettiest ladies in the room.

Mr. Storm picked-up his order consistently every week between 5.30 and 6pm on his way home from work. She didn’t regularly get tipped, but Mr. Storm would leave her whatever the change in cash was. He was also genuinely nice. He knew her major, that she had a roommate. He took the time to converse just a little bit extra. Between the time he rolled down his window and the time the next customer arrived they had shared the best and worst part of their days. They were very comfortable with each other, even in their different social classes and stages in life.

It was a Thursday, she had a final next Monday and was getting a head start. Her shift was winding down. As she looked at the clock 6.58, the bell rang. Damn she thought. She had already counted the till and was ready to close. She got up and saw through the sliding glass door that it was Mr. Storm. Suddenly it didn’t matter that she’d be there late closing up. She unlocked the door and said hello. Asking why he was so late tonight. He mentioned he’d been mentoring some colleagues and they needed to have some venting moments.

As she looked up his order and let the carousel circle, she quickly rang up his total. Of course he knew the regular total and had the money waiting. She made change, offered it like usual and he denied it. She stuffed it in her apron and then placed the hangars and pressed clothes in his back seat. Since it was officially past work hours, they had an extended chat. He was stressed with gaining credentials and testing into a new position, she was having difficulty with her physics studying. The professor was such a hard ass.
It was 7.05 and a car pulled up thinking they were still open. She blushed embarrassed but knew it was probably best she helped the late customer. She asked if he minded pulling forward. He said no problem and she retrieved the $80 order, her boss would be glad she was there a little late.

After the comforter and now clean pee stained sheets left with Ms. “I don’t know what time it is”, Mr Storm threw his car in reverse. She was a bit taken aback. He asked if she would like a ride home. He knew she took the bus and had probably missed it because of their chat and extra customer. She was a bit reluctant.
She did a quick assessment. This is wrong and dangerous. Then she thought all about what she knew of him, or thought she did. The condoms, movie tickets, business cards with hand written random numbers on them. Exciting fellow, why not? She’d been inspired by her recent secret desires of being abducted and moments of rubbing one out to her imagined stories of objects in pockets. This wouldn’t be an abduction though, just her desire to get a ride.

She asked if he was headed south and if he could stick around in his car for a quick 5 minutes while she wrapped things up. Seriously, if he was that bad, he’d rob her as she put the money in the safe.
When she was done she quickly locked up the store and climbed into his tan car. She felt a bit sheepish being on that side of his life. A passenger and not a dry cleaning lady in a cute apron.

He smiled at her which made her blush and feel even more uncomfortable for taking such a risk. He mentioned something about the new bus route running only every hour. She told him her address, again feeling like she just told him her social security number. He laughed as he said that was two streets away from his place and that it was odd she didn’t connect the car with him. It was easy talking after that. Chit chat, not too flirty, but interested. Her mind didn’t throw up the flag until the car took the turn one street too soon.
He wanted to stop at his place on the way. He was so happy to talk with her at the dry cleaner but had realized his results for the test he needed to get promoted should be in the mail today. He wanted to know if she minded they stop by his mailbox so he could check. She had no problem with that. It would be bliss to spend more time with Mr. Storm.

They slowed up to his mailbox; she hadn’t realized how close it was to her apartment she shared with her roommate, a comforting thing as she could run home. As he pulled up to the curb, she was getting excited for him.

There were no words to describe the result. He acted like kid, or more accurately, a high school football player that scored a touchdown. He hurriedly pulled into the driveway… rushed around to open the door for her. She was hesitant. He stuck out his hand with a childish grin and she took it. The need for him to glow, dance and exude his excitement was evident.

“I have a frozen pizza and lots of wine! Will you at least celebrate with me”? She hesitated but it was so cute. She had never done anything like that before. The trail of clues he left in his pockets, her mind was convinced this was harmless and followed him in.
He quickly turned the oven on preheat and dusted off two wine glasses. She stationed herself on one of the stools feeling awkward but intrigued. The boxed wine was a nice touch, more her style. She was surprised at his frugalness.

After tasting the wine, she realized boxed isn’t always cheap. It would take another 15 minutes for the pizza, but that was the least of her worries. They were having a great time! It suddenly occurred to her that she should call her roommate. Not knowing how the night would go she asked to be excused. She did not want to let on what her expectations were, or worries. In the bathroom she whispered a quick voicemail while adjusting her bra, primping and prodding herself in the mirror.

When she returned the pizza was plated and wine glasses full.

When they were done, the little clean up that was needed, she helped with but awkwardly. This kitchen was definitely set up by a man. Now what?

He asked if she wanted a tour of his house. She was relieved at that sort of niceness and natural segue. She always thought a tour of a new home was a most endearing gesture. While she only knew him as Mr. Storm, she was suddenly wanting to know lots and lots more, even outside of his pockets.

As he led her to the basement she got a bit freaked out as she recently had several fantasies of dungeons. To her relief and disappointment, it was simply a semi finished, carpeted basement. No hooks in the floor or ceiling. No massage tables or torture devices hung from every shelf or hook on the wall.

It was the epitome of a bachelor pad, even down to the foosball table in the corner.

He showed her into the last room. The door that was heavier. The door clicked behind them.

It’s as if she walked into her imagination. He stole the blueprints from her head, everything down to the cameras in the corners, pipe steel bed frame with a basic mattress. Unfinished concrete floor, a single dim hanging light and a floor drain in the corner. A locked black trunk that looked 500 years old. Even the walls looked domineering, blank and cold.

Her eyes got huge and she was stunned. Not having touched her, he put his arm around her waist, waiting for the moment when she looked up. It took her longer to process this room than she expected. She had so many questions but could not even begin to start. He laughed and helped her sit on the mattress, in the middle of it all. She was still soaking it in.