Poppins’ Return

Chapter 2 – What’s in a name?

Most of the time, when something in life catches us off guard, we take a moment and put the situation in perspective; we rally our resources and hunker down into the problem; or, less often, we collapse into ourselves and run screaming from reality.

I had just stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped around my waist, when I thought I heard a strange noise outside in the hallway. Remembering the new object of consideration, I padded over to the door and listened. All was quiet. I listened some more, my wet body leaving puddles of water around my feet that turned dark on the hardwood flooring. Nothing. But I was certain I had heard something, so I ignored my shivering chicken-skinned form and knelt down to look under the door. I had used this little trick before, and had learned that I can see almost the entire hallway floor from the quarter-inch slit between my door and the floor. Still, when I peered under the portal, there was nothing but warm sunshine from the hall window.

Rising, I scratched my head and opened the door.

“Hi!” Said a fetching redhead standing just outside the door frame. I nearly dropped my towel I was so startled. This was one of those “catch you off guard” situations that I mentioned earlier, and it took everything I had not to turn around and run back into my room. Even still, it was several seconds before I was able to say anything. I needed that time to let my brain, which had gone running, come back and make amends to my gonads, which were at this very moment on the verge of making me even more embarrassed, if it were possible.

I did all the things one does to fill in the gap of confusion that had formed. I blinked, shook my head, blinked again, muttered unintelligibly, and then blinked a bit more for good measure. Finally, when I was just about ready to respond with some last second literary brilliance that would completely save the situation, I remembered that I was standing there in nothing more than a towel. A pink towel. A pink towel with a little yellow duck in the middle, right about where my previously placid member was about to make it very plain that I was indeed a sexually active male of the species.

“Towel,” I replied in a whisper, my voice cracking as my throat closed up.

“And a very nice one at that,” replied the redhead looking down.

Not having anything else to do, I too looked down at myself. When I realized what I was doing, I shook my head and brought my eyes back up; only this time it was a much longer trip because there was this amazingly sexy female directly in my field of view and damn if she just didn’t get in the way.

I followed her long bare legs up from her sandals to her knees, then up her thighs and right into her short white skirt. Her waist was met by a very soft looking green sweater that seemed just a little to tight for her figure. Or maybe it was just that she had a lot to conceal under that lucky fabric. Whatever the case, I was stuck at about her breasts, my mind jumping into overdrive and extrapolating possible shape scenarios based on the lovely swells and valleys displayed. Sweaters are insidious that way. They completely cover a female form, while at the same time accentuating the treasures underneath. They left everything to the imagination!

“Mrs. Brightly mentioned that she had a grandson living here, so I thought I would introduce myself.”

“Hmm? What’s that,” I asked, tearing my eyes from her chest.

“Your Grandmother. She mentioned you. I’m Marly.” Suddenly she was holding out her hand in greetings.

“Oh… OH!”

I can only ascribe what happened next to the complete mental stupor that naturally overcomes a male in the presence of an attractive female. My left hand was holding open my door, and so was busy. My right hand was holding up the towel wrapped around my waist. When the redhead went to shake my hand, I of course reached out with my right hand… and let go of the towel.

I have to hand it to her though, she never even broke a grin. Instead she took my hand and shook it briskly.

“Nice to meet you….” she said and let it hang. It took me a while before I realized that she was waiting for me to tell her my name. I was trying not to be there without actually moving. It wasn’t working.

“…Mark!” I all but yelled. Inside my head, there were a dozen little elves trying to slap me into gear. Half of the elves were reminding me that the towel that was previously obscuring my family jewels was now in a ring around my ankles, and the other half were admiring the slow rise and fall of those wonderful sweater-covered bumps and urging me to DO something! Talk to her… Jump her… Anything!

“Well, it looks like you have to be going someplace,” she said letting go of my hand and smiling. “So I’ll see you around…” She turned and opened the door across the hall in one smooth motion. I was staring at her lower posterior with divine appreciation, my nakedness mostly forgotten again.

“Towel…” I droned like a zombie. She smiled and then stepped into her room, closing the door behind her and cutting off my view. It was like somebody smashed me in the face with a large flat board, and my trance was instantly broken.

My chin hit my chest and I confirmed that I was indeed standing in my doorway in the nude. Grabbing the towel from the floor, I retreated back into my own room, dropped onto my bed, and tried to figure out what had just happened.

The essence of the matter was simple. I was in love, or at least deep lust. But the how and why was more difficult. I’m not normally the kind of guy who falls over himself when an attractive female enters my breathing space. Sure, like most males, I get a little loopy; maybe lose a bit of good judgement. But most of the time I still have control of my faculties, even if I choose to ignore them and gawk. But not in this case. Here I was taken by the neck and dragged into a complete stupor. I was made mute. I was turned into a sniveling idiot at the merest glimpse of her form. Why?

Surely she was attractive, that much was obvious and irrefutable. But was she so attractive that she possessed Medusa-like powers to turn the hearts of men to stone at a single glance? Apparently so. Looking down into my lap, I saw that at least one part of my anatomy was hard as rock.

And then there was the nagging problem of her being outside my door at all. How could it be that I could look under the door and see that the whole hall was clear, and then two seconds later, she was standing so close to me that her nose must have been brushing against the little plaque that read “3D”? It just wasn’t possible! And yet, my dick would fervently argue otherwise.

I took a moment to remember as much about… what was her name?… as possible. This was pretty difficult because I had to very carefully extract what were real images burned into the backs of my retinas, and what were created fantasies, burned into the back of my brain. Actually, it turned out not to be so hard after all because the fantasy images (and there were a great many) were all of her in various states of undress.

I knew:

-She was a redhead. Flaming, with perfect green eyes to match.

-She was short. Okay, shorter than me. Which doesn’t say much since I’m six two.

-She had on a white skirt short enough to cause males who passed her to nearly end their own lives as their necks twist around for a better view.

-She wore sandals.

-She had on the most wonderful plain green sweater that I have ever had the mercy of encountering. Actually, the sweater wasn’t the issue, but rather what was hidden UNDER the sweater.

-She knew who I was. This fact was so startling that it caused me to catch my breath. Being “known” to a female was half of the game. Hell, it was the game!

-Her name was…???

Shit! What was her name?!? This was important. This was critical. This was a disaster! I stood up and paced my room, ignoring the flapping of my manhood. How could I be so in a daze as to miss this crucial piece of information? It was the very key that would unlock the possibility of a future meeting. Without it, I was as good as dead.

I went to my memory and scoured it for anything that might trigger a recollection. Nothing came. It was gone. I wanted to slap my own face for not paying attention, but instead I ended up staring down at my willy.

“This is all your fault, you know…” I said aloud.