Thea opened her residence door Saturday wearing the oversized painting shirt she had threatened to choose. Black sleep shorts appeared beneath its faded hem, while her bare feet carried silver polish across every nail. Nothing about her chosen comfortable outfit predicted how far our private night would eventually move.
"You look relieved that lingerie did not begin an examination," she said, stepping aside after checking my visitor badge.
"I prepared extensively for the advanced subject of entering your room without interpretation," I replied, placing my overnight bag beside the door.
She inspected the bag location, sealed supplies, lubricant, plus dinner before locking the door herself. Her roommate's empty bed remained divided by a curtain, giving privacy without pretending the room belonged only toward romance.
