Footnote: This story is brought to you because a friend of mine bet me I could not work 'Nebraska' into an erotic story-- because, in her words, "Nothing erotic has ever happened in Nebraska." Judge for yourself.
The saleswoman's head immediately turned when the man entered. He was in his thirties, muscular; not the most attractive man in the world by far, but he seemed to have an aura of charisma around him, something amazingly magnetic. She smiled at him-something more than the saleswoman smile, though she knew he was not who she would usually consider her type.
He smiled back, cool and sophisticated, and threw in a knowing wink. He was used to it; had been ever since he was in his late teens. That's just the way his life was; the perpetual bachelor. It wasn't his fault if women kept falling in love with him; occasionally he gave them what they wanted, and all of a sudden that made him a heartbreaker, some apathetic scourge of the feminine population. He maintained that he had never used a woman. It wasn't "using" if they begged.
Idly, he wondered how long it would take the saleswoman to beg. Not a conceited wondering, not to his mind; it was a simple statement of fact, and he was wondering how long it would take. He was wondering how long it would take...
...When he saw her.
She was breathtaking, and oblivious to it. Tall, lean, lines where God intended them and curves where Satan put them to entice men from the path of righteousness. Pale, luminous skin with only a hint of freckles, as if it were dappled by the sun, and thick black hair falling to the waist. She was in her mid-twenties at oldest. And she had captured his attention..
And then she turned and accidentally looked him in the eyes. The delicate bone structure, the high cheekbones of a ballet dancer, the perfect obsidian eyebrows and well-defined lips of refreshing fullness were all lost on him. He knew those eyes.
She had been shopping, oblivious; no attention was granted her from the saleswoman, at least, not as he had received it. When he had entered the store, she was holding an argyle sweater at arm's length and examining it; she had thought the feeling of something suddenly familiar was the sweater.. until she turned and accidentally looked into his eyes.
The attractive nose strangely large for his face, the muscle structure, the dark hair-all forgotten in the wake of those cool, impassive eyes that had tortured her a decade ago. Some things never change.
He knew her eyes were familiar; surely he would have remembered a body like that. But the eyes.. He knew them. And so he walked toward her, and she timidly stepped towards him, as if secret lovers about to dance.
He cleared his throat and began exuding charm in her general direction. The saleswoman was crushed. The woman to which he spoke was bitterly, painfully amused. "Excuse me, but you look so very familiar.. I think perhaps we've met before. My name is Mike Chambers."
