I recently moved into a new unit. It was one of a set of fifteen stand-alone units and townhouses spread around a big U-drive. I had one of the front units and hadn't really seen much of the neighbours yet.
I went to take a stroll down the street a few days after I moved in. I opened the front door and there's this whacking great package leaning against the security door. How do I get out? Well, possibly I could put enough force into opening the security door that the package would be forced back far enough for me to get out. There again, that could result in me knocking the parcel over, and who knew what damage would result. The parcel was high and wide but only a few inches deep.
Muttering to myself I turned around and went out the back door, through the garage, and around to the front of the house, where I pulled the package away from the security door, opened it, and lugged the parcel inside.
Once inside I checked the label on it to see if it would give me any indication as to who it was from, as I hadn't been expecting anything. The label certainly gave me a big clue, namely with the fact that the unit number on the address wasn't mine and neither was the name of the addressee. Some lazy bastard had just dumped the parcel on the first unit he came to.
Being willing to prove I was a good neighbour I picked up the parcel again and took it around to the appropriate residence. The door was open and I leaned on the doorbell and waited. A voice promptly answered.
"I'm in the kitchen and I'm not answering the door," some woman yelled. "If you want me you'll have to come through."
If that was what she wanted. I opened the door, propped the parcel against the wall in the front room, and wandered through to tell the owner that she had a belated mail delivery.
Reaching the kitchen the woman's lack of desire to answer the door was understandable. She was bent over the workbench doing esoteric things with various cooking products, apparently baking.
The young lady would have been in her early twenties. She was a brunette with a bright green streak through her hair. She was wearing a house-dress which was unbuttoned enough to show some generous cleavage and she had a chest that gave her plenty of equipment to provide that cleavage. She also had on an apron and from the amount of flour on the apron, her hands, her hair, and the kitchen bench, I'd hazard a guess and say she was an amateur baker.
For all that she looked good enough to eat, and I was smiling when I said hullo.
She screamed, then she started on me.
"Who are you? What are you doing here? How dare you enter my house? Oh, my god, you're a home invader. You're not going to assault me, I just won't permit it. I haven't got any money you can steal anyway."
"I'm not here to steal anything," I managed to point out. "I rang the bell and you told me to come in. I'm just delivering a parcel."
"Oh, yes, a fine story," she said, going on a rant again. "You knew I thought someone else was at the door. You deliberately took advantage of my not knowing it was you. You're not carrying a parcel. You're lying. Oh, you're here to rape me. I've heard of low-lives like you who go around taking advantage of women. Well it's not going to happen."
At that point the door-bell rang and the woman promptly started yelling for help.
"Is that you Jan? Come in, quick. There's a man here. I need assistance. Call the police."
There were footsteps in the hall and another young lady entered the kitchen, Jan, I assumed. She was about the same age as the first woman, another brunette, minus the bright green streak, casually clad in a skirt and blouse, with minimal cleavage showing. Mind you, she had enough natural equipment to be able to show substantial cleavage if she so chose.
"What's going on, Sharon?" she asked.
"Him," said Sharon in a tragic voice. "He came bursting in here and he's threatening to rape me."
"Cool," was Jan's prompt reply. "Can I watch?"
"Watch? What do you mean, watch? You're supposed to be helping."
Jan turned and looked at me and then shook her head.
"Be reasonable, Sharon," she said. "Look at the size of him. He won't need my help to rape you."
"Not help him. Help me," said a rather exasperated Sharon.
"But if I help you he might decide to rape me as well," pointed out Jan. "However, if I just stand back and watch I might learn something interesting. So can I watch or not?"
"No. I don't want him to rape me."
"Well, that's what makes it rape, isn't it. The not wanting bit. Why have you barged in here and attacked poor Sharon anyway? She's going to be upset all morning over this."
"For a start it's the afternoon, not the morning," I said. Before I could go on Jan interrupted.
"Doesn't matter. It just means she'll put off being upset until tomorrow. She's generally too busy in the afternoons to get upset over every little thing."
"If I may continue," I said, feeling somewhat put upon, "I came here to deliver a parcel and Sharon told me to come through to the kitchen. I had no intention of raping her."
"A likely story," yelled Sharon. "He knew I thought it was you. If he was delivering a parcel where is it? I ask you, where is it?"
"Um, that would probably be the rather large parcel I saw propped up against the wall in the front room," said Jan.
"It is," I said dryly. "It got dropped off at my place in error."
"Well, OK, but that doesn't give you the right to come in here and attempt to rape me," pointed out Sharon.
"Might I point out that I'd intended to rape you I'd have done it, not just tried," I said irritably. "What's with this woman and rape? Been raped often has she?"
"Certainly not," said an indignant Sharon. "I've never been raped in my life."
