30 bottles of Gatorade @ $0.99 each
1 digital thermometer @ $51.47
1 8 oz can of Starbuck’s Cold Brew @ 4.39
I folded the receipt neatly, discarded the trash bag, and got dressed. Feeling like recovery was well within my grasp, I picked up my bedroom, stripped the bed, and began washing the bedding.
I meandered past the kitchen. The three books I’d purchased were spread out beside one another in the island. I glanced at The History of Love.
I let out a long sigh.
Seven days of knocking on death’s door changed my outlook, entirely. I was grateful for my health, my recovery, and above all, Anna.
I peered out my kitchen window toward my nurse, neighbor, and caregiver’s home.
I couldn’t believe I’d nearly let her slip away.
Anna
Day fifteen
The doctor recommended waiting three more days before Braxton and I could be face-to-face with one another. I felt like I’d been released from prison but wasn’t allowed to leave the compound. Frustrated, I rinsed my breakfast plate, put it in the dishwasher, and meandered to the bathroom.
Braxton had exposed himself to me unknowingly. I felt guilty. Like I’d read his diary or peered through his bedroom window without him knowing.
What I learned opened my eyes.
He, however, had no idea of the knowledge I’d gained. He knew not that he’d revealed his most sacred inner thoughts, feelings, and weaknesses to me.
Hoping to rid myself of the guilt, I showered. Feeling no less guilty, I searched for something to wear. My initial COVID-19 attire consisted of sweats, old tee shirts, and flip-flops. Meeting with Marge on a daily basis and making peace with Braxton caused me to realize I was living in a state of depression.
I now dressed like I was going out, even though I knew nothing could be further from the truth.
I rifled through my clothes, trying to find something suitable. After displaying all my clean articles of clothing on the foot of the bed, I realized my warm weather attire had nearly all been worn. In desperate need of doing a few loads of laundry, I selected a sports bra and my favorite jeans, knowing I’d change before I saw Marge.
I carried the dirty clothes to the laundry room and started a load in the washer. On my way to the bedroom, an idea came to me.
An idea that would either fuel Braxton’s fire, or explode in my face.
I grabbed my jean jacket, bunched my hair into a messy bun, and put on my favorite pink hat. I planned to reveal a secret of my own and hoped it would make Braxton and I even. It made sense to me, anyway.
I placed the tripod on the end table in the living room and I secured my phone to it. Then, I called Braxton on Google’s video app, Duo.
Wearing a grin, he answered. His gaunt face filled the phone’s screen. He appeared happy.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“Good, thanks.”
“Did you just wake up?”
“I woke up before the sun came up,” he replied, standing. “I feel like its dinnertime.”
He was wearing a pair of gray sweats and a tank top. His beard was in bad need of being trimmed. For once, he looked human.
His face moved closer to the camera. “Are you wearing a hat?”
I pulled it low on my head. “I am.”
“Back up so I can see it.”
I moved away from the camera, giving him a full view of my layered outfit.
“And a jacket?” he asked.
“Yep.”
He smirked. “You look cute.”
“So do you.”
“Are you going somewhere?” he asked.
“No,” I replied. “I just want to tell you something.”
“I’m listening.”
“It’s a secret,” I said, feeling slightly embarrassed. “I’m revealing something about myself that nobody knows.”
“I’ll keep it between you and me. How’s that?”
“Perfect.”
He smiled. “I’m listening.”
“When I was in college, I needed money for basic stuff, and I didn’t want to ask my parents. I felt it was time for me to become independent. So, I got a job stripping, in Kansas. I’d drive from my apartment across the border, and strip for tips.”
He laughed. “Really?”
“Uh huh.”
He chuckled. “That’s awesome.”
I was pleased that he didn’t seem repulsed. The fact that he didn’t call me a whore was a plus, too. I saw the profession as a way to survive the financial strain while in college, and nothing more. Not everyone looked at it the same, though.
“Wanna hear something funny?” I asked.
“Sure.”
“I loved doing it.”
He seemed puzzled. “Why?”
“It was sensual,” I replied. “Sexy. Nobody touched me, and I didn’t mingle with customers or give lap dances. All I did was strip, but it was so, so sexy.”
“Down to a bikini?” he asked. “Or nude?”
“Topless,” I replied. “We had to wear bottoms.”
“Sounds sexy as hell.”
“Hold on a sec,” I said, moving out of the camera’s eye.
I grabbed the television remote and selected the Pandora application. Then, I selected the song Leave Your Hat On, by Joe Cocker. I walked in front of the camera, remote in hand.
Standing in clear view, I faced the phone. I unbuttoned my jacket, revealing my snow-white sports bra.
I grinned a guilty grin. “Are you ready?”
His face lit up. “Hell, yeah.”
I pressed play and tossed the remote aside.
His eyes widened as I moved in perfect timing with the song.
When I stripped in college, I stepped onto the stage a different woman. The instant I was in front of a screaming crowd, I became Kandy Kane.
As I pulled off my jacket one seductive sleeve at a time, I was none other than Anna Wilson, Braxton Rourke’s neighbor and very confused friend.
To get us both warmed up, I spent a moment gyrating my hips to the music in my bra. When I was soaked—and his eyes were glued to the screen—I unbuttoned my jeans and slowly slid my hands deep inside them. Watching the look on Braxton’s face morph from a curious one to that of a horny man was worth the risk I’d taken in revealing my past.
After shedding my jeans, I lowered my left bra strap. Then, I lowered the left cup, revealing my erect nipple. I did the same with the right. Then, I removed the bra as slowly and seductively as I was able. I dropped the garment at my feet and covered my breasts with my cupped hands, feigning my best look of innocence.
Just to remind him that was still wearing panties, I backed away from the camera far enough for him to see.
Facing the camera, I was dressed in nothing but a pair of lace panties and my pink hat. Still gyrating to the music, I gave him my best performance, sliding my hand inside my panties and touching myself lightly.
I was beyond aroused, and my pussy was soaked, but the dance wasn’t for me. It was a performance for a man I hoped would enjoy it. Something to take his mind off his sick father and the deteriorating condition of the nation.
With a minute left in the song, I faced away from the camera, giving Braxton a full view of my best side. As I watched the song’s remaining time on the television screen, I pushed my panties down my hips.