How To: Get Rid Of A Stripper

"The usual?" The fair-skinned man behind the cashier asks. By this time, this doe-eyed girl had been around the cafe long enough for him to grasp that during weekdays, she'd swing by this shop and order her usual cup of caramel macchiato before bouncing out of the glass doors in two seconds flat.

His name is Raymond and during his high school years blotched by drugs and low grades, he'd never thought he'd end up changing coins and flipping bills in a scant, out-of-the-way coffee shop. He knew something like that was bound to happen; his parents haven't let a day slip through their fingers without reminding Raymond of the kind of life he's going to lead someday. Sadly, someday caught up with Raymond quickly.

He moves around the tight space easily, lurking to and fro the machines with buttons he could have pressed asleep. "Here you go."

His 'five o clock' customer replaces his hold on the cup and she saunters away, leaving the exact amount for her drink on the counter. That particular woman graces the place every five o clock; and--ever since Raymond can recall--she's never been a nanosecond late. Hands acting like a pillar for his chin; Raymond stares at her departing back and wonders if the day will come when she'd stop picking the usual and be late for once.

♡ ♡ ♡

She likes pretty things like the way little kids would refuse to be separated from their mothers. Psyche thinks that the way they'd cling to their parent's pockets or the edge of their shirts or any part of their body that they could reach with their chubby hands are beyond adorable. This particular twenty-five year old is taking her time with her macchiato as the world rushes pass her. The roads are gently vibrating with the accumulated friction from engines. Strangers dressed in various colors sprints to bus stops and taxi stands.

Souls trapped inside bodies made up of millions of cells brush past each other. Psyche keeps on walking at a steady pace.

If there's one thing that Psyche loved more than dependent children, it would be taking her time and fulfilling schedules. Ten minutes, she'd be in her apartment. Fifteen minutes and she'd be lounging on her couch watching the new episode of 'The Vampire Diaries'. An hour after that, she'd be engrossed in a good book of classic. She inhales deeply and smiles. Oh, how she loved her life.

♡ ♡ ♡

With hands glued to her hips and eyes shooting daggers at the stranger’s form of undress; the woman with a petite stature approaches him. Her entire ambiance screams you’re unwelcome here yet Erech simply brushes it off with his signature smirk and a marginal wave of his hand. The action caused the white towel draped over his lower anatomy to shift and her eyes darts up at once, a blush making a surprise visit.

Erech thinks she smells like a strawberry hand sanitizer. The aroma is getting provocative as the air conditioning swirls its particles in the ventilation, tempting Erech’s senses.

“Why are you in my house?” Her deep voice breaks the trance that Erech finds himself to be under. Instead of a formal reply (like what most house-crashers would do), Erech stands up and keeps her rooted to the wooden floor with a firm and strong gaze. He is the epitome of sex; polished skin, defined torso, and hair that’s been brushed back rather lazily. Erech obviously knows this and uses this to his advantage as he starts to do a slow yet sensuous body wave right in front of the stupefied girl whom Miss Gianna called Psyche Spann.

Just like what he was told, Pysche really has no clue what’s happening around her what with her bored expression and tense body language (crossed arms and puffed cheeks). Erech continues to do the routine he’s been known for, rolling his hard-earned abs and flexing his biceps before coming to a halt after three barren minutes.

“Miss, aren’t you getting turned on?” He sighs and slumps down on the couch; his ego crushed and thrown over the window. This pale, brown-haired stranger managed to do that to him in the course of a few minutes.

“Am I a switch that should get turned on?” she asks this in a way that makes Erech splutter out in laughter and grin in amusement. Miss Gianna is right; she really is a Virgin Mary in disguise. “Did Gianna send you?”

“Yes, she did and I really am disappointed by your response. No one reacts to the great Erech that way.” He makes up his mind and holds the towel closer to him before pinching her cheeks. “I’m not having that. I’m coming back tomorrow to try again on my own accord.”

Before she could tell him no, please don’t do that; he’s already out of the door and slamming it shut behind him like it’s his place.

Well, that was a weird way to spend ten minutes.

♡ ♡ ♡

He really did bother her the next day.

But this time, he’s clad in a bathrobe made up of fake animal fur and nothing else. Pysche finds herself completely oblivious to come home to the same tanned stripper rummaging through the channels on her television. She decides to ignore him and start putting clean water to boil for her cup noodles (the bane of lazy singles in the world).

Her eyes rest on the television screen where figures and images dance in a blur (too far for her to see) but she tries to make them out nevertheless, only to be interrupted by the dancer and his fur coat. His hands start to roam all over his body, revealing tanned skin and muscles, all the while making straight eye contact. Two minutes, the kettle automatically goes off. Psyche is still unfazed. By this time, only the lower half of his body is covered.

“Can you please move?” She strains her neck to the left in order to see the television. “I think the good part’s going to come up. They’re going to kiss.”

Angrily, Erech stomps over to where Pysche is standing. He leans in close enough to make her fidget and take a step back. Erech traps her in between his arms and moves his lips half an inch against her lips. Pysche can see the beads of sweat glistening on his temples to his cheeks and the plumpness of his lips but she can’t revel in them for having him so close to her, breathing into her lips is quite uncomfortable. “Why don’t you find me attractive?”

His warm breath brushes the soft flesh of her lips and Pysche’s hand shifts against the counter top until she finally grasps what she wants to use. Erech raises his eyebrows but three seconds later, his eyes are glazed in alarm as they travel over his fur coat and stomach—which is now soaked in hot water.

Erech jumps up and down; a girly shrill bubbling out of his throat. While he tries to ignore the hotness running down his stomach and oh my god, my junior, Pysche is laughing at him, kettle proudly in hand. Erech glares and tries to wipe himself off with a clothe on the marble counter top. He hisses at her before turning back and walking away from her, thinking that he can and never will hit a girl (no matter how oblivious, annoying, and naïve she is).

“My balls have shriveled! You’ll pay for this!” He yells, fixing his fur coat because god freaking dammit he’s got nothing underneath but burning skin. His hands grip the knob and he walks out, mentally declaring the start of war against Psyche Spann.