The man had become able to work the commitments of his own life around that of hers. Even if he were to miss her exit from the office, the man was sure to know when she would arrive home to her apartment. This allowed the man some wiggle room in his schedule, enough to fit his friends, family, his job, and, usually, his dinner plans. However, there was one night a week that the man had learned to make himself available to the woman. On this night, the woman would meet her boyfriend. They would eat dinner at a nice restaurant, usually at the boyfriend’s expense. The man admired this, assuming chivalry to be, as they said, dead. They would then move around and do things that the man could not predict. Worse still, he could never be sure in which apartment they would end up when the night had concluded. For this reason, the man kept close. He attended the movie theatre with them, watching the woman perform fellatio in the back row. He had watched as she lowered her open mouth and bobbed her head slowly, taking the full length to the back of her throat. That night, he had watched as she worked her magic, in a public space, smiling lustfully after she had swallowed. He had been to bars, clubs, a horrible amateur production of a godawful musical, and so many other things, just to know where she was.
All the while, as the man had watched the woman, his desire to be nearer to her, to touch her, to taste her, had become ever more insistent. He found himself drifting into fantasies of her more often than he would have liked. It was only when he'd begun to feel as though ambushing the woman as she opened her front door may be his only option that a plan presented itself to him. One afternoon, he witnessed her realising that she'd locked herself out of her apartment. The man had made a habit of entering the woman's building and riding the elevator with her. He often followed her into the car park and made for a car, pretending it was his. On this fateful afternoon, the woman had stepped into the elevator, only to realise she had locked her handbag in her beat up, old Merc. The man had been fortunate to have been standing casually in the lobby, rather than following the woman into the elevator. As such, he able to easily change course when she came storming back out. At a safe distance, he followed her. When she approached the vehicle, she removed a small magnetic box from the wheel well, and headed back toward the building. The man had noted the location of this box with a giddy kind of excitement.
The man had of course cut himself a copy of the woman’s apartment key the following day. Removing the box from the undercarriage of her vehicle, the man had made a duplicate and returned the receptacle to its resting place before the woman finished work that day.
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