Zoe said something, but Jenny couldn’t quite make out the words over the blaring music.  They’d gone on to Zoe’s favorite bar, but the place was so loud and smoky, it was giving Jenny a headache.  “What?” she called, leaning forward.
“I said I’m glad you came out tonight.  It’s about time,” Zoe said loudly and distinctly in order to be heard.
Jenny nodded, despite the fact that she was feeling just the opposite.  The bar scene always left a hollow ache inside her.  Plus, she’d already spent thirty dollars tonight, which was stupid when she didn’t have money to blow.  Zoe had a head-full of black curls tonight and they were bopping all over the place when she moved her head to the beat of the music.  She sipped on her vodka tonic through a straw, oblivious to the table of yuppie snobs behind her who apparently found her amusing.
“Wanna’ dance?” a man slurred in Jenny’s ear. 
She jerked, startled by the voice, and turned to the stocky, balding man in a business suit who was jiggling slightly as he waited for her answer.  “I’m sorry,” she said apologetically.  “I was just getting ready to leave.  Work tomorrow,” she said too quickly, not wanting to hurt his feelings. 
He was leaning on the back of her chair for support and he had what looked like some spittle on his chin.  He gave a shrug and ambled off.  Feeling guilty and more than a little creeped out, Jenny turned back to Zoe to inform her that she really was going, but a fresh glass of wine was being slid in front of her and Zoe was paying the waitress.  “This is the last one,” Jenny said pointing at her glass.
“What?” Zoe called. 
“Last one,” Jenny repeated.  “I’m going to go.”
“No,” Zoe protested.  “C’mon.  It’s just getting going!”
It proved to be true.  Three more rounds of drinks were quickly sent to their table and Jenny was hit on twice more — once by a guy that couldn’t keep his eyes off her tits, and once from a decent looking businessman who motioned her close, grabbed hold and French kissed her ear canal. 
“Uh, okay, no thank you,” Jenny said, pulling away.
“What?”
“Yeah, uh, no.  Thank you.  I was just getting ready to leave.”
“With me, you mean?” he asked hopefully.
She shook her head quickly.  “No.”
“You frigid?”
For a moment, she was stymied by his arrogance.  “That’s probably it,” she finally said.
“That sucks,” he commented.  “You sure?”
“Yeah.”
He shrugged, indicating it was her loss and left.
Across the table, Zoe sent a quizzical look her way and Jenny answered with a shake of her head.  Zoe had hooked up with Mr. Right, or at least Mr. You’ll-do-for-the-evening, which wasn’t terribly unusual for her.  She had a fun, easy-going, wide-open attitude, which always attracted somebody.  “I’m going,” Jenny said, pointing at the door.  She got up.  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you tommorow,” Zoe called back.
Jenny felt the full effect of her alcohol consumption as she walked back to her car.  She climbed in and sat there shaking from the cold and wondering if she was okay to drive.  Not that she had money for a cab.  Damn it, she knew better than to drink and drive.  What would happen if she got pulled over?  Like she could afford that mess.
“Idiot,” she berated herself as she drove home.  “And for what?  It’s not like it was even fun.”  She’d wasted money, gotten slightly drunk, drove.  She was twenty-seven years old, way old enough to know better.
Luckily, she arrived home without incident, although her depression had increased to a seven point five.  It was weird how much more difficult everything was when depressed.  Walking, lifting keys, breathing.  She never had mentioned the anonymous letter to Zoe.  She’d started to a couple of times, but she’d always stopped herself.  Why?  Did she want to keep it a secret?  Was she actually thinking of going to the laundry room?  Jenny stopped in her tracks, shocked by the thought and by the sharp thrill that pulsed through her. 
She walked on, fumbling with her keys, and entered the building, very aware of her increased heart rate.  “Being stupid,” she mouthed.  It would be insane to go.  Dangerous.  How could she possibly know the guy didn’t intend her harm?   If it was a guy.   If he’d even still be there.  If he even existed.  It might have all been a joke.  It probably had been a joke.
She took the ancient elevator up to her floor.  Of course, she wasn’t tired.  And she did have some laundry to do.  “And I didn’t take a self-defense course for nothing.”
Her hallway was empty as she made her way to her apartment.  She flipped on lights, went into the kitchen and reread the letter.  It was weird to think about all the men that had tried to get her hot that night, the eyeballing of her, the tongue, the verbal innuendo, it had done nothing for her.  Less than nothing.  But the letter–
She set it down and went about gathering up her dirty laundry and some change.  Even if the letter had been legit, its author wouldn’t still be there.  It was past mid-night.  She would get some laundry done and then she would come back to her apartment, masturbate for the first time in a long time and go to sleep.  In the morning, she’d be mortified by her decision, but that was tomorrow.  Besides, it would be good that her laundry was caught up. 
* * * *
The basement was quiet and deserted, as usual.  Jenny started two loads of laundry in the new laundry room and then sauntered over to the old.  The machines in this room were olive green and gold, purchased back in the seventies.  A few of the incandescent overhead lights flickered and there was an old pinball machine stuck in a corner, although it was missing the pull to spring the balls into action. 
Her stalker had obviously checked out the room, because the dryers were completely out of view of the front door.  Not that it was likely anyone would pop in.  This room probably received a cursory sweeping once a month.  “Hello?” she said softly. 

Of course, there was no answer.  Still, the thought of what might have been was arousing.  She moved to the middle dryer, spread her feet apart and leaned over the top of it slowly.  God, she needed some release.  She’d been so depressed lately, she’d even given up masturbating.  No wonder she felt so empty. 
A soft noise behind her startled her upright, but before she fully make it, a hand on her back stopped her.  “No,” came a whisper.  “Don’t turn around,” he finished slowly, deliberately, still in a whisper.  “I won’t hurt you, I swear it.” 
Her pulse raced. 
“Please,” he whispered.   “That was . . . nice, how you . . . were.” 
She could see a jean leg behind her.  A man’s hand edged forward, slipping a hundred dollar bill on the dryer in front of her.  He was wearing a pale, denim shirt.
“You need the money and I need to be near you,” he whispered.  “Please.” 
“I . . . I can’t do this,” she stammered.  She shivered and made a move to bolt from the room, but his hands were on her shoulders, steadying her, calming her.  “I thought it was a joke.  I didn’t think–”
“Sshhh.” 
He slid his arm down her arm, gripped her wrist gently and brought her hand forward, placing it on one side of the dryer.
“It’s okay,” he whispered.  “Sshhh.” 
For some bizarre reason she left the hand in place while he repeated the action with her other hand, placing it on the opposite side.  He wasn’t pushing himself at her, but she felt the hard bulge in his jeans.  He was aroused, but not forcing himself on her.  Instead, he was coercing her with money, whispered proclamations of desire, with warm breath on her neck and the back of her ear.  “Who are you?  Do I know you?”
“Ssshhhh.”
Good God!  What had she been thinking coming here?  She should turn and leave.  He wouldn’t stop her.  Even if he tried, she’d taken a self-defense course.  She could get free of him.  So, why didn’t she move? 
Her skirt was being lifted, slowly.  Why had she worn a skirt?  Why had she shaved her legs?  He was running his hand up the inside of her thigh with light fingers.  His fingers felt rough.  He obviously worked with them. 
“Soft,” he whispered. 
The breath came right at the back of her neck, making her breath catch and her nipples harden.  She allowed him to nudge her forward slightly, aware that her skirt was being inched over her thong-clad bottom.  She shivered, realizing how wet she was — and how dangerous this was.  What if he had a weapon?  What if he really did want to hurt her?  Her stomach clenched as his fingers touched the damp heat radiating through her panties.  She bit her lower lip in order not to make a noise, but as he began stroking her in a rhythmic motion, a moan escaped her.   
He began gently stroking her buttocks.  Her knees felt weak and she couldn’t quite control her shaking.  He maneuvered under the ribbon of material between her ass cheeks and teased as he began kissing the back of her neck.  The muscles in her midriff were tight with arousal.  He was teasing and toying, and she’d never felt such exquisite torture.  A hand slipped under the front of her shirt and discovered her front clasp bra, which was easily unfastened.
He was easing her back against him and she was allowing it.  Her eyes closed and she reveled in the feeling of his hands on her.  The stroking was so thorough and it had been so long since anyone touched her that way.  Or had anyone ever touched her this way? 
He fondled her breasts, circling the erect nipples with the pads of his thumbs, and she felt his breath on the top of her ear.  Her stranger was taller than she was.  She had the impression he was lean and young.  A hard-body, as Zoe would say.  He was looking down at her breasts as he learned them; she just knew it.  Did he think they were pretty?
“I’m going to make you come, Jenny,” he whispered.
The words alone almost did it for her.