When she does notice, she feels embarrassed and fumbles to put it away. This guy is just unreal. He takes so much for granted. She really has no idea what she should do. Later, in the pub, she tells her best friend about the call. ‘Don’t go.’ Her friend is adamant this time. ‘This guy’s too weird. You’ll end up naked and dead in a ditch somewhere. If he calls again, go to the police and report him as a stalker.’ ‘That’s an awful thing to say. Anyway, he’s not a stalker. I gave him my number. Remember?’ ‘How d’you know he’s not a stalker who’d followed you to work? He’d been watching you pretty closely at the Brad, right?’ ‘So if a guy notices me when I’m dressed in not very much then bumps into me again and asks me out, that makes him a stalker? Thanks a lot! It couldn’t just be that he fancies me?’ ‘You know what I mean. I’m just worried for you is all.’ ‘I know, and thanks, but I’m sure this guy’s not dangerous, just horny.’ ‘You’re going to go, aren’t you?’ ‘Probably, yes. Unless. He knew that their little play parties would come to an end if Wanda went to work during the day and he wasn't about to let that happen.Wanda whistled softly to herself as she carried the bundle of dirty clothes to the utility room. She felt clean and euphoric, well fed, well fucked and content. Clad in clean navy bell bottoms and a red sweater, she walked noiselessly over the carpet barefoot. Her breasts jiggled as she walked and the soft nylon sweater scraped her nipples taut with every step. Bette Jean had spoken to her privately about that too. It was indecent to go without a bra. Wanda had laughed and told her she was old fashioned. All the girls went without bras these days. Lester liked to look at her bounce around the house and after all he was the one she had to please, she thought smugly. Besides it drove that silly mama's boy, Gary, out of his gourd.The whistle died on her lips when she opened the utility room door. Gary was standing at the dryer with his bare ass hanging.
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