Blind Date Part I
I know that this is short, but I had it be an intro. Bear with it, i'll post the others later. The charater Miami is Copyrighted by Bernal, and Mike is my character. You know about the rule being 18 or 21 or whatever that it is where you live. index
Yawning loudly, putting a paw over his muzzle, Mike crawls out of bed, turning on his computer and heading to the shower. Peeling off his shirt, he tosses it into the hamper, and walks to the shower door, opening it slowly and sleepily shuts it behind him, yawning again. Turning the cold water on, his alertness increases and grabs the fur shampoo, pouring a sizeable amount into his paw, and works it into a lather, fondling himself for a moment before moving on.
This is the day Michael, he thinks to himself, don't blow it. It's the first femme that's been interested in you since that friend of yours set you up with that hippo back in high school. Shuddering at the thought of flashbacks and unwanted memories, he rinses himself off, closing his eyes as to not get any suds in them. He turns the water off, and opens the glass door a crack, grabbing a towel and steps out. After thoroughly ridding himself of all the water he can from his fur, he grabs his brush and starts grooming, careful not to harm his crotch.
Putting the brush back in the cabinet, he fixes his hair a bit, pushing a tad in the front, then combs the rest back, making sure it's behind his ears. Walking back into the bedroom, he pulls on a 'Love is overrated' T-shirt, and sits in his computer chair. "Well now, let's see what i've been sent today," he says with a slight snicker. He sighs, wading through the endless junk mail in his inbox. "Crap, crap, crap, and more crap. Don't need Viagra or see goats deepthroating lions. Wait a second here, I think we have a winner.....," he mutters.
He opens up the e-mail, smirking contently, and begins reading it, just barely audibly. "Dear Michael, over the course of a few weeks it seems that I have gotten to know you better than anyone I've met in person, which is why I sent an e-mail instead of just talking to you today. You seem to be someone I was ment to know. So I want to see who's behind that screen of yours, in which I booked reservations for two at Little Antonio's outside of Bakersville, under my name, Miami. Hope to see you there suga'. Sexily yours, Miami. xoxo"
After rereading it about a dozen times, he dashes to his closet, and franticly looks for his dress shirt and pants, throwing unwanted clothing items out of his way. He finds them stuffed in the back, grabs them along with a metal hanger, and puts on a pair of jeans. Running out of his apartment and locking it behind him, he sets his attire in the passenger seat of his 1989 Pathfinder, and drives to the drycleaners.