Santa String

“As the first snowflake settled, it whispered secrets of a winter tale waiting to unfold.”

I look away from the zip-lock on my desk and up at doctor Ryota, my colleague’s stern face that brightens to a goofy grin.

A red lacy thong?!

“Crap!” I cuss with a grimace. “What’s this doing on my desk, Ryota?”

He leans backward and solely on his feet, still wearing that stupid look.

“It belongs to your sexy neighbor, Natsumi.” He pushes it over, and his grin broadens, almost swallowing up his eyes.

I swallow hard. Natsumi, my busty crush. The estate down Komae, Tokyo, had been pretty manageable until she moved in. Dark brown almond-shaped eyes, small lips, black lush hair that glitters, and long slender thighs. Jeez!

“She left it on my examination table.” He winks, leaving the dirty details for my scattered brains.

“How sure are you that she’s my neighbor?” I stutter.

For one, Ryota is a wild and reckless one, he hops on a trend without thinking through the consequences, and right now, I blame myself for confiding in him, secrets as dirty as a dark room.

“First, she’s bearing Natsumi, the same name as the dream girl you won’t stop ranting about. And second, her address happens to be the same as yours. So?” He shrugs.

I gasp, my head now greased with sweat. If he’s telling the truth, she’s definitely my dirty thoughts in human flesh. “You said something about your examination table...” My heart skips beats. “What was...”

“It’s confidential.” He cuts me off snappily.

“Confidential, huh?” My eyes widen, as I adjust my necktie, almost suffocating from my wild imagination. “Then why bring it to my table? Do I sell lingerie?”

“Maybe... Maybe not.” He sighs. “Kenji, stop being such a bore and a shy nerd. You should take it to her, she’s your neighbor and your crush.”

“No, it’s unprofessional...”

“Who cares?” He starts for the door.

“Ryota!”

“It’s almost Christmas, take it as Santa’s way of greasing your...” His voice trails off while looking down at my pants.

I ignore his last statement. “You know I don’t believe in those Santa bullshit...”

“Regardless, make a wish. Smash or pass?” He slides the glass door to the left, allowing him a small exit.

I keep shut. Of course, it’s rhetorical.

“Merry Christmas in advance.” He slips through the small exit and slides the door back into place.

“Oh no, Ryota!”

No response.

“Busu! (stupid)” I cuss at him with a sigh, more tense than ever.

I stare into space, looking at anyone and everyone. Just then, Nurse Yuki passes, and she strides backward to wave and wink at me.

Already having a plate full, I don’t reciprocate. I don’t feel connected to her to indulge her... or maybe Ryota was right, I’m just a shy nerd.

She frowns and starts walking towards my office.

“Shit!... Shit!... Shit!” In haste, I sweep the zip-lock off my table and right on my thighs, and I pull the wheels of my seat forward, launching my lower body beneath the desk and away from her view.

“Doc. Kenji?” She looks confused, trying to sneak a peek at what I’m hiding.

I straighten my spine like nothing just happened, and giving her the ‘what do you want’ look.

“Hello...” I grin widely, my set of teeth on gross display. I probably look dumb.

“Do you need me to do anything for...”

“No!” I hastily respond.

Breathe Kenji. I whisper to myself.

“I mean, no, thanks.” I say, more composed.

She starts to stroll closer, tugging at the collar of her uniform. The top button of her gown is off, exposing her voluptuous racks, and daring me to ignore her.

“Common, Doc. Kenji, we both know you want this as much as I do, if not more...”

I raise my hand to stop her, not finding the right words. How can’t she get it?

“Really?” Her voice is laced with frustration. “How about...”

“That will be all.” I dismiss, not wanting her a bit closer.

She halts, right on her spot, sighs, and storms away. Right now, I wish to blame Natsumi or Ryota... or even both.

The rest of the day has me attending to clients with endometriosis and adnexal masses and evacuation of tubular pregnancies. And then, there were a bunch of nasty teenagers in need of contraceptives.

At 8:00 pm, comes the end of my shift, a moment I look forward to. I pack up my bag, arranging a few of my items in it, before standing up to leave. Not sure of what to do, I add the zip-lock with the red lacy thong to the list of my items.

In the parking lot, I open the driver’s door, throw all I’m holding, including the zip-lock at the passenger seat, and slump behind the wheel of my Mitsubishi, remaining immobile for a while. My back hurts, and my whole body aches, but what sickens me most is the thought of seeing Natsumi, one-on-one for the first time.

My cheeks reddens.

Peering outside of my window, I can tell it’s snowing, as tiny flakes of snow perch on window panes and coats of pedestrians.

A reckless look at the thong pulls me into the temptation of having a feel of it, and maybe a sniff too, and awkwardly, I yield to the temptation, like a toddler to Glico pop candy.

It just lays flat on the seat, waiting for me to act. I pick it up and unzip the transparent bag. The lace is silky on my coarse palm, tiny, and fragile.

“Kenji...” I battle the urge to take it closer to my nostrils.

Yet again, I bring it upward and sniff slowly. The alluring scent of her feminity greets me, and the smell of her perfume, lavender to be exact.

I feel a bulge erect in my groin.

“Kenji!” I slam the wheel, battling the temptation so desperately.

I throw my head backward, hitting it on the headrest of my seat. My breath is labored, a sign of victory from my struggle.

Dumping the thong back in the bag and sealing it, I toss it on the seat.

“It’s just a thong, Kenji.” I manage a whisper.

I ignite the rusty engine and zoom off the parking lot. It’s barely 8: 30 PM and the sky is dark as can be, leaving us at the mercy of the street lights. Thankfully, there’s no hounding traffic, or busy peddlers creating a scene with their delicious sashimi and weird wool candy.

I’m a sucker for them.

It takes an extra thirty minutes to get to my complex, a tall four-story building, spacious enough to keep your neighbor off your hair, except for those annoying bugs, ready to jump on you on sight. If only Natsumi is one of them.

I sigh.

Picking up my woolen coat, my suitcase, and the zip-lock, I head towards her door, praying to the skies I don’t embarrass myself.

The smell of lavender intoxicates me like I just sniffed the thong. Damn, my cheap brains.

Her flat is on the third floor, and mine is on the second. There’s no time to drop my coat and suitcase and maybe freshen up, I need to get this over with.

I continue towards her door. The fresh smell of ramen, infiltrates the air, making my stomach rumble. It means one thing, she is at home. My heartbeat starts to race.

Taking slow and long breaths, I summon the courage to ring the doorbell and step backward for a moment, waiting for her to respond. Ryota would make a mockery of me if he ever gets a clip of this scene, with my tail literally between my thighs.

The door opens, with my destruction in view.

Tall and gorgeous and sexy. She only has a light baggy polo on, short nonetheless, as it bares her delicate thighs, to almost the start of my wild fantasies.

“Hey!” she snaps.

I jolt, taking my eyes off her dangling racks like Christmas jingles on a careless tree.

“You forgot your thong.” I spill, more stupid than ever.