"Well, hurry. If you know what I mean."
I knew. My eyeballs were sloshing. Both leather pumps in my outstretched hands reached the cinderblock wall at about the same time with loud clacks. Don't know why I did this — reflexive, I suppose — but I clutched both shoes in one hand and tugged up my bustier with the other. Modesty? Vanity? Then I groped for the light switch.
He did too, around to my left. "Okay, I'm in the doorway. Where's the light?"
"Can't be far. One side or the other." I felt his hands on my left arm as we both groped blindly for the switch.
"Oh. Sorry."
"Okay. No sweat." I lied. His touch was electric. I wanted to think about it some more, but my kidneys had short-circuited my brain. "Switches are about chest high on me. It's got to be here somewhere."
I heard one of his hands whap against the wall as the fingers of his other hand grazed my bustier. Yep, that's chest high. "Hey, buddy!" As I spoke I found the switch and flipped it vigorously. It was just for the entryway. The rest of that huge space would have a whole bank of switches, probably not far away. The bright light immediately overhead made both of us shut our eyes reflexively.
His must have opened first. "Uh, you're a witch!" He gasped as though that notion actually frightened him.
When I opened my eyes, he was staring at the goose-pimples among the décolletage created by my bustier. "Well, you're…" It took me a second to identify someone in a brightly striped shirt, breeches with a sash, a dagger — hopefully not real — tucked in his waistband, and a disheveled headscarf. Plus, a black eye patch dangled from his left ear by a strand of cheap elastic. "…you're a pirate!"
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