Panty Man Ch. 01byBOSTONFICTIONWRITER©
Tall and lanky thin with visible scars from teenage acne and wearing wire rimmed glasses, Norman has a good job. He's a statistician for the United States Census Bureau, Department of Census Bureau Data and Emergency Preparedness. He loves numbers and loves his job. He's been working there in the same position and doing the same job, a job that would have drove any sane person mad ten years ago. Ask Norman a question that relates to numbers and he'd have the answer off the top of his head right down to the infinite decimal point without hesitation and without error.
He's a human computer is what he is. He's so good with math, numbers, percentages, statistics, ratios, and counting that he's been banned from every Black Jack table of every casino on the east coast. They all know who Norman is. They have the mathematical numbers that make up his facial profile recorded in their electronic facial identification software. If he steps in another casino, he'd be arrested. He's won enough of their money beating the house with an unfair advantage, namely, his big brain.
Besides his love of numbers and his love of his job, panties are the only other things that Norman likes as much. He can tell you how many people are alive, how many people are dead, how many people have jobs, work from home, are enrolled in school, as well as how many children are in an average household, what type of pets, and the median income of anyone anywhere in the United States.
Yeah, Norman knows numbers; he knows exactly how many pairs of women's panties he has in his dresser drawers at home. If you burglarized Norman's house, the first thing he'll do is to inventory his panty drawers to make sure they are all still there and neatly folded. True to his online name, Panty Man, he loves panties. Only, not new, unworn panties, he prefers worn slightly soiled panties that save the sweet, pungent aroma of the woman who recently wore them.
He lives alone without a pet in a high rise, one bedroom condo in Boston that overlooks the Boston Common. Whenever he is off from work, his powerful binoculars scan the greenery of the park watching for women sitting on the grass and paying more attention to their lunch or conversation than to the condition of their skirt or dress. He has lots of friends, only they are all members of the opposite sex and all platonic women who routinely ask him to water their plants and feed their cats while they are away on their romantic weekends with their boyfriends. Norman uses that serendipitous opportunity to take one of their panties from their laundry hamper and add it to his extensive collection of women's panties that are sorted by size, color, style, and fabric. The women never miss a pair of panties. Besides, they assume that Norman is gay. The guys more correctly assume that he is weird.
Norman had one date with a woman some months back that ended badly when he asked her a simple, single question. He had met her online after joining one of those dating services that his female friends and female co-workers pressured him into joining. At the conclusion of the date, when a normal man tried to steal a goodnight kiss, Normal asked a solitary question. The woman slapped his face and reported him not only to the dating service but also to the police. The dating service offered to fix him up on another blind date and the police took a report. There was no crime here, just a question of impropriety, bold assertion, and questionable dating decorum.
"Norman, what do you have to lose? It's only a few dollars to reregister your profile on this dating service site. They've already e-mailed you that they have the perfect woman for you. You just might meet your soul mate," said Sheila, a co-worker, with a giggle probably from the thought of wondering who on planet Earth would be his soul mate.
He rejoined and agreed to meet Cynthia, a brown haired, brown eyed, plain girl of average everything but for an unexpected spike in per capita income from all the overtime hours she worked because she is alone and lonely. They met for a movie, Good Will Hunting, of course, when A Beautiful Mind was already sold out, and a bite to eat after. The date went as well as expected with Cynthia being nearly as weird as Norman.
She had that annoying snort of a laugh that not only doesn't endear her to people, especially members of the opposite sex, but also that makes those who hear it want to recoil before running away laughing. Lucky him, there is someone for everyone out there.
She works as a buffer in a machine shop. She buffs the burrs off of metal parts, 10 hours a day and 5 ½ days a week. The overtime she earns affords her a comfortable lifestyle. She has a new car, nice clothes, and plenty of slightly worn panties.
At the conclusion of the date when any man is readying himself to steal a good night kiss, feel a tit, and/or hope for a bit more with an offer of an invitation for an intimate evening, Norman has something else in mind. He's poised to ask his question.
To be continued...