As a stunned Tank wondered what was going on, there was a knock at the door of the apartment.
At first, Tank ignored it. No way I'm going to the door looking like this! he thought to himself. But a moment later, Tank realized he was walking to the door. Now confused and a little scared, Tank found it harder and harder to think straight. What's - I don't wanna go to - why'm I - who...
Tank never noticed, but thanks to the odd time dilation, it took over five minutes to reach the doorway (although only a few seconds passed outside). By the time Tank got there, he couldn't have said who or where he was. Then, with suddenly, the dizziness and confusion vansished, and the woman who seconds ago had been Tank Reynolds opened the door.
Outside, Reggie "Rocket" Draper was waiting to surprise his former teammate. Rocket and Tank had played ball together a couple of years ago, and he thought he'd drop in on his old pal while he was in town. The guys down at his restaurant had said he'd called in sick, so maybe he could cheer him up, swap a few old locker room stories, talk about -
"Well well well - hey there, handsome!"
Rocket Draper's eyes threatened to pop out of their sockets at the woman standing in the doorway - and what a woman! She was dressed in a low-cut, fire engine red leather minidress that clung to her like a second skin! Her long platinum blonde hair spilled down her back; stilleto heels showcased legs that were shaplier than any Vegas showgirl's; and she had the biggest, roundest, most perfect breasts Rocket had ever seen!
"Uh - uh - hi! Is, is Tank in?"
The beauty smiled at him. "Sorry, big guy," she said in a voice that seemed to just ooze sex, "No one here by that name."
"Oh," Rocket said, way beyond distracted. "Um, sorry. I, uh, I guess I got the wrong address."
"Oh, I don't know," she giggled, "I think you've got the right address!"
"Huh?"
"What I mean, silly boy," the woman said, sliding up next to him and playfully running a hand through his hair, "Is that as far as I'm concerned, you're right where I want you - here, with me!"
"Really?" he asked, stunned.
"Uh-huh," she said, blowing lightly in his ear. "By the way, my name's Priscilla Lorraine Aything, but you can call me P.L."
"I'm, I'm Rocket. 'P.L. Aything'? You mean - like, 'plaything'?"
"That's me," she said merrily "I'm 'Plaything'. And I wanna be your 'Plaything' so bad, Rocket!" And she flung planted a long, wet kiss on his lips.
"So tell me, Rocket," she asked breathily after she broke the kiss, "Do I get to see the rocket in your pocket?"
Rocket couldn't believe his luck, that a wrong address had led him to this willing sexpot, who seemed like the woman of his dreams. He first thought it was a dream - but he could feel her warm, heavy breasts pressing up against him, and decided if it was, he didn't want to wake up.
"Oh, yeah," he said with a grin as he followed her inside the apartment, "But only if I get to see your 'plaything."
"Ooh, Rocket, Baby," she said with an impish smile as he closed the door.
