Author Notes: Holy crap! I still exist!
Alie Woos and I came up with this idea way back in November. I'm very, very fast.
Andy: So how are things going with Angela? Things are going grrrrrr-dash-ate. In fact, they are going so well that I'm hoping that she'll let me get to third base with her soon. Third. Base.
He waggles his eyebrows.
Andy: The hot corner, if you get my drift. Heh heh... You do get my drift, right? 'Cause if you don't, I can explain it in more detail. You got it? Okay, good.
Angela was in the back corner of the office sorting through stacks and stacks of files that had been slavishly filled out under tight deadlines and promptly shelved (having never been looked at), a look of grim consternation mixed with guilty pleasure upon her face that only one man could produce in her. So it should come as no surprise to anyone that standing behind her, his hands jammed into the pockets of his bubblegum-plaid pants, Andrew Bernard was begging for sex.
"Under no circumstances will you be touching me on any of my bathing suit areas. That's final." Angela's forceful shove rumpled up the poor, innocent folder.
Andy bounced on his heels hopefully. "So it's okay if I touch your non-bathing suit areas?"
"No-" Angela began to say, but paused. Angela considered what he'd said for a moment. "Yes." Andy started to smile and make a celebratory gesture - prematurely as always. "But!" Angela clarified, "You will use the standard set by bathing suits of the 1900s. It was a more civilized era where people had proper concepts of modesty."
She rushed off, leaving Andy to contemplate what that left him with. He would need to consult Wikipedia later.
Angela: The only dating advice my mother ever gave me was that if a boy tries to touch my bathing suit areas, go limp.
Angela: We were a very conservative household. Did you know that we never had Kool-Aid because my father thought that it was blasphemous?
Her eyes go stone dead for a second.
Angela: My childhood was very deprived...
"So what parts of your divine form am I allowed to touch? I looked at those pictures and-" Angela interrupted Andy silently with a withering glare - "Only for reference purposes, angel cakes - and the bathing suits look like ballgowns. How the h - e - double hockey sticks did the women from back then not drown or get eaten by even the slowest moving of special ed. sharks? Did all the manual labor they had to do give them fantastic upper body strength? And if they did, that would be kind of fun, if you know what I mean."
Angela continued her withering glare. Which really was normal behavior for her under any circumstances. "No, Andy, what doyou mean?"
He sputtered for a bit, then started singing and wandered off back to his desk.
Angela and Andy have been cornered by the camera crew in the conference room.
Angela: We're here to talk about sex. Sex? Oh dear.
Andy: Relax, baby. Sex is natural.
Angela stiffens, very uncomfortable.
Angela: Maybe it is when you do it.
She doubles over, like she's going to be ill, and goes running from the room. Andy watches her run away and shrugs, deep in contemplation. Alone with the camera, he has no problems talking about sex.
Andy: I wouldn't say that sex has been excessively natural when I've done it...
Andy: There was my dom roommate for a couple of years...
He scratches his right buttock for slightly longer than strictly necessary. And grins.
Andy: And then there was that one time in the girls' change room in high school... Coach Davis didn't think what I was doing was natural.
Despite her best efforts, later that night found Angela alone with Andy in his bedroom. And despite her protestations and mental chastising, she also found that she was enjoying his attentions. She chose not to consider why.
"So... where were we..." Andy crooned while rubbing his neck against Angela's. "I believe it was non-bathing suit areas of the 1900s. Which means arms..." He nibbled his way along her slender, white limb. Angela purred contentedly. "And legs..."
"Below the knee!" Angela restricted. She didn't see Andy's cringe nor hear his aggravated sigh.
"Yes, M'lady." He began to kiss down her calves and her ankles, dragging his dry, papery lips across the top of her foot...
"Don't do that!" Angela giggled and squirmed.
Andy didn't pause, but asked, "Why not?" He started sucking on Angela's toes.
The thing is, Angela wasn't kidding when she told him not to do that. Some people, small people especially - small people like Angela - can be very, very ticklish. And when these certain people are stimulated in sensitive areas - areas such as the feet, for example - certain autonomic responses are bound to happen. And when these autonomic responses occur within proximity of a delicate object - one particularly delicate object being a human face - bad things can happen.
"OWW!!! My face! Argh!" Andy cupped his bleeding mouth in his hands, rolling in extreme pain on the floor and collecting paisley colored lint in his body hair. "I think I lost a tooth!"
A scowling Angela crossed her arms over her chest. "You were warned."