Bianca Chemise Nosegay was finding Buttermilk Falls quite a comfortable hamlet. Nosi had been here only a brief period, but she’d traveled a bit, and thought there seemed to be a lot of mental health in this town.

Nosi loved running along Buttermilk Boulevard, and the people were fun. The previous owners of her condo, Barbeau and Brisbois Chevaliot, a couple of intense French-Canadian brunettes had given her, along with the keys to the apartment, a third key.

“That’s Samir’s key.” Barb had told her. “He’ll help you move stuff, if you like, and he’s right across the hall.”

And indeed, Samir had knocked on her door, the first day she was in. Nosi didn’t want to deal with any needy creepy types, but Samir was adorable.

He was an olive skinned sort; with eyelashes a girl would kill for, kind of distinguished looking, not that tall.

Samir seemed, as many men were, hypnotized by Nosi’s soft brown hair and dancing green eyes, and the way she could make a crop-top bounce.

Samir was great! He was an enthusiastic tennis partner, and they both liked both classical music and classic rock, and attended a few concerts together.

Samir was on the board of the Buttermilk Gallery, and got Nosi invited–free–to those fun $200 per plate fundraiser deals.

“We always need more eye candy, my love.” Samir told her smoothly. “Really, who cares much about Cezanne the Impressionist?” And he even funded an evening gown or two.

Occasionally after one of their dates, Nosi and Samir necked intensely, sometimes stripping down to his shorts and her bra and panties, but he never pushed for more.

This suited Nosi just fine; though she found it a little weird, she liked dating construction worker types more, and Samir’s wit and good manners made for other, calmer evenings. (And he picked up the check, like, ALWAYS.)

But then came the night that they were enjoying fondue over “Better Call Saul”at Samir’s apartment and Samir put his hand on Nosi’s arm.

“What is it, babe?” Nosi smiled at him. I just never thought guys wore sweater vests anymore. Nosi herself was resplendent in a denim miniskirt and a pinkish-purple tank, quite snug.

Samir had been staring at Nosi’s tits and legs all evening, but he was so polite, kind of surreptitious.

“Nosi, I…when the Chevaliot sisters left town, did they give you something? A key?”

Nosi ran her long pink tongue across her teeth and tried to remember.

Actually, of course, she did remember well, and had exchanged e-mails with the former owners of her place, though they’d not really made it clear what this key was for, just that Samir would probably be asking for it soon.

“I…yes, I think so, Samir. I hope I still have it.” Nosi was a terrible tease. She wondered what the key was to. Perhaps a lock box in a bank vault? Who knew?

Samir looked so strained and uncomfortable that Nosi laughed and got up and sauntered to her bedroom, twitching her cute little butt.