Richard Nailor opened the door with a perplexed look on his face.<br/><br/>Richard stood around 6'0" and was nothing more then rather average looking. A man in his mid-40's, he had never been an athlete and had a little pudge around his stomach, to which his form fitting wife-beater top clung too. Luckily, he was wearing boxers were covered his privates, but his slim legs were on full display. He was even wearing shin-high socks despite the fact that he had slippers on as well. He held a cup of coffee in one hand and a stack of loose leaf papers in his other. His hair was dishevaled - mussed up like it hadn't been combed in days.<br/><br/>He glanced behind him, to where a stack of mail lay unopened on a table in the hallway then back to her. "You're not a fan that's finally tracked me down are you?" He asks, furrowing his brows at her.<br/><br/>A sense of recognition tickled the back of his brain. He knew he had seen her before - or at least he thought he had - but since he rarely got out other then to go grocery shopping, maybe she had sent him some nudes? All mail for him went to his publishers who then sent it on to him. It helped protect his identity and his specific sort of erotica novels seemed to entice women into...exposing themselves to him. Some even address him by his main characters name and he somewhat supposed that they often thought of him as that man - a stud of a man, a real lady killer - and not the somewhat aloof and meek man that he actually was.<br/><br/>And now there was a girl standing before him and he had no idea how to react.