1963: They were Roommates

***Author's Note***

This story is a companion piece to my earlier story "1969: Ghost Before the Dawn" and a companion piece to any stories in the "1969" series, and related series.

You don't have to read those to understand this story. They are all meant to make sense individually, as well as together.

***********************************

It was nearly autumn of 1963. Trees stood in the nude, red-orange leaves fluttered through the winds and kissed the grounds below, and the nineteen-year-old Kitten was starting another semester of college.

With a few large bags, the tan-skinned brunette strolled through the place, her curvaceous figure in a puff-sleeved floral dress of faint yellows and ivory.

Though her previous roommate was louder than the Devil, harbored unknown men through the night — regardless of the very strict policies against this — and ate all of Kitten's blueberry muffins, Kitten remained hopeful.

Perhaps her next roommate would be a kind and considerate person instead of a muffin-thief who screams out Elvis' name while masturbating at two in the morning.

After all, it wasn't standard for women to even go to college. Surely, she'd find a like-minded woman, wouldn't she?

Kitten finally found her new room, door unlocked. She'd brought what she could carry, as her family would come later to help set up more of her belongings.

As she opened the door, she was swept up in the sweet scents of cinnamon and any number of other spices. The cream walls were decorated with portraits, women in massive pastel gowns, elaborate hats, and pale faces with rouge-heavy cheeks, shown sitting, standing, or swinging beneath a blossomed tree.

Shelves held a variety of classic novels, and a few books of poetry, the arts as a whole, and the sciences. There stood a vanity with figurines and a set of Russian nesting dolls.

There was a large bed with light pink sheets and a great many pillows. A wardrobe. Furniture here and there, some of which was oddly shaped and high, as though her roommate was unusually fond of climbing, and rather obviously from wealth.

Everything was immaculate, polished, exactly where it was supposed to be.

Kitten set a few of her things on the other side of the room. Though it wasn't void of décor, it was much less detailed than the rest and, she assumed, was the area her roommate hadn't claimed. She finally relaxed upon her new bed, her now-bare feet hanging just off the edge.

How comfortable it was. How soft and perfect.

Then something grabbed her leg.

She screamed and jumped up on the bed, panting and gasping with a fiery chest.

A mouse? It didn't seem like a mouse. Her roommate playing a joke on her?

Kitten leapt off the bed, and carefully lifted the sheets to gaze beneath it.

A hiss.

There was a cat!

Just as Kitten's puzzled self considered this, the door opened and a light, freckled woman stepped inside.

"Oh! Uh, hi. Who are you?" the woman asked, her accent a honeyed Southern belle.

Her hair was in a long ponytail of soft caramel curls, her pinafore of pale pink roses, her curves small and delicate, eyes large and dollike.

"Excuse me, miss?" she asked again.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Kitten said, "I'm your roommate, it seems."

"I don't have a roommate..."

"Pretty sure you do now. Besides the cat, I mean."

The freckled face stilled.

"I won't tell a soul." Kitten added.

The freckled woman seemed to be considering something for a moment.

"Do you have the papers, the ones with your room number?"

"Uh, sure. Let me check."

Kitten pulled out her earlier information from one of her bags.

"Let's see, exactly as it says, it's—OH!" her eyes shot wide. "Oh, I—I must've gotten the numbers mixed up, I'm so sorry. Well, this is embarrassing." she gave a weak chuckle. "Uh, I guess I should move these things—"

The freckled woman laughed. "It's nothing to worry about. How about you stay awhile? I'm sure it's been a long day."

"I don't want to trouble you."

"It's no trouble at all, really. I have the extra bed for guests, anyway. Not that I would have any."

"Only if you're sure."

"Of course," the freckled woman gestured for Kitten to sit. "I'm Betty-Ann, by the way. Elizabeth Anastasia Paris. My sweet baby here is Champagne Paris."

The tortoise-shelled cat jumped in her lap and purred against her.

"My name's Fortunata Romano, but everyone calls me Kitten."

"Oh, you're Italian?"

"Sicilian."

"That's nice. I thought you were Puerto Rican."

"Would it be bad to—?"

"No, no. It wouldn't be bad. I just won't let my father hear about it either way," she laughed. "Anyway, you're beautiful. What shampoo do you use? Is it Breck? Prell?"

"Honestly, I just use whatever my mother buys."

"Your mother buys well. Your hair is absolutely stunning."

"Thank you. I like your accent, by the way. May I ask, where are you from?"

"N'Orleans, thank you kindly, but I expect to steal the locals' with practice."

The two shared a chuckle and a brief silence before Betty-Ann continued.

"Champagne normally does well with long rides, but admittedly, this one was a lot for her, especially in her old age. I appreciate you not reporting it. You promise, right? I'll keep her here, away from bothering anyone."

"I promise. How old is she?"

"Eighteen. I've had her since I was just one and she was a cute little kitten. I suppose you're also a cute Kitten."

The tan woman blushed. "You're very beautiful yourself."

"Thank you. You're too kind."

"Not once you get to know me."

"Is that so?"

"Find out."

"Maybe I will."

----

Around a month had passed, with studying and being together daily, playing with Champagne, and properly setting up to be roommates.

In a short maple dress, golden hoops, and long hair down, Kitten came into the dorm room on a weekend morning with a couple paper bags of baked goods.

"Gooood morning, Betty-Ann! ...and Kitty-Cham." she added in a whisper. "My father and I made little cakes and cookies!"

"Ooh!"

Betty-Ann had removed a sleep mask, tousling her hair rags in the process, and slipped out from beneath the blanket in a lavender babydoll nightgown.

While Kitten had carefully handed Betty-Ann a bit of cake, the freckled woman was quick to shove it in her mouth, messily eating with crumbs scattering over her small breasts through the fabric.

Kitten giggled at the sight. And she couldn't help but notice how the babydoll cascaded down the slim body, hem stopping just at the thighs. The nightgown was somewhat sheer against the abdomen, and thin fabric emphasized the nipples.

Betty-Ann looked up at Kitten while she sucked frosting off her palm and soon pressed her lips together for a moment.

"Uh, sorry for being so messy. I just don't get to be like this at home, and your baking is divine."

"No, no. I think it's cute. And thanks. I suppose it is... delicious."

Kitten's fingertips grazed Betty-Ann's cheek, taking a bit of cake and slipping it into her own mouth.

"Mmm. Yes, I'd say it was a success."

Betty-Ann seemed to blush, eyes averted and body perhaps a little tenser.

Shit. Had she gone too far?

"You still have some left..." Betty-Ann brought Kitten's hand toward her, and gently sucked on it.

The two had become closer. When exactly was impossible to say for sure, but they sat on the edge of the bed, each directed toward the other, faces hardly a palm apart.

They leaned to each other, slowly and delicately, till their noses grazed and they shared the same warm, bakery air.

Stillness.

Betty-Ann's palm brushed against the tan woman's dark waves, drifting downward to the middle of Kitten's back and resting it there.

And their lips met.

It was only for a moment, the two quickly breaking, each releasing small, shaky breaths.

But they didn't stray far.

Betty-Ann began unrolling the rags from her hair and running fingers through the curls. Her gaze never wandered from Kitten's face.

The two kissed again.

It was slow and deliberate. Hesitant, maybe. And soft.

Perfectly. Undeniably. Soft.

Paper bags tumbled off the bed, and Kitten crawled atop the sheets, continuously kissing her caramel-haired roommate.

She shouldn't be doing this.

No, this isn't what respectable young women do, is it?

The two grasped each other's hair, bodies close and hot. Kitten's heavy breasts pressed against Betty-Ann, who soon straddled Kitten as their mouths continued in blissful passion.

Betty-Ann's nightgown had slipped from her shoulder and she made no motion to fix it.

Instead, the two worked the maple dress off of the curvaceous body, revealing a black brassiere and white, cotton panties, the latter of which had become partially sheer from the wetness of her sex.

The freckled woman tossed off the short gown and pressed her foot against Kitten's sternum, pinning her against the bed before moving to kiss her neck.

God. She was surprisingly strong.

The women worked off Kitten's brassiere, and each now wore exclusively panties.

They shared kisses and cupcakes, soon covered in frosting and what couldn't be described as crumbs so much as whole desserts.

Betty-Ann's fingers slid toward Kitten's panties and hovered just above her clit.

"Could I..."

"Yes. Please."

She palmed between Kitten's thighs with one hand and started smooth circles around the eager clit.

They locked eyes in a brief silence, broken by giggles when bits of strawberry plopped off of caramel curls.

Still, Betty-Ann kept a steady speed. Kitten moved her own hand toward the other's increasingly wet panties and with a mutual nod, began doing the same.

Tight against each other's bodies, they shared soft moans and whimpers.

Heat rising even further. More and more. Breasts heaving, breaths quickening till Betty-Ann fell to another part of the bed, lightly panting and evidently dazed.

Kitten joined and cradled her roommate, resting in silence amidst the absolute mess of desserts strewn everywhere, and rather surprised about the brief encounter herself. She hadn't quite 'finished' as she would on her own, but there was something unusually pleasant. Something beautiful.

It was pure bliss when she ultimately allowed one of her feet to drift off the side of the bed without much notice and was very quickly attacked by a certain tortoise-shelled cat beneath the bed.

Her leg shot in the air, away from the feisty feline, and she couldn't help but laugh.

"Damn." Kitten said. "She's patient; I'll give her that."

Betty-Ann laughed too. "Champagne's really very sweet. She just doesn't trust you yet."

"And will she ever actually trust me?"

"Find out."

With a puff of air through the nose, Kitten smiled.

"...maybe I will."