Housemates: The Newbie

Saturday, 11 August 2017

***

She wakes up with the sun

She asked me what is all the fuss

As she gave me more than she thought she would

(Song For My) Sugar Spun Sister - The Stone Roses

***

Graeme put the pillow over his head and mumbled an obscenity at his wafer-thin curtains. Their feeble resistance to the rising South London sun meant he was wide awake, and hungover, four and a half hours after going to bed.

Kicking off the duvet and wriggling free from his boxers, he stretches out and lets the sun warm his body. A softly spoken Scotsman from the Highlands, the heat's intensity surprises him and conjures up memories of holidays on the Med. And Graeme is on holiday - kind of. His second day living in London awaits him, a city of millions in which he only knows a handful of people. Revitalised by the promise of starting his life anew, he reaches down to discover he's knocked his glass of water over in the night. It was going to be that type of morning.

Reluctantly rolling out of bed and putting his feet on the sodden carpet, Graeme imagines walking to the kitchen nude and feels a surge of illicit, exhibitionist desire. Tying his dressing gown over his naked body, he heads downstairs. Swiftly drowning two paracetamol with a pint of water, he puts the kettle on and surveys the room. It is undoubtedly too small for the six people who share the house, and smaller even than the kitchen in the two-bedroom flat Graeme had all to himself in Scotland. However, it does have unmistakable signs - a lipstick-stained mug, kicked-off high heels under the breakfast table - that he will have female company in the house. He is grateful for this discovery as the possibility of sparks flying over the dinner table thrills him, and because living with five other men is a depressing prospect. Swiping a croissant on his way out, he heads back upstairs through the silent house.

He deposits the piping hot mug of tea and contraband pastry on the bedside table, clambers into bed and shrugs off the dressing gown. He's worked his socks off at the gym in the months leading up to the big move, and he's pleased with how muscular his arms, chest and thighs are - he even has 15% of a six-pack taking shape. Typically for a hangover, he is ridiculously horny and unable to focus on much beyond the thought of spending the day fulfilling the needs of a gorgeous, curvaceous and exceptionally demanding woman.

Picking up his phone and finding it dead, Graeme spends the next five minutes on his knees, ransacking his suitcase for his charger. Finally locating it already plugged in beside the bed - something he must have forgotten doing the night before - he collapses, heart thumping and light-headed.

He wakes 30 minutes later to a cold cup of tea and a rejuvenated phone. Graeme hoists himself up and logs into the dating app. It is still only 7.45am and, as he expected, there aren't many women showing up online. One profile, however, gives him a jolt. Cheeky, confident eyes gaze up at the camera, a knowing grin creeping across her face. Her hair is blonde and tied up, and she's wearing a faded pink jumper - the pic cutting off just below her shoulders. It's the classic girl next door look, and Graeme loves that.

Bringing up the profile, he is disappointed to find no other pics and scant detail. However, there are a few exhilarating tidbits: Lauren (35) lives less than one kilometre away and has specified herself as 'Curvy' in the obligatory body-type category. Deliberating, Graeme settles on a message that he suspects makes him sound like a huge dork, sinks his cold tea and heads for a cool, refreshing shower in the en-suite.

***

Lauren groans and pulls down her eye mask when her phone rumbles on the bedside table. Her plan to kick the weekend off with a big sleep has been ruined by an inconsiderate twat (Lauren is prone to swearing in the early hours) crashing around the house in the early hours. She'd slept fitfully afterwards, and even the eye mask and a herbal tea had failed to work their magic.

In truth, she is upset and pissed off with herself for being upset. Three weeks earlier, her boyfriend - a self-professed feminist - had called it off while they were lying in bed. He'd thoughtfully set out some of the ways she could have kept him, including wearing her scruffs less often and wearing make-up more often. By the time he'd finished, she felt furious and humiliated in equal measure. He had, of course, managed to get one last fuck out of her the day before his big reveal, breathing a heartfelt 'I love you' into her ear before shuddering and rolling over.

Ripping off the eye mask and throwing it across the room, she picks up the phone. She rolls her eyes at a notification from the dating app she'd joined the minute her ex had skulked out of her life. Since then, she'd received scores of messages running the gamut from bland to lewd while skipping interesting and charming. It was exactly as her friends had warned her, but still utterly depressing.

Opening the message, she is surprised to find that a modicum of effort had gone into it and that the author is semi-literate.

'Hi Lauren, up with the morning sun too? I'm Graeme and new to London - it's literally my second day here. I'm Scottish so if you like incomprehensible accents and men in skirts, I'm the man for you! Expect you're ready to embrace the weekend rather than lolling about in bed like me - what do you have planned?x'

Pulling up his profile, Lauren finds herself looking at a man in an anorak, beaming ear-to-ear on top of a mountain. His glasses are partially steamed up and he is wearing a woolly hat, so she can't really tell if she fancies him or not. However, the puppy-like joy emanating from the photo is endearing - albeit unlikely to survive repeated jostling into assorted armpits by arseholes on the tube.

There are three other pictures - a good sign - featuring Scottish Graeme: in an old man's pub, on a field having a picnic on an overcast day, and taking a selfie of himself in his bedroom (fully clothed - again, a good sign). Each photo displays the 'I've just won the lottery and as I'm such a nice guy, I'll donate half to charity' smile and round John Lennon glasses that he just about pulls off. He has a dark and rigidly gelled block of hair on top of a rather square face, and the overall effect is of a benign Lego man.

She sends a message back and regrets chucking the eye mask.

***

Towelling off, Graeme returns to a room that is at least 5 degrees hotter than he'd left it and stinks to high heaven of excreted booze. Instantly clammy, but feeling surprisingly perky, he throws open all the windows. He picks up his phone to find a message.

'hi Graeme, welcome to the city - I can picture you now - shorts, socks in sandals and camera round your neck, ready for ur open top bus tour. am also a little insulted - do I look crazy enough to be out of my bed before 8 on a saturday'

Stretching out on the bed, he crafts a reply and presses send just before his glasses steam up completely.

***

Graeme's reply pops up as Lauren is lusting over Dyson fans and contemplating adding to her credit card debt. The bedroom is disgustingly hot already and her twin hand-me-down fans, despite their whirring, barely ruffle her hair. 


'Thanks for the reply Lauren and I'm glad you're still in bed, an early start 5/7 days of the week is surely enough! Socks in sandals is a great look, thanks for helping me choose today's outfit 🤓 Tbh, my biggest challenge today is meeting my new housemates without smelling like a brewery (night out with new team from work last night). How are you coping with the heatwave? G x'

Again, top marks for effort, although, like the John Lennon glasses, she can't quite reconcile the breezy 'G x' with the goofy guy she is sure is behind the profile. Or maybe she is overthinking things? Besides, something else has piqued her interest, and she decides to investigate.

***

Trying and failing to pay attention to his book, Graeme pounces on the phone as soon as it pings.

'am coping OK thnx - i have a fan either side of me and a man wafting me with a palm leaf. ur housemates are in for a treat, did u move in yesterday, is it a big house?'

Sitting up, Graeme tries to decipher how suggestive the message is. On the one hand, Lauren may be wittily planting a seed that she'd like a submissive man in her bedroom - possibly wearing a toga. On the other hand, she's fired off a two-sentence reply to be polite, and Graeme is, as usual, getting much too excited.

Deciding to risk being risqué, Graeme presses send and wonders how to make a toga out of bedsheets.

***

As expected, her message was read on arrival, and a reply sent in a matter of minutes - Graeme is certainly enthusiastic. 


'Lol, I love the set-up you have going on there, is he peeling grapes for you too? And how can I apply for the job?! Yeah in yesterday and then straight out with my new team so today's going to be interesting 😅 And yeah it's a big house, why do you ask? G x'

Lauren raises her eyebrows and feels her body come alive. Graeme's response has all but confirmed her hunch while awakening an urge that surprises Lauren with its existence. Glancing about the room, she winces at the mess and worries about how she smells after the hot, airless night. She writes a response and has a quick tidy before heading for the shower, all the while convincing herself that she will not, under any circumstances, do anything stupid.

***


While continuing with the weird estate agent vibe, Lauren's next message makes Graeme do a little groan.

'im just curious about the house, want to make sure uv made a good choice. how close is it to the tube? and im afraid the job comes with very strict criteria and a rigorous evaluation process - r u sure ur up to it?'

Worried that he's misreading things and about to blurt out some horrendous perversion, he's happy the house question allows him to divert the conversation away from the increasingly suggestive flirting.


***

'To be honest, right now I'm not sure I'm up to making it down to the kitchen for another cup of tea! But I'd certainly be eager! Err I guess the tube is really close by - I live just around the corner. Do you live nearby too? You'll have to send me some recommendations! G x'

Lauren closes her eyes and tries to calm her nerves. She has a decision to make, and she is worried the wrong part of her body will make it. But, as her original plan for the morning was to scrub out the mildew from her shower, she decides her brain can take a running jump and give her pussy some power.


***

'its a shame ur not up to making it down to the kitchen...'

***

'Lol err why is that? I do need to hydrate!'

***


'not to scare you but... im 95% certain im in the room above you 🙀'

***

'Oh wow 🙈are you sure! It's on Newtown Road... near the Tesco'

***

'yeah thats us. im in the penthouse suite up top. you woke me up when you came in last night you know... i hope ur going to be a better housemate than that from now on'

***

'I'm so sorry, I don't usually drink that much anymore. I honestly have no idea what I was doing when I got home 🙈 Does it bother you that I live here, I don't want to make you feel awkward on my first day!x'

***

'im sure i can cope with you living here as long as you behave a bit better. now... how are you going to make up for waking me up in the middle of the night?'

***

'Oh um I'm not sure - I could get you some bubbles or chocolate maybe? I am sorry!x'


***

'u could get them but theyre not going to do me any good now... im a tired and grumpy lady. why dont u get urself downstairs and make me a cup of tea?'


***


'I could definitely do that 🙈 how do you take your tea? Shall I just leave it by the door? I'm going to be so shy actually meeting you now you know 🙈xx'

***


'are you seriously going to make me get out of bed for the tea? u can come in but keep ur eyes to urself. as for how i take my tea u can guess... u can always pop downstairs to make me a new one if i don't like it'

***

'OK, I'll give it a go! I guess I'll see you in five minutes or so... eek! 🙈xx'


***


Graeme waits a few moments for a reply and then stands up, feeling as volatile as a teenage boy at his friend's sister's 21st birthday pool party. If he has read the signals right - and he is pretty confident he has - he is heading into the hottest date of his life a shell of a man. As well as being hungry and hungover, there is a serious risk he will spontaneously ejaculate into a cup of tea.

On the other hand, he knows nothing about Lauren and has only seen one picture. He has also listened to enough true crime podcasts to conjure up grisly fates for himself. The naive Scotsman who delivered himself to a depraved maniac, armed only with a cup of tea and a raging erection. Frontpage of the Daily Mail, easily.

While this is unlikely, he realises that 'Lauren' will bear no resemblance to the person he's feverishly imagining - meaning an extremely awkward encounter and Graeme having to find a new place on the other side of the city. He also isn't conceited enough to know that he could be just as big a letdown for Lauren, which is only slightly less terrible than being murdered.

Nevertheless, he has committed himself, and all that is left to decide is his outfit. Pulling on the robe and looking in the mirror, he's disconcerted to see the prominent and protruding mound his erection makes in profile. While the size of it does seem flattering, Graeme is also aware that he looks completely ridiculous. Conscious that minutes are ticking by, he rifles his suitcase for his best pair of underpants (one of his better finds in TK Maxx - a pair of black, tight CK boxers), gym socks and a light, white t-shirt. Throwing them on, and tucking his hard-on in the waistband of the CKs, Graeme re-robes and heads back to the kitchen again.

***

A brew in each hand, Graeme passes his door, and that of an unidentified neighbour, and heads up a narrow flight of stairs to the top room. The stairs turn out to be creakier than an 18th-century galleon and Graeme becomes increasingly nervous as each step telegraphs his arrival. Arriving at the top with his (mercifully, navy coloured) dressing gown damp and warm with tea, Graeme nudges the slightly ajar door open with his shoulder and enters.


The room is bathed in bright light, filtered through a partially drawn blind. In contrast to the sour afterglow of a night's boozing percolating through Graeme's pit, the sweet aroma of favoured perfume hangs in the still and stuffy air. Despite two fans chugging away either side of the bed, the room is roasting - a malignant receptacle for all the heat of the house.

Looking cool and serene, Lauren is sitting up in the bed, impervious to the inferno around her. Her long, blond hair is damp, and square reading glasses with a black, thick rim just about fail to hide tired and slightly puffy eyes. She's caught the sun the day before, and her nose is a little pink. Graeme is relieved that she is just as pretty as her picture.

Lauren's hair falls down onto plump, bare shoulders, which Graeme immediately registers to be unadorned of straps of any kind. A sheet is pulled just under her armpits and the undulating yumminess of her body, accentuated through the thin material, causes Graeme's hard cock to give an exuberant push against the waistband of his boxers.

Her knees are pulled up, circled by her arms, and Graeme glimpses a deep and ample cleavage where her breasts have been squished together. The bunching of the sheet where she sits offers a tantalising glimpse of a big and luscious bottom.

"Oi, I thought I told you to keep your eyes to yourself."

Graeme's reverie is interrupted by a broad Lancastrian accent, laced with admonishment. Glancing up, he is relieved to see a grin on Lauren's face.


"Oh, ahem, um, I'm sorry." His cheeks burning up, Graeme imagines Lauren telling her pals about some sweaty, beetroot coloured Scotsman who delivered half a cup of tea, while ogling her. Realising that Lauren expects him to finish his sentence, he asks where the teas should go. Nodding at her bedside table, she then invites him to pull a chair in the corner of the room beside the bed.

Hyper-aware of his erection, Graeme crosses his legs on sitting down, inadvertently causing the dressing gown to slide over his knee and down his thigh, in a way that may have been seductive had he not been wearing white, calf-hugging gym socks. Lauren, still silent, is observing him with an amused look on her face.

"It's really hot in here," said Graeme, weakly.

"So take off all your clothes?"

"Really?" Graeme's mouth is suddenly very dry.

"I'm kidding, it's that Nelly song."

"Oh! OK, yeah, of course!" Lauren continues to watch him. "I, um, hated that song at uni." She continues to watch him. "There was that song, Ignition Remix, Mr Brightside and that Fatman Scoop one - every night."

"And Summer of 69."

"Oh god, Summer of 69, I'd pay to never hear that again."

Lauren smiles, "Well, at least I know I'm not going to have Bryan Adams' greatest hits being pumped through my floor and pissing me off."

"Oh no, I'm not a fan of Mr Adams."

"Probably preferable to clattering about in the middle of the night though."

"I'm so sorry about that. Is that how you knew?"

"That you were underneath me?"

Graeme feels his cheeks prick again. "Yeah."

"Well, I knew we had someone new moving in and that he's a boy and Scottish. So seemed a safe bet."

"It's such a coincidence isn't it!"

"It is quite. And if I was wrong, it was fun imagining you barging into someone's room with a cup of tea."

"Mean. I could have got in trouble."

"I was hoping you'd walk in on some early morning nookie", Lauren said, dropping another sexual reference and enjoying Graeme's squirming.

"They probably would have enjoyed some refreshment in this heat," Graeme said, amazed he'd come up with a vaguely witty retort.

"A mid-intercourse tea break? Are you sure you're not English?"

"Aye, positive. Although I do love a tea."

"Shall we?" said Lauren, nodding to the steaming mugs.

"Definitely, I need to defeat this hangover."

Drinking their teas offers a chance to take stock.

Graeme, peeking over the rim of his cup, sees Lauren hold the sheet over her breasts with one hand and reach over to the table with the other. The conversation has flowed, and he's not mangled his words which, considering the circumstances, is miraculous. She's gorgeous and self-assured, and he wants to quit while he's ahead. He resolves to finish the drink and get out of her hair. Hopefully, she'll agree to a drink sometime that weekend - his treat for being a drunken oaf the night before.

Lauren sips the tea and dribbles it back into the mug. Graeme, for all his virtues (and she has to admit, there seem to be a few), for some reason considers a brew to be best served laden with sugar. First impressions are good. He's a big, bulky boy and the heft of his presence feels strange after the minuscule dimensions of her ex. She was initially worried that his nervousness is a sign of chronic diffidence. Pleasingly, he's now relaxed a little and isn't shaking too badly. Glancing up, she sees hungry eyes frantically divert away from her breasts and feels surprisingly in control of the situation.

"So, Graeme..."

"Yeah?"

"Talk me through the outfit."

"Mine?"

"Do you want to talk about my outfit? It won't take long."

"Well," said Graeme, shifting in his seat and reverse crossing his legs, "I guess I wouldn't know because of the, erm, sheet. But, in terms of what I'm wearing - it's classic morning loungewear, um, ensemble. I guess."

"It's a little risqué though, isn't it? I mean, meeting a girl for the first time and you're in your undies."