Roomers Ch. 01

Old theme, new treatment, I hope. Please remember to vote. I answer non-anonymous feedback. Satyricon

*

I watched her from my big bay front window as she went down the street, and felt the familiar slow burn of desire start in the pit of my belly. She was a walking wet dream, perfectly put together, packaged in real tight shorts and a skinny tank top, and she was going to be second floor back for the next year, unless she wanted to lose her security payment. Doesn't matter how cute they are, they pay a good deposit up front and the contract is for the whole school year. I don't like to waste my time interviewing fill-in renters because someone's dropped out or decided to go live with their significant other. This one would stay though. She was serious under the sexy frosting, and had made a point of telling me so. She was motivated and highly ambitious, she said, and getting a good degree was the most important thing in the world. I'd solemnly agreed and she'd signed the contract like a good girl and given me a check.

She turned the corner at the bottom of the street and all I was left with was the memory of her cute ass swaying as she strode. Second floor back, I thought pleasedly. If she turned out to be friendly, then maybe I'd hit the gym a little, work on a few logic problems.

Huh?

I'm not an ambitious guy. In fact, if you were unkind, you'd call me a slacker. If I've got a few bucks in my pocket and there's a little fresh pussy waiting for me somewhere, I don't bother with much else. People call me lazy, self-centred even, and mostly I agree with them

So it's a bummer that my one talent requires effort to get proper results. Such a bummer that I don't bother much any more. When I was younger, sure: I used it to get to where I want to be. Now I don't want to be anywhere else, so I've stopped all that stressful shit, and just try to steer events, not push them. Even that's more work than I like.

Where am I? In the mid-west, dummy, where I've always been. But not where I used to be. Towns of less than a thousand people are too restrictive. A medium-sized college town, large enough for everything but small enough for comfort, is just fine. That's where I am. Set yourself up right and life will come to you soon enough, and the time you spent running round looking for it can be profitably frittered away with a little good weed, a little good wine, a little good music, a few good books, stuff like that. Maybe little Miss second floor back would want to share some down time with her landlord when we knew each other better. Most of my time is down time, and being laid-back and undemanding pushes buttons for a lot of girls.

I said I wouldn't mind if you called me a slacker. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.

And the talent? Look at this way. Suppose you were born with stupendous hand/eye coordination and the potential to bat .800 in the major leagues. You'd be a pretty happy guy, right? And suppose you then discovered that raw ability isn't enough. If you want to be up there with Barry Bonds and the rest of them, then you have to train and practice, and practice and train, and eat a lot of shit with the coach screaming at you until you're sick to death of the feel of a bat in your hands. You need to be ambitious AND dedicated AND talented to make it to the Hall of Fame, right? I wonder how many potential Hall of Famers are flipping burgers for a living because they're missing the ambition and dedication. But that doesn't mean you can't have a lot of fun in the softball leagues.

That's my situation. Shit, not playing ball: I've got the hand/eye coordination of a starfish, but if I want to use my private talent then I have to train and practice, and practice and train. It's a mental gift, but for some dam' reason it doesn't work too good unless my body's in shape, and once that's done I need to get the old coconut in good working order as well. And on top of that I've got to want something real bad. So it takes a lot to get me off my ass, and even more to keep me off it.

I'm not being too clear...Might as well lay it out in a row. Right through High School everything was normal. I mean, I worried about the size of my cock, would I ever be sophisticated enough for Patty Dukes to agree to a date, was that a zit coming: typical stuff, until the day I got ambitious.

Don't ask me why I suddenly got the urge to go to college. Looking back, I guess the fact that Patty Dukes was planning the same thing had a lot to do with it; whatever, I woke up one day with a strange feeling that I ought to get in shape and work on my grades and plan to impress Patty, all at the same time. I recognize that feeling now. It's called motivation, and it's a dangerous tool in the wrong hands.

But once a kid gets the bit between his teeth there's no stopping. My Mom and Dad could scarcely believe it. The whole summer before senior year I got up early, jogged down to the 'Y', worked out, jogged back, hit the books till late afternoon, jogged down to the 'Y'... you get the picture? I didn't exactly gain or lose weight, but what I had kind of redistributed itself and firmed up pretty good too. I wasn't stopping traffic, but my social life improved a hell of a lot and I was able to stop worrying about size and concentrate on technique. That improved my rep too, and there were other fingerprints on my cock besides my own. Some lipstick as well. Not Patty Dukes' though: she spent summers with relatives at the beach and used to come back around Labor Day looking like about twenty-seven million perfectly tanned dollars.

Word got around that I was turning into your all-American scholar-athlete, and I discovered that thoughtful girls who relish intellectual conversation and deep thoughts leave lipstick traces exactly like cheerleaders do. They just want a more meaningful experience on the way. Fine by me. I can do meaningful real well when I need to.

It wasn't until the start of the school year that I noticed anything different. Hell, I didn't have time for self-analysis. The 'Y' and the books filled my days and my evenings were filled real nice too, and my nights were spent sleeping like a baby and recovering my strength. But as fall approached I began to feel that things were going too well. I mean, there were no hitches at all. Not anywhere. And when Patty Dukes blew back into town what happened made even an eighteen year old ego suspicious.

I can remember it so clearly. Even now the memory stirs me and I have to readjust myself and think cold thoughts, or else deal with the problem manually. Third day back in school and already teachers were congratulating me on the progress I'd made during the summer, Coach had suggested I go out for football, I'd found a cute little note stuffed under the door of my locker, and my Dad had suffered a brainstorm and bought me a used Ford Valiant. Very, very used, but the guts were in good shape and it did the job. Then the totally unexpected happened.

I'd hit the 'Y' after school to put in an hour on the machines. Boring as hell, but I'd got into the habit, and I'd discovered that mentally solving algebra and geometry problems while I worked out made the time pass quicker. Today though, I was thinking about Patty. The mindless, repetitive exercise had got me into a semi-trance and I was lost inside my head, working out the details of our conversation and how to handle myself. The scene became more and more real. Imaginary Patty was fascinated and wondering why the hell she'd never noticed me before and thinking that maybe she better make up for lost time. I had a sharp mental picture of her and it grew more and more solid until there was a kind of soft explosion between my ears and her image shimmered and faded. I came back to earth with a bang and realized that I was dripping wet, my arms and shoulders were hurting like hell and there was a small crowd gathered, looking at me with their mouths hanging open.

'You OK, Doug?' asked Sammy Knopfler. He looked kind of worried.

'Sure, dude. A little winded. I been working out hard, and you gotta expect some sweat.'

'Dude, you just pressed a hundred forty pounds eighty-three times without stopping. You gotta expect a little interest.'

'No shit?' I was a little startled myself at the news. 'I guess I was thinking about something else. I better shower before I start to stiffen up.' I eased myself off the bench and wobbled to the changing-room, my head still ringing.

Stiffen up is a mild phrase. The next day I could hardly lift my arms and my entire upper body was screaming for a lawyer. I had to ask my mom to drive me to school: it was that bad.

Physics lab was a bummer. My lab partner was missing and my forearms and wrists were so sore that I couldn't handle the delicate equipment at all. But then, when I'd knocked over the micro-balance for the third time and was staring at it in disgust, a voice sounded behind me.

'Need a hand, Doug?' Patty Dukes' voice. Something clicked into place and I turned and grinned ruefully.

'Two would be better. I went a little crazy in the gym yesterday and my arms are kinda sore.' She smiled and nudged me with her hip.

'Move over. I'll do the detailed stuff and you can make notes. Tammy said she got period pains and scammed the nurse into sending her home. We can be partners for today.' My head reeled. Both our lab partners out of the picture and a project that needed two people? I raised my eyes to heaven and muttered a silent 'thankyou'. Turned out we worked together pretty good. The class finished and we put the stuff away then grinned at each other. There was another click in my head.

'Good team,' I said. 'Thank God for kindness. Wanna coke or something after school? I don't think I'll be hitting the gym today.' She smiled again and there was a pleased look lurking behind the smile. I seemed to be saying the right things.

'Sure, and I can copy your notes. I'll need a set if I'm gonna write the stuff up properly.' Good point, I thought. The rest of the day dragged on and I rehearsed sophisticated banter in my head till we were slurping coke and relaxing.

'Your writing sucks, Doug,' she said irritably as she put her cup down. 'I can't read a word of these. Are your arms really that bad?' I showed her my wrists, still swollen and inflamed. 'Oh my word, you poor thing,' she gasped, and went into organizing mode. 'I'll drive you home and then go change, and come by in an hour. You can dictate the notes to me and we can print them right away. You good with that?' I'm excellent with that, I thought happily.

In the car she seemed nervous. She'd had to help me with the seatbelt, and I guess I'd reacted a little obviously to the feeling of her body pressing against mine as she reached for the strap and fastened it. As she drove her eyes kept flicking to my crotch. There was no doubt that I was sporting a chubby. She pulled up outside my house and we caught each other's eye; I managed to smile. Click.

'Sorry, I guess. Would you believe respectful admiration and not crazed lust?' She closed her eyes for a moment and shivered.

'Either,' she muttered, then flushed and looked surprised at herself. 'Go take a cold shower' she said quickly, 'and then read over those notes. I'll be back in an hour.' She leaned over and her lips grazed my cheek. I got out of the car and watched as it disappeared down the road. Cold shower, huh?

Actually I took a hot shower, and put myself through a lot of pain by washing all of me twice. I read in a magazine that most girls like clean. I put on a pair of old sweats and a T-shirt and was squinting at the notes when she rang the bell.

Good job the sweats were roomy. She was wearing cutoffs and a tube top, with a light sweater thrown casually over her shoulders. Her dark hair was damp from the shower too, and she had her physics books clasped to her chest.

'Ready to go?' I stood back to let her in and caught a whiff of perfume as she stepped past me. She's been to some trouble too, I thought.

'Upstairs, I guess,' I said. 'The computer's in my room and so are the books.' She was looking round curiously.

'Nice house. You got brothers or sisters?' I shook my head.

'Nope. I got mostly absent parents too. Mom works late and Dad works early and late and in between as well. We can call for pizza later if you're hungry.' Instinct, or something, told me that respectful admiration was the way to go. 'Business before pizza though, I guess,' I added quickly.

My memory was sharper in those days, before a slacker's lifestyle blunted the edges, and I could remember the parts of the notes that were plain impossible to read, so it wasn't much more than half-an-hour when she hit 'print' and leaned back and stretched. The posture forced her breasts up and out against the tube top and it looked as if her nipples had their own little chubbies too. I felt a twitch under my sweats.

'How come we never talked properly before?' she asked. 'I mean, last year I hardly noticed you, but this year... wow... something's different. You stand out a lot more, that's for sure. There's a lot of girl-talk about you, Doug. Did you know that?'

'I've spent the whole summer right here in this room studying, except for the gym sessions,' I said.

'You been out and about some,' she said, and grinned. 'Julie Anderson says you can lick the tip of your nose.' She sounded doubtful, and a little bit as if she couldn't believe her own audacity.

'Hell, I can do better than that,' I said smugly. 'Pass me those sunglasses.' She did as I asked and I slipped the shades onto my face. 'Now watch.'

I'd always thought it was a weird ability, but that summer I'd found out that it had its advantages. I curled my tongue out and up as far as I could and managed to slide the tip under the lens of the oversized aviator-style Raybans. A quick grimace and a kind of flick and the glasses fell off my nose. I caught them as they dropped and wiped the saliva off the lens, licking the tip of my nose as I did so. When I looked up Patty was slightly flushed.

'It's a gift,' I said. 'Are you OK? You look kinda uncomfortable.'

'Oh my word,' she murmured, then fanned her face with her hand. 'It's kinda hot in here. You mind if I have some water?'

'There's coke and juice in the fridge,' I said. You mind foraging for yourself? I tend to drop things at the moment.'

I watched her butt as it sashayed out of the room and tried to ease myself a little. The sweats were beginning to tent like Mount Hood so I moved off the chair and sat on the couch, aiming for relaxed. When she came back with a tray and a pitcher of juice I was leaning back, legs crossed, projecting cool as hard as I could. She poured and sat down next to me, handing me one of the glasses. I took it gingerly, wincing, and sipped. She watched me concernedly.

Those arms of yours must make stuff really difficult,' she said. 'Let me hold the glass.' She reached forward as she spoke and our hands bumped. My aching fingers slipped and a half pint of juice landed in my lap. I yelped and jumped, and the rest of the glass landed on her chest, leaving juice dripping down the slope of her breasts and darkening the material of the tube top and cutoffs. She shrieked and jumped up.

'Oh my word! Doug, I'm so sorry... oh wow, you're soaked, I'm soaked...oh my word...' her voice tailed off and I followed her gaze to my groin. The cold liquid hadn't had any effect and now something that was definitely more than a chubby was clearly outlined by the clinging, wet material of my sweats. As she stared, it jerked uncontrollably. The click happened again.

'Respectful admiration, Patty, I promise. I'm not going to jump on you. Lemme go clean up and change my pants though.' I tried to keep my voice light. Her face was crimson, but she didn't stop staring. Her nipples were pushing hard through the wet fabric of her tube top and her thighs were clenched together. She looked like a person making a decision.

'I'll help. Juice is just so sticky, and those pants oughta go in to soak straight away.' You're quite right, I thought delightedly.

'You're kinda wet too,' I pointed out. She looked down at herself.

'Oh my word. Where's the bathroom?'

'Behind you. Dad had it put in last year. To stop me interrupting him and Mom, he said.' Unexpectedly, she giggled.

'Good for him. Umm, Doug, can I say something?' My heart sank.

'Sure.' She bit her lip and looked good enough to eat

'I don't want you to think that I'm some kind of slut and I don't really unnerstand myself, and I'm kinda nervous,' she said, 'but I really wanna know if you do crazed lust as good as you do respectful admiration. Julie Anderson says you're excellent and I don't wanna feel all left out.'

'That Julie's got a big mouth,' I muttered. She giggled again.

'Me too, you'll see.' Her hand flew to her mouth. 'Oh my word. I can't believe I said that.' I was digesting that one when she pulled at the bottom of the tube top and wriggled and it suddenly bunched and flew up over her breasts as she hauled it over her head. Her face reappeared, flushed and expectant. 'Your turn.' She was leaning forward, still staring at the wet patch molding itself round my erect cock. I struggled to my feet, and hooked my thumbs into the waistband of the sweats, but my left hand jarred against my hip bone and I grunted involuntarily.

'Oh my word! You better let me. One thing first though.' She took a pace forward and stood very close to me, then put her arms round my neck and pulled me against her half-naked body. I could feel the hard points of her nipples drilling through my T-shirt and pressing against my chest so hard that I thought they'd draw blood. She tilted her hips so that her mound pushed against my erection, then raised her face and kissed me firmly, sliding through my lips with her tongue and searching for mine. When she released me her breath was coming a little quicker.

'Now we know each other properly. Mind your arms.' She squatted, the tips of her breasts sliding down my torso, and tugged at my sweats. They caught on the end of my erection and she bit her lip again and eased the material gently over the head. As they fell to my ankles she smiled and leaned back on her heels.

'Looks just like an excited prick,' she said. 'And a pretty good specimen too. Lift your feet up.' Click.

'Both of them?' She pretended to take a bite of my cock.

'One at a time, dummy.' She slipped the legs over my feet and stood up. 'You sure the house is empty?'

'I swear. Gimme your shorts and I'll put everything through a rinse/dry cycle. That'll deal with the sticky.' I looked at her challengingly, but she didn't hesitate. Her shorts were unzipped and off before I could draw breath, and she was suddenly wearing only a tiny scrap of bikini-cut panties. She looked down at them and shrugged.

'They're wet too. Put 'em through with the rest.' She slid the sheer material down her legs and stepped delicately out of them, then flicked her wrist and sent them spinning through the air to land neatly on my cock. She smirked.

'Played a lot of horseshoes this summer... Calling Planet Doug... Are you going to put 'em through the machine or stand there and look at me all day?' I realized that my eyes were hanging out of their sockets and my mouth was filling with drool. She was a real nice view. A smooth even tan, with surprisingly white triangles at breast and crotch where the sun hadn't shone. Hard brown nipples jutting from the pale flesh. Breasts that looked like part of an anti-gravity machine, but tasteful. A slim waist that turned into a gentle swell of hip and stomach, curving down to a neatly trimmed dark wedge of tight curls. Pink lips peeking through the fuzz. Smooth, firm thighs that looked as though they could squeeze real good. The click sounded in my head.