The Odd Roommate

I'd like to describe a roommate I had early on, many years ago. To be honest, I really don't know if this is an erotic account or something for qualitative psychological research. This was during the mid-1990's before the internet was anything like it is now. While in quite a financial pinch, I posted an add at the university for a roommate and didn't have the luxury of being very selective. It was mid-term and not many students were searching for housing around this time.

After several stressful days, I finally received a phone call from a very chatty young girl who'd barely given me a second to speak. She said she was very excited when she saw the ad and needed a place as quick as I needed someone to move in. Within hours, Jamie had knocked on the front door. She gave a bright, almost giggly grin and waved her hand at me while I stood holding the door. Before I could even respond, her words burst from her mouth, "Hi I'm Jamie, this is so exciting I - whoa!" She interrupted herself when her eyes gazed over my shoulder toward the interior. Her eyes transfixed inside, she walked right past me as she let out a sigh of amazement scanning around the living room up and down and pacing the floor. Somehow, I was able to get through the tour and hold her attention long enough to understand that she was a student, wanted to live off campus and could easily make the rent and deposit - starting immediately. Having to choose between this odd girl and eviction, I was compelled to pick the former and before I could even explain my demand for haste, a signed check was in my hand.

This wasn't at all the oddest part of my first encounter with Jaime. As we were walking toward the door and she continued to ramble about her schedule and logistics of moving in, she walked right into the downstairs bathroom on the way toward the front door - still chattering on as she walked in, neglected to close the door, lowered her cache shorts, sat on the toilet and proceeded to pee right in front of me while I stood steps away from her in the doorway, all while still rambling on as if this were not actually happening. I couldn't even process the words that she continued to speak. I only felt my dry tongue as my mouth remained open in shock and confusion, hearing only the tinkling in the toilet and staring at her slender legs, nearly flinching my gaze as if I'd been staring at the sun. She proceeded to wipe herself, stand up, pull up her shorts and the only words I made out from that point forward were, "I'm so excited! I'll be back, see you soon!"

Now it is important to note, that there was some kind of social deficit going on. Jaime was the sweetest, prettiest girl you can imagine but just talked so much and so fast as if her mouth was unable to keep up with her thoughts. She'd ask questions and be on to another subject before you could open your mouth to answer. She had no friends over nor any phone calls. She just went to class and came home.

As for the odd habits, Jamie seemed extremely comfortable with me at home and seemed to have no notion of boundaries or limits, but all in the most innocent way. She walked about the apartment without pants or panties. In fact, the first thing that came off her body after walking in the front door were her shoes, pants and panties. They would at times pile up at the door and I found myself moving the piles to her room from time to time. She'd walk around the apartment, sit on the sofa, sit at the table to study, always without bottoms on. She had no notion of modesty. Don't get me wrong, this girl had an absolutely beautiful body but there was no apparent motivation for seduction or anything of the sort, as if sex was the last thing on her mind.

There was very little I actually knew about Jamie. I don't think she actually had any friends, or lovers. I don't know if she was gay or straight or asexual. She was absolutely the kindest person you'd ever meet, but distant and extremely inattentive. The girl was a complete mystery to me. What especially made it a mystery was her obsessive hobby - porn.

Now remember, this was the 1990's and porn was typically purchased on DVD, magazines and other forms of tangible media. Jaime's room literally had shelves and shelves of pornographic DVD's. Posters of porn stars adorned the walls of her room - male and female alike. This wasn't as much soft core models, but extremely hard core porn - group sex, anal sex, so on and so forth. You'd hear loud panting and moaning off and on throughout the day and night from her room as she kept movies playing constantly; she even slept with it on. She would drone on and talk about everything you could think of - distribution companies, porn star statistics and filmographies if you will, how scenes are produced, angles, lighting, how much cum was shot from an average male, etc. She was so fascinated yet critical at the same time. Here this girl walked around with no pants, she wouldn't masturbate or anything like that in front of me nor did she appear to get any apparent sexual pleasure. But, she was so descriptive and critical at the same time of what she was watching. She always had some critique or point out some area where there could have been improvement -"Oh my god! Oh my god! That's great DP right there... But zoomed in way too close... ruined" or "ugh, she's rubbing her clit the same way too long." There was always something wrong it seemed. Again, no thought of modesty or boundaries as she would watch this in the living room while I was present as if we were just watching sitcom reruns.

This leads us to the final situation that truly baffled me. One Saturday morning, I was sitting on the sofa edge, leaning against the arm while Jamie sat opposite leaning against the other arm. I was flipping through a book, oblivious of the moaning, slapping sounds from the television as I had grown accustomed to. As I was reading, something was odd this time... silence. No rambling on about a scene or a cock or camera angle, just silence. I looked up from my book and over toward Jaime as she sat with her legs widely apart, mouth hung open, taking deep gaping breaths. Her fingers were furiously rubbing between her legs as she stared transfixed at the screen. "Uhm.. uh.. Jaime?" I stuttered. She didn't respond, still staring at the screen, heaving breaths, thrusting two fingers deep inside herself, while the fingers from her other hand rubbed and agitated her clit. The sofa cushion beneath her bottom became saturated and soaked. The sloshing sounds from her thrusting fingers and her breath grew louder as she panted, "It's perfect... it's perfect." I looked at the screen, but I noticed no difference between this scene or the countless hours of other sex I'd seen on the screen over the past 6 months. I couldn't think of words to say, just watched as this happened in front of me. Suddenly, Jaime turned her head away from the screen right at me, and for the first time I could ever recollect made eye contact with me. Heaving and moaning, she looked longingly into my eyes and begged, "Please... please fuck me."