Roomies Ch. 01

Most people don’t believe me when I say it, but when I posted that notice seeking a roommate, the last thing on my mind was the possibility that a guy would answer. I mean, this is the South; gentlemen don’t room with ladies, that’s just the way it is. And besides, would any guy be so desperate and stupid as to think that a girl with half a brain wouldn’t see right away that he wasn’t looking for a roommate, but a fuck buddy?

Still, on Saturday, while lounging around the house, I got the call:

"Hello."

"Uh, hi. I’m calling about the roommate ad on the bookstore bulletin board?"

I was taken aback, to say the least. The voice was the yet unripened thrum of a young man.

"You did see my name at the bottom of the ad? Melissa Sterling?" I said, getting right to the point.

"I saw it."

"Yeah, well...I’d be your roommate. You know, a girl."

There was a pause, and I was sure he must be about to hang up in embarrassment and disgrace, like all the other fleshmonger guys out there. Chalk up another win for Melissa! Another one bites the dust! But then:

"Well that’s not your fault," came the quip. His voice became lighter, and he chuckled.

"You’re hilarious," I returned, "but this roommate position is for a female only. Sorry."

"All I’m asking for is a shot. Guys gotta have a place to live the same as girls, right?"

"Yes, well sure," I said, sighing. "If you wanna come interview for it, you can, but you’d better be the best goddamn roommate I’ve ever seen. And by the way, I’m not a very attractive girl, I hope you can live with me."

"No offense, Miss Sterling," he said, "but I’m not the least bit interested in anything but your living space."

I did take offense to that. Just what kind of guy goes around not being interested in beautiful girls? Just seconds before, I had been berating men for their lusty natures, and now I was lamenting this one’s absence of lust! I smiled at my absurdity.

"So come on over. Do you know the address?"

"Yeah. Be right there."

And he wasn’t lying. He was at the door before I’d gotten showered and dressed. I heard his knock as I was frantically trying to get my jeans on and tidy up the place. Eventually, remembering that this guy didn’t have a chance in hell to be my roomie, I buttoned my jeans, tossed my damp auburn hair over my shoulder and opened the door.

Sunglasses. That was the first thing I noticed, the way his mirrorshade sunglasses fit so snug against his high cheekbones, and how his square jaw oozed confidence. His rich, dark black hair was gelled to look prickly. He wore a red muscle shirt, which conformed perfectly around his broad chest and lean torso. His jeans fell in creases and folds down his long, lean legs. I had to admit, if I was going to share a place with a male, this one would be my pick.

"Hi," he said, "Melissa, right?" I noticed a slight wrinkle at one corner of his mouth, and I guessed the cause of his masked delight. I’d lied to him about my appearance. I was a buxom, fit, attractive nineteen-year-old college cutie, and he’d noticed. I smiled inwardly.

"Yup," I returned. He held out his hand for a handshake, and I took it. His grip was strong, but gentle. It gave me the feeling he could crush my hand to pulp in an instant, but instead he held it lightly, as one might hold a fragile egg.

"C’mon in," I said, turning with false nonchalance. I led him into the spare bedroom of the house. It was Daddy’s house, one he had gotten sick of renting to college students, so, to save money on a dorm for me, he allowed me to live there. And because I was such a daddy’s girl, he also said I could rent out the guest bedroom and keep the money, as long as I did all the landlording myself. It was a pretty sweet deal, three hundred dollars a month was a lot of money for a ninteen-year-old girl such as I was. Still, I knew daddy would be very much against my having a man in the guest bedroom. But then, he never specifically said I couldn’t!

I interviewed the young man for almost an hour. His name was Ryan, and he was originally from Iowa. The most surprising thing about him was that he was a physics major. Imagine that! This hunk of stud meat from Iowa was a fucking physics major! When I asked him how the hell that happened, he just grinned a sexy impish grin and said, "Well would you have thought a runty Jewish dropout would’ve come up with E=MC2? We physics types like to break the molds. Imagination, that’s what physics is all about." We talked for a long time about string theories and space-time and such, and somehow Ryan made me interested in physics. Me! The English major!!

After the conversation, he stood up, towering over me as I lounged on the couch.

"I’d better get going," he said. "Good to meet you, Melissa Sterling." He grinned that grin again, and headed for the door.

"When can you move in?" I called after him.

"See ya tomorrow," he said without missing a beat. He closed the door behind him.

I sat daydreaming in the waning evening light. Somewhere in my mind, I was teaching that boy a lesson in "physical" science the likes of which he’d never seen.

***

Ryan showed up with his check the afternoon of the next day. He paid two months rent in full, and signed the rental agreement that he would also pay half the utilities. After only a week of moving, during which I much enjoyed watching his college boy friends grunting and heaving furniture every evening after classes, Ryan was settled. I had money in my pocket, and a polite, intelligent, and responsible roommate. Life was good.

And so it went for several weeks. We drew boundaries, Ryan and I. He insisted that I NEVER enter his bedroom nor even take a peek inside without asking first. I was fine with that. And we scheduled "bath times" at opposite ends of the day, so that neither of us had to awkwardly pass the other in our bathtowels at the bathroom door. Ryan was clean and neat, considerate, and a wonderful roommate in general.

It was in October when everything changed. Angie, my best girlfriend ever since we were little kids, came over to watch Seinfeld, as had become ritual for us. Angie is an Autumn all the way, with beautiful brown hair and tan skin. Her eyes are rich mocha, and her face and body betray that she has more than a little sprinkling of Latina heritage. Her body is long and lean; every part of her, from her arms to her legs, to the drooping folds of her pussy is long and slender. She and I look different as night and day. My skin is very fair, turning especially pale in the cold months. My hair is a lighter brown, though I color it darker. My eyes are a plainer shade of earth tone than Angie’s, but my breasts, my most prominent feature, and the one I am most proud of, are considerably larger than hers. "Veiny Tits" she called me, though they weren’t. They were surprisingly firm, thanks to an old trick my mom, whose genes carried these babies down through the generations to me, taught me about using firming lotion and very very tight brasierres.

"Hey, that roommate of yours is screwin’ around outside," Angie said, as we lay sprawled over one another on the soft couch. Our wrestling matches for control of the remote were legendary.

"He’s ‘stargazing,’" I said, not caring. I’d lusted after Ryan plenty of times here at the window of the den.

"Mmm mm," Angie said, slinking catlike over to the glass. "He’s cute. Have you fucked him yet?"

"Geez Angie," I said, shaking my head. "I don’t fuck every cute guy who comes down the pike!"

"I bet you’d love to go down that pike, liar," she giggled. Ryan must have heard her, because he stood up from looking into the eyepiece of his telescope and turned toward the window. He offered a friendly wave to Angie, as he always did.

"Maybe I’ll fuck him then," Angie said, letting the middle finger of her right hand extend. She stood there in the window, flipping off a surprised Ryan.

"Get away from the window, and stop bothering him!" I cried, but was ignored. Angie let her extended middle finger relax, then promptly placed it between her lips and sucked languidly on it. Ryan stared like a deer in headlights for a moment or two. Then he smiled, and turned back to look into the eyepiece.

That was a mistake. Angie was a sweet girl, but never one to take rejection lightly. In fact, her temper was more than a temper; it was a phenomenon.

"Mother fucker!" she shrieked, pounding on the glass of the window. Ryan didn’t respond, just stayed crouched in the grass of the backyard, peering into the drawing twilight.

"Serves you right!" I chortled. "See? He’s not interested. Ryan can get a lot better pussy than that slop in your pants, so get back over here and watch tv!" I couldn’t help it. Every time Angie got worked up, I had to pour oil on the fire. Rage was an addiction for her, but watching her rage was an addiction for me!

Besides, she stormed out of the den toward the back door with such ferocity that I couldn’t have calmed her if I tried. She burst out of the doorway and into the backyard, emerging like an autumn thunderstorm from the porch.

Ryan looked up this time, having heard the crash of the slamming door. He flinched only for a second as he saw Angie approaching. Angie said nothing, but came to a stop just a few feet away from him, standing over his crouching form with a look on her face that would have killed a lesser man.

I stood in the doorway, impotently watching the storm. I couldn’t tell what Angie was doing, but from where I was it seemed she was picking at her blouse. Then, to the surprise of both Ryan and me, she shrugged out of her unbuttoned blouse and let it fall to the grass. I could see her bare back, the dark creamy canvas of skin broken only by a thin bra strap.

Ryan’s mouth was agape. So was mine. Everyone stood speechless, motionless, for several long seconds.

"Oh my god Angie!" I laughed suddenly, leaning forward into a hearty giggle.

Ryan recovered. He stood, his eyes fixed firmly on Angie’s eyes, rather than her barely-covered breasts. That had to make her all the more pissed off. He seized her by the waist, pulled her lithe torso against his and, with a screwdriver he’d been using to adjust the telescope, he popped the strap of her bra clean off. Now the only thing between the night air and Angie’s perky breasts was the cloth of Ryan’s muscle shirt.

Angie had clearly lost the upper hand, as often happens when her rage takes her reason. It was her turn to stare dumbly into Ryan’s eyes. But he loosened his grip on her and leaned down. Angie’s body came away from his, her tits now fully exposed. Ryan took one in his hand and placed his lips over the hardening brown nipple. Angie slouched against him, her jaw slack and her eyes closed, obviously enjoying the mixed sensations of the cool air, a strong arm around her waist, and Ryan’s eager mouth suckling at her breasts. I was insanely jealous.

The laughter caught in my throat. I turned and went back inside, where I sat fuming on the couch, flipping through the channels. I wasn’t sure why I was so angry. I mean, hadn’t I told Angie a million times that I wasn’t the least bit interested in fucking my roommate? Hadn’t I denied every playful accusation she’d made about hanky panky between Ryan and me? Why did I care that they were out there fucking in the moonlight, and I was in here watching sitcom reruns! Somehow, it drove me crazy.

To be continued...