The Only Fan

I swung the door open for the tenth time that week. "So, this is the room," I said with a fake, put-on smile. These showings had become nothing but a chore as I'd encountered unsuitable failure after unsuitable failure. "As you can see, you'll have your own bed, desk, television and closet. The bathroom and kitchen are shared, as well as the lounge area down the hall. You're free to use them all, but I only ask that you clean up after yourself and treat the place as if it was your own."

The guy nodded approvingly and took a step into the room. He stood beneath the light fixture and spun on the spot, before taking out his phone and snapping a few photos. "I'm surprised by how roomy it is," he said with a thumbs up. "It looked a lot smaller on the ad."

"Yes, those photographs weren't the best. My ex, errr, roomie took them after they cleared their stuff out."

"Why did they leave?" He asked. "If you don't mind sharing?"

I eyed his nosey face. "Change of job. Had to move to a new city."

"Right." He nodded then looked around the room one more time. He seemed quite detailed in his approach, kneeling to slide open the drawers beneath the bed and trailing his finger along the desk while looking for dust. "All looks good," he added. "I was just wondering if we could talk about the price?"

I failed to hide the souring in my face. Every single person who had come to view the room thought that we were negotiating in a market stall or something. I hated haggling while I was holidaying abroad and on the look out for souvenirs. I was hardly going to play the game while renting out the spare room in my own home, was I? "How do you mean?" I asked, already knowing where this conversation was going.

He stood to his full height and looked down at me. "Well, the advert said it was £950 a month, right? I appreciate the room is large and the location is fantastic, but I was wondering if there was any leeway in that?"

I sighed. "No, there isn't, I'm afraid. I have a mortgage to pay and I'm barely covering the payment as it is."

"I can offer you £700 a month right now."

I fidgeted on the spot and could feel the heat rising on my back. I hated these kind of awkward negotiations because I was always one to cave in. However, on this occasion my hand was truly forced. "There really isn't any wriggle room on this."

"Well, I'm afraid it's too much for me."

I grit my teeth in frustration. "So, why did you come to see it, may I ask? The price was quite clear in the advert."

"I figured I could sweet-talk you down," he said with a smirk. "Especially when I read you were a single girl. You want to grab a coffee or something?"

I rolled my eyes and ushered him out.

Once he was gone, after twice asking for my number outside, I looked over the list of suitable flatmates. "Bye Peter," I said, while crossing out his name on the list of viewings. "Congratulations on being another waste of my time." There was a whole page of black lines by this point with only a single unblemished name at the bottom: Olivia. I checked my watch. She was due in the next few minutes and I was already foreseeing the impending failure coming my way.

Either Olivia would be a student who couldn't afford the rent, come along with a boyfriend that she would try to convince me to move in as well, be a smoker or the creme de la crap of the bunch: bring along a pet with her that I'd clearly stated were not welcome. One girl had actually brought along photos of her pet rat that she was excited for me to meet. There had already been enough rats living in this place and I wasn't about to let another waltz through the door.

I lamented that Alex had actually done this to me. The truth was there had been no change of job and he certainly hadn't been a roommate. I'd bought this place after an inheritance from the death of my father had allowed me to put down a deposit. I'd even sort of done so as kind of a tribute to him, as it was in the same pleasant area that he'd grown up. Alex, my boyfriend during that time, had moved in with me and helped to cover the mortgage payments on the understanding that if we later got married then it would be a shared asset. However, what I didn't realise was that while I was out at work during the day; I had an extra roommate by the name of Betsy. One day I finished early, came home, and found Betsy more comfortable in my own bed than I'd ever been myself. Betsy was given her marching orders shortly after and Alex went along with her.

As a result, I was trapped in a mortgage that I couldn't afford on my own, which had led to the search for a new flatmate. I wasn't exactly snooty or anything in my demands. I just wanted someone that was clean, respected my property and wasn't a complete weirdo. I'd read all sorts of horror stories and the last thing I wanted was a guy that sniffed my underwear in my absence.

The doorbell rang and I closed my eyes, holding my hands together and praying to someone up above, whoever was listening. "Please be the one, Olivia, I can't take this anymore."

I opened the door and was immediately disappointed. Another bloody student, and this one looked like she was barely out of high school! She couldn't have even been in her twenties yet. She was a frail little thing with a pale, plain face that was dwarfed by flowing brunette hair and a fringe that hid away her forehead.

"Hi there," she said in a well-spoken, posh voice. "I'm here to take a look at the room?"

I was about to just turn her away. I mean, it was blatantly obvious from the way she was dressed that she wasn't going to be able to afford the rent. Her clothes all appeared oversized and as if she'd plucked them out of the bargain bin at the mall. On her feet were an old pair of Converse and she looked as if she needed a makeover. But then, I recalled that she was the last one I had lined up to view the room. If Olivia wasn't suitable, then it would be back to the drawing board. Perhaps she was a trust-fund baby that was going through some strange phase where she dressed as if she was poor to appear grounded.

"Certainly," I said with a fake-smile and an outstretched arm that welcomed her in. "Right this way."

As we made our way through the apartment, I pointed around and explained certain expectations I had. "This is a shared area," I said while waving my hand around the kitchen. "You're welcome to use everything, I just expect you to clean up after yourself."

Olivia nodded at my words and shrugged her shoulders. "That seems fair." The same response followed as we passed both the bathroom and the lounge.

Once we entered the spare room, Olivia strode away and began analysing every corner of it with precision. She tapped the walls with her knuckles and held her ear to the bricks. "Impressive," she said while pursing her lips. "Quite thick. Can you hear through the walls?"

"Ummm, I'm not sure, I haven't really tried." I rolled my eyes. If she thought she was bringing back a different guy every night then she'd be sadly mistaken. Of course, if she had a regular boyfriend or the like then he'd be more than welcome to visit, but I was hardly going to approve of a different guy joining me for breakfast every morning.

Olivia seemed to notice the cogs turning in my head. "I'm just a private person is all." She took a step towards the door and closed it, sealing us both inside the room. She leant and tapped the door handle with her finger. "Is there a problem with me having my own lock on here?"

I blinked. "Well, I don't see why you would need one as I'll respect your privacy, but if it's a necessity, I have no problem, as long as you pay for it yourself."

She bit her lip and nodded, before taking another loop around the room.

"So, do you study at the university?" I asked.

Olivia let out a deep breath. "No, I'm just fed up of living with my parents and wanted my own space."

I watched her with interest as she moved around the room, appearing to size it up with an almost analytical scrutiny. "Do you work?"

"Kind of," she said without looking my way. "I do quite well."

"You know the rent, right?" I figured I'd get everything cleared up before I wasted anymore time.

"Yes." She looked over at me for a moment. "£950, correct?" She didn't even wait for an answer before she dropped her butt onto the mattress and bounced a few times to test its firmness.

"There's no wriggle room on that."

Olivia glanced down at the bed, then looked at me with curiosity.

"Oh," I rolled my eyes and took a step towards her with my hands raised. "I meant on the price, there's no wriggle room on the rent. Not the"--I gestured towards the bed--"not the, you know. You can wriggle on that all you want."

Olivia scrunched her lips as if she was supressing a laugh, but then she loudly slapped her thighs with her palms. "I'll take it," she said.

I was so unexpectantly taken aback that I was left momentarily confused. "Take what?"

Olivia looked up from the bed and offered me a quizzical expression. "The room, of course. I'll take it. When can I move in?"

"You're happy with the price?" I asked, I was so surprised that she hadn't attempted to knock me down on the rent that I wasn't entirely sure how to proceed. "You can afford it?" I eyed her scruffy clothes and beat-up Converse.

Olivia's face screwed up as if I had offended her. "Of course, I can afford it."

I sheepishly looked away in embarrassment. "You can move in whenever you like."

Olivia moved in the next day and I was looking forward to bonding with and getting to know this young girl who was now my tenant and flatmate. However, I was left alone in the kitchen that night. Olivia only left her room to occasionally use the bathroom, but other than that, I hardly saw her. The one occasion when we actually crossed paths was when she ordered some take-out food, but other than a polite smile when she came to collect it, we didn't exchange a word.

The next morning before work, while I enjoyed a coffee to wake me up, I felt overcome with disappointment that I'd opened my home to a hermit. She was likely a recluse, especially considering her chosen outfits, and any hope of gossiping over wine or day-outs together seemed far away. Of course, our age-gap didn't help. When we had signed all of the tenancy agreements, I noticed that Olivia was only 18 years old. I found her fascinating, being so young, and yet able to afford the rent so easily. She paid a deposit of a month up front without question, handed over the rent and then carried box after box of possessions into her room. Shortly after she'd moved in, she was off to the local DIY store to buy a latch and lock, and then I was abruptly cut-off from one area of my own home.

Day after day followed where Olivia barely left her room. I wouldn't see her over breakfast, then once I returned from a long day at work, I'd spend the evening either in the kitchen or lounge by myself. There was only a half-hour slot where we would share each other's company and it was while Olivia cooked herself something to eat. On the occasions where she ordered out, this slot would be reduced to minutes. Every time I saw her, she was always wearing a bathrobe and a pair of slippers. It was almost as if she spent the whole day lounging around in her pyjamas, but then, if she was paying the rent, who was I to interfere in her life choices?

While she would chop the ingredients on the days she cooked, I'd sit at the table with a glass of wine and attempt to make conversation, asking about her interests and family, but receiving only short answers in response. It was frustrating, as I didn't just want a flatmate, I wanted a friend too. Someone that could fill the gap in my life that Alex had left me with. Of course, not in a romantic way, but rather companionship. When I had put the advert up for the room, I wanted help with the mortgage, but also expected to gain a friend out of it. I'd envisioned us going on day's out together and sharing meals over a bottle of wine. Instead, I was living with a stranger that seemed to possess little interest in me.

As another day passed by, where I only caught a glimpse of Olivia as she collected another take-away before retreating to her room, I wondered whether our situation really was that bad. The girl was shy, quiet, but basically no problem at all. She always cleaned the kitchen on the few occasions she used it and never left the bathroom in disarray. In some ways, she was an excellent flatmate. She paid the rent on time and minded her own business while cleaning up after herself. She wasn't rude, loud or messy. Sure, she wasn't a friend, but she wasn't an enemy either. I thought back over some of the weirdos who had come for a viewing, and accepted that I'd done okay with Olivia.

However, one day, while sat alone in the kitchen, my curiosity was stirred when Olivia came down to collect yet another take-away.

"What's on the menu today?" I asked with a smile as she entered the kitchen, but then as she came into the light, I noticed something different about her. She was wearing her usual bathrobe and slippers, but her mouth was plastered in expertly applied red lipstick. Also, her cheeks were covered in foundation and blusher. This was obviously normal; I paid my own face the same attention every morning before work, and especially prior to a night out. However, what I found odd was that she hadn't bothered to do anything with her eyes. It was almost as if her face had been cut in half. There was this artistic make-up from the nose down, but everything above was plain and untouched. I was about to say something, but then had a light-bulb moment where I realised she was likely only half-way through her make-up when the doorbell rang for her food.

She smiled, took the meal and trudged off back to her room, those slippers slapping against her feet along the way. Seeing Olivia half made-up intrigued me, and I hung around in the kitchen waiting to see how she looked once she was finished. Perhaps she was going on a night out and I could tag along. Yet, I waited around, but Olivia never left her room again and I was painfully curious as a result. Why the hell was she wearing all of that make up and lipstick just to stick around in her room? What the hell was she up to in there? My interest was certainly piqued.

I knew it was wrong while I was doing it, but just before I was about to head to bed, I crept down the hallway towards Olivia's room. I had my ear up against the door while I desperately listened and tried to hear what she was up to in there. Perhaps it was completely innocent and she was just playing around with some new make-up. I'd even seen young girl's whose jobs were working as make-up artists on YouTube and maybe that's how Olivia made her money. With my ear to the door, I could hear her talking, though her words were mostly muffled.

I sighed, and was about to retire to my room, but then, her voice suddenly became louder and more forceful. "That's it, tell me how much you love my feet, you pathetic foot slut," I could have sworn I heard her say. "Tell me they're the most beautiful feet in the world."

I stood back away from the door in shock, my mouth hanging open. What the hell was she even talking about in there? She was this cute, innocent girl that looked like she hadn't hurt a fly in the world, and here she was talking about having the most beautiful feet in the world; was that even true? She was the most plain-looking girl I'd ever seen in my life. I visualised Olivia and the countless times I'd seen her, trying to picture her feet and wondering what constituted them being beautiful. As much as I tried to remember, I couldn't recall whether her feet could be considered pretty or not. I couldn't be sure I'd ever actually seen them. As far I as remembered, Olivia always wore slippers around the apartment. On the few occasions she'd actually stepped outside, she'd worn the same old Converse that she'd turned up to the initial showing in.

I couldn't stem my curiosity by that point, and my ear immediately returned to the door. This time I could hear a guy talking, "Yes, Goddess Sunshine," he said in an excited tone, as if he was on the point of bliss. "You have the most beautiful feet I've ever seen in my life."

"That's right." Olivia's voice seemed even louder through the door, and her posh tone was on par with some of my old strict school-teachers, not the young girl I thought I was sharing my home with. "You can't resist them, can you, foot boy?"

"Yes, Goddess," he said. "I just sent you another tip."

"Good boy," came her voice again. "So weak for my feet."

I backed away from the door again at the point I heard the guy groaning during what was clearly an orgasm. I crept to my own room and felt dirty beneath my clean sheets. What the hell had I let move in with me? She was a prostitute or at the very least some kind of dirty, sex call worker.

I thought back to what the pervert had called her, Goddess Sunshine, wasn't it? A moment later, I was firing up my laptop and searching for her on Google, curious if she had some sort of advert up. I mean, what if she was inviting guys over while I was at work? That was certainly something I was never going to stand for in my own house.

After a few minutes of searching on the net, I came upon an OnlyFans profile, Goddess Sunshine's Beautiful Feet, which made my heart race. I'd read about that site in the newspaper recently. Young girls were selling their bodies and making an absolute killing. I had to admit, I was tempted myself as I'd read the article, however, my body was hardly going to attract anyone to spend money to see it. But suddenly, things made sense about Olivia. She must have had this whole secret, seedy life going on, which explained how she was able to afford the rent at such a young age. She was selling her body online and I was completely disgusted by the whole thing. The only part I couldn't understand was that Olivia was such a quiet, average-looking girl. Why would anyone pay to see her? Especially the frumpy-looking clothes she always wore.

I already knew the next day we would be having a conversation, which would likely result in Olivia moving out. I just couldn't have someone like this under my roof, I mean, what if my friends, work colleagues or family found out? I'd never live it down that I had such vulgar activities going on in my own home. I could still hear the guy's voice and the desperate way he'd told her that her feet were so beautiful. Beautiful feet; I shook my head at the ridiculousness of the notion.

I looked back to my computer screen; was this actually Olivia's page, and if so, just how beautiful were these feet? Even though I had no interest in feet, I couldn't help my curiosity and clicked the page to find out. However, once it opened there were no clear pictures of her feet on offer. Instead, the profile picture was of her foot in a high heel, though covering the toes was a black circle with the word 'censored' written across. I actually groaned at being denied a clear answer to my wondering. I glanced down at the bottom of the page and saw that there were subscription prices. The cheapest was £50 a month and I couldn't believe that there were guys in the world that would pay that just to see feet.

I thought about all of the things one could do with £50. Enjoy a nice meal, buy a pretty dress or a nice pair of shoes, or instead spend it on an internet hoe just so you could look at her feet, of all things? It literally made no sense and was basically confirmation of the old adage that a fool and his money are easily parted. There was certainly no way I was paying to join her page, along with all of the other perverted idiots. I slapped my laptop closed and attempted to sleep, my thoughts filled with how I planned to have it out with her the next day.