I pulled another mouthful from my Guinness and tried to concentrate on the paperback in front of me. The story was getting good, but how does a healthy straight male concentrate on Clancy with a gorgeous twenty-three-year-old nude doing her laundry in the next room?
Ronni's tits and bright smile popped out of the laundry room. "Brent? Are we out of bleach?"
She owned some real beauties too, genuine works of art, slightly uptilted with deep red areolas topping creamy skin encasing firm and ample flesh. Maybe they weren't as big as those of a centerfold, but they were for damn sure as pretty.
"Brent?" She singsonged with a smile, stroking strawberry-blond locks out of her face.
I scowled and shook my head to clear it. "Yeah, I used it up yesterday. I put it on the shopping list."
Her nose wrinkled up and she did a little frustrated up and down bounce that did bad things to my moral fiber. "I needed it for the next load. Guess I can run down to the store."
"Nah, I'll do it."
It'll get my mind off your tits!
I fished for my keys and slapped to make sure my wallet was there.
"Thanks! You're a pal!"
I'm a blueballed sucker,
I retorted silently as I escaped Nude Hell.
You knew damned well that jiggle would break down any possible resistance.
I could have tolerated a closet nudist as a roommate if she were a dumpy plain broad in her thirties. I'm good at ignoring the unpleasant. Ronni didn't fit any part of that description. She surely knew it too. She had to know why she got all those tips while slinging beer and hot wings, and why cars slowed down while passing her. All girls built that nicely know.
The woman at the supermarket checkout scowled at me until I realized my eyes had been working as hard as a teenager's to deconstruct her uniform and get at the goodies beneath. I escaped the store in considerable embarrassment.
Look, I never try to hide the fact that I like female bodies. Thing is, at my age I'm supposed to know how to do it in a more decent, appreciative manner, so that those who don't mind can enjoy the attention rather than be annoyed. The girls who do mind can go to hell, but I had no idea on which side of that line the cashier was, since any woman who wasn't working at a titty bar at the moment would surely object to the stare she was getting. Living with Ronni was totally screwing up my ability to interact with women normally.
And
that,
to my mind, was my actual problem. Ronni brazenly fucked with my mind daily, and it was beginning to influence me no matter where I went. I had tits on the brain like a fourteen-year-old boy.
When she first moved in, she'd acted completely normal. She made it clear she had no intention of being anything more than my room-mate. We set down strict rules of behavior, and I thought that was that. Two months later, she took a naked stroll through the house, just casually looking for some misplaced item. Why?
"I just felt like it. I like being without clothes but I don't have the guts to go to a nudist club with a bunch of strangers. It's okay here at home, 'cause I know you now."
I thought she might have been coming on to me, but she clarified that quickly when I tested the theory.
"Keep a normal, discreet distance, Brent. I like you, and you have permission to go right ahead and enjoy the view, but I do not want to have sex with you."
Then don't hand out raging hard-ons, dammit!
I drove home in as bad a mood as I'd been in when I left. When I entered the house with my grocery bags, she was standing in the middle of the living room next to the stripper pole, and she was still completely naked except for earrings and navel jewelry. She'd shaved recently too, I noted.
She looked slightly damp... had she been using that thing? I had bought it and an instruction DVD three weeks prior as an attempted counterattack to her nude romps. The first time she saw it, I told her that if she insisted on behaving like a stripper, then she needed a pole. It was nice one, too, with bearings to allow it to spin and everything. I paid three hundred for it.
It was a total failure, of course. She wasn't offended or embarrassed in the least. In fact she smiled and thanked me. The exact same sunny, innocent smile she wore now as she came up to take the bag with the bleach.
"Hi!" She greeted me brightly. "Thanks!"
As she sashayed away, her equally luscious rump now enticing me-- compact, but round and equally firm-- she added, "Don't forget to put the receipt in the box." Meaning the metal box where we kept household receipts marked with who paid for them. We totaled them up at the end of the month and whoever paid less paid half the difference to the other.
I went to put the groceries away and returned to the kitchen table and my Clancy novel, wondering if my Guinness had gone flat. An experimental sip told me it was tolerable. The washing machine started up and she reappeared, now standing in the kitchen, getting a glass from the cupboard.
Do women have any idea how sexy they are when they're nude in the kitchen? It's like man's two greatest desires wrapped up in one beautiful package.
Fuck me while I make your dinner, darling!
While she pulled the filter pitcher out and poured a glass of water, she asked. "Brent, I'm thinking the carpet in the living room needs vacuuming. Will it bother you?"
Hell, yeah it'll bother me!
"Go ahead."
I had hardwood floors, but I had an oriental rug in the half of the oversized living room where I actually had furniture. It was under a heavy coffee table and too big to easily haul out and beat, so we used a vacuum cleaner on it. The kitchen table sat in a nook that extended from the living room, so I would have a full view of the action.
She flashed her bright smile and went to haul out the vacuum. I struggled vainly to get my mind back into the book, but once she turned it on, her body swaying back and forth in front of me, it was a lost cause. Within moments, I once again had an alert crewman on duty and coming to attention.
I sighed, put the book down, took a drink of my beer and decided, what the hell, I'll just watch the show.
Of course I'd tried this before, hoping it would make her uncomfortable enough to go put something on. It seemed to encourage her instead. She smiled at me and kept going about her business. But since I couldn't read anyway, why not?
Forgetting about how bothersome it was, I could sit back and just appreciate her. In the final analysis, she was simply a thing of beauty. With her clothes on, she didn't seem terribly remarkable, but that was because she wore frumpy clothes and rarely wore make-up. It kept her from standing out. I figured this out once I saw her on the job, where she painted herself up just like any other girl on staff and transformed from unremarkable to unbelievable. I had never really thought before about how much our eyes are trained to expect cosmetics as part of the woman. We don't know what a beautiful woman looks like without it, so Ronni looked 'plain.'
Her body had no need of enhancement, by cosmetics or anything else. She had a strong way of moving, but not like a guy. More like a gymnast. Everything about her seemed to start from this core within her flat tummy and flow out from there, spreading gently down into medium hips and thighs that tapered into dancer's legs, strong but feminine. Upwards that core flared into a taut chest and regal shoulders, with those gorgeous globes somehow blending perfectly with athletic arms. Top that with a completely uncomplicated smile and red-gold ringlets of hair cascading everywhere, and Ronni became nothing short of spectacular.
After a few moments, she noticed me watching and smiled. She also added a little extra sway to her moves. Because of the location of the electric socket, she ended up with the cord around the stripper pole, which would have leave her unable to reach the remained of the carpet. Normally, she would just pick the vacuum up and walk around it, but this time she grabbed the pole, lifted herself one-handed carrying the vacuum, and did a lazy circle just like in a titty bar. She dropped back down after one turn, having now successfully routed the cord to the other side of the pole.
I sputtered Guinness through my nose.
The hell?
That looked as if she'd been practicing... I shouted, "Have you been using that thing?"
So she didn't have to shout, she turned the vacuum off, then gave me a impish grin. "I watched that DVD and tried it out. It's fun, actually."
The vacuum went back on and she continued, her lovely rear continuing to dance for me and her tits swaying with the motion. My cock fought to rip seams out of the crotch of my jeans. It was actually starting to hurt. Only my stubborn determination not to let her force me into permanent hiding in my bedroom kept me from fleeing. Those beautiful, nearly cellulite-free cheeks kept beckoning me and persuading me, and the pain kept getting worse.
Unable to stand it anymore, I undid my belt and fly. Just getting the thing free hurt, but finally it stood tall, nine inches of pure man ready for action.
Of which there was none to be had in this room, of course. Still, I could relax and sigh in relief. I couldn't leave it out like this, though. I had to figure out something before she looked...
