Homesick Halloween

For my followers: this story is about two people slowly falling for each other. If you're hoping for my usual quota of filthy sex, you'll be disappointed.

For new readers: this is my first attempt at romance. I hope you enjoy it; wade carefully if you explore my back catalogue.

Ellie and Liz were minor characters in my story 'Gas Station Guy', living with their housemate Rachel.

This is an entry in the Literotica 2021 Halloween contest. If you enjoy it, please vote.

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A homesick American finds his London housemates get Hallowe'en totally wrong.

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"You're moving out, Rach?"

"Sorry, Ellie. Yeah, I have to. My funding runs out next month and I should be finishing my thesis soon. I've got that postdoc position lined up in Barcelona as soon as I submit it, so moving in with my great-aunt for the duration and saving money just makes sense. I'll be round at Emma's, most of the time, anyway."

Shagging the woman every night, more like. After over two years of living with Rachel, quiet Ellie had been enlightened about a lot of sexual practices she'd never previously thought about.

Ellie was a PhD student at a research outpost of the University of London, based in London's suburban outskirts, where she'd soon moved into a shared house with Liz, an experienced lab tech in her late twenties, and Rachel, another student in her year.

Ellie had grown up in rural Wales. She wasn't short, there, but at 5'2" Londoners called her petite. Or short-arse, if they weren't charmed by her long dark curls and deep brown eyes, which were admittedly obscured by glasses. Having completed her first degree at Bath, a small campus university miles outside the tourist town for which it was named, Ellie had found heaving noisy London a big shock, though the cosmopolitan mix of researchers at the institute was less so.

The calm house with its large green garden was just the balance she needed. Practical Scottish Liz and sarcastic leather-jacketed Rachel had been good housemates for her for nearly three years. Clean, generous with their cooking, quiet after 11 pm, but otherwise just welcome friendly faces to chat to in passing. Slowly, the three contrasting personalities had become close friends, supporting each other.

Especially when Ellie had had yet another break-up.

She wasn't aware how she did it. She seemed to have a genius for attracting guys who appeared kind and friendly to begin with, but soon showed themselves to be far more interested in their own hobbies and mates than in her, regarding her as an optional extra for getting sex on tap.

If nothing else, she'd got a bit better at dumping them more quickly.

It stung when they broke up with her, with claims that she was too demanding. Liz and Rachel had both assured Ellie that no, she really wasn't. Just that Rob, or Chris, or Steven, or whatever the latest one was called, was taking the piss: expecting her to hang around while he and his mates went rock-climbing, or played Dungeons and Dragons, or rugby, or just bantered in the pub, then assuming he'd still be able to get his leg over when he wanted it.

Ellie shook herself grumpily. It wasn't that she didn't like sex -- possibly sex was why some of those guys had lasted as long as they had -- but doing it with someone she wasn't in a relationship with?

She couldn't see herself doing that. It might make her an incurable romantic, but while the idea of casual sex obviously occasionally appealed, she knew she just wasn't that kind of girl.

In contrast, Rachel had had a series of tempestuous relationships with women, and a few flings with men -- just because she could, she claimed. She'd also claimed to be totally serious when she'd offered a heartbroken Ellie the chance to try out a woman, should Ellie ever be interested. Ellie had assured her she really, really, wasn't, but appreciated the gesture for the kindness the mad woman had intended.

Their third housemate Liz had helped both Ellie and Rach drown their sorrows a few times. She'd been seeing an amiable chap called Paul for well over five years. He seemed quite amenable to her calling the shots. As long as she let him get on with managing an amateur football team which played every Tuesday, he turned up whenever she wanted him to, around her erratic shifts. When Ellie and Rachel finished their doctorates, the plan was for Paul to move into the house with her. Possibly they'd buy it, if the landlord who lived next door still wanted to sell.

Ellie was glad that Rachel's new squeeze Emma seemed a more stable bet, though they'd only known each other six months. If Rach was moving to Spain after her doctorate she wasn't sure how that would work, but that wasn't her problem.

What

would

be Ellie and Liz's problem would be paying the rent.

On the other hand, Ellie could move into the larger bedroom, Rachel's one. The cheaper small box-room hadn't been an issue for her, seeing as there was plenty of storage space in the front room downstairs, except for it only having a single bed. She'd mostly gone over to Rob or Steven or other boyfriends' houses for their dates. Whereas the left-hand bedroom had been set up with twin zip-link beds. Rachel had immediately turned them into a permanent king-size.

"Do you know anyone who would want to rent the small room?"

Rachel cottoned on immediately. "Do you want a hand, shifting your stuff across the landing?"

Ellie was glad Rachel didn't say, 'What do you want the room with a double bed for? When was the last time you pulled?'

Though Ellie could see her thinking it, even if Rach was kind enough not to say it out loud.

Ellie didn't know how she kept attracting men who probably believed they were nice and caring, but their behaviour demonstrated she was only worth fitting round the rest of their lives, to hang around while they did other things or to wait until they turned up late or forgot dates arranged because they were having fun down the pub. There had been Rob, who'd really shaken her confidence until both Rach and Liz had encouraged her to ditch him, soon after they'd moved in together. Then Scott. And Steven. Rachel and Liz had got her to 'woman up' and eventually tell them where to go, too. Then Chris.

Over the last year, Ellie hadn't brought anyone back to their house, partly because she'd had a couple months seeing Declan from work, who had a house nearby -- and an ex who'd turned out not to be an ex at all...

Partly, also, because she'd been working hard to finish her PhD just like Rachel was, and didn't have much spare time. And partly, she had to admit, because the small box-room with its single bed seemed rather sad for a woman turning twenty-five.

If she ever decided to have a one-night stand involving someone from work, she might as well use the on-site 'rest room' or one of the lockable darkrooms that was mostly used for storage or radiation work nowadays -- goodness knows enough people did! Ellie had had a terrible time one Friday night, trying to find a designated radioactive room to use to photograph her hard-won results, only for the first four she tried to be occupied by people refusing to let her in.

Despite the occasional fantasy, Ellie knew she wouldn't actually enjoy that kind of thing. Unlike Rachel who would damn well have sex whenever she wanted, Ellie was adamant she didn't really do casual sex. She wanted romance and love, first, she supposed. Always hoping the guys would want her, her personality, not just her body. Though most of them, it seemed, only cared about that, even months later! She wasn't sure if they were disguising it even from themselves.

All she wanted was a guy she could chat to, do things with, enjoy spending time with. And then the sex. Was that so bad? Maybe it was science: did the unstable nature of a research career turn all men into bastards, or just deter the good ones? Ellie sighed. She vowed not to even consider a man until she was living in a new country, as a junior post-doctoral fellow. It was routine; do at least one of your two postdocs abroad, two stints of three years, hope to settle down in the country of your choice after that. No wonder so many researchers were single or reluctant to get involved.

Liz's Paul couldn't move in; he was stuck in a contract for another six months. Liz and Ellie debated how to find a congenial short-term housemate in the meantime.

Then Rachel mentioned to Ellie one lunchtime, "There's a foreign junior postdoc coming over to work in Dmitri's lab, for about six months. They'll need a place to live."

Six months was about as long as Ellie hoped to need, too.

"Could work. I'll check with Liz."

Liz, who'd worked in the institute for years, confirmed that someone Dmitri was willing to teach was probably a better bet for a housemate than anyone they could find elsewhere. Especially compared to anyone from outside, who wouldn't understand the need to have a rocking platform on the dining table for a weekend, rolling tissue samples in various concentrations of saline fluid. Or the occasional foil-wrapped bottle in the fridge. Why go to work every couple hours if you could simply bring work home with you?

Another scientist would also understand the need to work odd hours sometimes -- Liz in particular, nurturing her team's cell cultures during the night.

Ellie emailed Dmitri to let him know there was a cheap room nearby, available for up to six months, sharing the house with two colleagues. Small room but nice house.

Two days later she had a reply from the student, accepting the offer.

His name was Chad.

Ellie supposed she'd been naive to assume the student would be female. Suddenly she'd be sharing her house with a man.

Oh, well. It wasn't like the guy could help having a name like a frat house cliché. Or the jock rapists who hit the UK news sometimes. She reminded herself, he was a scientist. Just another young researcher, like the lads in her PhD year and the other guys at work. She clawed through her long frizzy hair -- her chestnut coils were having a bad day -- and tried to get her head round the idea of a bloke in her home.

It shouldn't be too hard to get used to -- Paul was there more often than not, after all. But she knew Paul...

She and Liz exchanged a few emails with Chad. He claimed to occasionally clean and cook, never drink to the point of vomiting, and offered up references from a couple 'roommates' as well as from his doctoral supervisor. So far, so good.

One of the London post-docs gave Ellie a file to send to him. 'Culture shocks for Americans', it was titled.

"You think he needs this?"

"Ellie, love, I'm married to an American," Claire the post-doc said. "They

think

we speak the same language and they won't have culture shock. And we don't give them benefit of the doubt because

we

think we understand their culture. So people get all pissy at them, while the French and Germans and Chinese get a second chance and people question whether they intended to come across badly or not. And the

jokes

..."

Claire shook her head, despairingly. "I know, up to the Eighties America was this rich land of plenty and technology, and the Brits were the poor relation. Now, if anything, it's the other way round, but people snipe at Yanks in a way they don't for other foreigners. I'm not saying there

aren't

plenty of wide-ass stupid Americans who are totally ignorant of the rest of the world -- half of them are related to my in-laws, I swear -- but anyone who's managed to get a degree and arrange to work over here? They aren't the ones deserving the bashing, right?"

Ellie supposed so. Though it wasn't like English was even her first language, and

she'd

been expected to cope.

Ellie flipped through the guide. First up was a recommendation to 'Avoid talking politics. Never express any criticism of the National Health Service. Mention near the start of a conversation with Brits that you didn't vote (UK: vote for) the Republicans, whether true or not.' And that if you had, recommending not bothering to come over.

Second, explanation of pub culture. Don't wait for table service, don't throw tips around, watch carefully and 'stand your round' (explained in detail). Don't accuse anyone of a drink problem just because they down a bottle of wine with a meal. Ellie giggled at that. The very idea!

'Swearing. Deal with it. Don't try too much yourself. Mostly, it's affectionate or just punctuation. If someone means to insult you, they'll make it obvious.' Bloody hell, Ellie thought, then chuckled again at the irony.

Next, the difference between England and the UK. Ellie grimaced at that. It was something she'd bonded with Liz over -- the Welsh lass and the proud Scot, living in the capital of both England and the UK.

Don't be loud, brash, or insult any part of the UK or its culture, 'Even its food. There is plenty of good food but it can be hard to find. Note: Indian food is British food. Enjoy.'

Finally, 'Find some fellow Americans to complain to and go WTF??!! with, over some beers. Lots of beers.' There were email addresses for a few American post-docs, followed by instructions on how to use the Tube and local buses and trains, advice on setting up a bank account, and key vocabulary differences.

Ellie laughed again at some of the sage advice there. 'Do not panic if someone asks if they 'can bum a fag off you'. They're only asking if you will give them a cigarette!' and 'If your name is Randy, change it. Seriously. It's like being called Horny, or Sex-Crazed.'

She figured the info pack would probably give this Chad a good start.

Especially when he proved he'd read it, replying, "I really did vote for Obama. Honest. I look forward to pubs and this Indian food."

Three weeks later, Chad arrived. Between the jet lag from the five hours time difference, and Dmitri's intense tuition and expectations that he'd read every article in the field, his head was in a spin for the first few weeks.

He couldn't fault the efforts Liz, Ellie, Dmitri and colleagues made to make him feel welcome, taking him to pubs and a 'football' match, and for a fried English breakfast after a night involving too many pubs, karaoke and a doner kebab. He'd had to plead exhaustion in order to have a peaceful Sunday reading. He hoped to explore London and its history soon, but that would have to be done alone, he concluded.

He got used to Dmitri, Marion and the other lab characters quickly. At least that was familiar. Labs were labs the world over, all with their own quirks, but not affected by country.

A quirk of his had been Jenna. He'd actually managed to get funding to stay in the same lab he'd done his doctorate in, which she'd taken as a sign they should get married. He'd panicked and split up with her less nicely than perhaps he should have, but he'd always

said

he wasn't planning to settle down, certainly not while still a student. He'd had a couple flings since, which she hadn't taken well. He sincerely hoped she'd manage to find a job elsewhere by the time he returned to Boston.

Besides, he'd never lived abroad, only been to Europe once, and he'd always wanted to see England.

One Saturday he snuck off to the British Museum, much to Liz's amusement. "It's full of old stuff! See one bit of broken stone from Roman times or the Egyptians, seen them all!"

Even the periods he wasn't interested in proved impressive for the scale of the displays, but all the exhibits explaining Roman Britain, he found fascinating. Endless coins and pottery and finds nearly five times older than his country.

Plenty of London captured his interest, and he liked having a few evenings out a week, being taken to all the local bars and restaurants and other haunts. After five weeks, however, he had to admit he was really missing home.

He tried making friends with some other Americans at the institute -- Shannon was from Texas, her husband Mike from out West, but suddenly they seemed like familiar next-door neighbors.

At home, Liz could be grumpy, but Paul explained this was in direct relation to how much sleep she'd had that week. Night shifts meant avoiding her, Chad decided. The rest of the time she was brisk but friendly enough. Ellie, on the other hand, was sweet and polite and always patient at explaining obscure phrases, like "the side" meaning a kitchen counter, or "have a butch" meaning to look at. It was a shame she kept working so late, trying to get the results she needed.

Apart from her kindness, she was pretty. Maybe not knock-out looks, and never made-up to look glamorous, but her shy freckled face and little pink lips under shiny curly hair were charming. A classic 'English rose'. Only she wasn't -- he'd made

that

mistake once, and only once.

"I am not English," she'd spoken more firmly than he'd ever heard, in her musical voice. "I'm

Welsh!"

Wales had roses too, he was sure. And presumably so did Scotland. Liz had made sure he didn't mistake her for English, either.

One night he was channel-hopping in the lounge. He was giving up and left a cooking show on quietly, when Ellie wandered in, chattering on the phone. She was about to withdraw again, but he gestured for her to feel free -- he just wanted to eat his dinner.

He thought he'd mastered understanding the Brits' rapid-fire speech, accents, and unfamiliar colloquialisms, but all he could make out from Ellie's excited giggling was a bit of cursing.

Chad sighed, homesickness wafting over him again, and went to take his dishes to the kitchen.

"Why the long face, mate? Want a glass? I've just cracked open this bottle of red?"

Liz pushed a glass of wine at him and poured herself another.

Chad decided he might as well. "Thanks."

"What is it?"

"I don't know. Just homesick, I guess. Everything just keeps being alien."

"Aw, mate! They say it's worst at five or six weeks in. Suppose you're in the midst of it. I remember when I first moved down -- I was

this

close to scurrying back home to Leith! It gets better, though, love. It does."

"I hope so. I mean, there's nothing

wrong.

Everyone's real nice. Just, like, I thought I could finally understand you guys -- even with you talking fast and when you don't explain stuff to me -- but then Ellie came in, talking, and I swear I can't understand a word!"

"Ellie? Is she on the phone to her mum? Or sister?"

"I think so. She said Mum. Mam. Mem? Whatever."

"And you couldn't understand?" Liz looked amused.

"No. Why's that funny?"

Liz burst into loud laughter, setting her wine glass down hard on the counter while she lost it.

"The reason you cannae understand, pal, is that she's talking

Welsh."

"Her accent's not usually that strong."

"No, she's speaking Welsh! The language! It's her first language! I can't understand a word of it, either!"

Ellie herself wandered in. "How's it going, alright?"

Liz was recovering. "Just been reassuring Chad it's not him failing at British accents -- there's a reason he couldn't understand you chatting at your folks!"

"Oh! Sorry. Right. Well, I'm not going to be talking English at them, am I?"

Her accent was stronger than usual.

"That was Welsh you were speaking? I didn't know people still spoke it."

Liz chuckled. "One political rant, coming right up!"

Ellie stuck out her small pink tongue. "Yes. Lots of people speak Welsh, especially in North and West Wales, you know. Not so much around Cardiff. But until very recently it was banned in schools -- my parents would be hit for speaking it -- and the English Government tried to get rid of it. Which makes it a sensitive issue, do you see? My local primary school was Welsh medium, but after that, high school, we were taught in English."

He nodded. "Right. But, tell me -- do they not have curse words in Welsh?" Suddenly her furious 'blah blah fucking PCR something CRISPR something bloody hell' made perfect sense, as an exasperated rant about work.