It had to be a mistake of the college. No way was I supposed to be rooming with this dumpy looking girl, jeans so tight an unsightly mound of flab hung over the top, sweaty underarms that wobbled when she walked. She bumbled into the room, her shoulder bag knocking one of my soccer trophies off the dresser.
"Oh, sorry!" she gushed, her frizzy flaming red hair flailing around her head like Medusa's snakes. I sighed, trying not to let my overwhelming judgemental side take over. It must have been a mistake. She obviously couldn't have gotten into this uni, or this dorm, so I breathed a sigh of relief knowing it was probably only going to be for a few days at the very most. And, I was pretty sure I was supposed to be rooming with a dude.
She plonked herself on the bed on the other side of the room. Her eyes darted around the room, scrutinising it. They narrowed slightly as she took in my Chelsea paraphernalia thrown everywhere, but as it was on my side she technically couldn't say anything.
"I'm Sam," I said, getting up off my bed and approaching her cautiously as though she was a wild animal about to pounce.
"Kayley," she replied, holding her hand out to me. I was surprised at how firm she grasped my hand, almost breaking it to be honest, but my inner macho would not be undone and I grimaced through the pain trying to pretend I was smiling.
"What brings you here?" I asked in distraction as I was rubbing my hand.
"Same as you," she said, looking confused. "To learn."
"I meant, what are you studying?"
"Politics," she replied. Great, as well as being unpleasant on the eyes she was also going to be boring. These next few days were going to be hard. Maybe a fit bird would be living next door. With that cheery thought in mind I flopped back onto my bed, opening up my laptop to scour Facebook.
Kayley was starting to unpack her things. I tried not to watch, but my human curiosity got the better of me. Of course, I didn't let her see me looking, I was ever so discreet over the top of my laptop.
Jeans folded into the bottom drawer, coats and tops hung up, a ridiculous amount of bottles filled with goopy looking creams littered her side of the chest of drawers. On one of my more discreet looks I saw the unmistakeable outline of a vibrator.
Geez! Hope she didn't use that when I was in the room. What happened to the good old hand? Since when did women need some battery operated device that made every guy in vicinity feel inferior? Me included as I eyed the outline of it. It was fucking huge. I doubt even those magical pump things porn sites advertise would add enough inches to my manhood to even compete.
She glanced at it quickly, glanced at me where I looked back at the screen quickly and a small smile played about her lips. She'd obviously seen me looking. Thank God she didn't say anything though, just put it in the bottom drawer of her bedside table and continued to unpack.
A large stack of books on the desk, photo frames up, many of multiple guys hugging her intimately. In a second bag she zipped open the end pocket and started pulling out her underwear, placing it in the top drawer. I was surprised to see it was all frilly and lacy, no granny panties in sight. Then she withdrew the unmistakable scrap material I had only seen in movies; a garter belt.
I must be living with a prostitute; that was my only logical explanation. Otherwise what would she be doing with a garter belt? I had only ever seen sexy women in black lingerie wearing them in movies and porn. And this woman was no movie or porn star. Bewildered, I waited for more obscure items to reveal themselves, but she had finished packing and flopped down on the bed, popping headphones in.
I turned my gaze back to my computer, trying to concentrate on the Facebook conversation with one of my friends back home.
I could hear the faint static music emanating, it sounded like Chris Isaak. Her hands rested on her flabby stomach, one finger bouncing with the beat, eyes closed. After five minutes the finger stopped, and five minutes after that a faint snore escaped the lump.
It was getting late, I guess. I had my first class of the day tomorrow morning at nine, so I closed down the computer, put my own headphones in, turning up JJ Cale and switched off the light.
Kayley was already awake when I woke the next day. I had actually woken up to her knocking something over again and her hushed "sorry" as she replaced whatever it was. It was blurry when I opened my eyes, so reached for my glasses, the room coming into focus after I slipped them on. I'm not that blind, it's just a little hard to make out features without them. They're nice, stylish ones though, so I look like one of those hipsters who button their shirts all the way to the top and wear jeans that are too short.
Kayley was wrapped in a towel, obviously about to go to the shower. She was rummaging around in her underwear drawer and I tried not to look what panties she chose. Why would I want to think about her and her panties? She was so not my type.
She still seemed to think I was asleep as she was trying to be quiet about opening and shutting the creaky drawers. The towel didn't seem to fit all the way around her, and when she crouched down to pick up something the towel slipped right off her thigh. I tried to be disgusted by the bumps and lumps of her cellulite, but all I could think about was what it would feel like under my hand. That was just my human curiosity though. And that was just my morning erection, nothing more. Whatsoever.
