It made me feel such a voyeur, but I couldn't help it. What was I supposed to do -- go to bed wearing earplugs, or playing music at loud volume? My flatmate Victoria was putting me nightly through erotic hell. She'd return home each evening with her new girlfriend, and the two of them would proceed to have very noisy sex together for what seemed like hours. Her room was immediately next to mine, and through the paper-thin walls my attempts at sleep were continually interrupted by the two women's drawn-out, hysterical orgasms. Even before the advent of the girlfriend, I knew fair well that Victoria is not exactly coy, or discreet, when it comes to sex. And it's surprisingly difficult to drift off when all you clearly hear is her moan "oh yes, baby, your tongue feels so good in my cunt."
Especially so if you're feeling particularly sexually frustrated. I hadn't seen much action for ages, and my quiet, nay silent, lovelife made the cause of my ruined sleep that much harder to bear. It did nothing for my morale that the cause of my enforced, agonising, celibacy was my own lack of self-confidence. I've never regarded myself as good-looking, which deters me from taking the initiative. To be fair, I'm plain, rather than hideous, although decidedly chubby. Secretly I've always been rather proud of my breasts, and I've never had any complaints from girls who enjoy very big nipples.
I felt guilt too at my envy, as I lay, alone, listening to the passionate love-making a few feet away. In truth, I was jealous of Victoria, and Nicola, the girlfriend. She was physically just my type: short and curvy, with glasses and curly collar-length dark hair, and a vague air of earthy wickedness about her. Not that I ever saw much of her, though. She and Victoria would come in and immediately retire to their room, take their clothes off, and have sex. Presumably, they just couldn't wait a single moment longer for each others vagina.
My name is Beth, and I'd known Victoria for six months previously, since the time I'd moved in to the flat, in Queens Park, west London. The possibility of there being anything between the pair of us, before Nicola came on the scene, had never been on the agenda. In fact, there was no real reason why there should, and it was just a coincidence that we shared both a flat and an orientation. In terms of personal compatibility criteria, it was the rather mundane fact we were both smokers, rather than both being lesbians, which matched us up to live together.
Victoria had never displayed the merest hint of interest in me. If she had, I probably would have responded, but it would have to have been her who made the move. I'm rubbish at pulling, and the other woman always has to take charge.
Victoria is in her late twenties, about the same age as Nicola, and a year or so younger than me, but quite different in appearance from both of us. She's tall, taut, athletic and finely honed from the gym, albeit with a fairly generous looking bosom, and long strawberry-blonde hair. Neither she nor I were naturally were squeamish about nudity, but we'd wear towels or gowns to and from the bathroom, and never genuinely seen each other naked. Except the once, when I badly needed the loo and Victoria let me enter the bathroom although she was still in the shower. She had her back turned to me, and I generally averted my gaze, until I could resist it no longer and stole a furtive glimpse of the water cascading down her magnificent buttocks.
Although Victoria is a genuinely very attractive woman by anyone's standards, I'd never consciously fancied her, or wanted her -- until Nicola came on the scene. Their constant sex piqued my frustrated lust, and my curiosity about their sumptuous bodies. More and more I found myself imagining what Victoria looked like nude from the front, and what delicious secrets lay within Nicola's underwear. Pathetically, I began to fantasize about what they looked like when they were fucking.
