You can't force it. I've learned that lesson the hard way. Trying to just put words to paper only leads to mediocre stories at best, utter shit at worst. I sighed, looking at the blank screen in front of me, trying my best to just will something onto the computer.
After a few more minutes, I rose out of my chair and angrily stomped out of my bedroom to the kitchen. "Still nothing?" my roommate Josie asked from the living room.
"Nope." When I got frustrated, I hated talking, preferring to let my anger fester. Grabbing a beer and some leftover fried chicken from the night before, I made my way to the living room, slumping down in my favorite spot.
I love watching people and living on the first floor of a New York apartment building with the windows facing the busy street afforded me hours of entertainment. I would sit there on the couch, watching the people walk, bike and drive past my window, making up stories about their lives.
Fate, it would seem, was conspiring against me. Nothing more interesting than the weekly trash pickup. I tried to think of something about the old driver of the truck but nothing came to mind.
"You know what you need." Josie said, watching me as I sulkily devoured my chicken and took a swig of beer. She was sitting in her recliner, her bared legs tucked up under her, her breasts barely covered by her white, silken camisole. Josie had a professional dancer's body, going to college to study ballet of all things. She also didn't believe in dressing in clothes unless she was going out or someone was coming over. Even then, I sometimes had to remind her to put on pants.
Finishing the chicken, I wiped my hands clean and started sipping my beer. I scowled at Josie the best I could which caused her to giggle which didn't improve my mood. "Forget it." I replied, then taking another sip before continuing. "The last asshole you tried to set me up with only wanted one thing."
"Would that have been so bad? I mean at least Tommy was cute."
I sat there in silence, watching at the truck moved two feet down the street to the next can. I couldn't disagree with Josie. Tommy was cute but it was hard to get turned on when their breath stank of beer and marijuana and they were so far gone, they couldn't even unbutton your shirt without ripping out the buttons, no matter how good looking they were.
There was something else besides that which was on my mind lately. I was finding myself less and less attracted to men and more and more attracted to women. I would go to my calculus class and the professor, Miss Robbins, would be playing lead in the fantasies in my mind; erotic fantasies where she would have to tutor me and spank my bottom for each wrong answer I'd gotten on the latest test. I suck at math so there would be a lot of wrong answers.
There were others that I fantasied about. Mrs. Johnson-Reed, the volleyball coach. Sarah Gartner, who sat two rows in front of me in English lit. Even Rhonda, the older janitor, had stared in my fantasies once or twice. Worst of all, however, was Josie herself. God bless, her legs! Her perfect ass. Her pert breasts, just a little too big for her body, nipples poking out from being teased by the silken lingerie she wore. I swear she had enough lingerie to outfit a Catholic girl's school. Then there was Josie's smile. Lit up the fucking room every time she laughed or giggled or just beamed. She was damn near perfect as far as I could tell and I'm ashamed to admit she played in my mind more than a few nights as I laid in bed, doing my best not to scream out as I pleasured myself.
But I never acted upon those desires. Especially not with Josie. We'd been friends ever since we were freshmen at college, being roommates. I always wondered why she would befriend a nerdy, slightly curvy, introverted girl like me. But we just clicked as soon as we were introduced to each other.
"Hey! Earth to Billie." Josie's voice snapped me out of my reverie. "Want anything from the kitchen?"
"Yeah, um, another beer, thanks." I said, trying my best not to stare hungrily at Josie's body as she scooted past. She was wearing matching silken panties and I could just make out the tiny patch of hair on her mons and the faint scent of her sex. I quickly finished my current beer in one nervous gulp.
I swear she was doing this on purpose; teasing me to distraction. Ever since I'd accidentally forgotten to wipe my computer history, Josie had become even more bold with her attire when it was just us two. I nervously swore that the websites were just for research on a paper I was going to write for my English class. I suck at lying so I don't believe she bought it.
Josie walked back in and handed me my new beer to which I graciously accepted. "So what? You just going to sit and sulk all day then?" Josie asked as she sat back down. For a briefest of moments, her panties were pulled tightly against her pussy. I could see the full, plump lips of her vagina which cause me to spill my beer a little. Josie giggled again which caused me to scowl again.
"No...okay, maybe." I said, wiping the beer off my shirt with my free hand. "So what?" I added a bit defensively. "What are you going to do, Netflix and chill with Ron?"
Josie got a shocked, hurt look on her face which cause me to mumble "Sorry". I had forgotten that she and Ron were on the outs at this time. Josie had caught him fucking another chick and his only response was to try and get her into a threesome. That night was the only time I'd ever seen Josie drink until she passed out.
I could tell Josie still had feelings for him and I did my best to try and help her get past his cheating ass. "I'm sorry." I said again, this time softer. She waived me off, her eyes brimming with tears.
"I know, I know. I should let him go but damn it, I really thought he was the one." Josie said. "Hey, there's a story for you. Your dumbass roommate still pining over her cheating ex-boyfriend."
"Oh yeah!" I said trying to lighten the mood. "In my story, though, she leaves his ass, goes to Hollywood and becomes a famous dancer. All the men want her and all the women want to be her."
Josie let out a sobbing half-laugh. "Yeah, right. At least she gets a happy ending."
"Uh huh. That's why it's called fiction, my dear." I replied, then taking a swig of my beer. "The damsel always gets her Prince Charming."
"Or Princess Charming." Josie added. "Remember, we have to be inclusive in this day and age."
I laughed at that, then paused a moment before asking "Would you like that? The heroine of my story running off to Hollywood and finding the girl of her dreams?"