(Hi everyone! PR here. Thanks for reading more of my stuff. I'm sure if you've seen my page you can tell I'm very unfocused when it comes to erotica. I hope to finish this one all the way through the five chapters I have planned, but thankfully it's a little more episodic so if I stop suddenly it won't exactly be a cliffhanger.
TW for: race play and elements of non-con.
Please give me your feedback! I'm a little comment slut so don't be shy, even non-members of the site can leave an anonymous one. Enjoy!)
A Whore With No Name
Chapter One: Emma
The door opened, and she lost her breath almost immediately.
God fucking damn it. He's too sexy.
"Hi," said the gorgeous man at the door. "Sean."
"That makes me Emma," she said through an involuntary giggle. "Come on, let's get you inside."
He picked up his bags and walked in, surveying the place with a smile. He had long brown hair and the hint of stubble on his chin and cheeks. Under his loose red flannel with the sleeves rolled up he had a tight grey undershirt. Not an abundance of muscle on Sean, she could see. That was preferable. Too much muscle scared her.
But that was just the issue. He was toned, flat in the stomach but broad in the shoulders. If he cared any more about his appearance he might have worn tighter jeans, but his were loose and a little faded. He wasn't kidding when he described himself as a musician. If the shoulder-length hair and cowboy boots weren't enough of a give away, he had two guitars strapped to his back. And if Emma remembered correctly, there would be more.
"Got the rest down in the truck," he said, setting down the bags in his hands. "I can get it all up pretty fast if you can just keep the door open."
"I'll help," she offered. Emma didn't have an inspiring frame for her proposition. Barely over five feet with skinny arms and legs, she looked like she couldn't pick up a baseball. But Sean didn't counter her offer, thankfully. She hated to be doubted like that.
The boxes he brought were light for the most part, except for three filled entirely with books. Just to prove a silent point to herself, Emma grabbed one after a few trips and huffed her way up the four flights. When at last she set it on top of Sean's stack of boxes, he smiled and gave her a simple and kind, "Good work."
God, what is wrong with me?
she wondered, knowing already that she wanted to fuck this man.
I should have interviewed him in person,
she realized.
Then I would have known and I could have found someone else, or... at least prepared myself.
Looking for a roommate was going to be her worst nightmare, Emma knew. Her college roommates had proven that she could not get along with other girls, least of all the prissy little Catholic schoolgirls that loved to snicker behind her back. Even away from home, nobody really let her be comfortable in her own skin.
The arrangement here in her new place would be an unusual one. When her father promised her an apartment in exchange for straight A's, Emma didn't really believe him. That was no reason not to do her best, though, so when she graduated with honors her family had praised and lauded her, doing their best to take as much credit for her success as possible. And then her father took her aside after their celebratory dinner, and said what she'd wanted to hear for a long time.
"You are an American," he said. "My parents took me here and tried very hard to make me hate this place. I wanted you and your sisters to love it, but your mother has made it hard. I think you will see this country for what it is, but only on your own. And if your sisters do as well as you, I will do the same for them."
She was almost in tears, finally able to grasp the independence she always desired. "Dad," she asked, "I'm going to be my own woman. I'm going to do things you won't like and mom will hate. But I don't want to lose you."
"Not me," he said, taking her hand. "As long as you remember who you are."
It was almost too easy, when it came down to it. She had a huge apartment all to herself. Three rooms, in-unit laundry, central heating. It was lonely right away, and Emma had so few friends to share her space with. With all that time to herself suddenly, she could see just how empty her social life had been up to then. There were acquaintances, some more than that. But no one to call a best friend, and all the men she'd known intimately were flings or flameouts.
For a few weeks, she tried enjoying herself. Trying new hairstyles, makeup routines, outfit pairings. Then she moved on to browsing hobbies. By the time she'd finally taken to the internet, discovering niche communities and fresh ideas, only a week into her free summer had passed. That was when she got the idea to fill her loneliness by getting a roommate.
On the one hand, she knew it would be easy because it wasn't a money thing. But on the other hand, that was the same reason why it would be very difficult. She needed to find someone
perfect.
Someone interesting, respectful, and totally new. The opposite of everything she'd experienced firsthand. And after a sea of dull women and creepy men, there was Sean.
And seeing him now, Emma hated him for speaking so commonly of himself. He had to know how beautiful he was. It was in his walk too, the way he could glide across the room with confidence and ease. Nothing about him suggested tightness. He was like a leaf in the wind.
"So um, what have you been writing lately? Like music, what music?" she asked over dinner. On impulse that morning, she'd chosen to make him a homemade meal, the family recipe for
galbi
. It felt good to do something nice for him, though she worried it might have been overbearing.
"I'm doing some demo work for a pilot my cousin is shooting. She's trying to pitch it by the fall so I've got a little time. But she's family, you know, so pro-bono. Other than that I've got a contract for a few mobile games that I'm almost done scoring, and of course my own little private stuff."
He did not stutter or slow when he spoke. Every word sounded carefully planned and yet it came out so easily that it could not have been rehearsed. She watched him carefully through the conversation, noting that he did not look at her overmuch when he spoke of himself, but on any other topic he was a master of eye contact.
"I could, you know, listen to some of it if you ever need some ears. I'm not an expert or anything, I don't really have the um, vocabulary to be super helpful or anything."
Sean pointed at her accusingly, getting her attention. "Don't say that," he said. "There's a lot of gatekeeping in music and it sucks. You don't have to be strictly educated to know what sounds good and what doesn't. I'd love to show you my stuff sometime. And hey, if you've got nothing to say that's cool. It might not be your thing."
He was eating whenever he wasn't speaking. That was good. It meant he liked the food, and so there was no need to ask. Emma didn't want to sound too underconfident with him, anyway. That could get annoying for him very fast.
"This is Korean, yeah?" he asked, referring to the
galbi.
"Yeah! I'm surprised you know."
"Well, it's only fair," he said. "Whitey's gotta learn some time."
Emma let herself giggle loudly, and Sean let out a cute and hearty laugh as well. He
was
white. Emma had seen many white people in her life, of course. But her neighborhood, her schools, her family gatherings had so few of them. Sean wasn't just going to be her first roommate, he was going to be the first white person she'd ever been so close to.
And when she settled into her bed that night, silk nightgown resting gently on erect nipples, Emma wondered what a white man's penis looked like up close.
**********
Hey Diary. Long one today.
Sean has been here for a week
and I'm both surprised and not surprised. I can't seem to take my eyes off him, especially when he's got his door open and he's working on music. That's the easiest, because he's so focused he'll never notice me just staring at him. If I can, I stare at his chest or his back when he walks out of the shower in a towel. If I'm lucky, I'll be up late reading in the den when he wakes up for some water, and comes out to the kitchen in nothing but his boxer-briefs. He's too tired to notice me way in the corner on the opposite side of the room.
Then I can see how his whole body is this singular shade, not overpale like me but not not tanned orange like all the white people on television. He's got hair all over his chest, but not so much on his arms or his back. It's plentiful, but fine. I guess compared to some men he's stout looking, but I'm really little so he's still more than half a foot taller than I am. I've only seen him like this twice. But the second time, he definitely had an erection. I was ashamed of myself after he walked out of the room for how hard I'd bitten my lip.
I'm not surprised that he's had a girl over already. He did sort of warn me about that when I interviewed him over the phone. Like an idiot I said that would be okay. I even said that I only needed a fifteen minute warning at the very least. It isn't like he's getting in my way or anything. It's easy to just stay in my room and listen to some of the new music I've found from online recommendations. The hard part is staying focused, and keeping a lid on my curiosity.
Which last night I absolutely could not. I left my room very quietly to try and pee, and I heard them both moaning at different intervals, sometimes together but mostly independent. I've been with a couple of guys, and none of them really made much noise other than to tell me they were close. But Sean was expressively vocal, and I knew that sometimes he was talking but I couldn't quite make it out. I almost pressed my ear to the door before I gathered myself and went to the bathroom.
But on my way back I listened again, and now I could only hear the girl. But her voice carried a little better as she spoke and I could make out, "Oh... god your tongue... yessss..."
I could hardly believe it, but really was using his tongue on her. It seemed so wrong to me somehow, so dirty. But I've been thinking about it this morning, and I know that's just something about my upbringing. All the girls I grew up with seemed to think it was immoral for a man to do that, yet we had no problem doing it for a man.
Anyway, I tried to go back to my room, but I heard a buzz from the kitchen, and I couldn't resist. It was his phone.
I am such a bad person for looking. But he didn't have a lock. I wasn't allowed to have one growing up, but I can't imagine that a guy his age wouldn't want that kind of privacy for himself. It was not an invitation for me to look but I did anyway.
There was a text from an unsaved number that said,
"hi sean! its ingie from the met just wanted to let u kno my hubby's OOT for a week so i can get away ez. sorry its late. just had u on my mind ;)"
As if that weren't scandalous enough, a married woman obviously propositioning him, I started looking through other texts. All the recent ones were unsaved, which told me he was the one giving his number out, not the other way around.
