Living with Liv

People call me BC. Big Cat. A nickname I've had since I was a boy. However, during my years at art college I was known as 'Fluffer'. These are my diaries of that time. Fluffer's tales.

#

Betraying Pearl had the unexpected consequence of leaving me skint. Of course, she'd told her dad about my behaviour, and remember he was the head of school. He didn't chuck me out but promised to forget the shameful way I treated his daughter if I devoted all my non-study time to: "repairing our relationship." Meaning his house. So all the time I'd usually spend working to pay my way through college went to The Professor.

I was still living in that fancy studio apartment that Anne-Marie enjoyed so much. The place was expensive even when I had a job, so I decided to earn extra cash by converting its utility room into a tiny bedroom for myself, then I could rent out the huge mezzanine bed area.

Good plan. But no-one wanted to share a studio flat with a massive sod who slept in a cupboard with the washing machine.

Except for Liv.

One dark winter's evening I answered a knock at the door and God reached right in and patted me on the arse. A girl stood there with a huge rucksack, gripping a trophy. Actually she didn't stand there. Liv never just "stood there." She reached around the door as I opened it to greet me quicker. Her smile was so big it lit up the room ten minutes before her face appeared. I think I might've even staggered from the force of her. The girl had Orla's cheeky grin on Anne Marie's over-scaled overbite. Her platinum bob and saucer eyes were Charlotte's, her radiant calm, Fleur's. OK, perhaps it was my state of mind, so guilty that I hadn't been able to come in months, not even solo, but the girl seemed as much a supermodel as Guapa and every bit as angelic as Mazzy.

"Ah... I'm here about the room?" Her voice was deep, husky, posh. "I expect it's gone hasn't it? I should've called, sorry it's so late, but I was just passing and, honest I'm sleeping in my car at the moment so—"

I threw the door wide. "Welcome!" I think I shouted that.

She moved straight in. And why was this room-hunter unphased by sharing a studio flat with a massive sod? Her trophy that's why: International Women's Karate champion.

I showed her round—this literally involved standing in the single triple-height space and turning round.

"All yours," I pointed at the mezzanine. "And underneath is the bathroom along with the utility room. And my room."

Liv clapped. "I love it!" I think she even thumbed a tear from her eye. "I can't believe my luck, thank you, thank you so much." She patted my arm. Squeezed it.

I stepped away from her. "I'm not around that much, I study architecture and work most nights and weekends."

She nodded. "Me too. Not architecture. Duh. I mean I study ballet. And drama. Then I teach a Karate class three evenings a week."

"Christ, are you training to be an assassin?" I blasted a laugh at my own joke.

Her shrug suggested this wasn't the original observation I thought it was. "Not an assassin, no. Avenger, maybe."

I laughed harder. Perhaps I should've laughed less and listened harder.

I was so flustered we didn't talk money until the next morning.

I was in my cupboard, naked but for boxers, ironing a shirt and some chinos. Call me old fashioned, but I liked to be smart at college.

A little knock at the door. Liv's voice outside. "You decent?" She didn't wait for an answer and flung the door wide. "Have you got— Ah!" She waved a wrinkled dress. "Yes! Can I borrow that when you're done? My rucksack's fucked my clothes and I've got an audition this morning."

She was bare-legged in a long (ish) T-shirt. Her thigh muscles softly bulged. I manfully locked my gaze to her face and clicked fingers at her dress. "Let me. I'm on a roll."

"Sure?" She handed it over, and sparkled. "Goodness you might be my favourite landlord."

I'd meant she could leave her dress, and leave the room. But she leant against the door frame, crackling with barely concealed amusement. She folded her arms, and let her eyes run around me while I ran the gurgling steam-iron around her delicate, purple garment. It released a musky, hot lemon scent. "So about the rent—"

"Yes! Sorry!" She palmed her forehead. "I forgot. Can we... come to some arrangement for the first month? I mean just this month?"

I hadn't even told her the cost yet.

I stopped ironing. My heart sank.

"Sorry, I should've said." She spoke to her feet. Unusually for a dancer, she had cute toes. Like Pearl's. My heart sank again.

She cleared her throat. "I thought... I wondered if..." She blatted her eyelashes up at me. "There was something else I could do for you?"

Really? I fiddled with the dial on my iron. "I don't need—"

"It's just a bloke like you, well..." She bit her lip.

I laughed. "This is a windup."

"Not at all! I mean look at you, you're a giant." Her eyes glittered. "A few Martial Arts lessons, and you'd get loads of doorman gigs. I could teach you?"

The room caved in. I shut up and finished ironing her dress.

I wasn't to know that Martial Arts would turn out to be the best investment I ever made, given how much work I got since she taught me the basics. As much as my fucking architecture degree, for sure. At the time, though I felt kind of mugged.

But as the weeks past, Liv was no trouble and incredibly laidback given she lived, literally, on top of me. If we ever had to squeeze past each other in the kitchen, or if we caught each other undressed there might be a cheeky comment or a roll of the eyes, but nothing awkward. Sure, she was relaxed because she could break my neck in a heartbeat—my heart too, probably—but we still had fun. She even met Sara, who didn't just approve, she announced to us both: "BC, this one is so out of your league, don't embarrass everyone by trying it on, eh?"

Liv never mentioned a boyfriend, and showed no curiosity about my emotional life either. Pretty much the ideal platonic flatmate.

Then one night I'd just had a bath and—hips wrapped in a big towel, drying my hair with another—was about to hit the sack when Liv let herself in. She was clutching a bottle of wine.

I passed her on the way to my cupboard. "I cooked too much sausage pasta," I said. "Help yourself If you're hungry?"

She grimaced. We laughed.

I nodded and stepped around her to get to my door. She smelled of hard work. She kicked off her trainers and padded into the studio with that relaxed prowl only dancers have. Even in her trackies her bum was—

She spun, and caught me ogling. She waved her bottle. "A student gave me this. Wanna share?"

I shrugged.

"Cool!" She bounced over to me, shoved the bottle at my chest. "Get some glasses. I'll grab a shower. Gimme a towel."

I proffered the one I'd used for my hair, but she yanked the one off my waist, chuckling even as she shut the bathroom door behind her.

I fetched glasses and a corkscrew. Then, from the bathroom: "BC! I'll eat your miserable pasta!"

A few minutes later I met her at the sofa. She wrapped the bath sheet around her, it almost reached her knees, and knotted it over her chest. I hadn't had time to dress and struggled keeping myself decent under the smaller towel. She grasped the pasta bowl and gobbled my reheated leftovers. I poured, the bottle going glug-glug-glug in the silence between us.

"Nice student," I said. "Plying you with gifts."

"I'm doing her a favour." She sucked a splash of sauce off her thumb, dumped the empty bowl on the coffee table then drained her glass and flopped back into the corner to regard me through hooded eyes.

I crossed my legs.

"I heard something amusing today." She wedged her hands between her knees. "I hear you call yourself Fluffer?"

I groaned. She flung a cushion at me, cackling.

But wait. What? "I don't call myself that. It's what they call me."

She winked. "Of course they do."

I necked my wine. "I think I'll call it a night."

"Oh no! I'm sorry! Don't go." She filled my glass again, tittering. "I'm winding you up."

She refilled her own glass.

"It's just a sore point." I sighed. "That nickname got me into a bit of trouble, that's all."

"How can a dirty nickname get you in trouble?" Her eyes shone. She was so matter-of-fact, she'd seemed more appalled by my sausage pasta than my sexual preferences.

I'd drunk too quick. My head spun and I felt blushed all over. "I got together with a girl who really believed my hype, so much that I even I started to believe it. Then I resented her."

She frowned at the ceiling, as if doing some kind of pervy maths. "I see. So because you were the—" finger quotes "—Fluffer, she thought you should, like, only lick her. Nothing else?"

"Exactly. She was obsessed with it. Though we did fuck, and she liked that too, but—"

"Gotta say it sounds hellish. You poor boy. What a bitch, loving sex with you so much."

"I am a shit. Yes." I swilled my glass. "No, I just resented her because it all got a bit... one-sided."

Her ears pinked. Then her cheeks. "She never returned the favour."

I nodded.

She rolled her eyes. "Fucking men."

But that didn't seem to be enough. She leant forward, jabbed a finger at my pec. "You know women have lived like that for thousands of years? Serving the great male orgasm? Ignoring their own needs?"

Well this had turned out well. "I know. I apologise. To you and your kind."

That got a giggle at least. She slapped my thigh, hard. "Fucker. So, what, you dumped her?"

"I sixty-nined her sister."

"Bastard!"

"Yep."

"And I suppose the sister properly..."

"Did me. Yes."

"'Did' you? Fucksake how old are you? She sucked you off, is that what you mean?"

"Yep."

"And was it worth it? Breaking Pearl's heart for a swallow?"

"No."

Hang on. "How'd you know her name?"

"You told me."

"No, I didn't."

She pulled a foot onto the seat and bunched the towel between her thighs, leaving the raised one bare. "You bang on about her all the time." She waved her knee.

I sipped. Shame and booze heated my ears.

"Fucking men," she mumbled into her glass.

Silence swallowed us. Then she dropped her foot on my lap like an apology. I rubbed it like an apology returned. We'd been doing this lately. It didn't mean anything.

She heaved a croaky sigh, squirmed into the cushions and put her other foot on my towelling lap. "Still, I can see how it must've got frustrating. Giving and never receiving."

Her eyelids drooped to slits under my rubbing, one foot in each hand. "Imagine, though, blowing it for a blowie. You must've been desperate." She spoke to the ceiling. "I don't get men's fascination with cumming in our mouths. What's the big deal? I mean if I drip in someone's gob I don't go all..." She put on a deep voice. "Cwor, look at that. You love it don't you? Dirty cow."

Her eyes filled the room. "Hmm? What's the big deal?"

I thumbed her insteps until she croaked and flopped again. I kept my mouth shut, for once. At least until she laid her bombshell on me:

"Oh by the way. I had my first full sex with a girl today."

My jaw dropped, Liv nodded brightly. "Yes, I'm officially Bi. Who knew?"

"Blimey. Am I allowed to ask who with?"

"Xanthe. She goes to your art college. I told you about her remember?"

"Fuck, she's gorgeous."

"Of course she is. I'm not losing my girl-on-girl cherry to just anyone."

Xanthe was a voluptuous, red-haired art and dance student who looked sweet and innocent, but was famously into everything. In fact I was going to ask Liv to introduce us. Suddenly I found myself jealous. Of both of them. Albeit an envy laced with lust at the thought of those two beauties, together.

Liv smirked. "Is that steam coming from your ears?" She took her feet from me, clasped them and butterflied her knees. She flapped them as she laughed—either at my evident fantasising or sensing my male gaze frustrated by her bath towel.

"Go on then, ask me!"

"Eh?"

"What we did? I know you're imagining it. Don't you want to know?"

"Umm."

"Well." She straightened the towel over her. Smoothed it. "She invited me back to hers to use her shower after our dance class earlier. She lives right next to the studio and we hate using the showers there. Anyway she let me go first, but didn't leave the room so I stripped off right next to her. But no biggie, we're used to that."

She grinned as I tucked my towel tighter.

"Then as I showered I thought hmm... that was interesting.... and before I knew it I was getting cheeky with the shower faucet." She mimed the shower head between her spread thighs. "You ok?"

I folded my hands in my lap.

She continued telling the story to my towel. "Well I frothed over and suddenly Xanthe opened the shower curtain and stepped into the shower with me! And all I could do was gurgle and she just laughed and crouched at my feet while I rubbed the actual fucking shower head on my clit, because the water pressure's not strong enough to get me off. So there I was coming while she watched."

She drifted off, dragged her fingernails along her thigh. Sighed. "Then she took the showerhead off me, put it under herself and kissed my fizzy clit!"

"But hadn't you come already?" I don't know why I asked that, I just wanted to be involved, I suppose.

"Umm, hello? I'm a woman? Multi-tasking? Multiple orgasms, all that? The first couple just get me going. The seventh is always the best, apparently. That's what they say anyway. I always lose count by then. Anyway back to the naked girls!"

She gleamed. "Your face! It's like you're in pain!" Her hand slid under the towel. "Anyway I was super ready for more and her lips felt just right on my bits. Very rude and yet familiar. So I lifted my leg onto, like this soap shelf. You know, we dancers are very flexible. And Xanthe stared up at my spread cunt lips, and then like... snogged them, I mean properly French kissed my vagina, all tonguey and diggling fingers in me like..." She withdrew her hand and curled her suspiciously glossy middle finger at me. Her ballet training even made this crude gesture flowing and elegant.

"Mm-hmm."

Liv sniggered, her hand swooped back under towel. "Mm-hmm Indeed! She was way better than any man I tell you. Sorry, but it's true. I opened myself right up, and came and came and came... I swear... my legs gave out and I literally had to beg her to stop! Then I was on my knees and she looked... so... beautiful. "

I felt deflated. I didn't like Liv adoring Xanthe. I guess this was when I first noticed my feelings for my ideal platonic flatmate.

I pulled my feet into the sofa, and sat cross-legged too, bookending her and pushing my towel between my thighs. Like that was ever going to distract her. She didn't even look at me. Just blathered on about her girlfriend.

"Xanthe was so bright-eyed and flushed and happy. Ha, and filthy. You'd've loved it, my juices were all over her lips and chin. Cwor eh?"

She kicked my knee, but then left her foot on my lap again, this time against the skin of my thigh. Rubbing her seemed wrong now so I let it rest there. She didn't seem to care, crimson, yabbering more to herself than me. One finger fiddled with her hair, the other with something else, under the towel. "So I just kissed her messy lips, which are fat as mine so it was like... slippery clouds." She shot a finger at me. "That's the other thing with you men. If we kiss you after we've sucked you off you look like you'll hurl! And God forbid you ever swallow your own load. Somehow that's emasculating for you, demeaning, but you're happy to watch us do it? What's wrong with you?"

No answer to that. I liked licking Guapa that time after we'd fucked but that was in the heat of the moment, and the sun, I'd have done anything to make it last. Liv was right. We're all two-faced shits. I didn't tell her that though.

She gave up waiting for my compelling argument. "Anyway. Xanthe tasted of me and that was both comforting and exciting, and even better she growled when we kissed. Then she pushed me onto my back and stood over me while she turned the shower off. Her pussy's got this tidy, bright red tuft but is bald underneath. So sweet. Anyway I could see all her lips in like 3d and was surprised I loved the look of them. It actually makes my mouth water even now."

She caught a breath. The rummaging under her towel stopped. Then continued.

"It's like she reads my mind. That's the thing about sex with girlfriends, you both know what the other wants. She knew what I wanted anyway. She just lowered her cunt onto my mouth so I could eat her. Simple as that. I swear she was delicious! And no choking feeling like when I suck a man, just podgy and silky and salty. I swear I was so lost I don't know if she came once or ten times." She sighed raggedly. "Oh... it was LOVELY..."

"And that was it?"

"No! we carried on for ages all over her flat. Most of the afternoon in fact... God it was LOVELY."

"Yes you said." My voice sounded dour even to my own ear. "Sounds like you prefer it to sex with a bloke."

"Yep." She sipped her wine and slid her foot up my thigh. I clasped hands over my jewels. "Actually no. It wasn't better than sex with a bloke. Just different. You know why? There was no... finale, no frantic build up and no big pumpy, thrusty Pow! Wham! Bang! Climax. I missed that, we just didn't know when to stop. We rubbed our pussies together—which doesn't work by the way—fingered each other, licked each other, fingered and licked, licked and fingered, her on top, me on top. Sixty-nine. God, sixty-nine went on for like an hour and we came so much I can't tell you, and then it was like it was all just too easy. Eventually we just got... sort of bored. And sore."

I laughed. "Yes it sounds tedious. Will you do it again?"

Liv shrugged, then yawned and stretched. She slid one shin along the other, with no attempt to hide how that revealed her bare bottom. "Just made me want a good hard cock If I'm honest." She slid her foot under my clasped hands, along a towel barely coping with my bucking length.

My heart tried to bolt right out my ribcage. What fresh hell was this?

She rested her head on her arm but wriggled her toes on my hard on. "Yes... I've turned you on at last." Her voice was husky and quiet, like it came from a secret place.

"What do you mean 'at last'?"

"I've been trying for weeks. You didn't notice? You think I walk round half naked for every flatmate? Tell them all my dirty secrets?"

"But—but you turned me on the second I first I saw you."

"Fucking men." She shook her head, slinked toward me across the acreage of our sofa. "That's not what I mean. I didn't want you all 'Hmm, sexy bum', I wanted 'Hmm, sexy Liv'." She lay on her front, propped on her elbows between my knees, her head over my lap. "So? Do I turn you on or not?" She licked her lip in mock lasciviousness. Giggled.

"Nah." I settled back, arms wide. My bulge threatened to unknot the towel and release itself.

She writhed off her towel, tossed it, and kicked her heals over naked buttocks. Jiggled. "Now?"

"Hmm, sexy bum."

"Fucker!" She tore at my towel. My cock jumped into the room, so bouncy, Liv flinched.

"I did that!" She traced fingertips along my veins, then took me in her hand. Squeezed. She frowned. "Fuck, you're rigid. When did you last come?" She looked up at me, soft eyed, sliding her hand along my length as if trying to soothe it, but only hardening it more.

I shrugged.

"Seriously? Because of Pearl?"

She rubbed her thumb under my head, peered as precum beaded and spilled. "Jesus you're an unexploded bomb. What have you done to yourself?" She rubbed briskly.

"Careful, I'll come."

"Duh." She pressed a soft kiss to my taut bulb, licked her lips, rubbed faster.