Author's note: This is the third instalment in the Narratives series. Each piece is limited to 5,000 words or less, and is based on a real-life experience. This isn't one of my usual 'slow burn' stories. It's just a raunchy retelling of an encounter that I had in Yellowknife a number of years ago. There are
no
redeeming values here... just pure smut. Enjoy!
*****
Our marriage of convenience broke up in Yellowknife.
We'd been together for about three years. She was Swiss-French, and I was English-Canadian.
Meeting in Indonesia, we'd travelled together for two years, overland through Asia to Europe. Then a year in Switzerland working at a ski station. Then six months in the Baja living on a beach in an old Volkswagen van.
When we started running out of money, we drove back up to Canada. Rumour had it there were jobs in the north. We ended up in Yellowknife, and things didn't hold together for long.
Up at 6 a.m., work construction, then home by 6 p.m., wondering what the fuck had happened to the day. This was no longer a grand adventure: this was just bullshit.
Like all good relationships, it came apart quickly when there was no
there
there anymore. I moved out soon afterwards.
________________________
I'd been couch surfing with friends for a few weeks now, and my welcome was wearing thin. I needed a place to live.
At a Friday night party, I was introduced to Beth. A contract accountant, she moved where the work was: mining companies, parts suppliers, you name it. I couldn't think of anything more mundane to do for a living.
Like her profession, on first impression Beth seemed a bit... bland. Medium height. Medium weight. Non-descript brown hair, large breasts, large hips, medium belly. But she needed a roommate.
Perfect,
I thought.
No complications here.
I took her up on the offer, and moved in the next day.
_________________________
It was now about two weeks since we'd started sharing her apartment. With our conflicting schedules, we'd hardly seen each other. This was the first Saturday that we were both off at the same time.
Sitting at the kitchen table, we sipped our coffees. We'd both been out the night before, but on different circuits: I liked hard blues; she liked country. Obviously, we went to different clubs.
Still rolling hard with our hangovers, neither of us felt much like talking. Bleary eyed, I looked at Beth. She looked back at me, pretty much feeling the same way. We blathered on, making morning-speak, talking about everything and nothing. We quickly seemed to run out of things to say, and finally settled into an awkward silence.
After a few uncomfortable moments, Beth leaned in, looked at me, and said, "I have a bone to pick with you."
Oh great,
I thought.
Now I'm gonna get an etiquette lesson from a bookkeeper.
"Hmmm?" I responded.
"A bone. To pick," Beth countered. "With
you.
"
"Uhhh... OK."
"So - you're neat, you're clean, and you're quiet". She looked at me. I nodded.
"An OK roommate. But you're just
way
to tight."
"Tight?" I asked. I had no idea what she meant.
"Bland. Conservative.
Ordinary.
"
What the fuck?
I asked myself. That was
me
describing
her.
"Sorry?" I asked, completely confused.
"I thought you'd be more fun," Beth replied, "And that I could be more...
me
."
"More
you?"
I repeated stupidly.
She looked down at herself, sitting at the table. "Less...
this,
" she said pointing at her black yoga pants and white t-shirt. "I just hate this," she finished.
"You hate what you're wearing?" I ventured, now completely lost.
"I hate that I
have
to wear it," Beth countered. "Before you moved in, I wore what I wanted. Or didn't. Now, when you're around, I have to put this stuff on all the time, and I just fucking
hate
it."
I took another sip of coffee and looked at her. I shrugged. "So do what you want," I said. "You don't want to wear something, then
don't
. No biggie for me." I meant it. I really didn't care
what
Beth wore. Jesus.
Looking hard at me again, Beth said, 'Perfect. Welcome to
my
place." She stood up, pulled the t-shirt off over her head, and then stripped the yoga pants down her legs, stepping out of them.
She stood in front of me, hands on hips. All she had on was a pair of slightly frayed, peach-coloured panties. Everything else was on display. Large, pendulous breasts, broad shoulders, wide full hips, a small belly, and an obviously luxurious bush that pushed against the thin fabric between her legs. Bland no more, she looked totally sluttish. I was shocked. And strangely turned on.
With her pants gone, I could now clearly smell Beth's sex. I think she was enjoying this.
"Perfect," I said, trying to sound nonplussed.
"More coffee?" she responded, turning towards the stove, her lovely, broad ass on full display.
_________________________
Things went on much like this for the next few weeks.
Beth never wore yoga pants - or a t-shirt - in the apartment again. Whenever we crossed paths there, she was always dressed essentially the same way: lace panties (blue... pink... white...), and nothing else.
I actually started getting used to seeing her walking around naked. She began to look odd to me when she got dressed to go out.
Beth had also started leaving her bedroom door partly open at night. When I'd first moved in, it was always pulled tightly closed when she went to bed. Now, it was usually left open a foot or so.
As I lay in my bedroom down the hall - my door now open as well - I could hear the sound of Beth's eager masturbations. She seemed almost insatiable: it was now a nightly ritual. Sometimes