In 2010, Emily Revard, age twenty-eight, received her Ph.D. in physics from a very good university in New York City. She was among the few women at the university who earned a Ph.D. in physics that year. Ten years of hard work and near-poverty came to an end -- because she also was offered and accepted a job at that same university. It was in her field of particle physics and with the salary of a grown-up. The girl from a coal-mining town in backwoods Kentucky had found success!
Her first action, after she got the job, was to move out of the cramped apartment she shared with her roommate and boyfriend. Their relationship had grown stale. Her mind focused on bosons, leptons, and photons during their nightly sex sessions. He was probably thinking about having sex with a different woman.
When Emily told him she was moving out, his first response was, "How am I going to pay the rent if you move out?" That confirmed in her mind that he wasn't the caring, sharing, romantic man she hoped to find. Someday.
Emily took stock of herself as she prepared to dump her boyfriend. She was no glamour girl. Her breasts were large and drooped a bit. Her hips were a bit too wide and bony. Due to lack of exercise, some squishy flesh gathered around her middle, but, all in all, on the rare occasions when she had worn a bikini she hadn't been embarrassed by her body. She got a favorable response from men -- especially when, again rarely, she donned a party dress that revealed her impressive cleavage
Her best features were her eyes; large, dark, mysterious and inviting. Her hair was long, thick, and blacker than black, and skin, permanently tanned; the manifestation of her American Indian -- or to be politically correct "Native American" -- heritage. She usually fixed her hair in a practical bun, but occasionally let it fall over her shoulders.
Her sex life had been unremarkable. She had had sex with six men. Three were relationships and three were one-night stands. Sex and men had not been important to her. She had once gone two years with no sex at all, a drought broken by a drunken one-night stand she had thoroughly enjoyed. She had waited by the telephone for two days after that night -- but he never called her again.
She found the perfect place to live within walking distance of the laboratory where she worked. It was an old three-level townhouse, long and narrow, with large bay windows facing out on a quiet, tree-shaded street. The first level had a large living room, a dining room, and a small kitchen. Out the kitchen door at the back was a small deck with a hot tub and a terrace with several potted plants. A high fence enclosed the deck and terrace.
The two boys living in the townhouse -- she called them boys, but they were twenty-five years old -- lived on the second level which had two bedrooms and a bathroom. The third level was a large open loft with windows front and back, a skylight, and a bathroom. It was exquisite -- and it would be hers if the boys, Doug and Jason, accepted her as a flatmate. They had a beer together at the sidewalk restaurant down the street and sized each other up. She liked them. Both were casual and easy-going, pleasant-looking rather than handsome, and smallish, about her height of five feet eight inches. Neither of them had any macho pretensions -- a good thing in her opinion. Jason worked at a book store, Doug at a social service agency. They couldn't afford the townhouse without a third person to share the rent.
They came to an amicable agreement. She would pay forty percent of the rent and utilities because she had a larger space than either of them. She liked to cook so she volunteered to be responsible for keeping the kitchen and dining room in order. They would take care of the living room, the front porch, and the terrace and deck. They shook on it -- and drank another beer. She was gloriously happy. She moved out of her old apartment the next day -- while her ex-boyfriend was at work. she left behind two one-hundred-dollar bills as her share of utility bills and expenses. She was nothing if not honest.
She got along fine with her flat-mates, although their social contact was limited. She left the townhouse every morning at 7 a.m. to walk to work, stopping en route for a cappuccino and biscotti. She ate lunch at her desk and didn't leave work until at least six p.m. and sometimes later. She also went into the lab for a few hours many Saturdays and Sundays.
Four months passed in which she never had a date nor met a man she wanted to date. Her sex life consisted of masturbating while reclining on the king-size futon in her loft, sipping wine, and watching sappy, romantic movies on her luxury indulgence, a large-screen, high-definition television.
One Friday night she came in late from work. As she rummaged in the kitchen for something to eat she heard the boys out on the deck. "Hey, Em," Doug called out. "Come out and join us in the hot tub."
"I'm hungry." She continued looking through the icebox.
"We're got crackers and cheese out here. And wine."
"I don't have a bathing suit handy."
"You don't need a bathing suit. Clothes are not allowed in the hot tub," Doug shouted at her. "Come and get a glass of wine." She had occasionally seen one or both of the boys and their girlfriends relaxing naked in the hot tub, but she had never been invited to join them -- nor even thought of doing so.
She went out on the deck, and poured herself a glass of wine "Come in. Don't be shy," the boys said in unison.
After a couple of more inducements, she said okay. She turned the light off in the kitchen so she could undress in the semi-dark of the deck, took her clothes off, and draped them over the railing. Doug reached a hand out to her to help her climb into the hot tube. He kissed her on the cheek as she sat down. She sighed deeply as the hot water soothed her muscles.
"Hard day?" asked Doug. He was the more outgoing of the two boys, funny and talkative with a warm personality and a ready smile. Jason was quieter and more contemplative with delicate features that were almost feminine. She had featured both of them, albeit guiltily, in her fantasies while masturbating. Doug would be aggressive in bed, she believed; Jason would be all sensitive and ensuring that he pleasured her.
"A very long week," she answered, She looked down at her chest. The water in the hot tub was not deep enough to cover her nipples when she sat up straight.
"Turn around. I'll massage your shoulders." Doug said. She did so and he ran his fingers over her shoulders and down her back.
"Feel good?" he asked.
"Absolutely," she leaned back. Other than the pecks on the cheek with which they greeted each other it was the first time Doug had touched her. She felt their bodies touch as his hands continued to run over her bare shoulders and back. He stretched out his legs and she sat between them and she felt the light touch of his penis against her buttocks.
On the other side of the hot tub, Jason stood up. "I have to go," I'm meeting my girlfriend." He climbed out of the tub and dried off with a towel. "Have fun you two," he said, as he stepped inside the house.
"My girlfriend is out of town," explained Doug. For the first time that night, the thought of sex crept into Emily's mind. She pushed it away, but she sat back further into his arms and his hands probed her neck and he ran his fingers through her hair, pulling it gently to its full length where it hung loosely in the water, and then his hands came down to her shoulders as he continued his slow, careful massage -- and one hand reached down to between her breasts and a finger touched a nipple.
"Oops," he said.
"We shouldn't be doing this," she answered, pushing his hand away. "You have a girlfriend. We should get out." She kissed him on the cheek, then pushed him away, albeit slowly and gently, and climbed out of the hot tub.
He followed her. "I'll dry you off," he said, picking up a towel. She allowed that, facing the lighted kitchen as he dried her back.
Jason appeared at the kitchen door, dressed to go out, and looked out the kitchen window, only a step away from her. Emily was facing him and she resisted the impulse to cover her pubic area with a hand. Jason took a long look at her naked body.
"Go away, Jason, please," she laughed. The wine, the hot water, the end of a grueling week, Doug's hands on her back, and she was feeling relaxed and comfortable standing on the deck naked while Jason stared at her and Doug, kneeling, dried her legs with a towel, the towel running between her legs and over her buttocks.
"I'm leaving," said Jason, turning away and disappearing inside the house and out the front door of the townhouse.
Doug moved around to her front and she didn't flinch when he dried her breasts and knelt to dry her hips and he leaned into her and planted a kiss in the hair covering her crotch. "Oh, I should shave my pussy," was her thought. "Too late." And he pulled her to him and his tongue found her clitoris within her slit and, despite herself, she momentarily spread her legs to facilitate him.
Recovering, in sudden alarm, she pushed him away. He stood up in front of her and his hands and mouth found her nipples.
"No, Doug. This is not a good idea. We are roommates. We shouldn't be lovers. It would get complicated." His lips found hers and they kissed for a few seconds, bodies pressed together, his penis hard against her groin.
"No," she said, firmly. "We can't." She stepped away from him. "I like you. And I like Jason too. I don't want to mess up our relationship. And also," she added with a laugh, "I'm starving."
"Let's get some food."
"Let's. But first, I need to get some clothes on." She gathered up her clothes from the railing, held them to her chest, and stepped into the kitchen. She walked through the kitchen, through the dining room and living room, and started up the stairs to her room. Doug followed her, still naked. She said, "I'll get into something more comfortable and be down in a minute."
