Finally, we had a solid bite from a person interested in sharing our luxury loft in the upscale part of the City. My best friend Alice and I had been living on the edge of financial ruin after our third sharing partner Gregory had been called back into the military for an overseas assignment. Things had been a bit dicey even with three of us sharing the costs of the plush surroundings and when we reduced to a 50-50 split we were eating bread and water to make ends meet.
Both Alice and I worked days in a high-end ladies lingerie shop next to the main rail station. We also took turns modeling the specialty items for the endless stream of customers searching for that "nice little number" to set the mood for the evening.
My appointment with the prospective tenant was at six PM and I wanted to get home early to freshen up a bit before meeting our potential savior with the funds to save our asses from bankruptcy.
My name is Francesca. Until recently, I had been employed by a pharmaceutical firm in their customer service department. I had been let go unexpectedly because of some distasteful accusations of inappropriate comments to product users. I assure you it was entirely innocent but my supervisor had me in his crosshairs ever since I refused to give him a blow job at the Christmas party.
A few years back, my parents had all but disowned me after I moved out of our comfortable middle class home in a very nice area outside the City. I loved my parents very much but I was quite distraught after my Mum discovered my box of condoms under my pillow. I think she really objected to the flavored ones and the ones with the delightful little ridges on them. My Daddy seemed to find it all very amusing and I could not help but blush horribly when he looked at me with a new-found interest. I have always been very much a "Daddy's girl" and I loved to wiggle on his lap and cuddle whenever Mum was not around to chide us both for our silly behavior.
I have had a fair share of boyfriends, some young and some quite old. My rule was to always use safe sex and to only take it up the ass if I was having my period. I thought that I was pretty high on my blow job count with more than forty odd recipients of my oral favors, but if one was to believe my best friend Alice; she surpassed me by three for my every one.
Alice and I were very close and sometimes we slept together holding each other tightly. I loved to hear her heart beating and feel the heat of her skin next to mine. We were not lovers. I don't think either one of us even considered it. She wore my clothes and I wore hers. It was like we were parts of the same person only with our own separate personalities. Sometimes we would take care of our special needs like shaving each other's pussies or removing unwanted hair from our bums. It was not sexual in any respect, only taking care of each other.
Gregory had been the perfect third leg of our trio. He was all caught up in football and he was wound tightly around the finger of an absolute bitch from hell called Gwen. Alice and I called her "Gwen the Hen" and some other names less ladylike. We had no doubt she would have murdered all three of us if she ever thought he had engaged in sexual activities with either or both of us. Poor Gregory was so terrified of this tiny little Irish girl with long red hair that he was constantly looking over his shoulder to see if she was anywhere in the vicinity.
Several times I had looked with interest at his long firm cock when it stuck out from behind his bath towel or when he scurried naked from his bed to the bath late at night. Alice and I would giggle uncontrollably when we whispered our fantasies of a sex obsessed Gregory coming into our bedrooms to make us take his cock into all of our feminine centers of pleasure. Poor Gregory would look at us queerly suspecting he was source of our amusement but not driven to discover our reason for laughter.
His bitch of a girl friend told him when he was leaving,
"Go screw some third world slag, you wanker!"
She also added a long litany of her pet peeves and gripes about the way he dressed, the way he talked, and the way he never gave her a satisfactory orgasm. I knew this to be utter bullshit because I heard her several times in Gregory's room wailing out her orgasm in a petulant whiny voice that just sent me up the wall.
I could see poor Gregory was distraught but kept his chin up and shouldered his duffel right onto the train leaving for his embarkation point. It was only a week later that I saw his little redhead bitch playing kissy-face with a middle-aged banker out on the town for a little slap and tickle. I wanted to go over and slap her pretty little princess ass back to whatever little corner of hell she crawled out of.
After arriving home, I quickly swigged down a glass of wine to get pumped up for the interview. I hoped that our prospective tenant was carrying cash for the deposit as well as the agreed on first month's rent. We needed to pay the phone and the utility bill first thing in the morning.
The front door buzzer made me hide the evidence of the wineglass and I smoothed my tight skirt to look nicely domestic and unfettered by thoughts of erotic sex. I had recently been obsessed with fantasies of being anally impaled by a rather large black man with a huge cock.
My last opportunity for sexual bliss was an unsatisfactory shag in a Mini-Cooper with a married male customer I met in the lingerie shop. The silly shit kept telling me to keep a towel under my ass so my pussy juice would not stain his precious upholstery. Then, when I was just about to go over the top with a halfway decent orgasm, he jerks his cock out and tells me,
"I really must dash! My wife is waiting dinner and I simply can't be this late. Let me drop you at the rail station. I have to get home before my wife suspects I am diddling sluts again."
I could not believe it. This was the same smiling man that told me with a straight face only an hour ago "how perfectly divine" I would look in a crotch-less panty hose ensemble.
When I opened the front door, I must admit I was taken aback. Instead of a young man, in front of me was a very resolute young woman dressed in a neatly tailored business suit.
"How do you do? Please come in. My name is Francesca. Francesca Longternario. Just call me Frannie. I was expecting a "Peter", but you are definitely not a Peter."
I noticed the attractive 30 year old was wearing gloves. She did not take them off when she shook my hand. I remember thinking to myself, "How very odd! When is the last time I saw gloves on a woman? I wonder is it an affectation or some new fad I am unaware of."
She looked distainfully at the well-worn easy chair and perched her tiny ass on the edge of our black leather sofa. Her dress was about 2 inches below the knee. The latest fashion called for about 1 inch above the knee so she was either out of style or abnormally modest in her selection of dress style.
"I will, of course, have my own bedroom, right?"
I guided Miss Peters back to the small bedroom and kept my fingers crossed that she would not be put off by the size.
She picked up the football magazines from the bureau and looked at the pictures of Gregory and his mates which still remained on the shelf.
"That was our last flatmate, Gregory. I will remove them to my bedroom if they disturb you."
"No, that won't be necessary. I must ask you bluntly, Francesca, were you or your other flat-mate "getting it on" with this Gregory person?"