Synopsis: Bonnie warms to her roommate’s boyfriend with the help of a catchy ringtone.
Saved by the bell
By Oliver Yates
The buzzer rang.
Bonnie checked the video monitor and saw a lean, unshaven man looking up at her. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, but she knew who he was. She pursed her lips and turned her attention back to the papers on her lap.
The buzzer rang again.
“Bon, could you get that?”
Bonnie exhaled slowly but did not move. Her roommate Lisa stuck her head out of a doorway at the end of the hall. She was wrapped in a white towel and her hair hung around her face in wet strands.
“Bonnie, it’s Mike! Let him in!”
Bonnie didn’t look up from her papers.
“You aren’t ready, are you?” she replied. It wasn’t meant as a question; it was a statement of fact.
“Oh come on, Bon! Could you just be nice? I’ve gotta get dressed!”
Bonnie gave her roommate a cool stare. Lisa had been such a nice girl, once—such a good candidate to share an apartment with. She always had money for the rent and the phone bill, she didn’t play music too loud and she didn’t get drunk except for special occasions. She was the perfect match for Bonnie. The arrangement saved them both money, and Bonnie liked to think that she had been a good friend to Lisa.
But the girl had such lousy taste in men. She was always rescuing some wet rat who swam up beside her, and she absolutely could not say no when they started to push their sexual needs on her. Bonnie had talked to her about it time and time again, but it never changed. Lisa needed to be needed, and that flaw in her character was making her a slut.
“Remember who has the power,” Bonnie said quietly. “You do. Not him.”
Lisa rolled her eyes.
“It’s not about that! I’m late! Do me a favor and be nice to him. Otherwise he might leave!”
Bonnie didn’t move, and Lisa disappeared into her bedroom with a groan.
It’s very likely that he will leave, Bonnie thought.
Lisa was the kind of girl who took forever to prepare for a date, and Mike looked like the impatient type. He was probably gone already.
Be nice to him.
What a joke that was. Being nice to men was exactly the wrong thing to do. Bonnie had learned that sooner than most girls. She had been born with blonde hair, blue eyes and skin that tanned easily in the summer. In school she had enjoyed lots of friends, but after a certain age everything changed. The boys became more interested, and her girlfriends got a little strange.
Bonnie realized then that her body was changing, and everyone else was changing along with it. Her girlfriends were jealous of her new curves, and the boys couldn’t seem to look at anything but her rising chest.
That was the worst part. She had to say goodbye to many of her childhood friends because all the boys wanted to do now was fuck her. Sure, they said they wanted to go swimming, or go to the movies, but sex was all they really wanted. She missed the days when boys could have fun, when they weren’t yet ruled by their balls.
The buzzer rang again.
Bonnie put her research on the coffee table and walked over to the windows. The sun was just beginning to sink below the horizon. Her apartment was on the second floor, and it had a good view of the lane below: a little too good sometimes.
More than once Bonnie had caught someone looking in from across the street when she was doing aerobics. She looked down and saw the head and shoulders of the man waiting below. He was a persistent little rat.
Bonnie crossed the living room. She wore a large white t-shirt over black athletic shorts. The shorts weren’t revealing, but she unconsciously smoothed the t-shirt down over them anyway, thinking of Mike.
There he was in the video monitor, still waiting. Smiling to herself, Bonnie picked up the telephone and dialed a two-digit number. She had no intention of talking to Lisa’s boyfriend, but she wanted to listen. By now Mike was probably swearing to himself.
Perhaps the phone made a click on the outside speaker, because Mike seemed to know she was there. He looked up with a smile, and then he did something unusual. He held something up to the video camera. Bonnie looked at the image more closely. Mike was holding a cell phone, one of the latest ones with a big digital screen.
The screen was playing something, some pattern of flashing circles inside other flashing circles. There was music, too; Bonnie could hear it through the phone. A series of descending notes that kept repeating.
There was a knock on the door. Bonnie jumped, and put down the phone. She opened the door, and saw with surprise that Mike was standing there. She looked back at the video screen in confusion.
“Hi Bonnie. My name is Mike.”
Bonnie shook his outstretched hand uncertainly. She couldn’t remember letting him in, but she must have done so. Too much reading, she decided; it was making her groggy.
“Thanks for letting me in,” he said, stepping into the apartment. “I guess Lisa isn’t ready?”
Bonnie shook her head.
“No,” she replied. “It might be awhile.”
She didn’t like him being there, but after all, she had let him in. Might as well be civil.
“Sit down if you want,” she said. “Do you want a drink?”
He made an easy waving motion with his hand.
“No thanks.”
She watched him move into the living room. His eyes took in the photographs, the cds, and the plants. Her research. His expression changed; he nodded to himself and smiled.
“Don’t tell me you’ve read it,” she said.
“Sure.”
He was lying, just as sure as houses. Bonnie was reading an article that had been translated from French. It had originally appeared in a magazine that had been published in 1908.
“I don’t believe you,” Bonnie snapped. These tricks might work on Lisa, but this guy was crazy if he thought they would work on her.
Although Bonnie didn’t hear his phone go off, Mike reached for his pocket with an apologetic expression.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’ve got to get this.”
But instead of answering the phone he just held it up so that she could see it.
“Bonnie?”
Bonnie looked up. Mike was already done with his phone call. He held up her papers.
“I’ve read the whole series. They were first printed in Le Figaro.”
Bonnie felt a little unsteady. She sat down in the chair across from the couch.
“This essay was the first of a collection of pastiches in which Proust imitated the style of Balzac, Michelet, Flaubert, Sainte-Beuve and other prose writers of the nineteenth century.”
Mike smiled at her evenly.
“It was kind of a shot across the bow to the other writers of the day.”
Uncanny, Bonnie thought. Not only did he know what the essay was, but he also knew what it meant—and he had phrased it exactly the way she would have.
“I... apologize,” she said. “That was rude of me. I just didn’t think anyone else read Proust anymore.”
“We Proust fans are out there,” he replied, winking. “Don’t give up hope.”
Did I give up hope? Bonnie wondered. Maybe she had. She took another look at Mike. He was average height, fit, and without the sunglasses he looked kind of... nice.
Bonnie excused herself and walked down the hallway to Lisa’s bedroom. When she stuck her head in the doorway Lisa was sitting at her vanity, still wrapped in her towel.
“I can’t decide what to wear!” Lisa whispered. “Stall him, Bon!”
Bonnie didn’t like her name being shortened by some twit who couldn’t even dress herself. She looked past Lisa into the mirror, and saw her own reflection.
Hmmm. Speaking of dressing...
Bonnie went across the hall to her bedroom, throwing off her t-shirt and rummaging through her closet. There was a halter top that was quite cosy... but Bonnie shook off the idea. It was ridiculous to change just because Mike was there. How would that look?
Instead she chose another white t-shirt that was a bit tighter than the first. Nothing wrong with that. Mike probably wouldn’t even notice. She just needed to feel a bit more presentable.
Bonnie sat across from Mike, hoping to find out more about his literary insights.
“Nice abs,” he said.
She blushed a bit, and her hand moved to her stomach. Not only was the t-shirt tighter, it was a bit high as well.
“Thanks,” she replied. All those aerobics might as well go on display once in awhile.
“Why don’t we have that drink now?” Mike suggested.
“Good idea. Vodka?”
“Perfect.”
Bonnie went to the freezer and poured out two drinks. Lisa had mentioned that Mike liked vodka. She had mentioned a few other things about Mike, but Bonnie couldn’t remember at the moment what they were.
Bonnie brought Mike his drink. She was about to sit on the couch, but she caught herself just in time. That would look bad. She stood beside him for a moment, trying to think.
“I’m... going to check on Lisa,” she said. Mike just smiled.
Back in her bedroom, Lisa was wandering around wearing nothing but a pair of red panties. She had thrown several outfits on the bed and was anxiously looking from one to the other.
“Lisa!” Bonnie hissed. “Hurry up!”
Lisa looked at her and frowned.
“I thought you said I should let him wait.”
How rude, Bonnie thought, to treat your boyfriend that way. But she had another problem; Lisa had seen the glass in her hand.
“Are you drinking? This early?”
“No. This is... for you. To help you relax.”
Lisa gladly took the drink. She took a sip and gasped.
“That’s straight vodka!”
Bonnie shrugged. Lisa pulled her into the room.
“Help me, Bon! Tell me what to wear!”
Bonnie had an impulse to recommend the worst outfit possible—the peasant blouse, map skirt and Birkenstocks. The thought was delicious. Bonnie shook it off and tried to concentrate.
Had I given up hope?
Lisa tugged on her arm again.
“Come on! Pretend he was your boyfriend.”
That was exactly was Bonnie was trying not to do.
If he was my boyfriend...
The idea made her feel as though she was falling through the air. She heard a faraway sound, a series of descending notes. It sounded familiar.
“It’s up to you,” Bonnie said softly. “But guys really love hippie chicks.”
Lisa beamed.
“Rilly? I’ve got just the thing!”
Bonnie left her sorting through the batik print dresses in her closet. The question still pulsed in her mind. What if he was her boyfriend?
She slipped across the hall and looked at herself in full-length mirror. She looked like a gym teacher. The shorts had to go; but how? Mike wasn’t her boyfriend. She had to be... subtle.
Bonnie pawed through her dresser and found the perfect solution: a pair of black silk boxers. She pulled off her shorts and panties together and slid the silk up her legs in their place. The fabric felt like magic between her legs. She took another look in the mirror and slowly moved her hips, watching the reflections slide across the sheer fabric. Perfect.
When Bonnie returned to the living room Mike was standing at the stereo. Orchestral music gathered in the shadows, and then suddenly a voice filled the void, sounding a note that was perfect, desperate, and incredibly beautiful. It disappeared immediately, and the orchestra swirled around them again.
Mike turned around and looked at her calmly.
“Maria Callas was born to sing La Gioconda, don’t you think?”
Bonnie nodded. Suddenly she had to lean against the wall; she didn’t know if her legs would hold her. She mad e it to the couch, but only barely, and then Callas was singing again, flooding her with emotion. Such tragedy, so keenly felt that it made every feeling sharper in its wake.
When Lisa was out of the apartment Bonnie would sometimes masturbate to opera records, but only when Callas was singing. Now she wondered dreamily if that made her a lesbian. She watched Mike slowly cross the living room and sit down beside her. A delicious hot shiver rolled deep between her legs, and she knew she was not. She searched for something to say, something interesting.
“So... what do you do for a living?”
Could you be any more boring, Bonnie?
“I used to be a musician, but I could never make it pay. Now I design ringtones.”
Mike took out his cellphone and it started to chime. The sound seemed to eclipse everything, even the opera. Bonnie tried to think of something clever to say about it, but she found it very hard to concentrate. He was so close, and so perfect. She shifted on the couch, feeling the silk pull against her nakedness.
Keep things in perspective! she told herself. Think about Lisa!
“So... what are you and Lisa going to do... on your date?” she asked, when she could breathe again.
“I thought we’d go dancing,” Mike replied. “I know a place where they let retired musicians get up and play the old stuff, you know? Slow dances. Under a big mirror ball.”
“Sounds amazing,” she said regretfully. Lisa, you lucky bitch.
“Yeah,” he replied wistfully,” I just wish I was a better dancer.”
The words were out of her mouth before she could consider them twice.
“I could teach you!”
A shy smile slipped across Mike’s face.
“Even if we had a thousand years, you couldn’t teach me.”
Bonnie stood up and headed for the kitchen, grinning over her shoulder. It was hard to look away from a man like Mike.
“Leave it to me.”
The kitchen lights revealed a spreading wetness where the black shorts cupped her crotch. Bonnie stared down in disbelief—she had never been this wet before. She wanted to feel that wetness now; she wanted to put her finger there, but she wouldn’t. She had done that enough—she wanted more. But she had to be subtle.
Bonnie stuck her head into Lisa’s bedroom. Her roommate was only half dressed, but she was more than half drunk. Lisa looked up at her and sighed. Her make up had been applied with a sloppy hand, and the effect was rather alarming.
“Sorry,” Lisa slurred. “I’m slow.”
Bonnie exchanged the empty glass for a full one.
“Relax,” she said. “It’s Friday night. You’ve got all weekend.”
Lisa brightened at that nonsensical idea and put her nose into the vodka. Bonnie crossed the hall and took stock of herself once more in her bedroom mirror. She remembered that she had to change her panties, but she couldn’t remember why. She saw circles inside circles for a moment, spiraling down.
She had to change her panties. They were too big. Bonnie found some proper high-cut black panties and put them on, enjoying the snug feeling. The boxers had been too big, and now her bra was too small. How could that be?
She took off her t-shirt and undid her bra. Of course. Her nipples were hard. No wonder the bra was uncomfortable. Bonnie looked at the red spikes of her nipples in the mirror. She wanted to feel them between her fingers, but she would not. She wanted much more to feel them between Mike’s fingers. And for that she had to be... subtle.
Bonnie walked back down the hall, sliding the tight white t-shirt back down over her chest. It felt good to feel her thighs whispering together without those ridiculous boxers. It felt good to feel the spikes of her nipples rub back and forth across the sheer white cotton.
Mike had changed the music—now it was Sinatra. He watched Bonnie step into a pair of high heels.
“The first thing about dancing,” she said, “is you need the right pair of shoes.”
Mike slid his right hand around the small of her back. He took her right hand in his left, and they started to sway. Bonnie stared into his eyes. She thought that if she looked up, she might really see a mirror ball spinning overhead, and both of them spinning down, inside a circle of light.
Stop it Bonnie, stop it now!
She took his left hand and moved it behind her, sliding forward into his arms. She was just being nice.
“This is the more modern style,” she said cleverly. She stood on her tiptoes and his hands slid down over her taut silk-covered ass. She could feel his erection, like a third dance partner joining in, rolling across her stomach. Bonnie moved herself against his cock, tracing outlines on his back with her fingers.
If he comes, I’m only doing Lisa a favour. He’ll last longer tonight when he fucks her.
But it was a sad thought. Bonnie wanted so badly to be the one who got fucked.
“Any questions?” she said softly in his ear.
“Yes,” Mike replied. “Is it proper to kiss a girl on the second date?”
“That depends,” she replied. “On how good you are.”
She raised her mouth to find out, and he was so very good. She wanted more. Their tongues reached out to ride each other for a long delicious moment. He could feel the wetness of her panties now even from the back.
“Stay here tonight,” she whispered thickly. Mike looked at her in surprise.
“But... what about Lisa...”
“I’ll show you Lisa.”
She took Mike’s hand and led him down the hallway. He looked in Lisa’s bedroom. For a moment he couldn’t see her among the pile of clothes. Bonnie’s roommate was snoring away on her bed, looking for all the world like a little girl who had been playing dress-up.
When Mike turned around, Bonnie had disappeared. He walked down the hallway. Her bedroom door was slowly opening.
“If you were my boyfriend...”
Her breasts were wrapped in a dark red silk bra. Matching panties rode high over her hips. She walked past him, down the hallway, letting the high heels roll her ass invitingly under the lace. She stopped in the middle of the living room and listened to him follow. When he was behind her she reached back and slowly undid his fly.
“If you were my boyfriend...”
She freed his cock from his pants and stepped over it, squeezing him lovingly between her legs as she brought his hands to her breasts.
“...I wouldn’t fall asleep on a Friday night until you fucked my brains out.”
He stripped her from behind. Her tits spilled out of the bra, and she stepped out of her panties. She reached between her legs once more and brought his dick back against her wet split mound, groaning as she prepared to feed him inside.
Suddenly she was against the window. She shock of the cool glass against her breasts brought a sliver of awareness into her mind. She saw the street below. Something wasn’t right. But there was that sound, that fascinating sound, she knew it so well...
Mike held up his telephone.
“It’s for you,” he said.
Outside, an elderly man was baggin g his dog’s nightly coil. He looked up to locate the source of a rhythmic sound that came from somewhere above the street.
There, in the floor-to-ceiling window of a new apartment, a naked woman was pressed against the glass. Her eyes were glazed and staring, and drool hung freely from her mouth. Her breasts, already large, were made even larger by the man behind her who slid inside her with a steady cadence.
The elderly man laughed to himself and walked off with his dog. His vision was clearly going; it had to be some kind of blow-up doll in the window.
No self-respecting woman would put on a show like that.