Billy The Experiment
PART 1
I heard music even as I wearily climbed the stairs towards my apartment
and knew before I got to my door that Steve was home and probably entertaining.
Steve was my roommate, and had been my best friend off and on since
First Grade; some twenty years. We had been geeky little kids in grade school,
growing up together in a small West Coast town, and naturally seemed to
gravitate towards one another throughout school. We had had the same likes;
science, science fiction and such, and for the longest time we were inseparable.
We even got beat up together, as we were both scrawny and obnoxious little kids.
Then we got separated for a time in junior high. We went to separate schools
after his family moved cross-town to a better neighborhood, and we both made new
friends over the course of three years.
When we finally linked up again in high school, I noticed right off that
he had changed. I was still somewhat scrawny, though we had both had a growth
spurt and shot up over six feet tall. Steve on the other hand had filled out as
well as up. He had developed muscles, and traded in his glasses for contacts.
His long greasy hair was now trimmed (almost coifed), and his skin was blemish
free. I on the other hand still looked like a Chess Club reject, except that I
was not smart enough to get into the club. Steve had excelled at school and
sports throughout junior high and then high school where I was barely floating
above 'C' level.
Steve had become popular as well, but for some reason he renewed our old
friendship. He was almost like a mentor, to a certain point, hanging out with
me and letting me eat lunch at the 'jock' table and such. He even got me laid
for the first time on a double date. High school turned out a lot better than I
had thought it would.
College was good as well, as we both were accepted to a local state
college. Steve of course went through four years on scholarships, barely paying
a dime whereas I had to struggle to pay my way and still had to drop out before
graduation. My grades were slipping, and I had to work full time at every
menial job I could manage just to make ends meet. Eventually it all became too
much, and rather than be flunked out I quit, saying that I would return someday
and get my Bachelor's Degree. That has still not happened.
What did happen was that Steve informed me that he was moving to New
York to make a name for himself on Wall Street, and that I was more than welcome
to come along for the ride. I jumped at the chance, of course, as I had reached
a dead end in my hometown and did not look forward to a life of working in a
lumber mill or grocery store. Steve had of course graduated with honors and had
several job offers in the 'Big Apple'. He took the best one, on the promise
that they would have a spot for me as well in their organization. What a guy.
After a huge send-off (mainly for him), and a sad farewell with our
respective families, Steve boarded a plane for New York to set up shop; an
apartment, the job, etc., and I set out the next day driving his car and pulling
a U-Haul across country with all of our worldly possessions in tow. It took him
eight hours to get to Manhattan, where it took me eight days. I slept in the
car when I could, and forged his name on credit cards for gas and hotel when I
couldn't. It was a long and miserable trip.
Steve directed me through the torturous rush hour traffic of the city
via cell-phone upon my arrival. Eventually I found the building that he said
housed our apartment, and saw him outside waiting for me. It was a small
building on a quiet street in Chelsea, just north of Greenwich Village, and I
immediately wondered how I was going to be able to afford living there. Steve
told me that his new company, some international bank, owned the building and
gave their employees a reduced rate in rent. He also told me that the job the
company had in mind for me was in the mailroom at the office building where he
worked. He would be making six figures whereas I would be making barely $35,000
by the end of the year, and not much above minimum wage to start. There was
room for advancement, it seemed, but without my Degree, that was the best the
company could do for me. Steve said we would work something out with the bills.
I shrugged and agreed with his wisdom as I usually did.
My next surprise was that our apartment was only one bedroom. Steve
explained that there was some foul up with book keeping and that he was
registered with the company as married rather than with a roommate. "Great..."
I thought, "Now I'm Mrs. Steve Sorenson." He said he would get it all cleared
up, but for the time being we would have to deal with it. The apartment was
great though, with a huge living room and kitchen, bathroom, enormous closets
and a bedroom to die for (though I would not be sleeping there). The building
had a doorman, which was great, and its own laundry and roof garden. Our
apartment faced a courtyard in the back, but that was fine with us for all the
perks.
Steve had of course claimed the bedroom, but he had purchased a sofa bed
for me as well as a dresser set that fit well in with the decor of the living
room where I would be sleeping for the time being. He also had rented out a
storage space for some of our stuff that we could not keep in the apartment or
did not need (i.e. my bedroom set, comic book collection, and other useless
articles). I shrugged and agreed again, and we set about unloading the U-Haul
and settling in. That was almost two years ago...
My actual job was okay; not too hard and I moved right up in the ranks
of the mailroom. My pay raises were slight, however, where Steve's were huge,
not including any bonuses he earned or for holidays. We worked out an
arrangement where I would pay a smaller portion of the rent (which was only fair
since he had the bedroom), and I would do the majority of the cooking when
needed and the cleaning up. He paid most of the bills except for my phone and
portion of the Electric Bill, and for his generosity, I became the housekeeper
and cook, though not in so many words. It was not so bad, really, as I had been
brought up to do chores in my family's home, and Steve was not too sloppy.
Still, it was a little demeaning at times, especially when Steve brought home
dates.
Steve had become a ladies man during Junior High, and was always a prime
date throughout school. He dated cheerleaders and the cream of the upper crust
crop throughout high school and college, then moved on to the best of the
'yuppie' set in adult life after graduation. He rarely had a real girlfriend
that lasted more than a month, but they were all beautiful and well out of my
league. When he brought one home for the night, there would usually be an
envelope with the doorman containing some money for a decent hotel where I was
expected to go. Sometimes he did not care, and I would come home to find him
entertaining in his room, expected to stay out of the way and then clean up
afterwards as per our deal, our living arrangement as Mr. And Mrs. Steve
Sorenson, a clerical error that never seemed to get fixed.
As expected, as usual, I found Steve sprawled on the sofa (my bed) when
I unlocked the door and entered the apartment. He was watching television as
well as playing the stereo, dressed in a polo shirt and khaki pants with a beer
in hand. I looked about, and saw that the bathroom door was closed and figured
that his date was in there. He raised his bottle in greeting as I came into the
room.
"Hey, Bill. How's it goin'?"
"Not bad." I said, plopping down in a small easy chair off to one side
of the room. I noticed a backpack propped against the side of the sofa and knew
at once who his date must be.
Sharon was not the typical type of girl that Steve usually dated. She
was rather plain in fact, with long stringy brown hair that was always parted in
the middle and a figure that never really blossomed. Steve usually dated the
curvaceous, big-breasted type that worked in his field. Sharon was about as far
from that as could be. Forty years ago she would have been labeled a hippie,
almost always wearing a thin-framed pair of 'John Lennon' glasses, ratty blue
jeans, tee shirt and flat leather sandals. Sharon lived down on the Lower East
Side, which was a bit run down and much cheaper rent wise, and she worked at the
front desk of the Laundromat that was visible across the courtyard from our
bathroom window. Steve was way out of her league, money-wise.
Not to say that Sharon was not nice. I in fact had introduced them. I
had met Sharon first, one day when I had dropped off a few of Steve's suits and
shirts for dry-cleaning. After a few visits, I got up the nerve to ask her out
on a date, and we had a really great time I thought. I made the mistake of
bringing her home, however, and she met Steve. I saw the immediate spark in her
eyes, though at the time it seemed that Steve was not interested. Before long
though, she was seeing more of him, and less of me. I was always baffled and
jealous of course, but Sharon was cute in an earthy kind of way, and I had long
ago learned to deal with my own inadequacies in love when compared to Steve.
When Sharon finally gave me the "I just want to be friends" speech, I shrugged,
and agreed.
"Shary's in the bathroom." Steve said as he flipped through the
television channels with the remote. "We'll be out of your hair in a bit.
Goin' to dinner and probably a movie. We'll be back late, I suppose." That was
good news to me. It meant that I did not have to get lost for the night.
I looked about the room and through the crack in the doorway to his
bedroom and saw that they had been around for awhile. Steve's clothes were
strewn about his bed, and the kitchen sink was full from our breakfast dishes as
well as some glasses and plates they had dirtied. I would have a bit of
cleaning up to do after they left, as per our living arrangement, but that was
the price I paid for living in the lap of Steve's luxury. He offered me a beer,
but I declined. I was never much of a drinker.
We made small talk for a bit, until Sharon came out of the bathroom. I
was impressed when I saw her, expecting her to be in her usual hippie garb. She
was wearing a thigh-length summer dress that seemed to accentuate her figure and
a pair of leather moccasin boots that came up to her knees. Her usually stringy
hair was washed out and full and she had braided one long strand to frame the
right of her face. She never wore much make-up, but had on a clear lip-gloss
and a bit of mascara that made her look somewhat exotic compared to normal. She
looked great. She gave me a warm smile as she saw me and sat on the sofa next
to Steve, crossing her long legs but not bothering to adjust her skirt. She
casually kicked her foot as she dug through her backpack.
"Hi, Billy." She always called me Billy now, though she used to call me
Bill when we first met. "How are you?"
"Good, Sharon. You look nice."
She smiled again at the compliment as she grabbed Steve's hand.
"Thanks. Steve's taking me to dinner in the Village, then a movie. I figured I
could spruce up a bit."
"Sounds fun." I said, just a little envious of my friend. I could not
seem to stop watching Sharon's legs. She was apparently oblivious.
"Want to tag along, Billy?" she asked, and Steve gave me a glare that
meant that I had better decline. I said no.
"Too bad. Y'know you're always welcome."
I thanked her as Steve downed the last of his beer then urged her to get
a move on so they could eat leisurely before the movie. She gathered some
things into a small reticule and picked up a light sweater as Steve ushered her
to the door and grabbed his jacket. I told them to have fun, then locked up
behind them, glad to be finally alone.
I found myself sweating as I returned to the living room, and more than
a little erect. Sharon had looked... different tonight, and more than a little
hot. I had always had a thing for feet and shoes, and especially boots and her
moccasins had really got me excited. I went into the bathroom to wash up, as I
was sure that I still smelled of work, and saw some of her cast-off hanging from
the shower rod; her jeans and tee shirt, panties, her wash rag. I tried to
ignore it all and went out to fix myself some dinner.
After a bowl of generic macaroni and cheese (with a bit of corn and tuna
fish mixed in for good measure) I set about cleaning up a bit. I did the dishes
and washed up, then gathered Steve's clothes for the laundry. I wiped down the
bathroom and put Sharon's things in a bag as my duties did not include washing
out her things, yet. When I was finally satisfied with the order of the
apartment, I grabbed the beer Steve had offered earlier and sat down on the
toilet to enjoy a cigarette. Steve did not smoke, but I did, and I was lucky
that he allowed me to have my smokes in the bathroom.
I settled back, enjoying my little reward at the end of the day and
glanced out the window into the courtyard and the building behind our own. My
gaze eventually settled on the back of the dry cleaners as it usually did, and
the women working the machines there. There were three of them; a chubby one, a
cute one, and a third that was somewhere in between. I had nicknamed them
'Crazy, Sexy, and Cool' after the album by TLC, and the names seemed to fit.
They were Hispanic, and Cool was all work, but she looked good, where Sexy was
just that, usually dressed in a short skirt and tight shirt. Crazy did her job,
but she always seemed to be playing and was the ringleader of the three.
I must have been day dreaming, but when I looked out again, I saw that
Crazy was looking up at my window. She laughed when she saw me see her, and
said something to the others as I ducked out of sight. After a couple minutes,
when I looked again, I saw Crazy and Sexy watching, and Cool glancing up as she
worked. Cool smiled, watching as she worked while the other two broke up in a
fit of the giggles, pointing at me. I blushed, feeling the warmth of
embarrassment wash over me and quickly slid the frosted bathroom window shut. I
wondered if this would get back to Sharon, and just how embarrassed I should
be...
