Some Enchanted Girlfriend by Donna Lamb 4. Picking Up The idea of being Tim’s girlfriend disturbed me. And the idea of Tim having other girlfriends annoyed me. And the idea of being annoyed at the thought of Tim’s other girlfriends didn’t just disturb or annoy me – it scared the cross-eyed shit out of me.

Because I knew what that annoyed feeling was–I was actually getting jealous of some other women in Tim’s life that I had never met and who might not even exist. Oh, come on now, you know they exist–how could he not have tons of girlfriends? Just look at him, I told myself.

And I did mentally, picturing the way his ass looked in those shorts as he left the apartment. The way his back made a diamond shape above his waist. How his arms, just his arms, seemed bigger than my whole body. His muscles, who knew I liked muscles? Magic muscles. Omigawd.

Something else occurred to me. Omigawd!

I’d done it again, thinking of women as other women! Which meant I thought of myself as a woman. As Tim’s girlfriend with the sole and unshared privilege of admiring his backside, his back, his arms, his neck – his sausage, too.

“Crap! Crap! Crap!” I said aloud.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror above the dresser. Yeah, no doubt about it, “I’m female.” I pulled the borrowed t-shirt tight across my chest and looked down and then in the mirror. My nipples had gotten hard again thinking about Tim’s butt and other parts.

“How the ever-lovin’ freakin’ shit did this happen?” I squeaked.

I jumped off the bed and ran out into the living room that opened right off the bedroom. I could feel my titties bounce every time my heels hit the floor and it wasn’t really pleasant. “Oh, jeez, I’m a fricken cow!” I stopped because it was getting uncomfortable.

I crossed my arms under the bags of flesh on my chest and glared around the room. Better nobody laugh at the tiny girl with the big tits. Okay, then.

Tim seemed impossibly neat for a bachelor; I hadn’t spotted a pair of underwear on the floor or a dirty dish on a shelf yet. Even his bathroom gleamed. Maybe he had a maid come in to clean.

I pictured a cute brunette in a pink and white maid’s uniform and gritted my teeth. She was smiling at him! The slut!

I needed a distraction before I went completely round the loop-de-loo and ended up feeling jealous of myself! I glared around, trying to focus on something, almost anything.

The carpet in the bedroom had been a two-tone figured slate color. The living room rug repeated the slate but added gold and burgundy accents to the figures. It looked expensive.

As if to prove the point, the long wall of the living room had a huge HD television, probably wider than I was tall. A dining table big enough for six took up the room directly under the windows and a small kitchen lay around the corner of a neat little breakfast bar.

I explored. Okay, I snooped.

I found a neatly sorted stack of mail on a small table between the bedroom door and the kitchen. Tim’s last name seemed to be Geelman and his middle initial was C. Or maybe it was Gellman. That seemed more likely. I said it out loud, “Timothy C. Gellman,” and someone giggled. Me.

I don’t know why I did that but saying his name out loud made me smile. And giggle, jeez!

I looked in the refrigerator. A bowl of grapes, a carton of 2% milk in the door. A wrapped package that turned out to have thinly sliced roast beef. Another package of intensely smoky smelling bacon.

Wait a minute. Wasn’t Gellman a Jewish name? Maybe not, or at least, Tim didn’t keep kosher. I spent a moment wondering how I knew the right term, was I Jewish? Who knew?

I had noticed Tim’s circumcision–for crying out loud, we’d been naked in the bed together–but thinking about it made me blush. And giggle again, dammit! “I’ll have my salami with cheese,” I said aloud and giggled some more.

Crisper full of fresh-looking veggies, doors full of condiments, bottom shelf holding six bottles of Sam Adams Boston Lager and four cans of Coke Zero, freezer full of good quality frozen entrees and a carton of Tin Roof Sundae Ice Cream. My favorite!

Wait! I had a favorite flavor of ice cream? Nice. Did that help me remember my name? Nope.

But how did Tim know? It must be his favorite, too! And now I was giggling again, just fricken thrilled that Tim liked the same kind of ice cream I liked, for pity’s sake!

“You are so hosed,” I said out loud. “Those magic muscles are on your brain and how you going to get them off?”

I tried to distract myself from my obvious, excessive, juvenile, boy-crazy girlfriendness by more exploring.

A door at the back of the kitchen proved to open on a tiny laundry room which must be back-to-back with the bath in the bedroom. Some part of me thought, nice design and some other part thought, how would you know, you dumb little girlfriend?

And another locked door in the kitchen probably opened to the outside hall where Tim had gone. Thinking of that made me feel lonesome so I backtracked to the big window wall in the living room.

A balcony outside filled the angle between a similar wall in the bedroom and I could see a deserted courtyard below and some other balconies across a blue-green swimming pool. It looked nice outside but until I had some clothes that actually covered my nether parts, I didn’t want to risk a wind blowing my dress up over my head.

Dress? Well, the damn t-shirt I wore. It hung on me like a tent. I tried to pull the neck around to see what size it was but no, I’d have to take it off to see that. Not just now.

“Bet he’s got a 20-inch neck,” I said aloud. And fricken giggled again! “Oh, jeez,” I complained. “Do I have to be such a girl about him?”

Okay, he seemed like a really nice guy, with muscles, and he hadn’t taken advantage of me, well, not after I woke up, and, and.... I remembered a line from an old movie, “He’s large.” I blushed–and giggled again, of course.

Wait! Where had I seen that movie? Who had I been with when I saw it? I remembered we had laughed at parts of it and yawned at other parts. What was the fricken movie, anyway?

The critics hated it. The fat sarcastic guy and the skinny sarcastic guy on Sunday night. What the heck were their names? And the name of their show?

It would be just too lame-ass if I could remember their names and not my own! Okay, so I wasn’t quite that lame-ass. I couldn't remember anything else.

I went back into the living room to look into the mirror over the little telephone and mail drop table. My blondeness seemed very evident–my reflection looked as dumb as a rock with a seagull sitting on it. “What am I, stupid?” I asked. “Don’t answer that.”

“Olive!” I said suddenly. Olive? Wtf did olives have to do with anything? Martinis? Salad? Pizza? Huh? I had it on the tip of my tongue, not just olives; something olive or olive something.... Oh! The girl in the movie, the brunette!

The phone rang. It scared me since it was right in front of me but I snatched it up and put it to my ear. “Hi, Tim,” I said.

I know I damn near cooed and my nipples crinkled again. I put a knuckle between my teeth and bit on it to keep from giggling. Large Tim with the magic muscles. Stop it!

“Hey, babe! How did you know it was me?” he asked in that deep, rumbly voice that made me want to pee on myself.