Noise
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Background Noise free porn video
BACKGROUND NOISE
By Selena Pride
"So why do I need a new terminal again?" Rob demanded.
"Search me," said the CSO as he fiddled with plugs round
the back. "Did you complain about the last one?"
"The last one was fine," Rob said, "and this one looks
identical."
"Well, you shouldn't have any problems then," the CSO
replied, straightening up. "There you go. Just power up for
me, will you?"
Rob pushed the power button, and the screen started its
usual pre-Windows callisthenics. The CSO stood behind him
and watched while he logged on and his desktop came up.
"Seems okay," he said. "What's that humming?"
"Probably the fan," the CSO said lightly. "Nothing to worry
about. If you see smoke, give us a bell."
Rob wouldn't have been surprised to see smoke, steam or
leaping flames. The company was renowned for buying from
the lowest bidder, and the Computer Support Officer was
consequently kept pretty busy. In the circumstances, a
little background noise was quite tolerable. Rob went ha ha
and the CSO moved on to the next crisis.
Which turned out to be Veronica. Rob peered over his
cubicle wall and accidentally caught her looking in his
direction. She stiffened and turned away to talk to the
CSO, but not before he had seen the hurt and anger in her
face. Well, too bad. Some people needed to learn to handle
rejection a little better. It wasn't as if he had promised
any kind of commitment. He never did that. That would have
been a lie.
Mr. Allison walked by, and Rob gave his attention to the
screen. There were last month's figures to sort out and
archive. The hum of the computer gradually receded into the
background where it belonged, and before he knew it, it was
one o'clock and Dave was tapping him on the shoulder.
"Earth to Robert, are you receiving me?"
"Sorry, mate," Rob said, coming back to himself with a
bump. "Must have been concentrating."
"Yeah, well, don't get too keen. Listen, you coming down to
the Grapes?"
"Um..." Rob thought a moment. "Not this time. Got things to
do, you know. Tomorrow, eh?"
"Tomorrow it is. See you then."
"Cheers," Rob said absently.
Somehow today he didn't fancy sitting in the dark smoky pub
watching Dave and Mike and Chris daring each other to sink
one more pint before going back to work. Fresh air sounded
like a good idea. He grabbed his jacket and logged off, and
groaned as he realised he had forgotten to save what he'd
done. Now he would have to do the whole thing again after
lunch.
Outside, Rob turned towards the main shopping precinct. He
hadn't checked out the computer game place for a few weeks,
and he could pick up a burger or something and eat it on
the way. The pre-Christmas rush was just beginning, and he
wove his way through the crowds purposefully. Ahead he saw
a familiar flash of bright red hair: Donna, damn it. He
tried not to be noticed, but she saw him and turned
deliberately to speak to her companion, a young black guy
in a leather jacket. Rob felt embarrassed, and wondered
why: he had dumped Donna months ago, and anyway it wasn't
as if she was on her own. He shook his head and walked
briskly on.
Something caught his eye, and he turned to look. It was a
shirt, or possibly a blouse or something, in a shop window.
It was gold, shiny material, satin or something. He didn't
really know about fabrics. He looked at it, trying to work
out why it had drawn his attention. It looked soft and
cool, there on the white faceless mannequin. The collar was
wide and pointed, and there was a matching sort of tie
thing loosely knotted round the neck. The dummy was also
wearing trousers, or maybe they were slacks, in deep purple
velvet, with wide flared bottoms. Rob stared at them for a
moment, then shook himself and walked away.
Half an hour later he was feeling much happier, with a
double cheeseburger inside him and the latest World War II
shoot-'em-up in his jacket pocket. He walked past the
clothes shop with no more than a glance at the blouse and
slacks, and relaxed. Even seeing Maggie across the road
didn't dent his bonhomie. Anyway, she hadn't seen him.
Chris and Dave gave him happy, unfocussed smiles as he
walked into the office. One of them would probably be
nodding off over the keyboard before the afternoon was out,
and not from too much concentration either. Rob settled
himself at his desk and logged on, and again the intrusive
humming started up. This time, however, it didn't feel
quite so irritating. Almost... friendly, somehow. He
immersed himself in his work, and the afternoon flew by.
On the way home he found himself stopping outside the
clothes shop again. Something about that outfit was
definitely catching his interest. They were nice colours,
after all. Nothing wrong with liking purple and gold. It
had never occurred to him to buy clothes for anything other
than serviceability before, but when you got right down to
it, there was no reason to stick to the hard-wearing stuff.
It wasn't as if he couldn't afford to buy clothes as often
as he wanted. And that was a nice gold. He wondered what it
would feel like to touch, and went into the shop to find
out.
He emerged a few minutes later, big, colourful carrier bag
in hand, kicking himself for being an idiot. There was no
way he would ever wear this stuff. Still, if it put this
stupid obsession to rest, it was worth it. And at least he
now knew he was a size eighteen, tall fit. That might come
in useful, some day.
When he got back to his flat he took the blouse and slacks
out of the bag and looked at them, running his fingers over
the cool, smooth satin, the sensual caress of the velvet.
It was no good. He was going to have to try them on.
Quickly he stripped to his underpants and slipped the
blouse over his head. It felt good. Buttoning it up was a
little tricky for some reason, but he left the top three
buttons undone and knotted the tie loosely as he had seen
it on the mannequin. The trousers slid over his legs,
catching a little on the coarse, wiry hair that covered
them, and he felt an odd spasm of irritation, which faded
as he stood up and moved about in his new clothes, trying
to see how he looked in the two-inch-square mirror he used
for shaving. He had never actually considered getting
anything bigger, and he couldn't imagine at this point why
not.
Reluctantly he took off the gold blouse and the purple
velvet trousers, folded them neatly and put them in the
chest of drawers. There was no way he could ever wear them
normally. It would just have to be a little private
pleasure of his own. His old T-shirt and jeans felt itchy
and uncomfortable, but he steeled himself and pulled them
back on. No point in getting food on the good clothes,
after all.
The following day saw Rob at his desk bright and early. For
some reason he had been almost keen to get to work today.
The humming from the computer was actually almost
comforting, which was good because everything else was
driving him crazy. His clothes itched, especially where he
had hair, he had cut himself twice shaving, and even the
hair on his head was getting on his nerves. But, as he let
himself sink into the quiet cocoon of the humming, all
these distractions faded, and he even found himself getting
ideas as to how to get round them. Somehow, even while part
of his brain was concentrating on work, another part found
it easy to think about other things. He had read about
something like this in New Scientist. Maybe the hum
included frequencies that aided concentration or theta
waves or something.
He almost missed lunchtime completely, and Chris had to say
his name three times before he emerged. For some reason,
the man seemed to think Bobbi wanted to go to the pub.
Nothing was further from his mind, and he said so, which
seemed to irritate Chris beyond all reason. Eventually Rob
just left him standing there and stalked off.
There was a beauty parlour down a little side street, run
by a daughter of an old friend of his. He popped in on the
way back to the clothes shop and booked a full wax and a
facial.
"This must seem a little strange," he said hesitantly.
"Oh, no, we get quite a few men in here," the girl said.
"Okay, that'll be tomorrow at ten-thirty, Mr Curtis."
"Call me Bobbi," he said.
He emerged humming a little tune, and walked on to the
clothes shop, where he spent one of the happiest half hours
he could remember. The place was full of beautiful things
that called out to him, and nearly all of them were
available in his size. He bought blouses, sleeveless tops,
several pairs of slacks and three skirts, a dozen pairs of
cotton panties, and six packs of three pairs of tights.
Bobbi couldn't wait to get home to try them all on.
Something told him that it might seem a little off if he
tried them on in the shop, though he wasn't too clear on
why. Actually, he wasn't too clear on anything just at the
moment. His mind was basking in a warm fuzzy glow of
contentment as one of the assistants packed his purchases
into six or seven of the big, colourful bags, and the other
took his plastic and put it through the wringer.
"What colour is that?" he said, as she handed his card
back.
"I'm sorry?"
"Your nails. The nail varnish. What colour is that?"
"Rimmel Black Cherries. I get it from Boots, down the
road."
"Thank you," said Bobbi, smiling brilliantly, and walked
out of the shop.
He was halfway back to work before it occurred to him that,
a, he hadn't actually had any lunch, and, b, he had just
doubled the amount of clothing he owned. He just had time
to pick up a roll from the bakery and gulp it down before
he got back to his desk. He didn't want to waste any time
away from the computer. He wanted to go back to the beauty
parlour and beg them to take him on right now, he wanted to
go home and dress up, and the only way he could quell these
longings was to log on to the computer and lose himself in
the work and the humming.
It worked like a charm. As soon as the familiar noise began
he found himself becoming deliciously calm and centred. He
felt capable of anything, and the work just seemed to flow.
In fact everything flowed, sweetly and smoothly, right
through till six o'clock when the cleaners started to throw
everyone out.
Boots was just closing as he got there, and he hurled
himself through the automatic door like someone leaping for
safety: but the girl behind the Rimmel counter was very
helpful, and he left with a carrier bag clinking with
bottles and pens and little clamshell compacts of powder
and eye shadow, and, of course, Black Cherries nail
varnish. He smiled and hummed to himself all the way home,
and the only thing that quenched his happiness was
remembering that he still hadn't got a decent mirror. There
was no way he could try on the makeup properly without at
least a dressing table.
In fact, the entire flat looked like... like... well,
completely unfit for anyone to live in. The walls were
drab, the furniture ridiculously spartan, and there was
hardly a cushion in sight. He was going to have to take
himself in hand. Nobody deserved to live like this. Well,
the weekend was coming up, and he only had one appointment
tomorrow. Time for a makeover.
He spent the evening trying on his purchases, pairing up
tops and bottoms, making outfits, and only went to bed when
he couldn't stop yawning. He slept peacefully that night,
and dreamt of humming, gentle dreamy humming that took him
away and floated her on pink happy clouds to a place where
you could be whatever you wanted to be.
He woke up the following morning ravenously hungry and
feeling very strange. It took him quite a while to remember
that he had made an appointment to have all the hair
removed from his body. He almost phoned up to cancel, but
somehow he couldn't bring himself to do it. He arrived at
the beauty parlour at ten-twenty, out of breath and
flustered, in the gold and purple outfit under his old
green anorak.
Roxanne, the beautician, couldn't have been nicer. She
calmed him down and admired his nail varnish, and showed
him a couple of tips on how to do it without getting it all
streaky or smudged. Then she took him through to a back
room and made him lie down on a long table. It was all very
pleasant, and he loved the sensation of being taken care
of. The waxing itself was a lot less painful than he had
thought, and the facial was absolute heaven. Roxanne even
shaped his eyebrows for him while he was there. He admired
the delicate, tapering arches, and immediately booked in
for another wax and facial in six weeks' time.
"We do electrolysis as well if you want something more
permanent," she said.
"Maybe later," Bobbi said. "What's colour therapy?"
When Bobbi left the beauty parlour, he had six appointments
booked over the next six weeks, everything from
aromatherapy massage to a pedicure. He felt as though he
was walking on air. For the first time in his life
everything was right.
Well, almost everything. His hair wasn't right, but only
time would solve that. His flat wasn't right, but it was
going to be. He needed some nice coats to go over his new
clothes, too. And Roxanne had pointed out that his shoes
were all wrong, he needed some nice shoes. And--
Flat first. He spent the rest of the day in furniture and
do-it-yourself shops, choosing and comparing and pricing,
and arranged delivery of everything he couldn't carry for
Monday morning. His credit card was almost maxed out, and
he made a note to get some cash from his savings on Monday
and pay it off. The stuff was just sitting there, after
all. He lugged the cans of paint and brushes back to his
flat, moved the furniture, changed into some of his old
drab clothes and started in on the decorating.
It took a little longer than he intended, because he kept
having to change. None of his old T-shirts and jeans seemed
to be comfortable any more, and he hated wearing them, but
he certainly wasn't going to wear anything nice to paint
in. By the end of the job every item of male clothing he
possessed was covered in paint splashes, and he decided to
rip the whole lot up for dusters: the walls of the flat,
however, were transformed, and so was the ceiling. The last
thing he did before slipping, with a sigh of pure pleasure,
into a lilac sleeveless top and black skirt, was to lug a
lot of his old furniture downstairs and leave it clustered
round his dustbin. He poured himself a glass of wine and
toasted the bare, pastel pink walls.
"To a new beginning, Bobbi girl," he said, and then caught
himself. Bobbi girl? What on earth was he saying?
He was saying his name, he answered himself. As for the
"girl" part...well...actually, it felt kind of nice. Very
nice, in fact. It felt right. "Bobbi boy" just didn't.
Anyway, how else would you abbreviate Roberta?
He finished his wine and went to bed, making sure the
window was open to let out the paint fumes.
Sunday was strange. He woke up feeling very odd. For some
reason the clothes in his wardrobe didn't seem quite right.
He had painted his flat pink, and he wasn't sure whether he
liked pink. He had dumped half his furniture on the
pavement, and he couldn't remember why. His nail varnish
had chipped, and he couldn't decide whether he wanted to
redo it or take it off completely. He felt confused,
anxious, and the only thing he knew that would stop the bad
feelings was at work.
It was while he was trying to think things through that he
heard a thump on the doormat. Someone had put a padded bag
through the letterbox. It couldn't be the postman, not on a
Sunday. He picked it up and opened it carefully. Inside was
a CD in a jewel case. Someone had written on it: "SOUND
THERAPY."
Rob was too disoriented to wonder why this should arrive
just at that moment. He switched on his computer and put
the disc into his CD-ROM slot. The CD player menu came up
and he pressed START.
Immediately all worry and fear was washed away by the
blissful, blessed humming. He didn't even have to wonder
who had put it on the disc, or why it was so soothing, or
anything. He fell back on the bed and let it possess him
utterly. The walls became perfect, exquisite, just the
right shade of pink. The clothes in his wardrobe were
exactly right. His old furniture was disgusting, and it was
obviously past time to get rid of it. Everything had fallen
into place, and everything was right. He got up only once,
to set the repeat option on the CD player to "Forever."
Then he surrendered himself again to the heavenly,
delicious humming.
Bobbi woke up, or so it seemed. The sky was pale outside.
The humming was still going on. Bobbi shifted on the bed,
squinting at the time. The clock said 7:34, MON. Bobbi got
up, hesitated, and stopped the CD player.
Strangely, it didn't seem as hard this time. Usually when
the humming stopped it got hard, but this time it was a lot
easier. Bobbi smiled and patted the computer on its screen,
thinking that maybe what it needed was something like a
soft toy. Maybe a dolphin. Dolphins were cool.
Bobbi ate breakfast, then phoned in work and asked to speak
to Mr. Allison.
"Good morning, Shevco, Tony Allison speaking."
"Hi, Mr. Allison, it's Bobbi Curtis."
"Who?"
"Bobbi. You know, I sit-"
"Oh, Mr. Curtis. I apologise, I didn't quite recognise your
voice."
Bobbi kept from giggling by a supreme effort. "Mr. Curtis."
The old coot's eyes must be getting worse. "Well, Mr.
Allison, I was wondering if I could take this week as
leave. You know I've got seventeen days to take and if I
don't use them by the end of the month-"
Allison hemmed and hawed about short notice, but Bobbi knew
the deal was done.
"Well, all right, but in future you must give at least
fourteen days' notice."
"Oh, I will, Mr. Allison, I promise," Bobbi said. "Thank
you ever so. 'Bye."
And right on cue, as the phone went down, the doorbell
rang. Bobbi went to answer it, and watched as the men from
the furniture shop lugged in flatpacks and boxes and the
one or two items that came ready assembled. They looked at
Bobbi oddly once or twice, but the tip seemed to satisfy
them, and they went away happy.
"Right," Bobbi said. "I know just what I need for this."
She started the CD player, and as the humming filled her
brain, she set to work. She prided herself on being a
practical girl.
The work went just as smoothly as the work in the office,
and Bobbi quickly had the new furniture up and in place. As
each of the remaining old things was replaced, it joined
the others out by the bin. The kitchen needed ripping out
and replacing too, but that was a job for the
professionals.
The doorbell rang just as she was tidying away the last of
the cardboard boxes. She went to answer it.
"Oh, hi, Veronica," she said.
"Hello," Veronica said, "Bobbi."
There was something almost tentative about the way she said
it. Donna and Maggie were with her, and Bobbi felt weird
for a moment. Then it went away. These were her
girlfriends. She hadn't seen them for a while, because...
because some guy had been mean to them all, one after the
other, and... and Bobbi had been the one who had introduced
them to him, thinking he was all right. That was it. That
was why she had cut all her hair off, because she felt so
bad about them being hurt. That was why she hadn't spoken
to them for so long.
"Do you forgive me?" Bobbi said in a small voice.
"What for?" Veronica said, and Bobbi tried to explain, but
halfway through her voice caught and then she couldn't stop
sobbing.
Veronica and the others stared at her for a moment, and
then they all hugged her and she hugged back and they were
all crying and laughing at the same time.
"I wish I'd never seen that horrid man," Bobbi said
brokenly.
"Don't worry," Veronica said. "I don't think we'll be
having any more trouble from him."
Donna held up a bottle of Lambrusco, and Bobbi stood back
so that they could all come in. It was while they were
going ooh and aah at what she had done with the flat that
Bobbi suddenly noticed the silence.
"What happened to-" she began.
"Oh," Veronica said, "I stopped the computer doing whatever
it was doing. It plays CDs, right?" She held up the new
Sugababes album. "I thought we might try this out."
"Um, yes," Bobbi said. "That sounds good. I don't know what
it was doing before."
"Just sounded like background noise to me," Veronica said.
"Yeah," Bobbi said. "Background noise."
END
Kaylin
- 19.04.2022
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