I showed him where everything was that he might need, including my books and recordings and the user guides for the TV and the sound system. I told him he was welcome to anything else he wanted, but recommended that he spend a major part of his time napping.
Each morning I would dress him, make our breakfast, and prepare a sandwich for his lunch. I would remind him that he could phone me if he needed anything, and would suggest strongly that he phone during the morning and the afternoon regardless, just to check in so that I’d know he was ok.
Hearing that I wanted him to check in several times a day, he would sigh and roll his eyes, like any little brother responding to an overprotective older sibling.
Toward the end of Dan’s third day with me, I announced that I had come up with a solution to the shower problem.
What I had devised would be even more of a delight than dressing and undressing him. “There’s no way we could keep the cast dry in the shower” I said, “but there’s a practical alternative. With help, you could take baths.”
He liked the idea of baths.
He was nervous the first time, because he was presented with a situation he hadn’t anticipated: Although he had gotten over being embarrassed bymeseeinghimnaked, he looked startled whenIstripped.
I told him that he’d soon see why.
After filling the tub and making sure the water was the right temperature, I put one foot in. Then I lifted Dan in, keeping his injured foot outside the tub where the cast would be well away from the water. Finally I drew in my other foot.
Dan was visibly uncomfortable about having me standing naked next to him in the tub, so I loosened my grip to demonstrate what I already knew: Without the crutches, and with his feet awkwardly separated, he couldn’t maintain his balance unless he kept both hands on the wall.
“That” I explained, “is why I’m in here with you. So I can wash any area where you need help. And I’m naked because I’m going to get as wet as you and almost as soapy.”
“I see what you mean” he said. “I think I’ll need your help with pretty much everything.”
He was telling me that he had given up any thought of bathing himself.
And so, every few days, I got to give Dan a bath. Those were times I treasured.
I always began by shampooing his hair, luxuriating in its silky feel. Then I went over his upper body with a soapy washrag, substituting my hand whenever I could think of a credible reason. After lathering his face, neck, and cushiony shoulders, I worked slowly down his smooth chest, brushing his nipples as I continued to his flat belly, where I stopped just above his bush. Next I moved around in back, lathering downward on that muscled expanse until I reached his buttocks, where I spent as much time as possible on those marvelous cheeks. When they were covered with suds, I slid my bare hand between them and lathered the cleft.
The first time I ran a soapy finger around the rim of his wrinkled anus and briefly pushed the finger a few millimeters inside, I quickly had to think of something unpleasant in order to keep from getting a colossal erection. I decided that for subsequent baths I would wear a jock strap and swim trunks.
After cleaning Dan’s behind, I moved to his front again and soaped his bush before giving thorough attention to his penis, which I stroked several times purportedly in the act of cleaning, before moving on to his superb balls and gently manipulating them, also supposedly as a cleaning measure.
Of course, he always developed an erection. He blushed and apologized the first time, but I told him that the warm water and the physical stimulation would makeanyman hard. “If our roles were reversed” I said, “I’m sure I would spike a boner even quicker thanyoudid. See, I’m getting hard justthinkingabout it.” (The truth was, of course, that I was getting hard from handling Dan.)
Telling him dismissively that I considered his reaction to be of no significance dispelled his shame. When he became erect during subsequent baths, which he always did, he was not embarrassed.
After soaping the upper part of Dan’s body, I washed the thigh on his uninjured leg. Then I sat him down in the tub and washed his other thigh, his legs, and his uninjured foot, cleaning carefully between the cute little toes that I would have liked to suck on, one by one.
Following that, I got to hold him against me as I raised him back to a standing position.
Taking a sprayer from its rack, I rinsed the shampoo from his hair. Then I replaced the sprayer and used the washrag to remove the lather from his body. After that, I ran my bare hand all over him, feeling for slippery spots that would indicate residual soap. I devoted special attention to the cleft between those enchanting cheeks, and the creases where his thighs met his belly, explaining that if even a small amount of soap were to remain in these sensitive, closed-off places, it would cause inflammation.
When all the lather had been removed, I lifted him out of the tub, wrapped him in a large towel, and dried him, another source of pleasure. Although he could have done most of the drying himself, he made no objection to my doing it all. And he remained hard during the entire process even though I carefully avoided providing any significant amount of stimulation to the sensitive places.