When she pulled me forward out of the spray, I opened my eyes and gazed up at her. Ashley was looking into me, smiling, and she was awesome. She wasn’t cool, or great, or excellent; she was truly awe-inspiring. Wondrous, even. She continued to puzzle me even as I was too weak to try to understand.
As I admired her, she worked up a lather in her hands, and I closed my eyes again as she carefully washed my face, starting on my forehead and continuing until she had covered every inch. She even washed my ears, and behind them. I smiled as she was doing this and imagined what a goofball I must look like to her now, which made my smile expand into my cheeks. I hoped she was smiling with me.
She finished, and pulled gently upward on the sides of my head, instructing me to rise. When I did, my eyes were still closed, and I imagined myself to be taller than I had ever been, taller than any man had ever been in history. I imagined being great and magnificent and revered by anonymous masses who had come from miles to experience my greatness. I then realized just how exhausted I was, and started laughing at myself.
As she guided me under the spray, I heard her ask, “What is it?”
I knew I would be unable to articulate my sentiments, so I simply said, “Nothing. It’s nothing,” and somehow she was satisfied with that.
I rinsed, and once I’d finished, I stepped instinctively in Ashley’s direction and opened my eyes to find her staring into me intently. I didn’t freeze up so much as just stop moving as we looked into each other. We suddenly enveloped each other and kissed passionately, furiously, feeding on each other madly, running our hands all over each other’s bodies. She raised a knee up against my side, and somehow, my manhood was again stirring. Our tongues danced frantically in each other’s mouths until our kiss burned out, both of us gasping for breath. I looked at her long, again, and planted a long, tender kiss on her forehead before trading places with her.
I was out of steam, and had to sit. She did not seem disappointed as I thought she might be. I just sat and watched as she washed the night’s activities from her pale skin. I was suddenly grateful for the extra large water heater that the landlord had allowed me to trade into the place. He had insisted that I pay for it, and I repeatedly affirmed that I would happily finance the operation. Having enough hot water was of paramount importance to me, as the long times under the soothing water afforded me uninterrupted lengths of peaceful contemplation.
I must have fallen asleep, because the next I knew, I heard Ashley turning off the water, and I opened my eyes to watch her peek out around the shower curtain. She must be looking for a towel.
“I got it,” I said as I stood slowly, appreciating that my muscles had loosened remarkably since my entry into the shower. “They’re in the hall closet.” I didn’t look at her as I exited and disappeared into the hallway. Once I’d retrieved the large beach towel and returned, I found her standing outside the shower.
Without missing a beat, I brought the towel purposefully to her head and began drying her hair. It amused me that my hair was longer than her own; significantly longer. I tossed her hair in the towel for several seconds before gently wiping the water from her face. I dried her shoulders, her arms, breasts, and belly before turning her around and drying her back, bum, and onward, carefully studying and appreciating her form as I went. She was art, and she was flawless.
Once I had finished with her feet, I stood, and began drying my own hair vigorously. She picked my hairbrush up off the wash basin and ran it through her hair a few times before putting it back. She opened my medicine cabinet and began surveying its contents as I finished my hair and went on to dry the rest of me. She picked up my prescription bottle of antidepressants, looked closely at the label, placed it back without saying a word, and continued on with her inventory.
I finished drying myself off, and hung the towel on the nearby hook before reaching around Ashley for my hairbrush. I brushed my hair back, little by little, until the few tangles that had manifested under the towel disappeared, and I returned it to the basin. I brought the towel one more time to the ends of my hair to remove the last few drops of water that had been relocated there by the brush, then returned it to its hook as Ashley closed the cabinet and turned to me and spoke.
“Bedtime?”
“Bedtime,” I confirmed.
I took her hand and led her to the bedroom. My bed was unmade, as any single man’s bed would be, but I was grateful that I had changed the sheets a couple of days ago, and they were still unsoiled. I turned to face her, kissed her softly, and said, “Can I get you anything?” She shook her head silently. “Okay. I’ll be right back. She nodded and turned to move for the bed as I exited to the hall.
I went to the kitchen and poured myself a small glass of water from the filter by the light spilling in from the living room, then went to extinguish the light. I went to urinate, then took my nightly dose of Zoloft with the water from the kitchen before flicking off the light and moving to the bedroom.
Ashley was already curled up under the sheets when I entered, and I saw that she’d turned on the lamp on the nightstand, so I tapped the off switch for the overhead, and joined her in bed. Like everything else in my home, the bed was only as big as I needed it to be; full sized. I was touching her before I even pulled the sheets up to my chest. She was facing away, so I curled up behind her, reached past her to turn off the lamp, and settled with my arm around her. My face was nestled neatly at the back of her neck, my already sleeping manhood nestled in the part in her bum.
She turned her head to me as far as she could, and I looked at her. I kissed her slowly and softly. She returned her head back to its position of rest, as did I.
I squeezed her tightly to me, and she cooed softly. “Goodnight, Dean,” she whispered.
“Goodnight, Ashley.”
In spite of its description as “Fiction,” this story is actually an embellishment of real experiences I had with a couple of girls during my time on the radio. The first several chapters are absolutely true, save names and locales.
SUNDAY
XI. I woke up once to find myself on my back, Ashley’s arm and leg draped over me and her sleeping head resting at the crook of my arm and my chest. I carefully peeked at the clock so as not to disturb her. 10:42. Back to sleep.
The next time I awakened, I was hard, pointed straight in the direction of my head. Fingers were fiddling with the hair on my chest as a naked leg slithered up and down my own. I started to remember. Then, I started to panic.
Oh my God, that didn’t happen. This isn’t happening. My heart started racing before I’d even opened my sleep-encrusted eyes. Ashley was still half on top of me. Reality started to seep in, harsh as the afternoon sun crashing in through my bedroom window onto my face. I squeezed my eyes closed tightly, trying to lessen the onslaught on my dilated pupils, and simultaneously wished for a similar way to keep out the truth of my situation.