Chapter 7
I got home feeling sick from laughing so hard and eating too much. It had been a while since I’d had that much fun with someone. At home, she cleared out some space in the closet for me to stash a few things. We’d sort out dividing everything properly the next day. She grabbed a change of clothes to shower and get ready for bed.
I remembered what I’d felt last time and tried to hold myself back. She took off her dress right there in the bedroom, no shame at all, and walked to the bathroom in just her panties and bra, showing off that smooth, pale little ass. I had this urge to smack it, but I didn’t have the guts. I wasn’t sure if we had that kind of intimacy for something so direct.
The house was small. Moving from room to room didn’t interrupt the conversation. From the bedroom door, you could see across the living room, and if the bathroom door was open, catch sight of someone under the shower. All the rooms — including the entryway — connected to the living room, no hallways.
And from there, I saw her, under the spray, taking a no-frills shower, her small body moving practically, like she didn’t care about being seen. My body woke up again. I thought of a thousand reasons to go in there and be with her, but I held back. I was living with her now; if I came off as pushy, it’d create bad vibes right from the start.
When she finished her shower, it was my turn in the bathroom. I set my stuff on the toilet tank, glanced out while she wandered around wrapped in her towel. In my head, just one question: “Should I leave the door open?” I wasn’t as easy about showering in front of others, but I wanted her to see me. I wanted to be desired.
While I couldn’t decide, I started stripping and hanging my clothes in the corner, trying to pick up any hint from her about what I should do. She was talking about a friend, some ridiculous fight, and how one day she’d ended up at the police station when she was younger, after two girls got her wasted on booze.
She brushed past me and seemed not to notice I was naked. I took that as rejection. Shame hit me cold on the skin, and I shut the door. I stood there, naked, in front of the full-length mirror behind the door, and checked out my body for a few moments. “Am I desirable?” I knew I was. My body was hot, above average, and I had little to complain about — except for some faint stretch marks on one side.
I touched myself and realized I was a little wet, thick, but not exactly turned on. I shook my head, got my shit together, and tied my hair up so it wouldn’t get wet. When I finally went to turn on the faucet, she knocked on the door.
“Hey!” I yelled, so whoever was outside could hear.
“You taking a shit?” she asked, laughing.
“No. You gonna monitor my routine or what?” I shouted from inside.
She pounded on the door hard.
“Open this damn thing, fuck!”
Her voice cut through the door like lightning. I froze. My heart raced. I cracked it open just enough for her to come in, hoping she’d back off, but she didn’t. I turned on the shower and let the water hit my back, trying to hide my body and my nerves at the same time.
She came in with this calm ease. Opened the cabinet, grabbed the hairdryer, and filled the bathroom with the hot rush of air. The noise drowned out her voice when she talked, and talk she did. I took a quick shower, but the whole time I kept an eye on her, trying to figure out if there was any intent in her gaze.
Nothing. Just natural.
“I wanted to wait till tomorrow to wash my hair, but it’s too gross to hold off. The bad part is it’ll be all frizzy tomorrow,” she said, pausing the dryer.
“But your hair’s straight — how’s it gonna frizz up?” I asked, sounding kinda dumb.
“I dunno, it just gets weird,” she replied, turning off the dryer. She looked me straight on, shameless, up and down, and let out: “Damn, girl, you’ve got a killer body!”
The compliment hit direct. Hot. Almost indecent.
“Thanks…” I replied, awkward, covering my tits with the towel. “Stop staring at me, you dyke. Get outta here!”
She laughed. But it wasn’t the light laugh from before. This was different. One that dragged something underneath, a tease.
“I don’t care about the door thing, you know? If you wanna leave it open, go for it. Jerk off in peace, take your shit in private,” she said laughing, but eyeing me steady in that playful way.
“I don’t jerk off in the bathroom…” “Just at the bus station,” I thought, and held back a laugh.
“I don’t like it either, dunno. Even in my own bathroom, it feels kinda gross,” she replied, running her fingers through her hair, the ends all tangled.
“Me too. But that’s not why. I like comfort. Like zoning out.”
“You touch yourself a lot?” she asked, not looking away.
“Depends. Define ‘a lot.’”
“Like… every day.”
“Nah, depends on the day. Some days are rough, though…” I said, smiling. “When my fertile window hits, even the fabric of my panties gets me wet.”
She laughed low, watching me get dressed.
“All women are the same, no denying it.”
While she brushed her hair, I remembered what I’d seen in her drawers — and curiosity throbbed. I played it off casual and dropped:
“Lelly, you more of a hand girl or toys?”
She stopped. Her face went somewhere between honest and shy.
“Prefer the hand. I like feeling the body, controlling the pace. And my fingers… they’re magic,” she said, laughing, wiggling them in the air.
“Oh, I get it…” I replied, faking sarcasm. “You look like the type who digs some spicier stuff.”
“Me? Nah. I’m all vanilla,” she said, straightforward, no dodge.
I looked deep, hunting for a lie, but she was clean. Nothing. Just truth plain as day. Maybe the toys were just for using with someone…
“What about vibrators, you not into them?”
“Not really. You?”
“I’ve got one. But it’s loud as fuck. And sometimes, alone, I get too sensitive, it even hurts.”
“Yeah. Same. I go numb quick,” she agreed, looking in the mirror.
Truth was, I knew exactly what she meant. To use the vibrator, I had to be ready, body begging for it. When I forced it, the buzz just numbed me out, no pleasure. It was good for when I wanted to cum fast, but what left me breathless was touching myself slow, feeling my body respond, build, until the pleasure hit heavy and crushed everything, and I didn’t need anything else.
The water had been off for minutes, the bathroom smelling like steam and shampoo. I put on my pajamas slow, the fabric sticking to my warm skin, and let out:
“I want one of those you stick inside, you know? The ones with Wi-Fi. Someone controls it from their phone.”
She went quiet, no reaction. I waited, pretending to adjust my pajamas.
Bingo!
She leaned her hip on the sink, crossed her arms, and gave me this half-smile look.
“And you’d let someone control it?” she asked, voice low, loaded.
The air got heavy. The little bathroom felt huge with silence. I didn’t answer — just looked at her and saw that same spark from her earlier laugh, the one with intent.
“Huh, yeah, that’s the whole point!”
“But like…” she paused, her face all mischief “…out in public, sitting in a restaurant.”
“Damn. The idea turns me on. I think so. If there was even a slim chance no one would notice… I’d do it.”
My nipples actually got hard. The chill turned to arousal. I crossed my arms just to hold back the urge to squeeze.
“I’ve got one of those,” she let out, low, with a blush that didn’t match her smile.
I played dumb to get her to say more.
“Oh yeah? Knew it. You look like the type.”