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Subject: {ASSM} RP: April Showers {Hoisington} (Mf fant rom cons oral pett)
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Date: Sun, 04 Mar 2012 21:10:02 -0500
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April Showers
by Russell Hoisington


Leslie Gray, CPA, had an excellent reason for living in his new house 
for six days before using the shower in the master bedroom's private 
three-quarter bath: taxes.

Les had spent his past ten years sitting in a chair and analyzing 
complex tax returns for the Internal Revenue Service in Philadelphia 
while waiting for a promotion. Stan Lowenstein, a field auditor, was the 
one who finally told him he was wasting his time. Stan said that Les was 
too introverted to do the butt-kissing necessary to advance, not that 
his boss would ever recommend him for a promotion. Stan said that Les 
was too competent to promote, that he was the only one who really made 
his boss look good. When the shock wore off, Les decided to move back 
home and establish his own private accounting practice. Stan said that 
his own private practice would be almost as big a mistake as staying 
unless he significantly improved his social skills. When he called his 
parents in Florida, they agreed with Stan, saying he had always been too 
incompetent to run his own business, or, for that matter, his own life. 
Les moved anyway.

Neither the occasional pick-up game of basketball or softball nor his 
morning jogs had prepared him for the lifting, bending, and straining 
associated with moving into a new home in suburban Indianapolis, across 
the city from where he spent many of his years growing up. Shifting 
boxes, unpacking them, and putting their contents where he wanted them 
was a lot more strenuous than it sounds to the uninitiated.

Unused muscle groups shrieked at the disturbance of their lassitude. Les 
spent the first five nights soaking in the hot water of the upper hall 
bathroom's tub. By the sixth night he felt he could replace the relaxing 
soak with a quick shower before bedtime, since the shower head included 
a massage feature. His muscles howled at being used for nothing more 
than removing his clothes.

He had been looking forward to using the shower. It was fully tiled, 
brightly lit with waterproof bulb enclosures in the ceiling, and a 
continuation of the ceramic tile floor, with a slight slope and the 
shower doors keeping the water confined within. The floor plus the high 
and low corner shelves of matching ceramic indicated that it had been 
built for a wheelchair patient. However, it was on the second floor of 
the house. He hadn't asked either the one neighbor he'd met or the 
Realtor if they knew why. He didn't want to appear nosy or presumptuous.

"Gym," he said to the empty bedroom as he hobbled toward the master 
bath. "I'll join a gym to keep in shape, in case this doesn't work out 
and I have to move again."

He grimaced at his face in the medicine cabinet mirror. He supposed that 
he shouldn't be surprised that he looked twenty years older. He 
certainly felt that way. He reached for the door, winced in pain, and 
closed it so that he could observe himself in the full-length mirror on 
the door's inner side. He sighed. Another good reason to join a gym. He 
needed to lose ten pounds and convert another ten to something more solid.

He sighed again and absently turned the hot water knob while lost in 
thought. Maybe if he'd joined one earlier, Jessica wouldn't have 
suddenly moved out fifteen months ago to shack up with someone who was 
all-muscle, especially between the ears. Les was still trying to recover 
from that one. Seven years together. He was within maybe a month or two 
of proposing marriage to her when he came home to find her closet empty 
and a magnet holding a note to the refrigerator. He couldn't imagine her 
hooking up with that Quinlan clown, one who didn't have the brains to 
hold a conversation for more than ten seconds.

Not that he was much better. Sure, he could keep a conversation going, 
sort of, more or less, with a little help from the other party, but he 
was incredibly inept at initiating one. Except with Jessica. He knew her 
well enough understand her thoughts, her moods, her interests, her 
needs. Any other female, though, he needed help with.

He refused to admit to himself that the loss of Jessica was the other 
reason he'd moved, despite his mother's insistence that he was running 
away from the fact that her leaving was proof that he was too much of a 
loser to keep a woman.

Steam rose from the spray of water. He added cold and adjusted the knob 
until it was as hot as he thought he could tolerate. Maybe if he looked 
like dating material, he might want to get back into the game, he 
decided as he stepped under the stream. As if he'd ever been into it in 
the first place. Jessica had made the first move. And the second. And 
most others. He let the heat penetrate for a minute and then set the 
shower head to deliver a pulsating massage stream. After it had beaten 
him for a couple of minutes he adjusted it to a normal spray. He'd soap 
and rinse and then enjoy another massage before collapsing into his bed.

He didn't want to expend the energy to wash himself, but, without 
Jessica to help, he had no choice. The stall covered the area of a tub, 
enough to hold two people comfortably, three cozily. There was a lot of 
space going to waste. He could use somebody to massage his sore back and 
shoulders. Somebody to enjoy showering with the way he'd enjoyed 
showering with her.

The bathroom door clicked and swung open, startling him. The translucent 
shower doors revealed someone entering. "Who's there?" He slid a door 
open and leaned to look out around the edge. For a moment he couldn't 
speak, couldn't move, couldn't even think. Was fatigue causing him to 
hallucinate? "Who the heck are you?"

A brunette teenager, wrapped in one of his towels, smiled brightly at 
him. "My name is April, but they call me Ay," she said in a soft, clear 
voice and then spelled it. "It's a nickname, a word, not my first 
initial." The way she said it implied that everyone made the same 
mistake he'd mentally made. "It's in the dictionary, you know."

Correction: that wasn't one of his towels. He didn't have any towels 
imprinted with cutesy cartoon dogs and cats.

"What are you doing in my bathroom?"

She smiled at him again. She was attractive until she smiled. Then she 
was beautiful. "I'm stinky. I need a shower," she said. She reached 
beneath her left armpit and pulled free the corner of the towel that 
tucked underneath the wrap, holding the cloth up. It dropped around her 
feet, giving him a momentary view of small, pink circles atop pale 
teacup mounds and a neatly-trimmed brown triangle.

The view vanished when she bent forward at the waist to pick up the 
towel. Her face vanished, too, when her shoulder length hair swung 
forward. Les had just enough time to realize that her body showed no tan 
lines, primarily because the pale skin showed no tan at all, before she 
straightened and he forgot about mundane tan lines.

"How did you get in here?"

She arched thin eyebrows, thin as in not dense rather than not wide, and 
pointed over her shoulder. "I came in that door. I thought you knew." 
She folded the towel in half three times and placed it atop the toilet lid.

"N ... no. I mean ... aren't the outside doors and windows closed and 
locked?"

The smile returned, and she shrugged. "I don't know."

"What do you mean..." He tightened his fingers on the edge of the door 
when her hand suddenly shot out to push it open. "What are you doing?"

She stopped pulling against the resistance of his grip on the inner 
door, grabbed the towel bar on the outer door, and pushed it open. He 
jerked his hands away from inner door to avoid having his fingers 
pinched. She used the distraction to slide into the back of the shower. 
"I told you. I need a shower."

His hands dropped to cover himself. Unfortunately that wasn't a 
difficult task for just one hand. Two was overkill. "Well, uh, why 
shower here?"

"There's no shower there. And you have hot water and need help."

He tried to concentrate on her face, or else he really would need both 
hands to cover himself despite the shock, though, again unfortunately, 
that wouldn't be difficult for two. "No shower? Well, don't you have a 
tub where you can take a bath?"

"No tubs! No baths. Showers only." Her voice flowed smoothly from harsh 
to conversational in six words.

Startled at her reaction, his mind raced and then stammered out the 
first thing that he thought of. "Uh, well, th ... the hall b ... 
bathroom, uh, has a ... a shower over that tub..."

Her face turned almost angry. "I told you, no tubs! Ever! Not even for a 
shower!" Her face relaxed and the smile hinted at a return.

She took a small step forward. He backed into the corner, allowing the 
water to spray over his shoulder.

The smile returned before she leaned her face into the flow and then 
lowered her head to wet her hair. "That feels so good," she sighed.

"But ... Well, what would your parents say if they knew you were in my 
shower with me?"

She hesitated a moment. "They'd be very happy." He tone was almost wistful.

That made no sense, but Jessica had often said things that were as 
senseless. He thought maybe that was why he had trouble talking with 
women, but, no. He had trouble holding conversations with men, too.

Her voice turned cheerful. "Would you squirt some of that shampoo in my 
hair, please, Les?"

He didn't know what else to do at this point, so he reached for the 
bottle with one hand and flipped open its top with his thumb. The full 
sentence finally penetrated. "What did you call me?"

She spoke with her face down and her wet hair still hanging around her 
face. "I can call you Mister Gray if you'd prefer," she said in an 
apologetic tone. "I just thought that since we're showering together I 
could use your first name. You get to call me Ay either way. Use a big 
squirt! I like my hair all sudsy when it's shampooed."

"You know my name? How?"

"Don't be silly! You live here! Come on, squirt the shampoo! We're using 
up the hot water."

Neither his parents nor the IRS nor life with Jessica had taught him how 
to handle this situation. All they had taught him was how to follow 
orders. He followed orders, then flipped the lid closed and returned the 
shampoo bottle to its home in the small ceramic corner recess.

Ay hadn't moved. "If you shampoo my hair for me, I'll scrub you. My 
fingers are pretty strong, and with the hot shower, they should help 
relax your shoulders and arms and back."

"Um..."

"Oh, come on! You can use your hands. You don't have to hide it. I know 
what those things look like. I already know what yours looks like, 
remember? I saw it when I got in. Come on! Who else is going to help you 
tonight, huh?"

After thirty seconds of useless protests and ignored questions, he 
surrendered. "Just promise me one thing," he said as he began working 
her hair into a lather. "Promise me that you won't tell anyone else 
about this."

"Of course, silly. Who could I tell?"

Obviously somebody. Thoughts of school friends, cousins, and parents who 
would be 'very happy' to know they were showering together came to mind, 
but he held his tongue. No need to give her any ideas.

Unless she was a runaway. Maybe she was looking for a place to spend the 
night. He forced that idea out of his mind when he felt the twitching 
and the onset of the initial swelling.

Washing Ay's hair wasn't difficult. Jessica's hair had been both longer 
and fuller.

Maybe a conversational approach would help. He'd try getting to know her 
first. "Ay, where do you live?"

"I don't."

He waited for more. Nothing was forthcoming. He'd blown that 
opportunity. Maybe he was going too fast? He should have learned more 
than the fact that she was homeless and verified that she was quite 
likely a runaway. Shouldn't he?

"Okay, let's rinse your hair," he said after a fruitless search of his 
memory for conversational topics.

He was sure he'd removed all the shampoo before the thought occurred to 
him. "Ay, I had the temperature set high for me. Is it too hot for you?"

"It's fine," she said. "Okay, your turn. The best place for you to sit 
is right here."

He sat and found the curly brown triangle at his eye level. He looked 
down, but she stepped around him and reached for the shower head 
control. "The best setting for you is this one," she said as the water 
began pulsing.

It did feel good, hitting directly between the shoulder blades with the 
right amount of heat and force. And with her behind him, he didn't have 
to worry about the sight of her naked...

She stepped over his shoulder, giving him a momentary view of pink with 
a moistness that wasn't shower water, and knelt in front of him. She was 
so close to the back wall of the shower that she couldn't put her lower 
legs flat. Instead, she balanced on her knees, with her toes pressed 
against the shower wall about a half-foot up from the floor.

"I can scoot back and give you more room," he said, starting to lift 
himself on his hands.

"No! Don't move," she commanded. The voice was as soft and sweet and 
innocent as a baby kitten, but it was unmistakably a command. "That's 
the best spot for you." She'd brought the bar of soap with her. She 
rolled it until she was satisfied with the lather, then placed it on a 
low corner shelf, leaned forward, and began massaging his shoulders with 
slippery hands.

His choices were to look at her breasts, her waist, or her crotch. He 
opted for the middle and tried to ignore his peripheral vision until he 
realized he had Option Four: Close the Eyes. He did, but he could still 
see the pale, straight body before him. Straight not because she wasn't 
developing adult curves but because she wasn't slender. Some of it was 
baby fat, but most of it was the other kind. She wasn't overweight yet, 
but she gave the distinct impression that she would be as an adult. 
Either she hadn't been a runaway for long, or she had a good food 
supply. He hoped the right reason was the latter.

He was so relaxed that he drifted into that netherworld region where the 
mind and body dissociate. He was suddenly brought back to consciousness 
by her hands patting his shoulders.

"Time to quit," she said, rinsing her hands behind his head and forcing 
him to try ignoring the soft, pink-capped white mounds inches from his 
face. His mind raced with indecision, arguing whether he should close 
his eyes again. "You'll run out of hot water in another four minutes. 
You need time to rinse and get out, or the cold water will tighten your 
muscles again. Dry off quickly and put on something to hold in the heat, 
then get to bed."

He looked up at her face when she pulled back, ending the vacillation of 
his thoughts. She lowered her head and gave him a quick, innocent kiss 
on his lips. "That's thanks for letting me use the shower. You can't 
imagine how desperately I needed that."

She stood. The brown triangle moved past his nose, giving him a musky 
hint that she'd been aroused. Before he could speak, she pushed the door 
open. "I won't need to shampoo if you take a shower tomorrow night," she 
said with a gentle smile. "That will give us time to wash more of each 
other." She closed the shower door behind her.

"Ay?" He stood. Through the translucent panel he watched her wrap the 
towel about her body and tuck the corner in place under her left arm. 
"Ay, wait a minute." He rinsed quickly.

A second towel, one he'd not been aware of, wrapped around her head. He 
pulled the shower door open in time to see the bathroom door close, 
cutting off her final sound, so that all he heard was, "See you tomorrow 
ni..."

He lurched for the bathroom door and threw it wide. Ay was gone.

He found no trace of her in the house, nor did he find an unlocked 
window or door. When he gave up, the cooler air was causing his 
shoulders to tense again.

Les sat on the end of the bed, reading a book while waiting for Ay to 
arrive. He'd made it easy for her, after a search of the house, 
basement, and attic had shown no trace of wherever she was sleeping. 
He'd left the patio door and three windows unlocked. He didn't want 
someone catching the girl breaking and entering if she was delayed 
picking locks. He should have been worried about a runaway who could 
break into his house so easily, but he knew that Ay wouldn't steal from 
him. He didn't know how he knew, but he did.

His parents always said that blind trust like that proved that he was 
gullible and incapable of living by himself, with nobody to do rational 
thinking for him.

He glanced at the clock and gave up, deciding she wasn't coming. He felt 
surprisingly disappointed as he stripped and moped into the bathroom. He 
brushed his teeth and then turned on the hot water in the shower. As he 
was adjusting the temperature a soft noise at his side caused him to 
look down. A folded towel with cartoon dogs and cats lay on the toilet 
lid. He turned in surprise.

"Hi, Mister Gray," she said in her soft voice, a sweet, demure smile 
teasing the corners of her mouth.

"Ay!" he said in pleased surprise. "Where did you come from?"

"Same as before," she said. And that ended that line of conversation. 
She gave him a pleasant smile. "Come on. You can wash me before I do 
your shoulders again. Congratulations on finishing your move-in today."

"Oh. Well, thank you, Ay." He searched for the right words to convey 
everything that he wanted to say. Anything that he wanted to say. He was 
tongue-tied as usual. He felt like a fool standing there and saying nothing.

"We'd better get in," she said with her usual bright smile. "Otherwise 
we're wasting time and hot water."

"Oh. Uh, yes. Yes, we are." He held an arm out for her to enter, 
followed her, and closed the door. He waited while she rinsed first, 
letting the water thoroughly wet her face and body. Then she stood back 
and let him have his turn before handing him the soap.

"Start with my back, please?" she asked as she turned to face the back 
wall. He stopped at the slight flare of her hips. "All the way down, 
please, Mister Gray?"

He spun the soap in his hands and then, holding the bar in his left, 
began moving both down the outside of her hips. He slowly brought his 
hands together, giving her every opportunity to tell him to stop as they 
lathered the smooth, firm globes that were nicer than Jessica's, and 
he'd always told Jessica she had the nicest butt he'd ever seen. When 
his hands met and he moved down to the backs of her thighs he felt a 
twitching, but, fortunately, he avoided erecting. As he reached the 
backs of her knees he said, "Ay, you can call me Les. If you'd like."

She made a soft little sound as his fingers flowed over her calves, 
gently massaging them. "I'd like that very much," she said in a 
near-whisper.

When he reached her ankles she raised one foot at a time for him to 
wash, asking him to thoroughly rinse away the slippery soap before she 
returned each to the shower floor. Then she turned to face him and stood 
with her feet apart the width of the shower stall. Clearly, it was an 
invitation. And it had been a long time. Fifteen months, in fact. He 
re-soaped his hands, started at the tops of her toes, and moved upward. 
The last of his reluctance evaporated.

When he reached the tops of her legs he hesitated momentarily, then 
placed the soap on a low corner shelf and slid his palms up the insides 
of her thighs until his little fingers were nestled between her legs and 
folds. As he scrubbed her thighs he arched the fingers, so that they 
applied pressure and stimulation.

Ay moaned softly. "I like that," she said as she closed her eyes and 
tilted her head backward. "I've wanted someone to do it for a long time."

Les rotated his hands so that the soft folds, with their light coating 
of curly dark hair, were sandwiched between his fingers. He pressed and 
then see-sawed his hands, causing Ay to tremble, then brace herself with 
her hands on his shoulders. She shook violently, then relaxed with a 
moan as her knees trembled.

While she caught her breath he soaped the dark triangle and moved up to 
the bottom of her rib cage. She sighed again and murmured, "I've really 
needed that!" His hands continued upward to cup her breasts. She smiled 
almost shyly at him while he washed them, giggling when he tweaked the 
nipples. Rather than stoop to get the bar of soap, he took lather from 
her bush and used it to wash her glowing face with gentle fingers.

He stood back while she rinsed.

"Your turn!" she said in her brightest voice. She started with his face 
and then had him rinse it immediately, so that he wouldn't risk getting 
soap in his eyes.

When she reached his erection she washed it with such gentleness that he 
almost released in the first few seconds. She quickly moved onward, 
finishing his front and asking him to turn. He wondered if he'd missed 
his chance. Maybe she knew what "those things" looked like, but she 
apparently didn't know what to do with them. She was a runaway, but she 
was also a virgin. Since he needed the release, he wondered if he should 
ask her to jack him off, but decided against it. If word got out, it 
would look better for him if she couldn't say that he'd asked her to 
touch her in a sexual manner.

The incongruity of that thought eluded him. It eluded him sixteen more 
times before she said he could rinse. When he was finished she smiled at 
him and took his erection in her hands again. Without a word she dropped 
to her knees and took him in her mouth.

The surprise delayed his release a good five or six seconds. Then, 
suddenly against his will, he began spraying the back of her throat. She 
coughed around his length once, but kept him in her mouth, moving 
forward as he softened until she was able to contain all of him. He 
reveled in feeling the sensation again, but it quickly became uncomfortable.

"That's good," he said, patting one of her shoulders.

She held it by the base as she pulled back, kissed the head, and rose. 
"Sure is," she agreed, her eyes sparkling. "Better than I thought it 
would be."

"Ay, that was wonderful. Would, uh, would you like to, uh, lie down for 
a few minutes?"

She gave him a look of honest heartfelt sadness. "I wish I could. Les, I 
have to leave."

"Go? But where..." he started to ask. She pushed the shower door open, 
grabbed her towel and wrapped it about her in one smooth movement, and 
disappeared out the door without another word. The cooling water 
reminded him to get out, too.

Les released the safety bar on the lawnmower's handle, allowing the 
engine to die. He pushed the mower up the driveway to the garage, 
pausing to wave at a neighbor when his garage door clattered up and the 
car backed out into the drive. They had spoken less than two minutes the 
day he'd first moved in, but he remembered the man's name. Artie Fenton, 
construction worker. Wife Alicia had been a documents specialist with 
the Marion County Clerk's office. Married five years, no kids when she 
died suddenly of an undiagnosed heart problem two years ago. He was 
considering starting his own roofing company next year. Taxes were 
simple at the moment, but he'd need an accountant when he established 
and began operating the business.

Good accountants had good memories for people. That's how they kept clients.

He pushed the lawnmower into its designated spot in the corner and 
received an olfactory reminder that he would need a shower when he was 
finished. What had Ay called it? Stinky. He had time to trim the front 
bushes before dark. His thoughts strayed to April as he reached for the 
hedge trimmer atop a stack of metal shelves. Would Ay join him tonight? 
He hoped so.

Not just for the sex, he told himself, though he knew he was looking 
forward to that as well. But he really liked the girl. She had a sweet 
innocence about her that he found charming. And seductive. For whatever 
reason, she was afraid to join him outside the shower. He supposed she 
was afraid of what he might do if they were alone in the bed. She 
probably didn't realize that the close confines of the shower stall put 
her in more danger than the open bedroom would, if he had been someone 
who intended her harm.

He didn't know much about runaways, but he knew they often ran into bad 
situations. Well, after she grew more comfortable with him, more certain 
that he wouldn't harm her, she would join him in his bed.

What kind of a thought was that? She was only ... well, he wasn't sure 
of her age. He'd have to ask her if she...

He'd become too involved in his thoughts of Ay. The trimmer sat on the 
top shelf, behind a box of wrenches and box of screwdrivers that were 
waiting for him to attach their holders to some pre-existing pegboard. 
Both slid off the shelf. He grabbed for the screwdrivers and caught the 
open box before the contents spilled. The metal box of wrenches hit him 
in the forehead. He dropped the screwdrivers as a flurry of stars 
exploded and as quickly vanished into sudden darkness.

He awoke on the garage floor, next to the car. A screwdriver spun down 
to a stop a foot from his face. He'd blacked out only momentarily. For a 
moment he thought he'd heard April's voice as the darkness descended. 
No, he thought he'd seen her standing there wrapped in her towel. No...

No. He recalled a softball game three years ago, when he'd lost a high 
pop fly in the sun. He saw it again just as it missed his glove and 
smashed into his forehead at the same place the box had hit. When that 
happened he thought he'd seen a jumbo jet landing between second and 
third bases as his lights went out. Just before the ball reappeared he'd 
seen the contrail of a jet high overhead and had thought about the 
flight to Florida in two days. Jessica and he were to catch a ship there 
for a Caribbean cruise. He guessed he would have seen the ship steaming 
into third instead of the plane if he'd thought about the cruise instead 
of the flight.

He grimaced as numbness lifted and he suddenly felt the pain over his 
eyes. He sat up, then waited for the world to stop spinning. He gently 
touched his forehead and felt sticky wetness on a growing lump. Blood, 
but less than he'd have expected if the sharp corner of the metal box 
had caught him instead of a rounded edge. Less than he'd have expected 
from a head wound, too.

The world shimmied as he rose to his knees. He tilted sideways to look 
at himself in the car's side mirror and almost fell over from vertigo. 
The cut wouldn't need a band-aid, but he was going to have an 
interesting bruise. He sank to a sitting position and picked up the 
closed wrench box, only to put it back on the concrete and shove it 
toward the shelves. He picked up screwdrivers and shoved them back into 
their shoebox. One was missing. He spotted it when he looked under the 
car. It had rolled completely across and was on the other side. He'd get 
it later. He slowly rose to his feet, pausing twice when dizziness 
threatened his stability.

He'd left the screwdrivers on the floor. He pushed the box aside with 
his foot and staggered to the door into the house. He hit the button to 
close the garage door and stumbled into the cool air in the kitchen.

Blood trickled down the corner of his eye and nose. He wet a paper towel 
and cleaned his forehead, then pulled one of the drink cooler's frozen 
gel packs out of the freezer. He collapsed into a kitchen chair and 
pressed the cold pack to his forehead.

He remembered how Jessica had cared for him after the softball injury. 
Somewhere along the way his memories of Jessica became thoughts of April 
and didn't change back.

When he realized that the pack was warm he rose carefully and put it in 
the freezer. He gazed out the window at the lengthy shadows, then filled 
a glass with ice and water from the refrigerator's door dispenser. If he 
moved too quickly the world wobbled slightly. Two glasses later he 
decided he was done for the day. Time to go clean up. He'd order a pizza 
if he felt like eating later.

He was halfway up the stairs before he realized that April might not 
show up if he showered this early. But he really needed to clean up. 
Well, he could always take another shower later if that was what she 
wanted to do. He'd crawl out of bed and into the bathroom if he had to, 
just to be with her.

He was so dizzy when he reached the top of the stairs that he decided he 
would skip supper. He wasn't going down those stairs again until 
tomorrow. Besides, he needed to lose weight, didn't he?

He undressed sitting on the foot of the bed, leaving his clothes 
scattered on the floor. After a few deep breaths to clear his head he 
rose and wobbled toward the master bathroom. He removed the excess 
liquid forced out by the two glasses of water and then examined his head 
injury in the mirror while the tank refilled. He winced at the sight. 
He'd wear a cap in public for the next few days, assuming he could stand 
the pressure against the purple lump that had arisen.

When the toilet fill valve closed he opened the shower door and turned 
on the hot water.

"You've been hurt!"

He wasn't sure whether he'd been more surprised by the voice or by the 
fact that the voice had surprised him.

April flipped the seat and lid down and put her towel on the corner of 
the sink. "Sit here and let me see," she said.

"It's all right, Ay," he began.

"Don't argue. I like helping people. Sit down and let me see." He voice 
was too soft and sweet to be a command. Maybe she knew she didn't have 
to use a more strident tone. Maybe she knew he didn't have any choice 
because he was unable to argue.

He sat. She straddled his legs and sat, then felt his forehead with 
cool, compassionate fingers. Satisfied, she gave the injury a gentle kiss.

"It will be much better by morning," she said before tilting her head to 
one side and kissing him. It was a gentle, innocent kiss, as light as 
the one she'd placed on his injury, and it ignited the desire in him. 
His arms crossed behind her back. She responded in kind, and the kiss 
intensified. When it was over he was more dizzy from passion than from 
the head wound.

The bright smile reappeared. He realized for the first time that her 
teeth were slightly crooked. It wasn't an unpleasant sight, and not 
really bad enough to require braces. It was just a minor detail that 
he'd not noticed before, and he didn't want to overlook any details 
about Ay.

She lowered her head and brought her hands down from behind his neck. 
"Well!" she said, taking him into her grasp with both hands and raising 
her eyes to his, "I think we both enjoyed that! I know I did."

He searched her eyes and saw the same longing he felt. "Ay..."

"Come on," she said, rising. "Let's make good use of the hot water."

"You sit on the shower floor," she said when he had thoroughly wet his 
body. "We don't want you passing out in the middle."

He understood her implied meaning. He sat below the shower head, letting 
the water flow past overhead. She was quick yet thorough. He rose to 
rinse, then sat on the floor again at her insistence. She'd asked about 
how he'd injured himself. He also told her about the softball injury. 
She'd asked three or four other questions. It was the longest 
conversation they'd had, and it ended when he asked something about her.

She sat in front of him. "Your turn to do the dirty work," she said with 
a giggle. He, too, was quick and thorough, paying special attention to 
her breasts and her nether areas. She gasped and climaxed quickly as he 
washed the hard little lump between her soft folds.

She rose to rinse, keeping him in place with a gentle hand atop his 
shoulder. At the end she hunched her hips forward and used her hands to 
part her flesh, letting the water stream into her crease for a few 
moments. Then she straightened and smiled down at him.

"Soap irritates if it's not completely removed," she said with a 
mischievous grin. "Would you please check to see that I didn't miss any?"

"I can't refuse a request from a beautiful lady," he said, reaching for her.

"No, not like that," she said, taking a small step back. "Your fingers 
might miss some. The best way to check is to see if you taste any."

She had rinsed quite thoroughly. He checked for a good five minutes and 
found nothing but two more orgasms.

Then she had him lean back against the wall and did her own soap check. 
It was the most massive release he'd ever experienced, not in terms of 
production but in terms of pleasure. She lifted her face from his lap 
and pushed her wet hair aside.

"There," she said. She kissed his injury again. He'd forgotten about it. 
"This will be much better tomorrow, and then tomorrow night you won't 
have to sit down to have fun."

The promise of another night stopped him from asking the questions he 
had. "I look forward to it," he said.

"Me, too! There's enough hot water left for you to touch me some more, 
if you'd like to."

He grew overzealous while sucking her breast and bumped his forehead 
against her shoulder. He was surprised that it hadn't hurt as much as 
he'd expected, though it wasn't a pleasant experience. It was certainly 
less pleasant than the feel of her nipples hardening in his mouth and 
the hot wetness that convulsed around his probing finger as his thumb 
triggered her fourth release.

She purred as her face fell into that post-orgasmic look that was so 
enticing. "I wish I had time to repay you for that tonight," she said, 
"but you have less than two minutes of hot water left."

She kissed him and rose, pushing the shower door open. In rapid 
succession she wrapped the larger towel about her body, the smaller 
about her hair, and blew him a kiss before vanishing out the door.

He watched, wondering where she went, and then rose as the water cooled 
noticeably. Tomorrow, if he wasn't as dizzy, he'd check the water heater 
in the basement. Perhaps it was old and in need of replacement. He'd get 
one with a larger capacity.

He'd slept in the next morning, awakening after ten to discover that his 
forehead had only a slight discoloration and mild swelling that was 
noticeable only to his fingertips. It was practically invisible in the 
mirror. The dizziness was gone, too. The concussion had affected his 
vision more than he'd realized.

First things first. He checked the shower head. It already had a flow 
restrictor to reduce the water volume, increasing the amount of time 
required to use up the hot water supply. He checked the water heater. It 
was only three years old.

Maybe it was defective and needed replacement anyway.

He checked prices on-line while he had a cup of coffee and an elephant 
ear for breakfast. He hauled trash to the curb for his scheduled Monday 
morning pick-up. Then it was time to tackle the shrubbery. It hadn't 
been trimmed in at least a year, he decided as he began molding the 
greenery into shape. He finished as Artie Fenton returned home. Artie 
parked his truck in the garage and ambled toward Les.

"You aren't working today?" Les asked. Artie was normally gone from 
before sunup to after sundown.

"Nope," Artie said in his clipped tone as he shook Les's hand. 
"Apartment complex I was roofing is in financial trouble. Creditors shut 
down the construction, and the lawyers are getting involved. I'm on call 
through tomorrow, and then, if we aren't back to work, we move on to 
another job. Won't be that way with my company. You shut down without a 
definite resume date, we move to the next project immediately. Won't be 
no sitting around on hands that could be working."

Les indicated Artie's left hand and frowned. "You hurt yourself?"

Artie shrugged. "Not nearly bad as it looks. Nail gun. No, not mine. Kid 
next to me failed to observe safety procedures yesterday, managed to 
trigger his, and shot a nail between my thumb and finger. He flinched 
and fired a second one. It bounced off the brim of my hard hat, right 
over my eyes. Yep, he's gone now."

Artie held up his hand and looked at it. "I think the medic gets paid a 
kickback for how much bandage he uses. Another year of this, he can 
retire. You started setting up your office yet?"

"Not yet. Boxes are unpacked. I should be done with the yard work today 
or tomorrow, and then I'll have the office ready by the weekend."

Les let Artie guide the conversation for a few minutes. When Artie 
seemed to be ready to leave Les said, "I've been meaning to ask you 
something. Did you ever know of a girl named April?"

Artie shrugged again. "Just the one who used to live in your house."

Les's heart skipped a beat. "What was she like?"

"Oh, she was fifteen. Pretty little thing. Shining brown hair to her 
shoulders, sweet face and disposition. One of the nicest people you 
could ever hope to meet. She loved helping people. Do anything necessary 
to help. When Alicia or I got to feeling bad, she'd be right on the spot 
to lend a hand. Alicia had bronchitis a couple of months before she 
died. Ay spent the whole day with her so she didn't have to get out of 
bed. I sometimes think helping others was her whole life."

Les's heart skipped another beat. "Ay?"

"Her nickname." Artie spelled it. "Everybody called her 'Ay' except her 
mother."

"Do you know where she lives now?"

Confusion, then concern swept over Artie's features. "Guess that the 
broker didn't tell you why you got such a deal on that house."

"What do you mean?"

Artie sighed heavily. "Ay caught Alicia's bronchitis. She was sick for a 
week. Bad sick. Just two days after her fifteenth birthday she felt well 
enough to get out of bed. I got two sisters, so I know how fastidious 
they are at that age. She insisted she was "stinky" and wanted to take a 
quick shower, then change the sheets and return to bed. Helen, her mom, 
insisted Ay wasn't strong enough for a shower and told her to take a 
bath instead, saying she'd change Ay's sheets for her. She even filled 
the tub for Ay, which didn't sit well with the girl. She was always 
helping others but didn't want nobody to help her in return."

Les felt a cold knot tightening in the pit of his stomach. This, he 
realized, was the event that had caused Ay to run away from home. It was 
a silly reason, but teenagers were infamous for silly reactions. He'd 
have to talk her into returning home, of course. But he didn't want to 
do that.

"Helen went to help Ay to the tub. Doorbell rang as Ay was getting out 
of bed. Helen told Ay to wait and went down to the door. It was Alicia, 
still on sick days, checking on Ay. Helen spoke with her for a couple of 
minutes and then went to help Ay to the tub.

"Ay, as usual, didn't want nobody helping her. We don't know if she 
tripped, or she lost her balance and fell, or she passed out, but she 
hit her head on the way down. It knocked her unconscious, and she fell 
head-first into the tub. She had already drowned when Helen found her."

"WHAT?"

Artie looked at him with watery eyes and continued, his voice quavering. 
"The whole neighborhood turned out for the funeral. Everyone loved her, 
in part because she'd done so much for everyone else, but mostly because 
she was such a sweet kid."

Artie had to be confused. It was the head blow. "But ... but she can't 
be dead!"

"We all said the same thing. Only thing worse for me was waking up a 
couple of months later and discovering that Alicia'd died in her sleep 
beside me. After the funeral, John and Helen moved out. Temporarily, 
they said, but after a year they put it on the market. Nobody wanted to 
buy it because of the girl drowning in it. They kept lowering the price 
until you came along." He looked down and shook his head. "I wonder if 
she's still taking care of Alicia for me."

Les turned on the hot water and looked down in time to see Ay place her 
towel on the toilet lid. He turned to her.

April's face warped into one of concern. "Your eyes are all red. Is 
something wrong?"

"I trimmed the hedges today," he said, forcing his voice to stay even. 
"Dust and pollen."

"Some eye drops will flush that stuff out of them," she said. "If you 
have some, sit down and I'll use them on you."

"Top shelf in the medicine cabinet," he said as he sat. When she'd 
finished and had replaced the cap he said, "Thanks."

"That's okay," she said as she returned the small bottle to the cabinet. 
"I like to help. Let's get in the shower while the water's still hot. I 
see your head's better."

"Yes," he said, allowing her to enter the shower first. "You helped with 
that, too."

"I do what I can," she said with a bright smile of self-satisfaction. 
"Would you like to use the body brush today?"

"I'm sorry, Ay, but don't have a body brush."

"Sure you do! Us! We get each other soapy, and then we scrub ourselves 
against each other."

He'd never thought of that with what's-her-name. Jessica. If he had, 
maybe she'd have laughed and giggled in the shower the way April did. 
After a few minutes she stepped back, took the soap, and worked her 
small brown bush into a lather. "Time to wash your face!" she said. "Kneel."

"Yes, My Lady." He knelt.

"And keep your eyes closed, or I'll have to flush them again."

Though he thoroughly enjoyed the experience, part of his mind worried 
about how to ask.

She angled the shower head to rinse his face and then said, "Okay. My 
turn." She knelt before him and soaped his stiffness, then sighed while 
he washed her face with it.

After she'd rinsed her face she put her arms around his neck and kissed 
him, not as innocently this time. "It makes a better toothbrush than a 
face brush," she said.

"Really?" he asked as she lowered one hand and began pumping him to 
maximum hardness. He kissed her again. "You want to brush your teeth now?"

"No," she said with a mischievous grin, rising on her toes and angling 
him downward until she could straddle it. "I have other places that need 
cleaning, too."

She was wet, willing, and waiting. The height difference meant he had to 
flex his knees to enter her. After a minute of watching each other's 
faces distort with the pleasurable sensations, they decided the most 
comfortable position for both would be for her to lean forward against 
the back wall of the shower and for him to take her from behind. Within 
seconds they were grunting in unison.

Les was cautious at first, until he verified that he wouldn't hurt her, 
and then gave himself over to his animal need. One small rational part 
of his brain said he should care for Ay's needs, too. The other small 
rational part said he was. He held back for almost three minutes, until 
she climaxed. Then he released into her. He pressed his hips into her 
firm round bottom until he softened completely and was squeezed out by a 
spasm of her tunnel.

April straightened, turned, and kissed him passionately. "Wow! That's 
even better than I imagined it would be. You needed that," she said. 
"I'm glad that I could help."

"I am, too," he said. He took a deep breath. "Ay? Are ... are you still 
helping Alicia?"

She nodded. "Yes. She really misses Artie. I've tried to get her to come 
back, to visit him, but she won't."

"But you came back. She can come back, too?"

She nodded again. "She can, but she's afraid to. She's afraid she won't 
want to return when the time is up. Most people are afraid of that. If 
you don't return when the time is up, it creates a big problem. I don't 
know what her limits are, so I can't help her with that."

"Limits? What..." He knew. "You mean like your limits are that you can 
be here only when the shower has hot water?

"Yes."

"Why are those your limits?"

She shook her head and squeezed her body to his. "Because those are the 
rules, silly."

"Whose rules?"

"THE rules. I can come back to help you here while the hot water is 
running. I don't know what the rules are for Alicia. She can't tell me."

"Why not?"

She tightened her squeeze and kissed him. "It's against the rules. My 
rules were that I got to come back while there was hot water running in 
either the shower or the tub and, since it's your house now, you needed 
help. My parents moved out too soon, so I couldn't come back to help them."

"But you told me your rules. Why can't Alicia tell you hers?"

She kissed him again. "You already guessed most of the rules, and since 
it's your house and the rules are about you, I can tell you. See? You 
needed help getting over Jessica. I waited for you to start using the 
shower instead of the tub, and then I helped you do that."

Cold dread washed through him. He heard his voice crack when he asked, 
"Are you saying you won't be back?"

She nodded, sadness distorting her face. "I have people to help there, 
though, so I won't be bored. But I'll miss you. I'll miss you a lot."

She kissed him passionately and then, reluctantly, stepped back. "You 
have one minute of hot water left. Don't forget me." She kissed him 
again and then pushed open the shower door and stepped out.

"Ay, wait!"

"I can't," she said, wrapping the towel about her body. "I have to obey 
the rules." The smaller towel went around her head. She turned to him. 
"Les, I ... I love you."

She whirled and rushed out the door. Unlike the rest of Ay, her foot 
didn't disappear around the corner. It just disappeared.

Les stood in the cold water and wept for a very long time.

"Damn it!" Les shouted and slammed down the phone. Didn't anyone believe 
in opening a few minutes early anymore?

Apparently the next number in the Yellow Pages did. He glanced at his 
watch. Eight o'clock. He guessed he was right the first time. Just as 
long as he was right about his idea, he decided. The important thing the 
only thing that truly mattered was that he was right about his idea.

He placed his order, scheduled a time, and then gave the girl on the 
other end of the phone a curt, and uncalled-for, dismissal before 
hanging up and flipping to Home Medical Supply companies in the Yellow 
Pages.

Les returned from Hoosier Home Health Supply an hour and a half before 
the plumbers were to arrive. He wrestled his purchase out of the car and 
hauled it upstairs to his shower. He was closing the shower doors when 
the phone rang. The plumbers would be an hour late. Another phone call 
brought another delay.

While he waited he examined the idea in his head, searching over and 
over for some little thing he might have missed. He couldn't afford to 
overlook anything. One minor detail could ruin it. Les had had ten years 
of practice looking for minor details. When the plumbers finally 
arrived, he put them to work and continued to look for mistakes and 
false assumptions.

The clock said almost seven when the plumbers left, the old water heater 
now in their care.

He undressed as he rushed upstairs, dropping his clothes along the way. 
He spun the valve and fretted an eternity while the hot water traveled 
to the shower head. Hot water that would continue to flow until they 
shut off either his water or his natural gas, thanks to the new 
single-pass, on-demand water heater.

He adjusted the temperature and then sat in the comfortable bath chair 
he'd placed in the shower. He concentrated on his loneliness and the 
despair caused by his need for April, and how only she could help 
alleviate that despair with temporary respites of happiness. He closed 
his eyes and frowned with the effort and with the pain of emptiness in 
his soul.

He heard a soft sound, not unlike that made by heavy, folded cloth 
landing on a toilet lid.

Copyright(C) 2006 by Russell Hoisington

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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