Message-ID: <54309asstr$1154862601@assm.asstr.org>
From: Russell Hoisington <hoisingr@hushmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} April Showers {Hoisington} (Mf oral first cons rom)
Lines: 1159
Date: Sun, 06 Aug 2006 07:10:01 -0400
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                         APRIL SHOWERS
                                 
                        Russell Hoisington
 
   ************************************************************
 
This is an erotic fantasy.  The characters and the situation are
purely imaginary, and this story is NOT intended to be a guide
for actual behavior.  Any similarities between this story and
actual people or actual events you should be ashamed of are
purely coincidental.  If it is illegal in your part of the world
to access and read erotic fiction, or if you are underage, or if
you don't like underage sex stories, then stop now.
 
This story is copyright 2006 by Russell Hoisington.  Please do
not remove the author information or make any changes to this
story.  You may post freely to non-commercial (free) sites, or in
the "free" area of commercial sites.  That does not mean that
these stories are in the public domain, nor does it mean that I
give permission for you to use them in spam advertising.  I
reserve the right to determine what is "spam advertising" by my
definition, not yours or anyone else's.
 
Thank you for your consideration.
 
My sincerest thanks to Denny Wheeler for editing this story and
to the Night Hawk and Wizard for their input.
 
   ************************************************************
 
     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 that 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 temporarily
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 Russell Hoisington 2006
 
   ************************************************************
 
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Russell Hoisington
State of Confusion

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