("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 1996. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- Shower Buddies by Stone Wolf (address withheld) *** A mishap in the coed showers. (MF, exh, no-sex) *** The Masterton Dormitory was an all-guys dorm, affiliated with the University's mainly science oriented colleges. But that all changed when the Beatty Residence, the females-only equivalent, had a serious run-in with that primal element, fire. An entire building full of young women were suddenly without rooms to sleep in until repairs could be carried out on almost half the floors to bring the structure back up to building code compliance. Due to a drop in funding, that was going to be a long, long time. The university immediately started looking to distribute the displaced ladies as best they could among the other residences, for the rest of the year and Masterton had, unsurprisingly, a fair number of untaken rooms. This was a definite step up for the girls from the main gym at the Phys Ed. building, and a God-send for the University administration, who only had to provide off-campus housing to about half of the affected students. The problem was, nobody actually thought about notifying the residents of Masterton about their new neighbours until a few weeks later, leading to this situation... Harold walked sleepily down the hallway at the ungodly hour of 7 am. It was his regular routine to get up at this hour and shower, before breakfast and his 8:30 class, but that didn't make it any the better. Dressed in his robe, and carrying his bath kit and sundry other supplies, he grumbled his way past the locked fire hose cabinet and the empty fire extinguisher bracket. What bugged him about that? At this hour, who the hell cared? The biggest problem was operating the doorknob that opened the wash room door, while juggling kit, towels, bottles, and a good sci-fi book. Having surmounted that obstacle, he dumped his stuff on the counter, noting that there was only one robe on the hooks. Good. He hated waiting for a shower. He disrobed, hung the fuzzy article of clothing on the other hook, and proceeded to sort the necessities of showering from the other crap he had brought. Taking his soap, washcloth, and shampoo... Shampoo? Where is the shampoo? "Shit!" he thought. "I'm NOT going all the way back to my room just for one goddamn bottle." He walked past the first stall, which emanated copious amounts of steam and the smell of soap... What was that scent, vanilla? Entering the far stall, he pulled shut the curtain and laid his stuff (one item less than usual) on the small shelf, and proceeded to adjust the heat of the water. This was a laborious and delicate process, involving minute adjustments of the tap, careful attention to the sound of the air bubbles in the hot water pipe, and split-second reflexes, because this shower head had a tendency to flip upwards and off its stalk if too big an air block got through it. Having duly adjusted his water supply, wetted his cloth, and taken in a generous eye-opening blast of water, he reached for his shampoo bottle... which naturally was not there. Pausing a second, he decided that the necessity of having clean hair outweighed the irritation of having to interact with some guy he probably didn't know at this time of the morning. Risking leaving the shower head unattended for a brief moment, he pushed the curtain aside and snaked his chest around the tiled wall between the two enclosures, doing his best not to step out on the main floor, which had not been nicely warmed by the hot water. Gripping the curtain rod above his head with his left hand, he pushed the other stall's curtain to the side with his right, and said "Hey, 'morning, man, can I borrow..." On reflection, this was probably not the right order, courtesy-wise, in which to have done things, but that analytical thought was not foremost his mind at the moment. Foremost in his mind was the distinctly undeveloped thought, "Shit!" arising mainly from the fact that the figure he had just jovially addressed as "man" was decidedly not. She was, in fact, a young woman, and an attractive one, at that. At least so it appeared to Harold, whose view was not in any way distracted by the hampering factor of clothing. "Excuse me! Do you mind!" was the easily anticipated reply. Harold degenerated into what seemed to him to be a stream of babbling, stuttering, and "uh"ing, punctuated with multiple instances of "sorry..." and "I thought..." and "I..." and "Well, could I just...?" He would be very surprised to know that in spite of an understandable shock, the unfortunate hour, and the visual distractions manifestly present before him, his perception of his own dismal attempts at communication was in fact quite accurate. "Could you what?" was the still angry, and now somewhat guarded reply, as she turned to look him full in the face. "Well, could I borrow some shampoo? That is if you have any. If you don't mind... I mean if it's not too much..." "I'll tell you what. Why don't YOU get out of MY shower, and we'll work from there, okay?", the girl said, pointing first at him, then the floor. At that point, Harold broke his eyes away from hers, just barely escaping the temptation of the inviting sight of her wet body and looked down to see that he had, during his mental incapacitation, lost his balance and stumbled out of his own stall, and around the corner. While he had not actually laid a foot into the other stall, most of him, including, quite frankly, the important parts, were leaning at a precarious angle into the young woman's shower, stopped only by the fact that he had somehow managed to grab onto the curtain bar for support. Mumbling an apology, he hastily swung back out, closed the curtain, and leaned back against the far wall to collect the thoughts that were now whizzing through his head, as if to make up for the temporary interruption. What was a girl doing in the showers at an all-male dorm? It's a free country, it's a co-ed university, who am I to say what someone else should do? Yeah, that's all fine, but what is she DOING here?? Taking a shower, of course. "...shampoo?" interrupted his thoughts. "I said, did you want to borrow the shampoo, or what?" "Uh... Yeah. Thanks. Um, how...?" As if in answer to his rather naive question, a glistening arm emerged from the edge of the curtain, holding forth the blessed bottle, purveyor of cleanliness, and vessel of follicle health. Harold reached out, took the bottle from her hand, and beat a hasty retreat into his own stall, pulling the curtain shut behind him, then whipping his hand out in an instinctive response, to grab the shower head, just before it could explode ceilingwards. As if this reflex action had formed a catalyst to bring him back into a normal routine, Harold put the bottle down on the shelf for a moment, fixed the head firmly back on its stalk, and then went about the business of cleansing his hair. Time passed without thought as Harold lathered, scrubbed, and rinsed his hair. Picking up his cloth and soap, he began lathering his body, starting with his chest and arms, and working his way down. As he brushed his now wilting organ (when had it been erect? It was definitely on the way down.), the image of the young woman, clad in nothing but shining streams of water, came unbidden to his mind. His organ was now definitely on the way up, again. There she stood, completely open to his view, raising her arm to point at him, opening her mouth, and saying, "Are you done with my shampoo? I mean I would kind of like to wash my hair today too, you know." Harold snapped back to the present, whipped around, grabbing the borrowed bottle, and experienced what may only be termed as whiplash, as his eminently active male member slapped against his waist. He thrust aside the curtain, to hang round the corner and pass the bottle into her stall, and found her already halfway out of her stall, leaning towards him. He thrust the bottle into her hands, took one quick, embarrassed, but unavoidable look at her nicely shaped breasts (breast and a half, actually, given the intervening wall, but who's counting), and thrust himself back into his stall, pulling the curtain closed. Okay, time for some serious deep thought. No avoiding it. Why was she here? She's probably the girlfriend of some guy on the floor. You see girls walking secretively down the hallways at this time of the morning, all the time. Pipe's whining, grab the shower head. Yeah, but taking a shower? Can't they just go back to their own dorms or something? Well, maybe she's visiting from out of town, or something like that. Sure, okay, why not just ask her? Real smooth move, there. Whoops! Hold tight, there goes the air bubble. Does it matter? Bottom line: it's an all guys dorm. If she's here, she's taken. Shower head's done its thing, I can let go now. Why is that the bottom line? Wake up, dickhead. There's a naked girl, in the next shower, and you have to be told what the priorities are? Yeah: leave it alone. You've already done enough stupid stuff for a whole week, and it's only about twenty past seven. * Twenty past seven it was, and high time our protagonist was getting out of the shower and on with his day. He shut off the taps, remembering to flick the hot water tap twice in rapid succession to try to clear as much air as possible, and picked up his cloth and soap. Ignoring the feeling that he'd forgotten something, he opened the curtain, stepped out of the stall, and then looked back, realizing that it was his shampoo he'd forgotten. No, he hadn't, he'd had to borrow from... Harold's head looked immediately to the other stall, which was empty and quiet, and then ahead of him to the counter and the robe hooks, where the anonymous, but quite unforgettable, girl was just bringing her towel down from her chest to her legs and bending over away from him. Umm... He really shouldn't be watching this. Suddenly, probably realizing that his shower had stopped, she straightened up and turned around, the look in her eyes saying that she thoroughly agreed with him. She pulled the towel up around her, arched her eyebrow, and looked pointedly (if one may use the term in this atmosphere) at his blatantly uncovered manhood. Harold blushed, sidestepped rapidly left, and entered her stall, thus breaking eye-contact, and nearly his skull, as he misjudged the location of the end wall of the shower enclosure. "Oh my god! Are you alright?" she said, with concern, taking a few quick steps back towards the showers. Holding his head, Harold stepped back out where she could see that he was all right, in order to forestall her coming any further to assist him, and promptly realized that this move sort of defeated the whole purpose of stepping into the stall in the first place. He stepped back, much more carefully this time, and she went back to drying herself, before rapidly donning her robe. "I'm decent now," she said, picking up her belongings. "And if you want to come out, I'm leaving." With a slight hint of humour in her voice she said, "It was nice meeting you." Then a very definite giggle, muffled swiftly, but ineffectively. Hearing the door swing closed, Harold poked his head carefully around the corner, and, seeing nobody about, walked nimbly to the counter. He put down his stuff, picked up his towel, and dried himself off. He then put on his robe, re-arranged his pile, picked up his book, and headed to the toilets, for a relaxing session of reading, deep thought, and the other thing that North Americans don't like to talk about, except for shock value. Thankfully, his routine was not further disrupted, and he made it safely and well fed to his 8:30 zoology lecture, which he completely lost track of, his thoughts being occupied elsewhere. END ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of the hands of children. They should be outside playing in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 69