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My Dream Shower

I guess I’m the sensitive one of the group. We’re walking down another wide city street, and I want to abandon them. They go from bar to bar, then house party to house party, and I’m just too torn up, or maybe my body is exhausted, or I’m not eating right. I’ve drunk so much that Jake has taken it upon himself to lead me by the hand as the five or six others in the group charge ahead of us. So I can’t break away—not yet. In a moment I will.

In many ways, my life is a dream right now, as I live down here in Argentina, where supposedly I’m studying abroad in Buenos Aires, learning Spanish and South American culture. But really I’m learning what it’s like to live electrically from night to night, with these temporary friends, as a 20-year-old girl who should have so much more confidence and energy than she really does. This city is enchanting, full of elegant, stone buildings interspersed with a modern lifestyle, where there’s always at least one man singing joyfully on the streets, or a flower salesman, or a tricky juggler entertaining the cars at stoplights.

We turn onto Hipolito Avenue, my favorite street in the city, so wide and weird how it splits away from the plaza in a diagonal direction, and the lights are plentiful in this clean part of the city. This is where I gently break my hand off from his. Immediately he asks where I’m going. I tell him I’m worn out and I’m going back to the Casa Bolivar, the dorm for international students.

“Oh, come on! Just let your hair down and have a shot with me,” he says.

I think this is the first time he’s smiled at me, and my stomach flutters—not that I have a crush on him. I barely know him. He’s not even a student here. I only see him on weekends, when this party crowd drags me out. He’s a much older guy, almost 30, teaching advanced English courses for semi-rich people. He fell in with the rest of the Americans here. I wish I knew him well enough to crush on him, but I’ll never be any closer to him, because he’s a handsome man who seems to know everyone.

Of course, I change my mind and follow him. We meet up with the others, the five other Americans and handful of Europeans whom I’ve almost learned all the names of. We’re in the courtyard at the back of our favorite bar, in the outskirts of the city. We’re sitting at big wooden tables, where hats and cowboy gear decorate the walls. Jake is standing with a group of Europeans, speaking Spanish so well that I’d never understand him. I probably won’t see him for the rest of the night, and I’m sure he’s not coming to the table with those shots he mentioned.

Melisha is the only one who seems to tune into my mood. She can sense that I’m sipping down this red wine at an unusual pace. She has dark, olive skin and a mane of black curly hair that makes me feel bitter with jealousy, because I’m just a plain-faced girl with flat dirty blonde hair. I’ll never be a girl like her.

She leans close to me on the table and keeps saying random thoughts to me in an effort to snap me out of my mood. “You and I should make a video about living down here.” She looks at me with that calm demeanor that she carries into any room, no matter who’s in it. “Or we could write something together. I bet you’re an excellent writer.”

I think that’s what she said. The alcohol is starting to get to me, and I need to lie down somewhere quiet. “I’m too paranoid and useless to write anything about all these nights out,” I say, in quite a harsh tone. She’s confused, probably because what I said made little sense, and I don’t care because I’m walking away, out to the lobby, then to the streets, and Casa Bolivar is only two or three blocks away, if I remember correctly. I only have to keep myself from crying about nothing for two or three more blocks. I don’t want to be crying, but it’s my body’s decision, not mine.

I hear Melisha calling my name. She says, “Let’s go get some food first.”

I pretend I can’t hear her and step into the lobby, feeling comfort from the familiar checkerboard floor and marble steps. In less than a minute I hit the first floor, even though my room’s on the third floor, and I’m in the bathroom to vomit into a weirdly shaped toilet. It has a plastic lid that I’m surely putting dents into with my fingernails. I’m crying too.

Melisha follows me in and mumbles kind words to me while rubbing my back. She sends a text message to someone so they know where we’ve disappeared to.

After a while, the girl who received the message appears by the door, then Jake, then two or three more whose names I’ve forgotten. I’m sitting on the floor, leaning on the cabinet, and Melisha is down here with me while everyone else is standing. They really do want to support me in some way. They know what it’s like to be separated from home for four months, with a real life somewhere off in the distance, and this temporary life—this bubble of a life pressing down on the now.

“I’m okay,” I say, once everyone gets to asking me how I feel. “I just drank too much. And I need to shower now.” I’m standing up.

“You’re gonna shower down here?” Melisha asks.

“Sure. Why not?” I take a look around and realize this is a really nice bathroom. It’s huge, with three sinks, a mirror that spans an entire wall, and some potted plants flavoring up the luxurious space. The walls and floor have beautiful gray stone tile. The shower area has two shower heads floating over a space large enough for four people to shower at once. It looks like it is intended for the students to share the space. There’s no shower curtain. A short wall separates some of the room, but mostly there’s a wide open view of it from the sinks.

Everyone starts to trickle out of the room. Jake is the last one to walk out. But I don’t want him to walk out. I want him to stay and watch me shower. I want him lusting for me, wishing he could have me. And when I finish washing myself, I would consider kissing him and wishing him goodnight.

“Wow,” I say. “I’m glad you never brought me that shot.”

He looks at me, still backing away to the door. “Well, freshen up. Get your mind cleared.”

“Jake.” I’m delighted to see him stop again. “Bring me some clothes from my bedroom, please?”

He smiles. “No problem. I’ll leave them by the door.”

“No. Bring them in here. I don’t want someone out there taking my clothes!”

“But…you’ll be in the shower.”

“You can put the clothes on the counter without looking.” I’m looking at him too seriously. I’m supposed to flirt here, but all I can manage is, “Put them there. You can do that, right?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

He’s out the door. From his attitude, I’m not sure he’s coming back. I feel my heart fluttering for him, my throat clenching up at the thought of him walking in, trying to be respectful, and me walking out and boldly grabbing at his crotch. But am I brave enough to do that? Maybe I’ll walk out and wait for him to say something. Then he’ll say I’m drunk and ease me back in the shower and walk out. Too many other possibilities run through my head. I step under the stream of hot water, trying to keep my mind straight, as the room gets foggy with me.

Finally the door opens with a soft rattle, and on a sharp whim I decide to do what I really want to do. I walk out into the open, with hair wet and suds dripping down my body.

Jake didn’t come in; it was Melisha. She stumbles back one step, seeing me walk out so plainly. “Hey,” she says. She puts the clothes on the counter and looks at me for a moment. “Everything okay?”

Jake must have sent her in with the clothes, to be as polite as possible. Now I’m here with Melisha, desperate for someone’s eyes to be locked on me, maybe more, and I’m stepping toward her to discover how desperate I am for her. I’ve never been with a girl before, but I’m a young college girl and tonight I need to do some living. She’s so beautiful. She’s always friendly to me. Maybe she’ll let me be more. I step closer and she doesn’t move away, even when my face is inches from hers.

“Everything’s fine.” I don’t hesitate again. I kiss her, and I’m enthralled to feel her pressing lips and chin back into me. In an instant, she’s dropped her concerns or barriers and decided to lose herself in the moment with me. We might not have much time to get this over with, as the others will start to wonder what’s going on in here. And do I care? Maybe not. I rub my hands on her clothes, ready to get her naked. She’s got perfect curves, such smooth and dark skin, and piercing dark eyes. I want everything her body can give me.

We make out a moment longer, and I adjust myself to her calm and slow pace; but I want to keep leading her on, this girl who’s a year younger than me, this girl who I want to pretend is going to learn from me. I strip each piece of her extravagant outfit off, taking a moment to feel up each newly exposed part of her. She’s a jewelry fanatic, and it suits her well, so I leave every bit of it on her—the multiple wooden bracelets, rings, chain necklace, and big ear rings. I wish I could have a picture of her like this. I’d put it on my wall, in black and white, with a nice frame, and I’d never feel shame for adoring it.

I push her into the lush warmth of the shower, and she moans softly, the only sound she’s made since seeing me appear, then she’s quiet again, and we’re rubbing each other’s backs with gripping hands. She starts to pull me in and squeeze her breasts against me in rhythmic pulses. I love the way she feels, her soft and tight skin. She doesn’t have a bony or rough spot anywhere on her body. The soap rubs off me and makes her body slick, then we wash it off, step away from the water and lather up again.

Time to step up the passion. I shove my palm between her legs and give her clit a long, forceful rub. She breathes out, settles her hands on my shoulders and pushes me back an inch. She gives me a hot stare, a look that says, Go more; go hard. I rub her clit fast and hard, only briefly, then shove her against the wall and move my thigh under her pussy. She lets her waist drift down, to press her clit firmly on my leg, and we find the rhythm that sends her into ecstasy, gripping the lower back of each other, letting the moment flourish as long as possible. She seems to know how to stay on the edge of an orgasm. Her breathing is turning wild and erratic, and I’m most enchanted when she holds onto that breath for a while then slowly gasps it out.

I decide to take her over, and I press my thigh harder onto her, adding pressure with my hands, and I speed my thrusts up. In half a second she lets out a moan, trying to be quiet. She manages a few more quiet breaths then moans again, long enough to let me know she’s hitting her orgasm. She pauses a moment, still embracing me firmly, then relaxes. “God damn,” she says.

We laugh. She throws her head forward like she’s too exhausted to stand straight, letting water run down the back of her neck. I massage her gently and wonder how well we will know each other after tonight, but quickly push that distraction away. She brings her head back up and gives me a kinky smile, pushes off the wall and puts the both of us into a spin, so that I’m the one against the wall.

She’s more patient than me. She likes to stay a step further back, so that she can look my body up and down and caress me distantly, as if we’re starting over. She brings her mouth to my each of my nipples and spends plenty of time on each, while I feel the tips of her fingers graze my thighs or stomach, never plunging all the way into my soft pussy. I think she’s done this with another girl before. Her confidence and patience overwhelm me. As she puts each hand against my breasts, giving me an aggressive stare, we hear the door open with a rapid knock.

“Everything okay in here?” It’s Jake’s voice. “I can’t find Melisha.”

Melisha and I look at each other and exchange smiles.

“Hello…? If you’re in here, say something.”

We stay quiet. Melisha starts rubbing me again, and she shifts to the side, so that Jake will see me full frontal when he peaks around the wall.

“Are you either of you—” Jake is saying as he peers around the wall. When the sight of us breaks his speech, there’s only glances—not a word is spoken. He manages to utter, “Whoa,” and examines our bodies first, then looks at our faces.

Jake moves away quickly to close the door and returns to his perch against the bathroom counter, in his own sort of daze—not one of lust or passion, but total confusion. I know he’s trying to keep his composure, trying to show us he’s still a gentleman who doesn’t barge in or lay a hand on a drunken lady. But he can’t manage to walk out.

We pretend we’re intoxicated, possessed by a spell of lust for each other, glancing at him and giggling, swaying around on the wall. As he stands there, completely stunned, we eventually pretend to grow bored of him. He’s our spectator and we have to get on with the show. Melisha returns her attention to me. She steps forward and rubs her breasts against mine while her hands slowly go everywhere. I bring my arms around her. She’s close enough for me to gaze down her slick, glistening back. I feel her jewelry lightly scratch my skin at the neck and arms—a sharp nuance layered over the melody of her plush skin all over my skin. I bite her shoulder to give her that same sort of nuance. I look at Jake, and we have our longest moment of eye contact. I want him to tremble and sweat, to get flustered over wondering if he would be the one in this shower with me if he had brought my clothes in like I told him to.

He bites his lip, and his eyes show off an urgent sort of anxiety. With that look, I know I have him in my grasp. I move my hands down to Melisha’s ass and squeeze. She responds by moving a thigh into the area between my legs, and she humps me slowly. At the first thrust I tighten my face and pretend an unbearable pleasure is coursing through me. I throw my head back for a moment, overacting my silent moaning, releasing slight chirps, then I look back at Jake.

He’s even more nervous, but then he breaks into a timid smile, as if his naughty side has won him over. He removes his pants and shirt both with one fluid motion, then stands there. His cock is half erect, rapidly growing. I moan slightly and rub Melisha’s back more firmly, to let him know the sight of his cock is going to put me over the edge. He stays outside the shower and begins to move the thick foreskin of his cock up and down the shaft. A few strokes later, his cock appears to be fully erect, the biggest I’ve ever seen—and the only one I’ve seen that is undoubtedly a man’s cock, not a boy’s. It’s going to be inside me, sometime soon. But tonight, we’ve come to this unspoken agreement that we’ll only have visual contact.

As he strokes himself more rapidly and several drops of pre-cum emerge from the head, the pleasure Melisha provides me is becoming real. I’m no longer acting for Jake. I throw my head back and close my eyes because I really am shuddering and struggling for a good, whole breath. Melisha realizes she has me on edge and she humps me as hard and fast as she possibly can. She presses my shoulders hard into the cold wall. Her leg is hot and covered with my wetness. I feel the intensity of an orgasm building up in my loins. Jake is hunching over, his mouth agape, his eyes conflicted.

“Ohhh!” With one sudden and careless moan emerging from my mouth, we’re both sent over the edge. I moan again, and I don’t care if anyone in the hall can hear me.

Jake stumbles forth, still hunched over, and grabs the edge of the wall with his free hand so he can lean on it. He moves his lower half closer so he can ejaculate into the shower floor, and a few spurts shoot all the way to our feet. With the sensation of his jizz touching me, I know the night has reached its zenith—a beautiful culmination. To put the final pin in our shower session, I lift that hot drop of his load off my foot and rub in on my chest, then lick my fingers. I keep silent and mouth the words to him: You and I.

He puts his clothes on and leaves the bathroom. I don’t see him for the rest of the night, but when Melisha and I return to my room we see a note placed on my pillow: Tonight was a dream that I hope occurs again. She assures me that he and I could be more than mere lovers, but I’m in no hurry to know. Whatever happens, I’ll be a fine, satisfied young girl with plenty of goals to knock out in the future. Maybe I’ve clicked some secret nerve into place and cleansed the toxins in me that have been hanging around for too long. I can learn to love my life now.

“When you get him to yourself for a whole night, tell me how it happens,” Melisha says, returning my mind to the present moment. “At least I’ll get to hear about how good he is in bed.”

“You can join us for a night. After I get my foot in the door with him!”

We both laugh. Melisha settles in my tiny bed with me, without having to ask, and I’m delighted to learn that she sleeps naked. She makes me do the same. Throughout the night I cling to her warm back, smelling her hair, rubbing her hips and arms, thinking about Jake.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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