Stripes, Chapter 5: Into the Deep End
#5 of Stripes
The next Wednesday was another evening of drinks at Casey's. Sarah continued down her list of sexually-named cocktails, making me blush from the way she said the very first one, but couldn't make Enrique bat an ear however ha- however much she tried.
God damn it.
Sam didn't help with his muttered reply of "Just you wait" to a few of the more blatantly named ones, of course.
Eventually, we set out for their place, and I blushed all the way there. It just figured, too, that Sam wanted to get a barbecue meal in before cooking outside became uncomfortable. After that exchange at the bar, anything remotely suggestive - even so passively so as the sausages being cooked up - was getting to me.
I survived dinner with no more than mild embarrassment, but it was too soon to count a victory just yet; afterwards, Sarah chivvied me into the spare room for an examination, and this time, she said, she didn't want the shirt in the way.
"Think you'll need a chaperon?" Sam murmured from the other side.
Dammit, did he have to do so right by my ear? His breath was as distracting as anything Sarah did.
"Oh, give the man what privacy he can get," Sarah admonished, reaching over to swat him on the shoulder. "Scare up some dessert or something, why don't you? Come on, Tim, let's get this over with." She picked up her doctor's bag and waved her free hand toward the door.
Well, she did have a point about privacy. And as soon as we crossed the threshold, she was definitely in doctor mode; her tone was quite professional as she directed me, businesslike, to the point. Yeah, she was touching me soon after, but there was nothing improper about it. She asked if I was sore, or if that spot there was a bit tender, and soon enough was moving away and directing me to go ahead and get my shirt back on.
"You're doing well," she told me. "I still need you to take it easy and be careful, but at least you can do typical daily tasks without worrying, so long as you don't twist around in a bad way. Still up for Saturday? I can give you some exercises to do - doing at least some of them in the water will be good so you don't have to worry so much about balance, though others you'll want the weight to help you."
What was I going to do? Say that no, I'd rather suffer crippling pain for the rest of my life? I'm not always the quickest on the draw, sure, but even I'm not that stupid.
"Sure, Saturday's still good for me," I said.
So it was that I wound up checking into the swimming pool on Saturday. I hadn't been there in a little while, but my membership was still good, so I went on into the locker room; I hadn't seen any sign of Sarah, but we'd arranged to meet in the actual pool area, not the lobby.
I took my time in the shower - that was exactly why I'd suggested we not meet in the lobby; it would've left her at loose ends. On the other hand, it wasn't entirely care about my back that slowed me down; the shower happened to be empty when I was there, and my thoughts wandered for a little, and...
Well, I had to finish my shower with the water on cold.
I risked enough warm water at the end of it to not be outright shivering as I stepped onto the pool deck, and immediately I almost regretted it. Sarah indeed cut as fine a figure in a swimsuit as I'd hoped, or feared, or whatever.
She was polite, though, and I didn't think it was just because of the numerous other people in the pool. She asked how I was doing, supervised some careful stretches - yes, she touched me from time to time to make sure I went the right way or didn't go too far - and then it was time to get into the water.
It felt... good. I had to be careful not to twist around, of course, but it still felt strangely liberating, to just drift in the water and not have my weight pushing down all the time.
Relaxation didn't last forever, of course; she made me work for those moments of luxury, moving in ways I hadn't really known that limbs could. I was thoroughly sore by the time she was satisfied, but I wasn't in any pain worse than that.
Even when, on my way out by ladder, I slipped and fell back against her.
She grunted, losing her own grip on the edge of the pool and instead grabbing me. "Whoa! Easy there, tiger," she murmured. "I've got you."
Yes, yes she did. And the way my thoughts had been lately, having my head against her breasts, even if I was facing away from them, was not what I needed right now - nor, in fact, her arms tight around me. "I'm fine," I gasped. "Didn't manage to, uh... twist around or... anything." Which was mostly true, except, really, for those first two words; with her hand right on my stomach, and all the rest of it... Well, she'd encouraged me to be honest. "I feel fine. Uh... maybe a little... too good?" God, I thought my ears were going to catch fire.
Apparently she got the message. "Well, let's just be sure of that," she said a little louder than necessary, kicking forward. "Lean on the wall, there."
I did, resting my chin on my arms and letting myself hang slack. She traced her fingers along my back, murmuring terms that I couldn't understand in the slightest, and her touch was very professional.
It somehow managed to remain that way even when, with her hands at my waist height, she calmly reached around, tugged my waistband up with one hand, and slipped the other in to rearrange my overeager erection.
I stiffened, breath catching - but she moved her hands around back, as though she'd been carefully rubbing there all the time and just run into a trouble spot. And, to be honest, it had kind of needed to be done; the way I'd been situated, there was constant pressure on it from being tented up, but now it was lying flat.
But she'd still touched my dick.
Even once it had gone down enough to risk accepting her offer of a hand up out of the pool, that thought still loomed large in my head: she'd touched my dick. Just a moment, and for good reason, but she'd still done it.
We agreed to meet in the usual place Wednesday evening, and she offered to drop me off at home. "I'd invite you over for some gaming," she said, "but stuff's come up that we really ought to take care of right away, and not get distracted."
And all things considered, that was for the best. Even turning the shower cool, it wasn't an easy matter to make myself presentable and decent, and all too easy to put my hand where hers had been.
Right there...
Colder went the water, and I forced myself to finish up with all due speed. The drive home was brief and uneventful; she spent it advising me which of the stretches I'd done that day I should keep doing, and how often. Then, as I pulled my duffel bag out of the back seat, she wished me well, and that was that.
And I still couldn't help thinking about the moment she'd touched me.
My roommates were all out of the house, thank God; the last thing I needed was to get teased for the tent I was (already!) sporting after getting dropped off by a beautiful and all-too-taken woman. As it was, I went straight to my room, locked the door, and stripped down, shivering as the cool air met my insistent erection. Even lowering myself onto the bed, rather than just tossing myself over it and letting myself sprawl, was a frustrating delay.
I gave up on trying to keep the fantasies at bay; there was no way I was dismissing them this time. I just let them race over me - imagined Sam behind me, his big, strong hands roaming over my back, his breath slow and warm over my ears; imagined Sarah beside me, her breath quicker, washing over my neck, one hand on my shoulder, the other...
I was already whimpering, and I didn't care. It just felt so good, even as a daydream. Even as it started getting more speculative - the feel of Sam's heat against my rear(how big would he get? He was hardly small to begin with... and how would any guy's feel lying against me like that, anyway), his teeth grazing my ears and hers, my neck... her hand pumping along my shaft, quick and steady, one or both of them whispering soft encouragements as my whimpering grew more urgent, my balls tightening...
Somehow, I remembered to stay lying flat, not to arch; but that took all the restraint I had. I cried out - it'd probably be more honest to say I screamed, really, but at the time I scarcely noticed; all I knew was that it felt so damn good...
And then it subsided. I was gasping for air, my throat was hoarse, and I had spunk on my chin - my actual chin. I'd made a bigger mess of myself than I could ever remember doing before, and I was trembling from ears to tail-tip.
Towelling down wouldn't be enough; I'd reek of it, and one of my roommates was a coyote for God's sake. He'd teased me about enough lonely nights in the past; this one he'd have a field day with it.
I got up, and grabbed a washcloth to clean up the spots that had missed me entirely. I dragged myself into the shower yet again, scrubbed down and applied a good deal of deodorizing body wash before following up with a double helping of my usual scented stuff, and sprayed what felt like half a bottle, but really wasn't an unusual amount of air freshener around; then I grabbed a stick of incense and set it smoldering while I climbed back into bed.
God, I was crushing so hard. And the worst thing about it was that it felt so damn good.