There's something about those special times when my young, (less-than-half-my-age) girlfriend shows up at my place and looks at me with those soft, begging-for-attention brown eyes, and says, "I'm all dirty and I need a shower so I can be clean for you."
She may have just been busy with her twins, or her drunken, lay-around husband for a few days and hadn't taken the time to bathe herself, or she may have just been letting herself go so she'd smell and taste spicier for me. Her man may have been ignoring her except for when his mood turned and he'd slapped her around, or pushed her into their rundown bedroom to bend her over their bed and roughly fuck her up her tight little ass. After, he nearly always collapses and falls asleep, leaving her sobbing and in pain, his spooge dripping from her torn little bum. I hate him for that.......
But she won't leave him.
I'll get that call, the one I wait for. She'll be talking quietly, her voice a little cracked. She needs to see me. And I always tell her it's ok and to come over. How could I not?
I park my car in the yard so she can pull into my garage so her car's out of sight. I live in rural southern Ohio and have no neighbors within view, but we take no chances. Soon, there's quick honk in the driveway and I raise the garage door and close it as soon as her little red stationwagon is inside. She gets out and it takes a few minutes for her to acclimate to here and to me, then she hugs me tightly and whispers that she's missed me. She smells of him. His sweat and his cigarettes, that stench that seems so foreign to her small frame. I hug her back. Long and tight. I wish she'd stay, someday, for good, but there's her 3 y/o twins at home, and David the sodomizing drunk.
I hate him all the more.
Of all the girls I've dated in this little river town, Valerie haunts me the most at night as I lay awake in my empty bed.
"I want to get "him" off me," she always says. "Give me a shower like you do. Wash me all over, then dry me and put baby powder on me, ok?" she asks. I always say yes. What man wouldn't give in to those sad eyes?
Her clothes are faded and stained. I can see that much as we enter the bathroom and I turn on the heatlamps that illuminate and warm the room with bright light. Oh, I've bought her nice things; cute low-hanging jeans, colorful undies and tops. I've paid to have her teeth cleaned, filled and brightened, supplied makeup and hair color and small bits of the cheap jewelry she fancies. But, somehow, sometime, between that first day when we come back from the store and she models them for me, and the intervening times that she returns with them on, he's gotten to them, using them for clean-up rags, or lost an earring or kinked a necklace. He's never sober long enough to recognize that someone ELSE had bought them for his neglected spouse. He's just too lazy when he's puttering around his parents' house where they stay, to look for papertowels to wipe up this or that.
I turn on the water in the shower and she stands still, waiting for me to strip off her clothes. I do. His smell on her clothes fills the steamy bathroom as I uncover her body; first her tee shirt, then her jeans. She stands there, shivering, she's always shivering, no matter how warm the bathroom is. Finally she turns for me to unhook her bra. Her pert, 23 year-old breasts tighten. Her nipples harden. I look at her eyes and see that she's enjoying my attention. She cups a breast in each hand and smiles at me, then uncovers them and slides her fingers down over her smooth tummy and thin hips. She's waiting for me to slip her thong down off her and, as I do, I hear her breathe a slow, shallow breath of air that brushes my face. Valerie loves for me to look at her, naked.
I kneel in front of her, feasting my eyes up and down her little body, drinking in that lovely vision that she is. I lean forward and plant a kiss on her tiny patch of pubic hair. It smells so warm. She giggles. With that, she pushes me back and slips into the shower.
She likes the water really hot and it seems to cook his stench right out of her skin. "Oh, I stink," she laughs.
"No, you don't," I insist. "You never smell fishy! You've got the cleanest metabolism I've ever been around, Girl," I say. "I can tell when he's been fucking you too hard back there, but not because you smell. It's because you walk with a little limp. Why don't you make him use lube when he's slamming your butt? If he really cared for you, he'd be more considerate."
"I don't want to talk about him right now. You just worry about me," she says.
"Okay," I reply.
She hands me the bottle of liquid soap and turns to face the wall, her slender legs spread, her butt thrust out toward me, her hands raised as she leans on the wall so I can wash her "all over," as she insists. I slather the fragrant lather all over both hands and, standing outside the shower, start with her neck and the sides of her face, washing everything, then down her shapely back. When I finish her from the waist up, she juts her bum out a little more and somehow makes her cheeks open slightly, then reminds me that it's been days since her last bath and to make sure I wash her THOROUGHLY, "all under."
I oblidge her, wondering how this must look, an old man hand washing this beautiful young woman.
Then I kneel down and reach up between her legs, remembering, outloud, as I wash, that no one ever really knows a woman until he's tasted that essence hidden deep between her legs. She breathes a little louder as I linger there, working the lather up into her labia and around the folds and creases of her taint. She raises up a little and pushes her butt out even more. I know she's enjoying the sensations I'm giving her.
"Make sure my bum is really clean, she whispers, and I need you to put some ointment on me there, after. I'm really sore from him."
I spread her cheeks open with my left hand, smear the soap around and ever-so-slightly up into her anus, then scrub her there as gently as I can, for what seems like several minutes. She tenses up a couple times, then seems to relax and I know she's had enough. Val loves it when I put my fingers in her ass.
I finish washing her legs and slender feet, then order her to rinse. She does as she's told, then turns to face me. I wash her tummy and her tight little breasts. Then I make her raise her arms while I wash her arm pits. There's a couple days worth of stubble and she tells me to hand her one of the razors we keep here for her. She soaps up and starts shaving under her arms. In a minute they're smooth and she wants me to test them. I do and then she tells me to start washing her pussy again. I can tell she wants another shower orgasm so I tell her that she'll have to place her feet apart so I can get her done properly. She obeys and I add more soap to my right hand and start to lather her crotch. She raises up again and leans back against the wall, closing her eyes. I work the foamy wash deep into the folds of her labia again and circle the opening and her clitoris, over and over. I hear her start to breath heavier and her left leg shutters a little. I wash harder and suddenly her right knee buckles. She catches herself, opens her eyes and smiles at me.
"Now, I'm clean," she exclaims."I'll rinse then you dry me, ok?"
Valerie loves to be dried off after a shower, just like an obedient little girl. I accomodate her, then wrap her in my big, plush, terrycloth bathrobe and lead her to my bedroom and my bed. I spread another towel across the quilt and she drops the robe and lays, face down.
"Powder me," she asks."And don't forget the ointment on my bum."
I cover her with baby powder, then uncap the ointment tube and have her spread her legs so I can sit between them. I tell her to lift up her bum. I slide a knee up under her pelvis and she settles down on it while I open her cheeks. Just as I'd feared, I found that David had torn her rectum with his vicious, drunken thrusting. I used a babywipe soaked with baby oil to sooth the area, wiping it as gently as I could. I told her that she looked really sore.
"It's not so bad," she'd said, often. "I'm used to it by now. I just hate it when he rolls over and passes out after. I feel like a piece of meat."
Did I say that I really hate him for hurting her..........?
I smeared some of the diaper ointment on my index finger, held her bum cheeks spread open and gently began to apply the soothing paste to her torn spincter. She winced and I apologized, then began again, even gentler this time.
"Make sure you cover it all, then put some more ointment up inside me. You can use two fingers at the same time, like you asked me to last time only I didn't want to, if you like," she said.
"You just want me to get you off again, Bad Little Girl," I laughed.
"No. You just know how to really take care of me there so it feels really soothing and good," she insisted.
I squeezed the tube until my two fingers were covered with the stuff, then returned my hand to its work, smearing the paste around and just inside her rectum, using just one finger at first. I felt her tense up then relax, then she folded the pillow over and buried her face in it, but not before reminding me again that 2 fingers might make "it" feel better.
"But you do what you want to me," she said.
To be continued....................if you want me to.