The Traveling Vampire Show

Chapter Thirty-three

In Slim’s bathroom, I tried to clean myself up.

“Are you okay?” she asked through the door.

“Fine,” I said. I tried to make my voice sound calm even though I was so embarrassed I wanted to cry.

“Can I do something to help?” she asked.

“No. Thanks. Everything’s okay.”

“Oh, sure.” She didn’t sound very chipper, herself.

“Just… I’ll be out in a minute.”

“I’m sorry, Dwight.”

“Isn’t your fault.”

“Of course not.”

I blushed furiously.

What did she think had happened to me?

She hadn’t asked.

Does she know?

My hands leaping away from her breasts, I’d blurted, “Gotta go,” then run from her bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom.

Maybe she thinks I got hit by the trots.

From the other side of the door, Slim said, “It’s fine if you want to take a shower or something.”

A shower might be the best solution, but I said, “No, that’s okay.”

“Come on, Dwight. You take a shower, and I’ll throw your stuff in the wash. It won’t take that long. We’ll get everything nice and clean.”

“I don’t know,” I muttered. The wads of toilet paper had taken care of the worst of it, but I was still very sticky and my jeans…

“Why don’t you just hand your pants out through the door?” Slim said.

“Nah.”

“Come on, Dwight.”

Slim opened the door, but only a few inches. Her arm reached in. “Just hand them to me.”

“They’re a mess.”

“It’s all right. Come on.” The fingers of her upturned hand waved back and forth, gesturing for me to approach.

“Can’t you just leave me alone for a while?”

“Give me your pants, Dwight.” This time, she sounded serious.

“They’re gross.”

“They are not.”

“That’s what you think.”

“I know what happened,” she said, her voice suddenly going soft. “And I know why it happened. I know all about that sort of stuff. Thanks to Jimmy.”

“Oh, God,” I muttered, and hoped she hadn’t heard me.

“He was gross,” Slim said. “Everything about him was gross. But nothing about you is gross, Dwight. Nothing. There’s nothing for you to be ashamed of or embarrassed about. Okay? So just let me have your pants and I’ll wash them for you. Please.”

“Okay.”

Blushing like crazy, I climbed out of my jeans. On the back of the bathroom door was a full-length mirror. I saw myself walking toward it, my hair mussed, my face scarlet, my shirt not quite long enough to cover my equipment, my jeans swaying by my side, my legs bare all the way down to the tops of my white socks.

“Here,” I said, and put my jeans into Slim’s hand.

“Thanks,” she said. Her arm retreated. A moment later, she said, “What about your trunks?”

Expecting the question didn’t save me from the embarrassment of it.

“I got rid of them back at my house,” I confessed. “They were too hot.”

“Ah,” she said. “Okay. No problem. I’ll go downstairs and throw these in the washer. Why don’t you go ahead and take a shower?”

“Be careful, okay?”

“I will be. You, too.” The bathroom door eased shut.

I thought about things for a minute or two, then took off my shirt and socks and stepped over to the bathtub. I started the water running. When it felt about right, I climbed into the tub, slid the frosted door shut, and started the shower. The spray came out cold. A few seconds later, however, it was good and hot.

I tried to get myself clean with just my hands and the water. After some rubbing, though, my skin still felt slick and tacky in the places where I’d made the mess.

Bending over, I removed a bar of soap from the tray. The fresh scent of the soap reminded me of Slim.

Of course, I thought. It’s her soap.

Suddenly, the realization struck me that I was taking a shower in the very same tub where Slim took her showers or baths. She had been naked in this very place. She had slid this very bar of soap over her bare skin. It had touched her face, glided over her breasts, slicked the skin of her buttocks, even rubbed her down there.

Never mind, I told myself.

But as I stood in the spray, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about it. I got pretty excited all over again. I imagined Slim coming back upstairs after throwing my jeans in the washer… easing open the bathroom door and sneaking inside… taking off all her clothes, then sliding open the shower door.

Mind if I join you in there?

Don’t mind at all.

It’ll never happen, I thought. Not in a million years.

It might.

What had already happened was too fantastic to believe. She put my hands on her breasts!

If she’ll do that, I thought, what else will she do?

She knows all about sex, thanks to that bastard Jimmy Drake. She’s experienced. We’re alone in the house. We’ve got all night—if we skip the vampire show. Taking a shower together could be just the beginning!

I was done washing myself, but I decided to keep on showering.

No hurry, I thought.

She’d already had plenty of time to take my jeans out to the garage behind her house, throw them into the washing machine, start the machine, and return to the house. By now, she might be just outside the bathroom door.

On the rim of the tub was a plastic bottle of shampoo. I picked it up, opened it, and poured some of the yellow goo into the palm of my hand.

I’ll be sudsing my hair when she comes in.

I’ll act very surprised.

I won’t have to act, I realized. I really will be surprised. I’ll be shocked.

It would take a miracle to have Slim get in the shower with me.

But she put my hands on her breasts.

Right. And I had an accident like some kind of sex-starved kid.

I am a sex-starved kid.

I rubbed the foamy shampoo into my hair and scalp. The shampoo didn’t smell the same as the soap. Like the soap, however, its aroma reminded me of Slim.

I lathered my hair for a long time, giving Slim plenty of time to show up.

She isn’t going to show up, I finally had to admit.

She’s probably waiting outside the bathroom door—and wondering what’s taking me so long. Maybe she even decided to wait by the washing machine and not come back until my jeans are finished.

I put my head under the hot spray. I spent a fairly long time rinsing away the suds, still hoping for Slim to come in. Finally, I bent down and turned off the water. I rolled the door open. Hanging on to its edge, I leaned out slightly and looked around. The bathroom was aswirl with white steam.

No Slim.

I climbed out of the tub. Dripping, I took a few steps and pulled a pale blue towel off its bar. Slim’s towel. It had to be hers; her mother’s tub was in the master bathroom. The towel was the same powder blue color as Slim’s bikini. The one she was wearing tonight. The one with the top she’d removed in her closet.

Drying myself, I wondered if the towel had been in the wash since the last time she’d used it. I didn’t think so. It seemed clean and fresh, but didn’t smell or feel the way towels do before they’ve been used.

This one had been against Slim, all over.

When I was done drying myself, I wrapped it around my waist and tucked a comer down to hold it in place. It jutted out quite a lot in front, so I didn’t go to the door or call out for Slim.

To pass a little time, I stepped over to the counter. The mirror above it was all fogged up. Even though I couldn’t see myself in the mirror, I combed my hair with a pink comb I found on the counter. Then I sprayed my armpits with Slim’s deodorant. It was Right Guard, and it’s odor reminded me of her.

It seemed that Slim’s special scent was made of many different aromas—her soap, her shampoo, her deodorant. Now those scents were on me. I liked having the same smell as Slim—or almost the same.

She had other aromas, too, at different times. Perfumes. Suntan oil. Foods she’d eaten. Sometimes, she carried outdoor scents: she smelled like wind or rain or grass or sunlight.

The towel was no longer sticking out, so I went to the door.

I expected Slim to be on the other side of it.

She wasn’t.

I stepped out and looked down the hall. Light from her open bedroom door spilled onto the carpet like a yellow fluid.

“Slim?” I called.

No answer came.

Not from her bedroom. Not from downstairs. Not from anywhere.

What if they got her?

The thought made me feel squirmy.

Maybe they were hanging around the house all along, hiding, waiting to get Slim alone….

She’s probably still in the garage, I told myself. Safe and sound. Waiting to take my jeans out of the washer.

I might as well wait in her bedroom, I thought.

As I walked toward the glow from her room, the towel started to come loose. I grabbed it, held it up, and kept on walking—suddenly very aware of being naked except for the towel.

Stepping into the light, turning toward her doorway, I suddenly imagined Slim was waiting for me in her bed. Maybe with a sheet pulled up almost to her shoulders.

Her shoulders bare.

Her face smiling.

That’s why she hadn’t answered when I called out; she didn’t want to ruin the surprise.