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Shower Buddies - 1 (MF, humour)
by Stone Wolf - 1995

***

  Okay, this is the disclaimer bit. Quite frankly, I think it's crap, 
but I might as well cover my ass, right?

  This story contains (will eventually contain) descriptions of the 
naked human body (Oooo!) and the fun things that some people might do 
with it.

1. If you have not encountered this phenomenon in sex-ed classes yet, 
you're probably too young. Besides which, we all know you're perfectly 
innocent before that point and wouldn't understand the stuff, right?

2. If it's illegal to read descriptions of sex between consenting adults, 
where you live, the preferred choice is to move somewhere else. 
Otherwise, stop reading right here.

  You didn't stop? I'm shocked.

3. Lastly, don't get your hopes up. This is humourous, and maybe even
romantic, but it isn't raunchy, and I don't really think "contact", 
as such, is going to occur before the 3rd chapter, maybe later.

  So, now we're done a whole screenful, which means all those people who 
stopped can't see this bit where I wonder whether they were following the 
law or looking for the currently non-existent chapter 3. :)

  Enjoy (I hope), send comments if you so desire, and I promise not to 
whimper and complain because this only my first story...

                                            S.W.

 Shower Buddies  -Chapter 1              By Stone Wolf

  The Masterton Dormitory was an all-guys dorm, affiliated with the
University's mainly science oriented colleges. Was. That 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 am NOT going all the way back 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 follicular 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 would kind of like to clean my
hair today, 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 is 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 now." A slight hint of humour in her voice, "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 (as much as one can be when one lives in res) to his 8:30
zoology lecture, which he completely lost track of, his thoughts being
occupied elsewhere.

 
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