No Rescue from a Tumor Ch. 03
Recap: (Joe is undergoing painful and experimental chemo for a brain tumor, and discovers that a friend from his church is willing to do anything he tells her to do, even though she refuses when he asks. He is afraid to ask for too much, because he isn't sure how far she is willing to go. So far, she got almost naked for him, but then the sandwich she brought started to come back up, and nausea had to compete against his libido. Nausea won.)
I emptied my stomach again and again into the toilet bowl. I knew that I couldn't possibly have eaten as much as I was puking up. It didn't surprise me, though, since this was the standard operating procedure for two days after every treatment now. On the good side, as my libido fled me, so did my headache.
"Sorry," was all I could manage to say between vomiting episodes. My throat felt like I'd been eating tuna flavored sandpaper. Kirsten, true, nearly naked friend that she was, stayed by my side throughout each violent upheaval. She didn't once break her submissive, agreeable persona and go for her pajama pants or bra. She didn't even try to cover up her breasts. As amazed as I had been that she had done what I'd told her, I was even more amazed at her commitment to keeping in character. She just stood there, next to and slightly behind me, offering encouragement when I lifted my head from the toilet bowl, but mostly just waiting it out, as I was.
Finally, my stomach stopped churning, and I turned my head to face her. Getting puke up your nose does wonders to kill a guy's libido, even when a cute girl is standing next to you in nothing but panties. But when she looks at you like she would do anything to make you feel better, well, your libido shows it can take a licking and then just come right back.
For a few seconds, neither of us moved. I knelt at the toilet, my head turned towards her, with my eyes about at her waistline. She stood between me and the shower, hands not quite at her sides, not quite reaching out towards me. I don't know what I was waiting for, really, but I knew that she was waiting for me.
I reached out, unable to resist the allure of her soft olive skin, and wondering what she would do, but she took my hand in both of hers, helping me to stand up. I wasn't sure if she was keeping my hands off, or if she had mistaken my movement. But then she stepped forward and gave me a long, back-rubbing, head-on-shoulder hug. In spite of the vomit smell and the burning in my nose and throat, I felt myself stirring again.
I wrapped my arms around her naked shoulders and returned the hug, pulling her breasts tight against my chest and then exploring the contours of her back. My hands roamed from the small of her spine all the way up to her neck, and she didn't react for a long time.
I didn't let go until I felt her begin to pull away. Then, though, I continued exploring her body with my eyes, and she waited patiently while I did so, not seeming to care about what I was doing or show any embarrassment about letting me think the thoughts that I was having.
The game was still on, and she was playing it very well. I needed to do the same. I thought quickly, trying to think of something that she would think of as game-worthy and not creepy.
"I'm so sorry," I said.
"It's okay," she soothed. "You don't need to apologize for being sick."
"No," I said. I stared at her breasts, trying to imagine that she was still wearing her bra and yellow tee shirt. I wasn't as good at that game of pretending as she was. I wondered how well she would be able to pretend I was dressed if I was standing naked in front of her with my dick sticking out. I was pretty well endowed, but I guessed she would still be a lot better at the game than I was.
"I mean," I told her. "I'm sorry that I got puke all over you." I really hadn't, of course, but I thought I had come across the next great idea to continue the charade with her, and even to take it a step farther, if she was willing to. She assumed a look of disgust that was hard for me to believe was not genuine, but then she overcame it with such eloquent facial contortions that I felt like applauding her performance. It was as if she was actually going through the process of overcoming the disgust the way she would have done if she hadn't been playing the fantasy charade with me.
"Jump in my shower real quick."
"Okay," she said, and she literally jumped over the lip of the bathtub. I opened and shut my mouth wordlessly. For her to follow my order so completely literaly, temporarily overpowered my excitement at watching her breasts bounce. She was phenomenal at this game. She had to have done it before. Or else . . .
It was strange. Even though she was almost naked, I couldn't stop my mind from contorting in confusion. I was starting to doubt whether she was playing a game with me or not.
If not, though, then . . . what? She actually had to do what I told her?
The thought, absurd as it was, helped my libido make a quick and complete comeback. I enjoyed the idea, as rediculous as it sounded. That's how good she was at the game. But if it was true, though . . . then . . .?
"Hey Kirsten," I said. Before I had started puking, I had told her that she was dressed. What if I told her to undress? "I'll wash those clothes for you," I told her. "That you are wearing." I twisted my tongue in my mouth and then continued. "Hand them to me really quick."
Like nothing, she pulled off her shoes and socks and handed them to me. Then she lifted her arms and began gyrating as if pulling off a t-shirt. "Turn around, at least," she told me when she saw how intently I was watching her.
"Okay," I said. I turned into the mirror, and she started gyrating again, but then she stopped. "Through the mirror?" she said. "Really?"
"What do you mean?" I said. I had already thought this part through, and I tried to look confused. "There is no mirror in this bathroom."
"Oh, right," she agreed. "Sorry." She chuckled, and then pantomimed pulling a tee shirt up and off over her head with me watching. My mirror was pretty clean for a college guy's apartment, but I wished it was even cleaner. And bigger. And magnified. Why hadn't I just told her that she didn't care if I watched her?
She swung her arm out wide behind her, apparently pretending to smack me with the imaginary shirt, since the real one was on the floor in my bedroom. I guess it made sense since I wasn't supposed to know what she was doing. I reached around behind me and clutched at where I imagined it would be hanging off of her hand. She accepted my attempt and reached behind her back with both hands, and she squeezed her fingers together, which I figured had to be her unclasping her bra, which was actually on the floor in the other room, next to the couch. She glanced sidelong at me before she handed 'it' to me, but she did.
Next, she grabbed at her waistline and hooked her thumbs. I thought at first that she was going to pull down her panties, but she didn't. Instead, she wiggled her hips while she lowered her hands. That seemed odd, since the pajama pants that she had been wearing were loose-fitting. Then I remembered that I had told her that she was wearing shorts. Apparently she had decided that they were very tight-fitting ones.
She worked her way out of them, which was not a surprise, since she'd never been wearing any in the first place. Then she added them to the growing imaginary pile in my outstretched hand.
There had only been one article of clothing she'd actually been wearing, and that was the only thing left for her to take off. A part of me wondered if she would just pretend to remove her panties, too, but I was pretty sure that she wouldn't pretend, and I was right.
When she finally hooked her thumbs under the waist of her white, flower-adorned panties, I felt myself pulse in my shorts. When she bent over and started to slide them off her hips, I literally forgot to breathe. From the lightness of the skin under where her panties had just been I knew that what she was showing me could never have seen the sun, and when her hands lowered them to her knees, and then to her ankles, I felt like I was going to explode.
She reached behind her as before and dropped her panties onto my hand. I hardly noticed, I was so busy staring at her naked ass that was only a foot away from me. I couldn't believe, even after everything else, that I had a beautiful naked girl standing completely naked in my own shower right next to where I was standing. And I couldn't believe how casually she had been willing to do it. There she was, completely naked, with her breasts sticking out and her ass plain to see. Maybe she really did think I wouldn't remember anything, and she was living out some kind of little fantasy.
That had to be it, I told myself. A fantasy role-play that she figured I would not remember. Right? But I didn't believe myself. I knew that dreams often seemed real until you woke up, but somehow I also knew that this wasn't a dream, either. And while I spent a precious moment debating on why she was so willing to let me see her like that, she tried to cover her breasts with one hand while she reached over and pulled the shower curtain between us with the other one.
"There," she said from behind the closed curtain. "Now get out."
There was no way I was doing that. "You don't care if I am in here," I told her through the curtain. "And you don't care at all if I see you naked, either."
She didn't say anything. I hesitated a moment, and I heard the shower turn on. I didn't know what to think, but I was pretty sure I knew what I wanted to do. Carefully, I slid the shower curtain open again, and stepped to the side and pulled it around my face so that I could see Kirsten without getting water all over the floor.
That was when I realized that I was still holding her panties, and I dropped them to the floor. I thought she would jerk the curtain shut again, or yell at me, or at least cover herself up, but that is not what she did.
"Got the clothes washing, already, huh?" she asked while she bent over, adjusting the heat. I had only had a momentary glance at her neatly trimmed bush before she bent over. Her breasts dangled temptingly before my eyes, but I wished that I had been standing behind her instead of in front of her.
"Yep," I said. "Want me to lather you up?" I leaned into the shower and reached for my bar of cheap soap.
"Uh, I don't think that would be appropriate," she answered. I laughed in spite of my wonderful view. As if my watching her in the shower wasn't appropriate?
"You sure about that?" I asked.
Kirsten gave me one of her 'are you serious' looks and said, "Definitely."
So, she had finally just turned me down cold. I shouldn't have been surprised, and I should have been happy that she had been willing to do as much as she did. But I was disappointed though. But when she continued getting herself all wet, ignoring my watching her, I reconsidered. It actually hadn't been a command though, that I had said. So I hesitatingly tried again. "Ask me to lather you up," I told her. I tried to sound commanding, but in my ears it still sounded like a question.
She responded immediately. "Would you mind lathering me up?"
I grinned and grabbed the soap. "If that's what you want," I said. I began rubbing her stomach, her sides, her arms, and her legs. She stood still while I did, moving her body to give me easier access to whatever I was scrubbing. Kirsten acted as though there was nothing at all wrong. I could feel the pressure in my pants building to a painful level again, and my headache became so powerful that it almost made me dizzy. I was worried that more nausea would follow if I kept going for much longer, so I just moved my hands around to her chest and rubbed the soap over each of her breasts. I fully expected her to slap me and scream, but she didn't. She just turned her body towards me, an almost bored smile turning up the corners of her mouth.
Finally, I lathered up my hands with the bar of soap and then began massaging both of her breasts with my bare hands. She didn't protest or even move her body out of the way. Even when I squeezed her soft nipples between the side of my hand and the side of my thumb, Kirsten didn't seem to be bothered at all by it. I ran my hands over them, squeezed them, and then pulled on them. She didn't once look at me with disgust or with lust or anything. And her nipples didn't get any harder. I thought they were supposed to do that when a girl was getting turned on. I hesitated, and she apparently took it for a sign that I was done.
"Thanks," she said, and she began running her own hands across her body, rinsing off the soap.
"Let me do a little more," I said. "I want to make sure your whole body is clean." I then put one hand on her lower stomach and the other hand on her back. Shower water sprayed on my head, but I didn't care. I began rubbing in small circles and moving both hands downward. I didn't know what she would let me get away with, but I figured by now pretty much anything was worth a try.
I moved one hand from the small of her back to her ass, squeezing and pulling on one cheek. She swayed with the pressure of my pulling, but she did not protest. I moved my other hand into her pubic region, running my hands lightly through her bush. Again, she did not react or complain.
I pulled harder on her ass cheek twice, squeezing it with excitement. And I moved my other hand lower, between her almost closed legs. Instead of complaining, grabbing my hand or slapping me, she just let my motions force her off balance, and she moved one leg to regain it. This left her legs apart, and I moved my hand over her labia, feeling her folds and her warmth.
It was so exciting to me to be feeling her body there, working my finger between her labia, that I almost passed out. I knew that if I didn't do something quickly either my groin would burst from the pressure it was under or my head would burst from my splitting headache. If it wasn't for that, then I could have stood there forever like that.