She landed with a splat, directly in front of the fence. A sizable splat. She was a sizable girl. I dropped the newspaper I'd just collected from the letterbox, opened the gate, and helped her up. She wasn't happy.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! I fucking hate running. Oh, God, sorry."
"No worry. You alright?"
"Oh, yeah, I think so. I just slipped in the fucking mud there."
"Yeah, I can see."
She looked down where I was pointing. She had fallen and slid right through the mud until her head hit the base of my picket fence. She was covered, from the top of her blonde head, down over her sizable breasts, and further. Her shirt was covered, and her shorts, which had been pulled down a little, were a slippery brown, and the colour continued all the way down her normally pale legs, and her newly co-ordinated shoes. "Oh, fuck!" She tried to shake the mud from her shirt, and succeeded only in showing how mobile her breasts were. Giving up on that, she hoisted her shorts back up, at the back, over her ample buttocks first, and then at the front, covering her panties properly. "God, what a mess."
"Oh, it's not so bad," I told her, trying my best to look sympathetic. "Look, come and sit on my porch for a minute, and get your breath back."
"Oh, listen, I don't want to be any bloody bother. I've already tried to attack your fucking fence."
"Nonsense, I insist. Look, you're the first jogger I've rescued in ages. And the fence will recover. It's coped all this time without me painting it. It's not your fault it rained last night."
"Oh, well, are you sure? You weren't going anywhere?"
"I'm sure. Steven."
"Oh, sorry. It's Andy. Anthea, but don't you dare."
"Hi Andy. Come on, and sit down. It's nice here in the sun. What about coffee?"
"Coffee? God, I might have to hit your fence again another day. You sure?"
"Sit down. Back in a minute, Andy. Oh, how do you have it?"
"Oh, I need some sugar. I shouldn't. That's what the bloody running is about. Getting rid of some fat. But shit, I need some, I think."
"Sugar's good for shock. Two?"
"And you're not fat."
"I fucking am so!"
"I don't think so."
"Oh, God, I've got a gutter mouth too. Sorry. And thanks."
"Given your current state, Andy, I guess that would qualify as talking dirty?"
"Oh, stop it!"
"Sorry. Listen, you can use any bad words you like. I don't mind."
"Oh. You are being far too nice to me, you know."
"Not at all. Wait there." I stepped inside and made some coffee for both of us.
By the time I got back outside, Andy was leaning back in the sun, and the mud was drying on her. As she straightened up, dried bits of mud fell from her face, and a small cloud of dust hovered in front of her for a moment, before falling to the ground.
She looked up at me, and took one of the cups, with a grateful nod. "Thanks Steve. You've no idea how nice this is."
"Nice for me too, Anthea."
"Don't call me that!"
"I won't, so long as you call me Steven."
"Oh, sorry Steven." She looked at me then, and saw my smile. "Bastard!"
"You know, every time you speak, some more mud cracks off your face."
"Oh, I must look a frigging sight."
"Well, you look a little frightful, I'll admit, but it's just mud. It'll come off. I hope you look nicer underneath."
"You are a bastard! God, I don't mind telling you, I hate fucking running."
"You said. Why do it then?"
"You're not obese."
"I am. If I'm not obese, what am I?"
"I am not!"
"You are. Chubby is nice. You're not fat, or obese, I'm telling you."
"Are you a bit kinky, Steven?"
"You like fat girls?"
"Oh... No one ever asked me that before. I've never really thought about it. I'm not exactly skinny myself."
"You're not fat..."
"If I'm not, then you're not."
"I've always wanted to look like that."
"It wouldn't look right, Andy."
"No, not like that, I mean, girl shaped, but thinner."
"Are you having health problems now?"
"Me? No, why?"
"Then why go to all this effort to change the way you look?"
"Well, I... Can I come around here more often?"
"Much as you like, Andy."
"I was kidding."
"Oh. Thank you Steven."
"Listen, have I at least half convinced you I'm not a homicidal maniac?"
"Then come and have a shower."
"Come inside, and have a shower. I can wash and dry your clothes for you."
"Oh, I couldn't do that."
"Couldn't because I'm dangerous, or couldn't because you are too polite?"
"Oh, well you seem safe enough."
"Oh, alright Steven. Thank you so much."
"No problem Andy. Listen, shake some of that off, and I'll get a towel for you, okay?"
"God, you should have a good Samaritan sign on your gate."
"Just as well I haven't. You would have hit it with your head!"
"Too fuckin' true!"
By the time Andy shook off the worst of the dried mud, I'd found her a towel, and a robe. I wasn't sure if the robe would fit, but it was worth a shot. She came inside, and found me, and I wondered how to work this.
"Listen Andy, I don't want you to get the wrong idea, but somehow I need your clothes."
"Yeah. Steven, are you shy?"
"What if I wrap myself in the towel, and give you them?"
"No good. You'll get dirt on the towel."
"Yeah. How about I just throw them out the door?"
"That works. Here, let me show you where to go. No, let me carry these. You'll get them dirty."
I left her in the bathroom, after explaining how to adjust the temperamental shower, and returned to the kitchen with the cups. When I got back to the hallway, her muddy clothes were sitting on the floor, obviously flung out the doorway in a rush. I picked them up, and headed for the laundry. When I got back to the hallway again, I could hear screaming from the bathroom.
"Andy, you alright?"
"The water's gone all funny! Ow!"
"Oh, yeah, you need... shit, I forgot to tell you."
"Ooh, ow. Can I fix it?"
"I'd need to... no, shit."
"Could you fix it if you came in here, Steven?"
"Yeah, but I told you it's not like that."
"I don't mind. I'm standing out of the water. Come on."
"Yeah, come on."
"I won't look."
"I'll be disappointed."
I opened the door, and stepped into the steam-filled room. Andy was standing at the end of the bath, away from the water streaming down over the other end. She looked very different, mostly clean, and rather pale. I was right though. She wasn't fat. Not really. She was round, no doubt about it, and she had a sizeable ass, but she looked nice, to me. "Listen, you have to wiggle..." Then I started laughing.
"What's so funny, Steven?"
"I just realised. It's not the shower taps. Not this time. It's my fault."
"I started the washer, to clean your clothes."
"Oh, could you go turn it off for a minute?"
"Yeah, sorry Andy. Hey?"
"Listen, I know I shouldn't have looked, but I was right. You're not fat."
"Not. Back in a minute."
I rushed out to the laundry, jabbed the pause button on the machine, and ran back, stopping outside the door.
"Try that, Andy!"
"It's still not right, Steven."
"Arrrgh, can I come back in?"
When I opened the door this time, the view was a little different. Anthea was standing under the water, facing me, her hands in her hair. She made no attempt to hide. "Oh, that seems to be working, Andy."
"It is. Listen, I have no experience with this sort of thing, but are you... with somebody?"
"Me? No, why?"
"Well, any chance you can scrub my back?"
"I'd love to."
"Well, get those off, and get in here."
"I don't show off my boobs, to say nothing of my thighs, to just anyone, you know. Hurry up."
I tore my clothes off and leapt under the water, and Andy turned, and presented her back to me. "Soap, Steven. By the way, I looked too."
I took the soap from the tray, and started lathering up her back. "You looked?"
.... There is more of this story ...