Chapter 20: Carrie’s Shower

I stripped the suit off in her bathroom and stood there for a second with it dripping in my hand. Yesterday I had wrapped myself in a towel so Andrew would not see the parts the fabric refused to hide. Today he had seen all of it. Up close. For an extremely long time, with lotion, with his hands learning the map of me in daylight while his sister pretended to sleep three feet away. I looked at myself in the mirror and tried the question I kept failing. Could he actually find this attractive? The small chest and flat ass on this body I still argued with. The same girl who had woken the household screamed in his father’s office eight hours ago. The evidence of the afternoon said his cock had voted yes. I did not know what to do with a vote like that.

I slid my fingers between my legs to check, telling myself I was only collecting data. My fingers quickly discovered my body had responded in a similar, though less visible, way. I was wet. Very wet. The evidence on my fingers wasn’t pool water; it wasn’t leftover chlorine. It was the slick, specific wet I knew quite well. The same slick from last night on the sofa that now was dried and hard on the loaned shorts I wore. I lifted my fingers just to be sure, and the smell was just me, the ordinary smell of my own arousal, and I hoped with a sudden flare of panic that he had not been close enough to catch a whiff of it on the lounge. If I was still like this now, then I definitely had been while he was touching me. The thought made my face hot, and my stomach drop in the same motion. His hands had made me wet. Seeing him hard had not helped. I stepped into the shower before I could stand there and prosecute myself further in the glass.

I washed first like a person with manners, hair, shoulders, all the ordinary places. Then Andrew appeared back into my head without knocking, and my hands stopped being about the soap. I ran them over my breasts and let the picture be his hands instead of mine. Smaller than he would have expected, maybe. Sensitive in a way that had always surprised me. I pinched a nipple and rolled it, and my legs nearly went. The image of him doing that, standing behind me at the lounge or in this shower or anywhere he was not allowed to be, pulled a sound out of me I had not budgeted for.