The Girl In My Shower(Ron Pruitt) The Girl In My Shower

What do you do when you discover there is a beautiful naked woman in your shower, a stranger, someone you don’t know and don’t remember ever seeing before? Just home from work, I stand in my darkening hallway and watch her ablutions through the casually open door of my bathroom. The mottled glass shower door is a shimmering screen of pink flesh, a flowing mosaic image of her curvy body and I stand transfixed and disturbed and turned on firmly by what I see.

I hear the hiss of the shower the moment I close the front door behind me. What is it about the sound of falling water that is so seductive, that draws us to it? At first, I assume wrongly that it is my girlfriend in the shower, though I immediately wonder why her car is not parked out front. Then I stand very still inside the front door and consider the other options: broken water pipe, my own forgetfulness and what seems the most unlikely of all, an intruder.

Still, it is creepy enough for me to pad stealthily toward the sound, more intrigued than alarmed. Getting closer I smell scented soap and the rainy smell of splashing water. And when I get to a vantage point, I enter the realm of fantasy, like some story I’ve made up while I await sleep. My eyes bulge in disbelief, but my hormones do the primal blood dance of my ancestors, hard-wired for action.

My eyes dart furtively from hot point to hot point. Tits, ass, mound of Venus. The delicious convex curve of the belly, the smooth downward taper of the thighs, the arched curve of the back, the long graceful column of the neck, and then back over it all again and again. I get a body rush, like the surge of good drugs, and I feel the blood in my vessels pulsing and racing.

It is not my girlfriend’s body in the shower and when I finally get around to looking, it is not her face either.

I am not sure how long I stand and gape, but at least several minutes pass before it occurs to me to do anything else. Finally, a thought breaks across my consciousness, an attempt to rationalize, and the thought argues look more closely, because this kind of thing just does not happen to you ever. Look closely, the thought says, see what is really happening here. I creep closer to the door. I stare intently at her face, her eyes now shut against shampoo, so I step up near the door, only feet away and take a good look. I force my eyes upward and take a long direct look at the face. It is a face I would look at wherever I would have encountered it. Wide expanse of forehead, big eyes, big lips, small aquiline nose, high set cheekbones, softly rounded chin. Classic beauty, a face I would not forget had I ever seen it before. The argumentative thought is bogus. For some incomprehensible reason, there is an exotic unknown goddess in my shower.

When she begins to rinse her long mane of dark hair, I step slowly backwards a few paces, and continue to watch, burning the image in, collecting details, savoring a vision. I stand there rooted to the hall floor until she finally shuts off the shower and I slip quietly back up the hall and it is not until this moment that I begin to feel a little insecure.

The negative possibilities begin to impinge. While I listen to the glide of the shower door being opened and soft padding around in the bathroom, I think of my girlfriend and what will happen if she arrives at this moment. How could I explain to her something I do not comprehend myself? I am in an indefensible position., one that would outrage even the most trusting girlfriend. And my girlfriend is far from being the most trusting. If anything, she is more the distrustful type. Technically, I should call her my fiancee because just recently, after long and patient pleading on my part, she has agreed to an eventual marriage, and even now, somewhere out there in rush hour traffic, she is tapping her sizable engagement ring against her steering wheel and perhaps heading in this direction.

These thoughts cloud my mind as I retreat toward the front of the house. I feel the queasy churning of anxiety in my gut and the dry-mouthed realization that I am in a dangerous and totally uncontrolled situation. I pace around the front room conflicted and confounded about what to do next. As these feelings mount, the phone rings. Moving as quickly as I can, I grab it up and my best friend’s voice issues from it cheerily.

How was it?

How was what?

The hooker I sent over. How was she? She’s a real hottie isn’t she?

You sent her over? What were you thinking? If I get caught, it’s going to blow everything.

Oh, sorry man, just thought you might like a little something off the menu seeing as it looks like you’re going to be on a strict diet for the rest of your life. Thought I was doing you a big favor. No need to thank me now.

You’re an idiot.

I slam down the receiver. Mystery solved, bubble burst, fantasy becomes reality. I head down the hall. The bathroom is empty, but my bedroom light now shines. She is curled up in my bed, covers pulled up to her chin, looking more relaxed there than my girlfriend ever has. Her clothes lie scattered on the floor making it obvious that she is naked between the sheets. I stand there staring dumbstruck until she fixes me with a level gaze, gives me an incendiary smile and says, coming to bed soon?

I almost crawl in, almost cannot stop myself, almost yield to temptation, but not quite.

You’re going to have to leave.

Really, what a shame.

Yeah, I’m sorry. There’s sort of been a big misunderstanding. The person that sent you just made a little mistake, that’s all. No biggie. I’ll leave so that you can get dressed and get out of here. Don’t worry. You’ll still get paid.

You got that right.

Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but I swear she looked disappointed. I only see her briefly as she walks through the entranceway and out the front door. I watch from the window as she walks out to the street and my eyes follow her down the sidewalk until she passes from view. The nether parts of my body ache for a while in disagreement with my decision, but after a few minutes my brain begins to deliver one of its lectures about risk taking and high moral ground and all that. I go back into the bathroom and take a good look around to make sure the departed siren has not left any trace of herself. After remaking the bed, I am satisfied that I am safe.

Collectively I heave a big sigh and collapse into a big soft chair. I am still ensconced there reliving the whole thing when my girlfriend shows up an hour later. What an hour that could have been my libido whines. You did the right thing, my cerebral cortex fires back.

With all my limited deceptive ability, I put on an air of relaxed composure, fearing she will sense something. Instead, there is a troubled look on my girlfriend’s face. She seems tense and somehow put upon.

Can you ever forgive me?

I’m not sure how to answer this so I remain silent and confused for a few long awkward seconds. In the end, it is she who continues.

I hope you can understand why I did it. I think you know I’ve always had issues of trust with men. That’s why I wasn’t sure I could ever be comfortable marrying you. That’s why I did it. I talked to the decoy after she left here. She’s a private investigator who specializes in this sort of thing. Very professional and all that. I think she was a little surprised that you tossed her out.

I swallow hard about now, realigning reality into this new paradigm.

I hope you can forgive me, because this has definitely set my mind at rest and made me love you all the more. I would marry you tomorrow if that’s what you want. You passed the test with flying colors. More than that even, you handled it like a true gentleman.

She comes over and eases down into my lap and we merge into a long seductive kiss. We play tongue tag, paw at each other, passions rising. She licks my neck, I pull up her sweater and suckle. Finally she takes my hand and leads me down the hall toward the bedroom. She is inflamed with desire as I have not seen her before. I feel giddy, like we have entered a new passage in our relationship.

Give me a minute, she says, and she slips into the bathroom and closes the door.

It is then that the doorbell rings and I stupidly go answer it.

Framed in my doorway is a short sexy blonde in a micro mini and halter top, huge breasts spilling out.

Hey dude, sorry I’m so late. I’ve really been backed up today, she says as she ducks by me and comes right in.

So if you don’t mind, let’s just go ahead and get it on right now. Do you have a condom? If you don’t, I do. Got another appointment I’m already late for, so if you don’t mind . . .

The bathroom door clicks open. My girlfriend steps out, disbelief and hurt in her eyes.

The two women stare at each other and a hard look comes across the hooker’s face.
I didn’t know it was gonna be a three-way. Not that I mind or anything. That’s OK but it’s gonna cost more.

This tableau is what I remember best, the hooker standing just inside the door, one hand on her outthrust hip, demanding more cash, my girlfriend with big wounded doe eyes welling up with tears, me with a sensation like I am falling into a deep chasm.

The last I ever heard of my girlfriend was the screech of her tires as she accelerated away down the block. As she sped away, before she was even out of sight, I knew it was over for good.

What the hell, I went ahead and did the hooker. My friend was right. She was a sexy bitch and I was just about ready to explode anyway.

It took a while to heal and sort things out. I didn’t get back out there right away because I was too busy kicking myself in the ass. When I finally did, it took a little time and even more convincing, but I eventually found and won the woman I have always been looking for, my dream girl, my fantasy come to life. Much like my ex-girlfriend, she did not hold a very high opinion of men in general, but with patience and persistence I gained her faith and finally her heart. She’s beautiful, sexy and she makes big money. I knew I wanted her from the first time I saw her naked. She’s the girl in my shower.

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