The Bathroom

Following a decent mouthful of wine, I reassured my bestie, "Coral, you are kind and fair."

Her mind gave her conscience the full self-roasting; now Granville was in the open tonight.

She pulled the following out of the left -field.

"No, Luke – Jesus, I called Ruby a liar over that horse."

My wine glass gulped half empty after this confession.

Coral kept sipping.

I exclaimed, "At the time we agreed Ruby wouldn't have interfered with a rival competitor's horse."

Coral crossed her legs, and her wine eddied in her glass.

"I thought she manipulated me, ensuring a win, to impress me. I fired it at her a few days after the showgrounds. I accused her, 'you lied' at the stables."

"I suppose she supplied an answer."

We were talking about ultra-competitive Ruby here.

"Yes, and the truth. Something spooked the horse in its stall, and it injured its leg. Ruby heard the commotion and investigated. After greeting us, she went to the vets and the rider."

"It's not gaol time, Coral! She did push your buttons."

I could have added, And Josh's. And mine.

"Geez, Luke, I'm not one of Arianna's saints. I'm no goody-two-shoes! I took the frangers in the park. Yes, me!"

"Why?"

I dug as the spontaneous need to know as I gulped the rest of my wine.

I remembered the police phone call to my place; I near pooped myself!

Coral sipped her drink. She swirled the remnants.

"For Josh. He pressured me into petting. I thought if he saw the frangers, he'd think I would, one day, do it. Not all talk and no action. I threw them away after the police phone call."

I couldn't re-enter our teenage minds at the bar. Coral, in full flight, fessing to youthful misdemeanours until she launched an adult curveball. It led to me asking the bartender for another round of drinks.

"The wedding we went to - after my unjustified asking you to go, I had a determined DP thought."

I recalled the unsettling speculation skirting my mind on the night. It stayed hidden behind the hope my bestie was okay outside the surf club.

"Goodness me! I walked between two guys to the beach dunes."

I tried to picture Coral flanked by two dudes; it blurred.

"I couldn't do it," her voice and head sunk.

My golden girl had integrity as she scolded a decision unmade.

"Picture two stumped and mystified guys, in the dunes, skirting a girl who changed her mind."

She shook her head.

"Flanked and bedded into the sand in a designer dress."

Seated at a bar, I secretly crossed my fingers; Coral thought it through.

"I invited them back to the club for a drink; that at least seemed right."

Coral's hands smoothed over her dress.

"As I walked back between them, my mind shame-free, I ran into Ruby heading to the dunes, holding her one guy."

My bestie's voice went dry and scratchy.

"Rubes launched her annihilating smile directly at me."

Coral slumped; she finished, "My dress super creased and two guys in tow."

The golden girl twirled a finger through her hair and added, "My dignity vanished."

I thought, Never! 

I should have told her.

Fresh drinks arrived. I needed mine and was glad Coral didn't need a double! Her exhibition catalogue rested on the bar. I reached past Coral and nabbed it. I flipped the pages. We were here for art; however, paintings triggered our past. I focused on the illustrations in the catalogue. I saw another gallery room, including artworks by Balthus. I suggested we view these after we finished our wine.

Coral and I resumed our love of art with banter and witty repartee. Balthus initially proved a top choice. We admired nubile feminine bodies, restrained, in allusions to classical compositions. However, the young girls on every canvas were sultry sexual beings. We both took a mental body slam as we confronted associations raising young bodies we sought in the past.

"The pose reminds me of Ruby," followed by a heavy breath from Coral.

The model had her hands behind her head and a leg raised.

I thought, Ruby too.

The watermelon colour of the model's slippers made me think of Jenny.

After leaving the exhibition, we had coffee while waiting for a taxi home at the closest option. The café was over the top in its thematic pirate cliches. It generated a shared laugh. Drinking coffee, Coral kept confessing about her youth, including what happened in the boathouse with Ruby that long ago Halloween, until we got a ride together.

In hindsight, I recall the night as a fine evening of friendship because we shared highlights and lowlights—the type of night everyone should have.

Time spent gaining insight into a friend's spirit.

The taxi dropped Coral off and took me home. Coral's self-chastisement pricked my conscience to personal remorse, the ruing of my own past mistakes.

Screw-ups demanding my contrition because they plumbed Mariana Trench deep. 

So soul-piercing, I sweated profusely as I stood rooted to the curb outside my apartment.

Though late, I showered to avoid contemplating how I floundered in the past and the rippling consequences of yearnings chased and withheld.

However, my conscience leaked as I tried to freshen in the bathroom.

I banged the shower screen.

Facing a maelstrom of truth, I allowed my ego in the hot steam to drift to a wet, wet Ruby.

I recalled her Paris apartment bathroom fogged—a combination of balmy shower water and steamy sex. Combined hands glided in a soap-filled massage. My brunette coquette, gleeful.

Yet her bathroom bared forlorn and glum. Once, like the now run-down apartment block she lived in, this bathroom in its heyday stated 30's elegance. The white porcelain bathtub retained a curvy charm like a familiar plump figure. High around it ran a rail supporting a green plastic shower curtain. Black lace angelfish covered the curtain, though they swam through mould spots.

I liked the bathroom's tessellated black and white floor tiles despite their lost shine, worn dull by unknown damp feet. The matching wall tiles, here and there, hinted at their original, lustrous glaze. The cracked ones revealed natural wear and tear. The loose and grotty grouted ones were signs of a lack of love.

Like the chrome towel rail pushed awry to the skirting edge, dislodged and bent, it awaited the promise of landlord replacement. Ruby, shrugging unperturbed, admitted it fell off last year.

Ruby and her wet milk chocolate hair shaped desire. We electrified in the tub. Her hands pressed in sensual circles, lathering my chest. Next, she swashed and laved my balls. Gripping my hardness, she coated its length with frothy, foaming suds. My hands, less frantic, glazed her breasts and stiff nipples. I enjoyed smearing soapy lines on her smooth, shaved mound.

In a forceful instant, Ruby's hands grabbed my buttocks, and we slid together. Skin slunk, chest to chest. I gripped her butt. Our privates glided cunningly and smooched—foam way-fared over bodies and decorated toes.

Unexpectedly came the awful second; combined legs skidded askew, and we slipped inside the tub. Catching and grabbing one another saved us in a fricking constricted space. Hearts racing led naturally to the sexual tussle; she allowed me to pin her hands behind her back while pashing.

I called a pause as I used the shower jet head and sluiced the foam down the bath hole. I finished and pivoted.

Ruby, the self-indulgent, spellbinding minx! 

She created an unforgettable, edgy prospect. The pixie fanned and pouted her sex. She posed as I stalled.

Don't make her wait. 

I focussed the shower jet precisely as required. I held the spray head at an ideal distance to tease her clit. On, over and around her pussy, the water hit and splashed. She snared the ripples of indulgence. Ruby's thighs trembled; her fingers drummed. Her soft moans rose and gushed as a groan.

She savoured herself until she effused, "My, that was good; beats doing it yourself."

Again, Ruby amazed me. Her petite frame scrambled up my body. I steadied and bent my thighs. We were like circus acrobats on the teetering edge. How could we balance in a tub? Her legs wrapped around my lower back, and her hands joined behind my neck. I found balance within our excitement. I held a tap handle and her buttocks. We were both out of hands.

How was I going to nail her pussy?

Evolutionary passion forged a robust and sharp impaling. Ruby raised her butt higher. She wriggled and jiggled until her sweet slit poised and hovered, edging my prick tip. Unleashing an unyielding potency, she pierced herself down.

"Aah!"

"Ahhh!"

Either Ruby first or me first; it hardly matters now.

Beyond intenseness, grunts and base enthusiasm presided. Deep extended its meaning to unplumbed depths.

Ruby got leverage, welding her butt and pussy in sync. My penis was a lance; I felt my entire length, captured and eager. Ruby held tighter; her legs wrapped higher to amp the penetrative grind. I bent my knees, thrusting—the pixie scaled heights of feminine pleasure. My strokes faltered; I feared falling.

Thank you, God, for letting youth believe it is immortal.

I supported her frame vigorously. I doubled her enjoyment as I pursued mine. My hand released her tush. She held herself, enveloped around my body, supported by my pumping. I rimmed her. Ruby's head bobbed ecstatic as her 'balloon knot' received attention.

She gripped me snugger, closed her eyes, and her lips formed the perfect O. She yelped, bacchanal, high on her, new sweeping orgasm.

The pixie clambered off me as I approached release. Ruby knelt and smeared my erect member across her breasts. I splattered in the bathtub as she jiggled her chest to extend my wavy buzz of delight. She bounced up and turned on the shower. We dissolved fluidly, locked together on the tub floor under a warm, soothing flow.

"Awesome," she stated or praised.

Ruby, dripping wet, her skin rosy, bloomed nubile innocent, centred on her impish beam. Her eyelashes fluttered irresistibly.

I grinned.

"Thank you, Ruby," I emphasised every word, confident and clear.