041211 tub

Thanks to bettigefecht for prompt: sleepily walking into bathroom 4 morning wash, a girl finds sleeping guy in her bathtub. She doesn’t know who he is or how he got there

Blinking 12:00, sun in my face and cat pawing to go out.
Power outage.
And I’m late. Again.
I zombie-walk to bathroom, last night a blank.

I stumble (still drunk) to the toilet.
I groan as five-plus hours of drinking, filtered through aching kidneys, echoes.
Head hangs betwixt knees.

I blindly grab TP on tub’s edge and brush hardness, tracing the shape of a human hand curling over the edge.
A disembodied scream joins me.

Sleeping tiger flails in the tub; curtain, TP and bottles flying in on top.
I cover my cunt still dripping and grab the plunger.
“Who the fuck are you?”

“Help me! I’m tangled!” he says.
“Max! Help! Oh fuck!”
I ask, “Where? No, how? No, why?”
“I don’t know, damn it!”
Head free, he looks up.

(Does CK deliver, now?)
Shirtless wonder stares at panties round my ankles, up naked legs, past tiny tank from 1992, and stops on plunger.

“Don’t hit me,” he begs.
“Don’t look at it!” I say.
“I’m not.” Eyes fixed on shit crusted rubber.
“Just stay there.” I pull up panties one handed.

Eyes locked, ready to swing, I back out.
He grips the edge, but doesn’t move.
I close the door.
“What the fuck?” he yells.
I hear him stir.
“Stay put!”

Dressed, I open the door.
He’s naked.
(Fuck me)
(No, don’t)
I tear my eyes away kicking and screaming.
“Where are your clothes?”
“I don’t know.”

I brush cock (accident) as I hand him a towel.
“Did we?” I ask.
“No,” he says.
“You sure?”
His clothes, strewn at front door say, Sex.

He dresses.
I make coffee and free the cat.
It’d be normal, if I remembered F-ing his brains out.
We ignore the sex and talk weather instead.

“Found a condom in the tub,” he says at the door.
“At least we were safe!” I say.
“Yeah, I’d like to be safe with you, again—but sober,” he says.

“Yeah. I don’t do,” I say.
“Me either,” he says.
He leans on the wall and I hang onto the doorknob for dear life.
I feel fur at my legs.

“Is that your cat?” he asks.
“Yeah!” I pick up Thor. “What? Are you allergic?”
“Fuck! Achoo! Yes!”
“Oh, I guess that’s why you were in the tub.”


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