I removed my bathrobe, and now naked, moved into the bathing area, which extended from the changing area. As usual, there were six to eight washing bays, three or four on each side wall.I noticed that one bay, nearest the pool, was occupied by a Japanese man washing, or rinsing, his hair. Ignoring him, I explored a couple of other bays, each of which had a hand-held shower which could be attached to either of two hooks, and a basin with a tap. A connector could vary water temperature on one side, or switch between tap or shower, and control water volume, on the other. Alongside the basin, on a ledge, were plastic bottles containing shampoo, conditioner and body wash, and sundry grooming tools. In front of the basin was a very low plastic stool, which faced a mirror above the basin. On the floor was an overturned plastic bowl for use when washing.I casually, and blatantly exhibited my nakedness, as I studied the bay contents, and bent low unashamedly to turn the bowl over and. She could not, too mired in the need to touch him, to reach for him and feel the life of his skin not the sallow tint of death her mind had suggested to her again and again over the days of their captivity. Her hands smoothed across the planes of his chest, the warmth reassuring under her touch, the goosebumps following her touch a calming sign of life, or reality, of his safety. He caught her wrists in his hands, not lifting them from his chest, just halting their movement.“Jules, you do not want this, not really. I am just your best friend’s brother. You don’t even like me.”But there was no true objection in his voice, just a hesitation and when her eyes met his again she saw a vulnerability she would never have guessed existed. Holding his gaze she bent forward, drawn by the emotion in his eyes and the feeling of his life under her hands. Her lips stroked along his collar bone, the salty taste of fresh sweat and pure male and aphrodisiac on its own. He moaned and his hands fell.
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