Leveling Up the Shower Experience

The next couple days showed me that Charissa really had reached a new level of comfort with me. I massaged her feet each night on the couch, and she even started hugging me good night after our TV or movie. She chatted with me one morning after a run while still wearing her revealing running outfit, and when I brought coffee downstairs to her after her shower, she welcomed me into her room before she'd put on pants.

We had a few exchanges of mild flirting, and her diary continued to confirm that she was enjoying the attention. At the same time, she also confessed in her looping handwriting her doubts about how to proceed and her genuine discomfort with the notion of actually doing something sexual.

I figured I needed to push things forward as innocently as possible. Turn up the heat while maintaining plausible deniability. As an inveterate perv but also as a socially respectable family man and professional, I had some experience manufacturing innocently sexy situations. (Just ask me about my ex-sister-in-law!) So my mind got to work on a plan. Admittedly, it was pretty devious - but it would also continue to allow Charissa some control over our pacing.

The morning started normally. Charissa was up early and out for her run. I was downstairs making coffee and breakfast when she returned, and after a brief chat she went to her room to prepare for her shower. As usual, she entered the bathroom she shared with my kids wearing only her white towel. And not at all to my surprise, as short while later, I heard her call my name.

I walked over to the door, cracked open as always, and asked, "Yeah?"

"Can you come in her for a sec?"

My heart was beating fast. "Sure," I said, pushing the door open.

She was still wearing her towel, facing the bathtub ... which was full of dingy soapy water. "Ugh," I said, feigning surprise. "Fuck, the drain must be clogged."

"Darn," she said, not knowing what to do about it.

I bent over and fished around in the dirty water, saying, "I'm really sorry about this. I didn't check the bathroom after the kids last night." I stuck my fingers into the drain, pretending like I didn't feel the Play-Doh I'd stuck there myself. "I don't know," I said. "Fuck. I'm going to have to call a plumber."

"I'm sorry, Seth!"

"Oh well, these things happen."

"So..." Charissa wasn't sure what to do. She was pinned, "glowing" in her after-run sweat and really needing to wash.

"Hey, why don't you use the shower upstairs?"

She brightened. "Oh! OK!" she said. "Are you sure it's OK?"

"Of course," I said. "My home is your home."

"Thank you so much!" she beamed.

"Let me show you," I said. I led her out of the bathroom and through the kitchen. We started up the stairs, bringing her for the first time into my bedroom.

I'd cleaned last night, of course, and kept everything tidy today. (Almost as if I'd planned the whole thing!) This level was like a converted attic, a large room that took the full length of the house. I had two dressers, a little couch next to an end table and a guitar stand, lots of book cases and, of course, my bed and bedside tables. I had decided to leave the box of tissues and pump of Vaseline on my nightstand.

Charissa took in my room briefly, but of course this wasn't our real destination. I led her past my closet to the en suite bathroom. "Here you go," I said. "Make yourself comfortable."

"Thank you so much!" she said again, and I smiled. "I'll be quick."

"Take your time," I said, marveling that everything was going according to plan.

She entered the bathroom and, as her habit dictated, left the door open just a crack. I knew, of course, that in this bathroom, unlike downstairs, that crack would leave an excellent view of the area right outside my walk-in shower. My heart racing, I stayed rooted to the spot, not daring to let a floorboard creak.

Almost at once, I heard the water turn on, and with the cover of the pattering drops, I leaned forward and placed my eye against the crack in the door. There she was, standing with her hand in the shower, feeling the temperature. And a moment later....

The towel dropped.

I almost gasped. Her perfect, D-cup boobs rested against her pale chest. Her pink nipples were larger than I expected, with generous, half-dollar sized areolae. Her cute belly button led the way down to her waist - and there was her pussy. Completely unshaven but still not wild like a forest. My eyes lingered on her pussy, my peripheral vision enjoying her long, lithe legs, but after only a few seconds she stepped into the shower and out of sight.

I tried to recover my composure, taking a few deep breaths to calm myself down. I couldn't believe the plan had worked - I'd seen my 22-year-old babysitter completely naked. True, it was only two or three seconds, but I was sure it would fuel a lifetime of masturbation material.

And the plan was only half-way complete.