Play it safe. A washcloth.

You're kneeling beside the bubble bath where Melody is soaking away her awful night, a bottle of her body wash in hand, looking at her wet, lightly freckled naked back as she shields her front with bubbles.

You stop yourself before touching her with your hand. You're here as her friend tonight. No pushing on her trampled boundaries. "Let me get a washcloth," you say.

You get a washcloth from the cubbyhole by the sink and resume your position, kneeling on the bathmat beside her.

"Here goes," you say, dipping the washcloth in warm bathwater, then squirting it with body wash. 'Aromatherapy Peppermint', the label says. It tickles your nose and eyes and feels cool on the skin of your hand.

"Ooh, that's nice," Melody says as you sponge her back with the washcloth. You wipe, dip, squirt, and wipe again, trying to keep up a slow, steady pace, helping her wash away the damage Keith finally dumped on her tonight.

Melody leans further forward in the bath so you can do her lower back. The swell of her hips is visible under the bubbles, and you can discern the top of her rear cleft, not quite hidden by the foam. You take a deep breath and concentrate on 'wipe, dip, squirt, wipe'. But Melody twitches when you're almost done. Her buttock brushes your hand and you drop the washcloth in surprise and pull your hand back. She didn't tense up, so you hope it's OK.

"Oops, sorry, Melody, I dropped the washcloth," you say. "But I think I was about done with your back."

"That's OK," she says. "Thanks, Jack, that was really nice."

"Anything else I can do for you?" you ask.

"I'm gonna go straight to bed after I finish this bath," Melody says. "If you really want to be a sweetheart, you could fill up my hot water bottle and put it in a pillowcase, then tuck it into the foot of my bed. My mom always did that for me when I wasn't feeling well."

"Sure, where is it?" you say.

"I keep it in the bathroom..." Melody says. She looks out at the room, covering her breasts with one foamy arm, and points with the other. "The back of that shelf, there," she says.

With a little fumbling around, you find her hot water bottle. You make sure she has a towel, and notice that her bathrobe is already hanging on the door.

"OK, I'll get it ready," you say.

"Thanks so much, Jack," she says. "I'll try not to soak too long."

"Or you'll turn into a prune?" you ask.

"No, in case you need to pee!" Melody says with a laugh.

"OK," you say. She must be feeling better. You leave Melody in the tub and heat up water for her bottle in the microwave. After carefully filling and sealing the red vulcanized rubber bladder, you slip it into a flannel pillowcase and slide it down between her sheets.

Darn Melody for saying it. You feel a pressure in your own bladder. You look over at the bathroom door. What to do? Grin and bear it, hoping she won't be too long? Tap on the bathroom door? Dash out to find an alternative depository, hoping she'll still be in the bath when you get back?