The Travelling Vampire Show by Richard Laymon

Author:Richard Laymon [Richard Laymon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780843948509
Amazon: B0099SFLO4
Goodreads: 613605
Publisher: Leisure Books
Published: 2021-02-28T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-three

In Slim’s bathroom, I tried to clean myself up.

“Are you okay?” she asked through the door.

“Fine,” I said. I tried to make my voice sound calm even though I was so embarrassed I wanted to cry.

“Can I do something to help?” she asked.

“No. Thanks. Everything’s okay.”

“Oh, sure.” She didn’t sound very chipper, herself.

“Just ... I’ll be out in a minute.”

“I’m sorry, Dwight.”

“Isn’t your fault.”

“Of course not.”

I blushed furiously.

What did she think had happened to me?

She hadn’t asked.

Does she know?

My hands leaping away from her breasts, I’d blurted, “Gotta go,” then run from her bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom.

Maybe she thinks I got hit by the trots.

From the other side of the door, Slim said, “It’s fine if you want to take a shower or something.”

A shower might be the best solution, but I said, “No, that’s okay.”

“Come on, Dwight. You take a shower, and I’ll throw your stuff in the wash. It won’t take that long. We’ll get everything nice and clean.”

“I don’t know,” I muttered. The wads of toilet paper had taken care of the worst of it, but I was still very sticky and my jeans ...

“Why don’t you just hand your pants out through the door?” Slim said.

“Nah.”

“Come on, Dwight.”

Slim opened the door, but only a few inches. Her arm reached in. “Just hand them to me.”

“They’re a mess.”

“It’s all right. Come on.” The fingers of her upturned hand waved back and forth, gesturing for me to approach.

“Can’t you just leave me alone for a while?”

“Give me your pants, Dwight.” This time, she sounded serious.

“They’re gross.”

“They are not.”

“That’s what you think.”

“I know what happened,” she said, her voice suddenly going soft. “And I know why it happened. I know all about that sort of stuff. Thanks to Jimmy.”

“Oh, God,” I muttered, and hoped she hadn’t heard me.

“He was gross,” Slim said. “Everything about him was gross. But nothing about you is gross, Dwight. Nothing. There’s nothing for you to be ashamed of or embarrassed about. Okay? So just let me have your pants and I’ll wash them for you. Please.”

“Okay.”

Blushing like crazy, I climbed out of my jeans. On the back of the bathroom door was a full-length mirror. I saw myself walking toward it, my hair mussed, my face scarlet, my shirt not quite long enough to cover my equipment, my jeans swaying by my side, my legs bare all the way down to the tops of my white socks.

“Here,” I said, and put my jeans into Slim’s hand.

“Thanks,” she said. Her arm retreated. A moment later, she said, “What about your trunks?”

Expecting the question didn’t save me from the embarrassment of it.

“I got rid of them back at my house,” I confessed. “They were too hot.”

“Ah,” she said. “Okay. No problem. I’ll go downstairs and throw these in the washer. Why don’t you go ahead and take a shower?”

“Be careful, okay?”

“I will be. You, too.” The bathroom door eased shut.

I thought about things for a minute or two, then took off my shirt and socks and stepped over to the bathtub.

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