Archive-name: Series/seasons4.txt

Archive-author: Hawkeye

Archive-title: Seasons- April Showers





  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance between the

characters herein, and any real people living or dead, is purely

because I draw from many sources, real and imaginary.  Chew on that.



(c) 1993 Pure Blue Enterprises.  All rights reserved.  Explicit permission

granted for electronic re-distribution, without changes.





[v1.2]

                          April Showers

                      (part 4 of 'Seasons')

                           by Hawkeye



  Remembering the near disaster that we had last spring, Lisa and I

worked out in advance what we were planning to do with our summers.

We had long since decided not to be 'possessive' about each other

during times when circumstances dictated that we be apart.  



  Lisa had a co-op research job waiting for her down south, and I was

going home to work for a friend of my father's, whose company needed

someone with mechanical drawing skills.  So we knew, as April came

around, that we wouldn't have much longer together.  We were

determined to make the most of it. 



  It wasn't going to be quite what we expected, though.



+++



  I came in from the rain looking like a wet bear.  I'm a medium sized

guy, 5'11'' and about 180lbs, but what really made the image work was

my shaggy brown hair and the beard that hadn't quite grown in yet.

The beard had been a major source of friction between us in more ways

than one, but Lisa was being pretty good humored about it so far. 



  I went back to my room, stripped to the waist, and towelled myself

dry.  When it hangs straight, my hair goes right down to my shoulder

blades.  That's never an issue, though, because my hair could no more

hang straight than I could flap my arms and fly.  Straight or rumpled,

though, it holds a lot of water. 



  A few minutes later, feeling much drier, but now looking like a

bare-chested reject caveman, I strolled down the hallway to the

washroom, to get combed and presentable again. 



  In the hallway was Julie Brauer.  She was dating Greg (Woody) Woods,

the guy who lived across the hall from me.  She went to an all-women's

college about 20 miles away, and she often stayed with him on weekends.

She was wearing a short robe, and walking towards the bathroom just

ahead of me.  She had long brown hair and slender, pretty legs.  I

smiled as I strolled behind her.  What a sight.



  The bathroom was shaped like a hallway.  On the left, there was a

giant mirror, covering the wall from hip level up to a height of

about 7 feet.  It had a row of sinks in front of it, and the shower

stalls were recessed in the opposite wall.  Julie went into one of 

the shower stalls, and pulled the plastic curtain closed. 



  Nonchalantly, I selected the sink almost directly opposite her

shower stall, so I watch the mirror for any interesting action.  I

didn't know why I did stuff like that.  If she were to throw the

curtain open, and expose her entire naked body, I'd probably hide

my eyes, and scream for her to cover herself.  But from some reason,

this voyeuristic nonsense, hoping for a glimpse of a bare thigh,

turned me on with its silly kink.



  Inside the stall, I heard her slide out of her bathrobe, and I saw a

slender arm reach up to hang it on a hook in the stall's changing

area.  Then there was the sound of another sliding plastic curtain,

and the water started.



  Meanwhile, I trimmed my beard with a pair of tiny scissors I had

bought for that purpose.  I knew that if I was going to see anything

interesting at all, it wouldn't be until she came back out of the

inner cubicle.  Sometimes women left the curtains open a little.  I

wondered if they didn't know about the mirror trick, or were just

deliberately taunting us. 



  Suddenly I heard a wet thump in the shower stall, and then a loud and

repeated coughing, choking noise.  I put down my scissors.  "Julie?" I

asked, in a mid-tone between "concerned" and "no-I'm-not-being-nosy".

Then there was a fairly loud noise, like someone vomiting.  "Julie?!"

I called, much louder and less-worried-about-being-nosy.  There were

more choking sounds and a wet thrashing on the floor of the stall. 



  Ok, so this is where normal, socially polite behaviors get dropped--

you can't hesitate about saving a drowning victim because he's skinny

dipping, and you want to respect his privacy.  I ran into the shower

stall, on fire with "rescue fever".  I tore open the inner curtain to

see what was happening, and... there was Julie.



  Well, of course, there was Julie.  I knew that before I went

crashing into the stall.  The trouble was, she didn't really look all

that distressed or anything.  In fact, she was kneeling on the floor

of the stall, with her legs tucked under her, swishing her hands and

thumping the floor to simulate the thrashing sounds I had heard.  And

she was -grinning- at me. 



  "Well," she said, "this is what you wanted to see, right?"



  Oh shit.



  I made a little choking sound of my own then, as I tried to make up

about 5 different lies at once, but couldn't choose one quickly enough.



  "What are you *doing*?" I managed to get out at last, "Are you crazy?"

  

  She looked like a water nymph, there, with her brown hair soaked and

laying on her shoulders, and small rivulets of water running down

her olive skin.



  "I was just playing a little joke on you * Mr. Peeping Tom *."  That

grin still didn't quit.  _One_ of us obviously thought this situation

was amusing.



  "I can't...I just...I..." that was about as coherent as I was going

to get, apparently.  I'm sometimes fluent when I'm angry, but never 

when I'm embarrassed.



  She said, "Oh, don't take it so hard," and smiled winsomely.



  I wish she hadn't used the word 'hard'.  Her flat little breasts,

and tight brown nipples, were starting to get me 'interested' in an 

altogether unacceptable manner. 



  She held her hand out to me, "Help me up?" Despite the unlikeliness

of her needing any assistance, I took her hand and helped her to

regain her feet.  Even though the shower stall was built down about

three inches from the changing area where I stood, she still came

almost up to my nose.  The steaming water was still pouring onto her,

and she brushed her wet hair back behind her ears.  Then she tilted

her head up towards me, eyes closed and lips parted invitingly.



  I stepped back.  "You've got to be kidding me."



  She opened her eyes.  "What?"



  "What was all this about?  Where's Greg, anyway?  Is this some kind

of practical joke?" I sound pretty authoritative when I squeak like that.



  "Greg's at marching band practice.  He won't be back until 8."



  "It's raining out!  They'll cancel it!"



  "Silly.  They practice in the dome.  What's the matter, don't you

like the way I look?"  She looked a little downcast.



  "Well, of COURSE I like the way you look--," I stopped then, because

she was looking really amused at having suckered me with the sad look.

I was beginning to feel completely outmaneuvered, and a little panicky. 



  She stepped out of the stall, then, and backed me into the clothes 

alcove, tracing a line down my chest with her fingernail.  She was

leaving a dripping trail on the floor.  I don't know why I noticed 

that.



  "You watch me every time I get in the shower.  There must be something

you like."  She bit her lip.  "Something you want."



  I swallowed.  I was sweating uncomfortably, because I knew exactly

what I wanted, and if I got it, it would lead to no end of trouble.



  She leaned in towards me, and my back was up against the cold tiled

wall.  Her small, flat breasts pressed against my bare chest, and I

could feel the hard tips of her nipples pressing into my skin.  Once

again, she tilted her head up towards me, her eyes closed, and her lips

slightly parted.  This time, I lowered my mouth onto hers.



  She had a sweet tasting mouth.  She was a gentle kisser, she lapped

softly at your lips, rather than trying to devour you.  But she was

thorough, too, and her tongue intruded gently into every part of your

mouth.  As I kissed her, I fantasized about how exquisite her gentle

kissing would be, if she were to kiss me somewhere else.



  We made out softly for a long time.  She didn't put her arms around

my neck like a lot of women do.  Instead, she caressed my shoulders and

chest, and played with my nipples.  I did the same to her.  She had

wonderful nipples, taut brown circles with hard nubs like little

pencil erasers.  I rolled them in my fingers, and squeezed her small

breasts in my hands. 



  I took a nipple between my thumb and forefinger, and asked her

between kisses, "Do you like pinches?" She breathed the answer into my

mouth, so softly that I could barely hear her, "yes..." So I pinched

her, maybe a little harder than I normally would have, because she

had me so riled with emotion.  She moaned into my mouth as we made

out, and her face winced with pain, but she pressed herself harder

against me, and began to rub her thigh against mine.



  I was drenched and furiously, passionately aroused by then.  The

shower was still thundering in the background, filling the changing

stall with steam, and our bodies were lobster red and sweating.  She

licked the beads of sweat from my chest, and my stomach, and then

worked her way slowly downwards, until she was kneeling in front of

me, her face towards the waist button of my jeans. 



  She undid the button and the zipper with her slender fingers, and

pulled my jeans down to my thighs.  Then she pulled the waistband of

my undershorts down, and exposed me.  She put a fingertip on the head

of my cock, and swept up a bit of the clear fluid that was squeezing

out of the tip.  She put her finger in her mouth and tasted it.  "It's

sweeter than Greg's," she said. 



  I wish she hadn't said that.  It pained me to look down at her, but

I did.  And she was beautiful and almost innocent looking, which I

already knew.  She said, "_You're_ sweeter than Greg."  Oh, kill me.

Just stick a knife in me, and leave me for dead.  I should never be 

around women, I don't have the guts for it.



  She kissed me then, on the stomach.  Then she kissed me right where

my brain was begging her to kiss me, and my breath caught in my lungs.

I made a small, agonized sound in my throat as her wet, gentle lips 

caressed me.  She licked and lapped at me in small motions - starting

at the head, and caressing her way slowly, warmly, gently downwards.  

I thought I was going to die.  She kissed me and sucked me, softly.

She licked and nibbled, yet more softly.  I whimpered like a hurt 

animal.  Then she began to engulf me, inch by softly agonizing inch. 



  I was getting weak in the knees by this time--if I hadn't been

leaning against a wall, I probably would have fallen down.  My

legs trembled and I gritted my teeth in desperate concentration.

Then she began to bob her head.  



  I knew I couldn't hold out long; I could feel a lava heat rising

fast through my loins.  I had to stop her, then, so I wouldn't come in

her mouth.  "Julie," I gasped, "Stop it.  Stop.  I'm gonna come." She

put her hands on my thighs, then, and began to bob her head and suck

me hard.  I breathed in sharply, and then lost it.  Oh boy, did I lose

it.  I shot out my seed so hard that it hurt me.  I blasted 4, 5,

maybe 6 times... My loins kept on contracting violently--and she kept

on sucking me, and milking me with her hands, until long after I had

run dry.



  The inside of my cock burned from the force of my ejaculations.  I

slumped down to the floor, then, my legs no longer able to hold me

up.  I ended up sitting on the floor with my back to the wall.  She

crawled up against me, and tucked herself under my arm.  



  "How do you feel?" she asked, running her hands through my hair,

where it fell on my shoulders.  I looked at her as if I'd been

sentenced to be shot at dawn.  She kissed my shoulder.  "Oh, it 

can't be that bad, can it?" she asked. "I've always liked you, Sam."



  I closed my eyes, and tried to think of something to say.  My head

was still swimming, and I couldn't seem to line up even half of a

coherent thought.  I just kept seeing visions of Lisa.  I shook my

head, but _that_ thought wouldn't go away.  I kept seeing Lisa telling

me not to come back.  Not to call her.  Not to see her.  Ever.



  I started to shake.  Julie put her arms around my neck.  Even though

she might be the key to the unraveling of my whole life, I needed

somebody to hold onto at that moment; so I pulled her against me and

squeezed her hard.



  I held on to her, and listened as the water ran down the drain.



--