In Your Hands

First this was supposed to be published about four days ago but well… I didn’t push the big red button…woops.

First sorry this one took a lot longer than I thought it would and even now I’m not sure how it really turned out so all feedback is welcome with this one. My general idea with the story was venting my system of an idea that I’ve been kicking around for awhile. This scene’s based off the premise of meeting the right or wrong person at a vulnerable point in life. I’ve read a lot of comics that just take this and have them go terribly wrong so I wanted to write a scene were character in the vulnerable state isn’t left out to dry. Hope you enjoy it.

 

Cicadas chirp outside, a baking summer washing over the concrete city flushing out the shadows that crept around the enclosed homes. The inside of the bath house was cool. I hadn’t been here before. I finger through my coin purse and plop down the yen.

“One child,” I say adjusting the bag on my shoulder. An electric fan blows out the man’s parting hair, he counts out the yen and waves his hand to the blue banner. Parting through the curtains I become aware of what I’m doing, I look back.  The vendor reclines in his chair various endowed women flashing across his phone.

Disgusting. I part through the tassels.

Maybe that should be applied to me though.

With curious steps I enter the baths, steam curling over the tops of the shallow pool shaped tubs.

The sound of faucet’s wash across the tile. I creep to the farthest locker from the baths, the cubby opens with a creek. I glance to either side. I take each side of my shirt and with a quick breath I pull it off. The air feels particularly chilly despite steam curling over the bath.  Taking a few more glances I remove my pants and underwear wrapping a white towel around my waist as I work my underwear down my legs. Stepping out of my underwear I pull my toiletry from my bag and place them into a plastic basket and push my clothes and bag into the cubby. Organizing my bottles in the racks of the basket I hear the flapping of curtains. A tall buzzed cut foreigner parts through the folds ducking down to dodge the doorway. Besides his height he’s quite muscular, unconsciously I cover my chest. He looks at me with a smile, nods and walks to the aisle next to me. A cubby creaks open.

His smile didn’t fit his over-sized body is my first thought my next whirlwind of thoughts mixed the air into a thick muck, reality was setting in for me. I rush through the heavy air, clutching the basket in front of me.

I set the basket down, now far away from the man, my chest open to the curling steam. There weren’t many men in the bath this late into the afternoon, only a few where still washing their body’s in the sit down showers. The rest soak in the tub.

My arms tremble. I rinsed my body with the shower, my skin felt sensitive in this air each touch of the cloth sending a shock coiling through me. The water felt like the itching sweat that follows PE, the muscle’s in my arms spasm in and out with a nervous cramp.

Dry footsteps clap behind me blending into the showering of water. White muscles slip beside me and the feet faucet turns on. The foreigner relaxes into the plastic bench rinsing his feet. He catches my glance and smiles, showing bleached white teeth. He flashes a thumbs up and returns to his cleaning.

His smile didn’t fit his face at all. It was so boyish and his body looked so, bold. I couldn’t help but watch him.

Acutely aware of how my stomach is heaving in and out I work the scrubber across my skin. I keep glancing over at the foreigner half out of curiosity and half because I felt so exposed. Each time the steam tickles over me I could see myself standing naked in the middle of the crossroads by my house.

He must be watching.

I kept glancing and glancing covering myself the best I could. The man patiently scrubs himself down smiling anytime our eyes meet. With my body finally done I begin rinsing my hair, I push the shampoo into my hair a foam building over the bowl cut mom said was just feminine enough for me. The tips of my drenched hair press against my neck. With a gush of water the suds swirl into the drain at my feet, I glace back over my shoulder. The men are spread out along the bath. In a little way I wanted to stay and watch the foreigner but before I could lean forward to get up a finger pokes my side. I let out a squeak,  “Sorry,” he says bowing as he speaks in a rough Japanese, “Can you wash my back?”  He says jabbing his thumb to his back, “Wash mine, I wash yours?” he says pointing between the two of us.

A tickle of heat sparks down in my chest, the man’s smile wasn’t only boyish but it felt like it was met for only me. Muscle’s lean with exercise corded down his arms, pale scars making their way up his shoulder. Hercules, I thought my arms dropping to my side, “Sure,” I stand breathless matching his gaze with mine not a spec of clothing covering our half naked bodies.  His eyes are an emerald green, reflecting a tree that floats with the wind. The air around him parts with ease. I take the wash cloth from his hand beginning to scrub his back.

Chasms and valleys ran across his back my hands slipping into the  cracks of his muscles as I imprint the cloth like a pressed leaf into his muscle, a few time’s I slip my hand from the cloth stuttering out an apology as I palm a touch of the cords of muscle that ran along his back. He chuckles each time.

I never understood why the women in the TV dramas curled up into their men. As I wash his back and let my finger’s slide around his ribs, I feel a warmth floating across my cheeks, my breath was shorter and spit kept forming in my mouth. I want to be held.

I scrubbed as long as seemed acceptable.

I’ll have to rinse his back, I thought, looking over to the shower head that sat in front of him. I could ask for it, or walk around him but, I leaned over his shoulder my chest hanging beside him as I grabbed the wand. His muscle’s wind up as my stomach fall’s into his shoulder, the edge of my towel brushing against his back. I felt excited at this.  His shoulders only fall down with the spray of the shower. He gives a short laugh and peeks over his shoulder, “You’re very bold,” he says showing off his pearly white’s. His smile as kind as it was before.

I nod my cheeks flush with pink I feel dizzy like I’m the steam curling in and around itself. He laughs again.

What did he find so funny? I drop the shower head into its holder, “my turn,” I say nudging his shoulder. He laughs again. His laugh sounds like something you’d hear from Santa Clause or a western king loud hearty and full of spirit. I sit on the bench, a king like hand as large as a giant’s drapes itself over my shoulder. My heart stops.

“Scrubby?”

“Over there,” I answer breathing out as his hand leaves my shoulder. The tick, tack of stool feet on tile follows him back. The plastic groans as he sits behind me.

“Do you always come alone?” he asks working the towel across my shoulder.

“My first time here,” I answer my voice jumping out of my mouth. He rub’s the cloth down my back tickling the edge of my ribs. At first I want to hide, burrowing my head between my legs but as he works his way down my back his finger’s pushing into the knots of my back I feel safe. If he wraps his hands around my hips I would have bent back nestling myself into his chest. I want to lean into him, the warmth I felt from his hand’s spread down my back and into my legs coiling around my stomach.  I can’t see his smile with my eyes closed but I can feel the same warmth from his hands. They retreat from the ticklish spots and massage into the tight lumps of my back. I begin to wonder, as I lean back into his hands, is this how lovers felt?

Were they supposed to feel this gentle or this firm? Was this how mom felt with dad? I can’t grasp any of it.

“Amazing,” I whisper bending my back into his hands. This elects another laugh from him.

“You are very forward!” he says slapping his thigh and wrapping his hand around my waist, “and so pretty,” he says letting out a mocking whistle.

The steam builds up along my cheeks flushing them out, “Thank you,” I reply again watching him laugh from the mirror.

“So polite!” He gives my belly a few pats, “Young girl’s should be careful though,” he says rustling my hair, “ strange people everywhere,” he says his hand leaving my stomach with a soft pat, “I won’t tell anyone,” he assures me as my dead eyes look up to him. His smile looks sullen, he forms my hand into his with a gentle squeeze.

“We should finish our bath,” I whisper my shattered eyes shaking in the foggy mirrors. He gets up holding his hand out.

I accept his hand and push myself through the thickening steam, it felt like I was on the crossroads again.  We sink into the water the weight of everything falling on my chest but not breaking me. I slide my hand into his. It still feel’s kind, letting me hide within its grasp. The weight didn’t fall through as he bought me milk and stood look out as I changed.

The weight fell through me as he lectures me in the shade of the bathhouse. His kind features are blurred by my tears, the fear that had crept up from my stomach pours out through my eyes. I apologize again and again. He pats my back as I cry into his shoulder croaking as I try to push out more apologies.

He takes my hand, once the tears had dried and a frozen treat is sullenly melting in my mouth, and hands me a piece of paper with his cell number, “If you ever need anything. Which ways your house?” After a bit of direction’s he leads me by the hand the piece of paper neatly wrapped between our hands.

I already memorized it though.

He walks me to the corner of my street, “Be careful,” with a pat on the back he waits at the corner of the street as I walk to the gate, he’s still there as I open the gate.

I don’t think he left till he heard the door close behind me.

Drifting inside like a breath of steam I began to think, chatting without any effort to mom the TV muttering to itself in the background.

How had his hand’s felt? The bumps of his callouses felt so familiar in my hand. The thoughts linger with me swirling with me as I lay in my bed bathing in my phone’s dim screen. I close my eyes, the phone chirping as my thumb presses down. I roll onto my side, the line of text floating across the blank canvas of my mind.

What will he say? Will he answer?

I fell to sleep, my own words curling around me.

Thank you, I want to see you again.

 

 

So I found out with this story that the longer and more rough the story is the more important your tense and imagination  is.(Spent more time than needed getting this one to consistently be in present tense) Enjoyed working on this one but man it took some time. Pretty sure if you’ve read the whole thing through you’ll find it’s lacking movement, hope it’s not but that’s been my fear while editing it. Repaired some parts but it’s always a challenge for a writer to take a step back from their own work. Feed back really appreciated on this one but more importantly.  Thanks for Reading! Peace out.