Sixteen the Hard Way -20.2- Washing Up (Patreon)

Feeling sorry for myself didn’t seem profitable, so I gave it up after a few minutes and managed to sit up on the bed by first rolling off the side, catching myself, then standing up so I could sit down. I guess I’m a special case, but who would expect breasts to be so heavy?

I caught another whiff of ripeness in my gyrations and remembered that I had determined that I needed a bath or at least a quick shower. I trudged to the door and called down toward where everyone else had fallen into the so-called boob tube. Whoever came up with that nickname for television had no idea, I reflected.

I smiled a bit woefully and gathered things together for a bath. I guessed I would need a fresh bra, but I only owned two of the large-size over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders. If I was going to sweat enough to need a bath and a change of bra every day, did that mean I would have to wash one of the damn things every night?

I dithered a bit, but a sniff test settled it—my brand-new bra needed washing. I found a little tag on the garment and read that it should be washed in cool water with mild soap and air-dried. Mild soap shouldn’t be a problem, Donna had a bar of Ivory she kept in our shared bathroom. I gathered some clean panties, too, and my bathrobe (which didn’t quite close around my chest now); there was nothing for it. I needed a new bathrobe, too, but that could wait.

The TV still made noises in the living room, and no one was in the hall except the dog, who gave me permission to pass with a thump of his tail. “Watch for Linda, Fooler,” I told him. My darling little sister was a menace who might walk in on anyone in the bathroom. But I could only pretend that Fooler might stop her. In fact, he was often her principal accomplice.

I started the water running to warm up, then I hung my things on the extra towel bars, took off my bra and ran a basin of cool water to dunk it in. I wasn’t sure I was doing this right, but I rubbed some Ivory in the places that seemed most likely to be stinky and put the cruel device back in the water.

I pulled a shower cap on since I didn’t want to mess with wet hair in the evening. The blue cap was mine and the pink one Donna’s, but I used Donna’s this time because it was slightly larger and held by long hair well. And who cared about the gender of inanimate objects anymore? I couldn’t possibly be embarrassed by using the wrong cap after everything else that was going wrong with my life.

I adjusted the temp of the water and stepped under the artificial rain. I’d always like showers better than bathing in a tub, but our bathroom didn’t have a tub anyway. I used some of Donna’s body wash and two different kinds of soap, making sure I got everything lathered up good. Using a washcloth let me know that I did not scrub my tits. “Ow,” I said.

In fact, I felt kind of tender everywhere, as if my whole body had grown extra sets of nerve endings. Instead of scrubbing, I just sort of stroked gently; even down between my legs felt tender. Then I let the water hit me in the face and tried not to fall into self-pity again. Lots of people had worse things happening to them somewhere, I was sure.

“Joni?” Came a treble voice outside the bathroom door just as I was stepping out of the shower stall and reaching for a big bath towel.

“Don’t come in, Linda,” I warned. I wrapped the towel around me, a little annoyed that it stayed in place so easily now.

“Why can’t I come in?” Linda wanted to know. “You’re a girl too, now, so we’re both the same.”

“Uh, well, I’m—I’m not quite a girl all the way. I’ve still got some boy bits, so don’t come in.”

“Huh? Well, I’m sure your boy bits won’t last much longer, then you’ll be a girl just like Donna and me and Mommy.” She laughed.

Somehow, I was afraid that she was right.