Richard Laymon - The Traveling Vampire Show

I stood there gaping at her naked back, stunned and thrilled and scared, hardly able to believe that she had actually taken off her top in front of me.

This had never happened before.

Maybe because we’d never been alone together.

She spread some hangers apart. As she reached out for a blouse with her right arm, she turned her body slightly. Just in front of her armpit, and a little lower, was a pale, smooth slope—the side of her right breast.

She probably didn’t know I could see it. And I only did see it for a moment before she pulled the blouse off the hanger and turned away again.

Turned away so that both her breasts were facing the closet. I couldn’t see them, but I sure knew they were there.

They’d be in plain sight if only I were standing in the closet.

Or if she turns around.

Please turn around, I thought. Please.

I suddenly hoped something would happen to make her turn around. Maybe a sudden noise. Like the telephone ringing?Or a shout?

I could shout.

But I didn’t. As much as I ached for Slim to turn around, I didn’t want to do anything that might make her think less of me.

She turned around.

Her blouse was already on, however, and most of the buttons were fastened.

I hoped I wasn’t blushing too badly when she looked up at me. “How’s this?” she asked.

Her long-sleeved blouse was black and made of a shiny fabric. Somewhat too large for her, it hung down so low it almost hid the front of her cut-off jeans.

“That oughta keep you from being seen,” I said.

“Does it look weird?” she asked.

“Looks great.”

“I mean, with my shorts. A long-sleeved blouse…”

“Do you have a black skirt?”

She made a face at me. “I have one, but I’m not about to wear it.”

“Long jeans?” I suggested.

“It does look weird.”

“It’s fine.”

“How about if I do this?” She rolled the sleeves halfway up her forearms. Then she turned her back to me, unfastened her cut-offs and tucked in the tails of her blouse. Zipped and buttoned, she faced me again. “Better?”

Pulled tight and smooth, the blouse showed every contour. The smooth mounds of her breasts were tipped with stiff nipples.

“You look fine,” I said.

She frowned. “What?”

Before I could say anything, she turned around and looked at herself in the mirror. Her frown deepened. Her hands came up and she touched her nipples. “Can’t go around like this,” she said.

In the mirror’s reflection, our eyes met.

I shrugged.

Her hands slid down below her breasts, clutched her blouse and pulled it upward, dragging its tails out of her cut-offs. When she stopped, it was still tucked in but now had plenty of slack in it. No longer taut against her breasts, it draped them but didn’t reveal every detail.

Her eyes again met mine in the mirror. “Better?” she asked.

I nodded.

She turned around and came to me, a smile spreading over her face. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“Fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure.”

“You seem awfully nervous.”

“I do?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m okay.”

“Do I make you nervous?”

“Maybe a little.”

Reaching down, she took hold of my wrists. “These?” she asked, and lifted my hands and placed them on her breasts. Through the thin fabric of her blouse, I felt their heat and smoothness. I felt how springy they were. I felt the push of her nipples.

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. I started the water running. When it felt about right, I climbed into the tub, slid the frosted door shut, and started the shower. The spray came out cold. A few seconds later, however, it was good and hot.

I tried to get myself clean with just my hands and the water. After some rubbing, though, my skin still felt slick and tacky in the places where I’d made the mess.

Bending over, I removed a bar of soap from the tray. The fresh scent of the soap reminded me of Slim.

Of course, I thought. It’s her soap.

Suddenly, the realization struck me that I was taking a shower in the very same tub where Slim took her showers or baths. She had been naked in this very place. She had slid this very bar of soap over her bare skin. It had touched her face, glided over her breasts, slicked the skin of her buttocks, even rubbed her down there.