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I Owe You One
Next time, I'll bring the bubble bath.
--Samuel Oak, from Ilex's Bathtime
The saleswoman at Bath and Body Works is giving me strange looks. I'm not quite sure why. Maybe she doesn't expect someone of my caliber to come into her little shop. Maybe men don't come in here all that often.
I'm not too worried about her stares, though, because I'm here on a mission.
See, Delia, you one-upped me the last time.
I thought you were just kidding when you said you'd have to bring some bubble bath over later. I hadn't expected you to actually do it. But you had... and oh, man, was I glad you did. Even with the interruptions from the children, with all the mishaps that occurred in the bathroom itself, with the admittedly shameful state of my room, it was an unforgettable night, and I was eternally grateful it happened. That night had done a lot for me--awakened feelings I thought I couldn't have anymore, made me think outside the "box," as it were, and most importantly, made me desperately love the sparky, sassy young woman who had come up with the idea in the first place.
Because you have done all that for me, I owe you a lot.
And what better way to repay the debt than by returning the favor? With a few discreet modifications, of course.
So I study the bubble bath shelves with a critical eye. I liked the Floral Fantasy stuff you brought last time, but variety is the spice of life, after all. Eventually I decide on Mandarin Mango. A luscious, fruity style for a luscious lady, I think to myself with a chuckle.
The saleswoman keeps staring at me oddly when I come to the register. I think she wants me to make a passing, explanatory remark about how I'm buying this for my picky granddaughter, or a gift basket, or something. But the only thing I owe her is nine dollars and eighty-three cents.
Now to work on the "discreet modifications."
Tracey and I are giving the Pokemon in the infirmary the usual vitamin regimen that afternoon. Since Ash and company are nowhere in sight, I figure this is the best time to make such a request.
"Trace?"
He's idly massaging the Meowth's throat to make the pill go down easier. "Yeah?"
"What are your plans for this evening?"
"Um... golly, I don't know. I suppose Ash and Misty and Brock will go out somewhere, and I guess I'll go with them." He looks at me with a mixture of worry and confusion. "Why? Do you need me for something around here?"
"Of a sort." I focus my attention on the needle in my hand. "You see, I've got to do some research tonight."
"Really?"
"Yes." My other hand holds the squirming Hoppip in place. "I'm going to conduct a little behavioral experiment this evening. However, there are some variables present that may skew my results drastically. I'd like to have you remove those variables if at all possible."
"Sure, Professor, I can do that." Tracey scratches the Meowth's ears for a moment, and I try to inject the Hoppip with a minimum of pain on both our parts. "What part of the lab will you be doing the experiment in?"
"The Ketchum residence," I answer easily, soothing the Hoppip with a few reassuring pats.
Tracey has a very expressive face. I like watching his reactions because I can always tell what he's thinking. It's just as much fun this time. A raised eyebrow and confused frown, as if saying, "Huh? That's not in the lab!" Then the huge eyes and the slightly opened mouth that signal realization... and the even larger eyes and hand clapped over mouth as he takes in the implications of the situation. It's funny as hell, but if I laugh, I'll break the mood.
"And," I continue, "I can think of three or four variables that may interrupt my research."
"Oh, I can take care of those for you, Professor," he squeaks. "No problem."
"Excellent to hear, my boy." I watch the Hoppip scurry away, then add, "I'm willing to pay any amount necessary to ensure the removal of these negative influences. Because I would hate to think of what might happen--" And I suddenly appear fascinated with the needle still in my hand. "--if my experiment goes awry because of these variables." An idle threat (I think), but he doesn't know that.
The poor boy turns green. "I'm all over it, Professor. Don't worry about a thing."
Five thirty. Quitting time, at least for today.
I think I'll forego the usual practice of hanging out in the lab coat this evening. After the last one's sleeve became attached to Delia's bra strap, I decided that wearing the damn thing all the time was just stupid. So I hang it on the coat rack, then dash upstairs to give myself the last minute once-over. If I'm going to be a ravishingly sensual lover, I'd better look the part, right?
Hair somewhat less tousled? Check. Stubble gone? Check. Smile okay? Check. Just a splash of Old Spice to set the mood? Check.
My eyes fall on the little bottle of orange liquid in the cabinet, and I grin. Can't forget that, can I? I slip the bottle in my pocket and head downstairs.
The young people are sitting down in the den--and they've got Mimey with them. Wonder what that's all about? "Hello, kids, how are you today?"
"Hi, Professor," they chorus. Misty's giving me a strange look. If I didn't know better, I'd almost say she liked the way I look.
"Mom wanted to know if Mimey could stay up here this evening," Ash says. "She thought he might feel a little bit lonely and want some more Pokemon company."
Ah, bless you for your good sense, Delia, my dear! "Sure. That's a wonderful idea. Make yourself at home, Mimey." As he scurries off to find some friends, I say, "Are you guys going out tonight?"
"Yes, Professor--we've got quite a lot planned." Tracey's almost mutilating his words, he's talking so fast. "First, we're going out to have dinner somewhere--"
"Seafood," Ash interjects.
"No!" Misty's clearly horrified by the prospect. "I won't eat anything that has enough sense to live in the water! You said you wanted Indian food earlier!"
"No, we're going to Mike's because they have a lot of different stuff that we all eat, and because I like the ribs there," Brock says, as if that settles everything.
"Well, we're going somewhere to eat, I don't know where," Tracey continues, "and then the Marketplace is showing Bellissima Cosa tonight on its main screen--"
"Yeah! Car chases and guys shooting each other!" Ash rubs his hands together gleefully.
"And beautiful Italian women." Brock starts drooling.
Misty kicks him. "Cool it, Casanova. All I know is, there better be some cute guys and kissing in it, too."
Tracey's trying his damndest to ignore them. "--and you know that's my favorite movie, and that it's at least two and a half to three hours long..."
I nod, catching his drift. "And then what?"
Poor boy. His eyes are begging me for mercy, for a time limit clue, for anything, but I've got to be relentless. So he shrugs and says, "Well, I'm sure we'll figure out something to do after that."
"Sounds like a fun evening. You all are more than welcome to come hang around here when you're done. I'm sure by the time you get back I'll be dead to the world." With any luck, I'll be absolutely incoherent. "Do you need any money?"
"Oh, no, I can take care of it," Tracey quickly answers, but too late--I'm already pulling out my wallet.
"Nonsense. I insist. My treat this evening." It's the least I can do, especially since I'm forcing the kid to do all this. I pull out two bills and hand them to him. Maybe I should have checked the bills first, because Tracey's face quickly assumes an "oh shit" expression. Doesn't matter, I'll get the change tomorrow.
"What are you doing tonight, Professor?" Misty asks, with another glance at me. Brock's shoulders start shaking with suppressed laughter. I could smack him.
"Not as much as you guys, that's for sure. Ash's mother knows I can't cook, so she's offered to make me dinner. After that, I guess I'll come back and just fall asleep. It's been a particularly long day in here." In more ways than one. I've almost lost control at least five times just thinking about how nice everything'll be tonight--if my plan works.
"Boring," Ash announces. "You sure you and Mom don't want to come to dinner and the movies with us?" The other kids seem horrified and amused by his suggestion, but he blithely ignores them.
It's a nice thought, all of us with our crazy quirks spending time together as if we're a family. Hopefully we'll get to do that someday soon. But tonight is mine. No, ours. "Let me take a raincheck on that, Ash. Knowing my luck, I'd probably fall asleep during the movie." A glance at my watch says that it's almost time, so I head for the front door. "I'd better go. Your mother would hate it if I'm late. You guys have fun!"
" 'Bye, Professor!" the original trio calls. Tracey is running after me. "Wait a minute, Professor!"
"Yes, Tracey?"
"Well, it might be a bit more productive for both of us if we could travel around using a more efficient form of transportation this evening. So I was wondering if I could, um, borrow the Jaguar--"
I narrow my eyes. "Don't push your luck, son."
"--or the station wagon, that's a good car too."
I take the station wagon's key off my keyring and hand it to him. He grins weakly as he takes the key. "Thanks, Professor. I'll try my best to ensure a pleasant evening for both of us."
Just then we hear a snippet of conversation from the den. Misty's voice sounds amused and intrigued. "You know what? I think everything makes sense now. Underneath the lab coat, Professor Oak's really built."
Ash's voice immediately follows, filled with disgust and laughter. "Oh, my God! I can't believe it. You've got a crush on Professor Oak!"
"What?!? I do NOT!" Followed by a loud crack, as of one being slapped very, very hard.
When he speaks, Tracey sounds more determined than I've ever heard him before. "But remember, Professor, you owe me for this. Big time."
I smile. "I'm a man who repays my debts generously, Tracey. Don't worry. Have fun."
Poor kid. I do owe him for this chance. But I better focus on the bigger debt first--yours.
I clear my throat, then knock on your door. You answer almost immediately. Boy, are you gorgeous in that pink pantsuit. It clings to you in all the right places. "Hi, Samuel! I was hoping it would be you."
I whistle and allow my gaze to roam over you freely. "Hello there. You look incredible. Though I didn't know it was a dress up affair."
"It's not. I just felt like looking pretty for you." You lean against the doorframe and give me a sweet smile. "Now are you going to stand there and look at me, or are you going to come in so you can kiss me?"
"In, in, by all means in." As I step over the threshold, I take you into my arms and kiss you. At first our mouths are gentle, tentative. But you lean against me--and the feeling of those curves, artfully hidden under that material, pressing against me, drives me crazy, makes me kiss you more deeply. Makes me grow incredibly stiff--
Whoa. Slow down there, tiger. If you don't calm down, it'll be like last time. Last time we were a wee bit quick on the trigger. We've got to hold out for as long as we can tonight; we owe her that much...
"Oh, my," you murmur, settling your hips firmly against me. "Are you being bad?"
"Mmm-mmm." I place tiny kisses on your cheek. "I'm being hungry."
You begin a slow, gentle movement against me. "For?"
Damn you, woman! But I pull back, and smile sweetly, and say, "For dinner, of course. I haven't had anything to eat today."
I see that twinkle in your eyes, and I just know you're thinking about the best ways to twist my words. Thankfully, you don't mention any of them. "Well, have a seat. Dinner is almost ready. Glass of zinfandel?"
"Sure. Pour me one. I'm going to run up to your bathroom and wash my hands."
"Okay. You know where it is. Make yourself at home."
You have two restrooms--one for the kids, and one in your bedroom. I sneak into the latter to see how much space I have to work with later. At first I'm surprised and somewhat dismayed. No wonder you were so shocked at the size of my bathtub: yours looks so tiny, even though it's standard size. But I'm sure it'll do just as well.
Back downstairs, before you get too suspicious about my motives, and before I decide to start my plan earlier than scheduled.
Dinner is wonderful. The steak is grilled to perfection, the salad is made fresh from your garden's vegetables, and the wine is relaxing us, breaking down all our inhibitions.
At least, I assume the food is good. I'm too busy staring at you to notice anything other than the bright brown eyes gazing at me seductively, the wisp of lace that covers your cleavage.
"How is everything? Are the tomatoes ripe and fresh and juicy enough?"
It's an innocent question, I think. Of course, with my eyes focused on your chest (and with my mind remembering just how nice everything there really is), I take it the wrong way. "The tomatoes look good enough from over here."
Your laughter fills the air. "Oh, Samuel, you devil, you," in a tone that holds none of the expected shock or scolding. Maybe it wasn't such an innocent question, after all.
And soon (but not quite soon enough), dinner is over. Is it time for dessert?
"Well, now what shall we do?" I ask as we're sticking the dishes into the dishwasher. "Did you have any other plans for us?"
"Oh, I don't know. I guess we could drink a little wine on the couch, watch a little TV, talk for a while..."
"Neck for a while?"
Haughty Delia suddenly appears. You draw yourself to your full height and give me a glare that I've seen you use on Ash. "Don't be silly. We're entirely too old and dignified to do that sort of thing."
Huh?
Oh.
We are? But...
Damn it!
Well, all right, then. Guess I won't get to pay you back this evening.
So tell me why, ten minutes later, we're sprawled on the couch, with the TV firmly off, with hands under each other's clothes, kissing passionately. Not that I mind. I'd just like to know how you think you can trick me like that.
You won that one, I'll give you that. But have I got a surprise for you, young lady.
But not yet. Not just yet.
For the moment, I'm content to enjoy the feeling of your nipples hardening against my fingertips under the lacy material. "Mmm," I murmur against your lips. "Whatever you have under there is very nice."
You're practically shuddering under my touch, but you manage to answer. "You're not half bad yourself."
"You wouldn't mind if I undid some of these contraptions, would you?" Sneaky fingers slide to the middle of the bra--see, I did remember how to unfasten it--and unclasp. Then nothing but warm, soft skin against slightly rough hands. A soft purr from you tells me that you don't mind at all, but I tease you anyway. "I mean, I hope I'm not being too forward or anything."
"Not at all." Your hands leave my chest and head straight for my belt. "But I should be able to do the same."
Wait, you're not really going to--
Your hands reach into my pants, begin touching me through my boxers. Then they become brave enough to go inside. Tiny, delicate fingers caress hot hardness just at the moment your tongue flicks across my lips.
Oh, yes, you are.
And if you don't stop that in the next two seconds, I am going to throw you on the floor and ravish you right there. Which would completely ruin my whole plan.
"Hold on," I gasp, pulling away and getting my pants back in order. "I've got to, uh, go to the bathroom."
"Now? Oh, dear. Dinner didn't upset your stomach, did it? I've got some Pepto-Bismol--maybe you should take some--"
"No, no, nothing like that. I've just... got to go." I'm halfway up the stairs then. "Don't worry. Relax. I'll be right back."
When your bedroom and bathroom doors are firmly closed, I lean back, catch my breath, and thank any deity that's listening that I was able to get here without making a huge mess. Then it's time to get to work on Experiment E19A: Sexual Behaviors of Homo sapiens sapiens in the Domestic Aquatic Environment, based on the previous experiment from Ketchum and Oak.
Bathtub water, on, to a temperature warm enough to last until you find and join me.
Bubble bath measurements? Um... oh, who cares at this point? I squeeze a reasonable amount into the water.
Clothing? Er... I'd have just cast it all on the floor, but you're too much of a neat freak for that. Fortunately, you have a hanger and a hook on the back of your bathroom door. Perfect. By the time my clothes are neatly arranged and I'm ready to get into the water, the tub should be full.
When I'm completely naked, I turn to check the water's progress.
Whoops. I think I put too much bubble bath. Unless there's supposed to be a mountain of bubbles. Well... hell, at least there's enough water too. Faucet off.
Now to get in...
Yeow! Damn, that's hot! What was I thinking?
I try again after a moment. Not much cooler, but a bit easier to handle.
As the scent of mangoes fills the room, as I grow accustomed to the water temperature, I imagine the different reactions you'll have when you find me. What on earth are you going to say and do when you see a naked and highly aroused man sitting in your bathtub, covered in bubbles that smell like mangoes?
Hopefully you'll say, "Yes, Samuel, take me now." And then I can have all sorts of lovely fun torturing you. The thought simultaneously amuses and arouses me.
And now, we wait.
After about fifteen minutes, I can hear your voice. "Sam? Are you okay? You've been gone for a while. Is your stomach all right?... wait a minute. If you're not in here, then where...?"
Aha. It's showtime. "I'm in your bathroom. I'm fine. Couldn't be better."
"What on earth are you doing in there?"
"Come on in and see."
A pause. "Um... I don't know if I'm quite into anything like that."
What are you thinking? "For heaven's sake, woman, no! Just come in." I settle into the bubbles and paste on the brightest smile I can muster.
The door opens. I see your wine glass first. Then your head peeps around the door--and your eyes grow huge. "Samuel! What the hell are you doing?"
"I'm taking a bath, silly. What does it look like I'm doing?"
You're so cute when you're flustered. "I, uh... but... we already... you..." And then you're cracking up.
Okay, I didn't expect you to laugh at me. Sheesh. "What's so funny?"
As you close the door, you glance at the back of your door. "Oh, so there are your clothes. Very smart, Professor..." Suddenly you're cracking up again.
"Why are you laughing at me, woman?" When you're supposed to be ripping your clothes off and jumping on me...
"I'm sorry, sweetheart. It's just..." You sit on the toilet lid and grin at me. "What inspired this?"
"Well, I loved the last bath we had. But I came out less than stellar last time--"
"No! You were wonderful!"
Sweet words, but I know you're just being nice. "--and I wanted to save a little bit of face. Besides, after that stunt you pulled, I owed you one." I wink at you. "Now you gonna come in here before the water gets cold?"
"Did you think I was going to leave a naked man all alone in a bathtub?" You wink back, then rise and head into your bedroom.
"Aren't you going to do a sexy striptease for me?" I call.
"This pantsuit costs too much to risk being ruined by water."
"Damn. I should buy you something that you can ruin. I want to see you in a wet shirt."
Another throaty chuckle. "Wouldn't you rather see me... like this?"
And then I'm treated to a vision of you, standing in the doorway, wearing absolutely nothing at all. You are so beautiful... perfect, firm breasts; tiny waist; gently curving hips; long legs. I can't believe you're sharing that lovely body with me.
"Oh, yes," I whisper, reaching out to you. "I like that very, very much."
With a splash, you're entering the tub--and I get to feel that sweet, wet, little body against mine. Mmm... so nice... I quickly sweep you into a deep, passionate kiss.
"What is this?" And your hands are wrapping around me again; tiny fingers combine with lapping water to send me into another state entirely.
"You mean you don't know what that is?" Mouth nibbles on the curves of a nearby ear.
"No, silly, I know what that is." Meanwhile, your hands begin a slow movement on me--up and down, up and down--Oh, God... "I mean the bubble bath."
Mouth now traces a line of kisses along your forehead. "Mango something or other." How on earth can you think about that when I'm damn near ready to explode?
"I like it." Your mouth has moved towards my neck. "Makes me want to eat you up." With a gentle but noticeable nip at the base of my throat. "But you used way too much." And just at that moment, your hand starts moving faster.
"So what?" I growl against your lips. "Who cares? Now shut up and kiss me."
Lips meet, tongue plunges into and ravages mouth, and I get a chance to pull away from those naughty little hands. I'm not about to lose it before I've had the opportunity to tease you.
Eventually we roll over, so I'm on top of you and you're comfortably resting against the tub's back. As we both come up for air from that delicious kiss, I let myself slide over the sweet space between your thighs. So soft, so wet... and you open to me, thrust against me.
A whisper, filled with desire and longing, echoes off the walls. "Now?"
I stroke against you once more before pulling away. "Now? Nonsense. I haven't even started on your bath yet."
"Damn you," you hiss before kissing me once more.
After a moment, my mouth meanders down to your neck; my hands, filled with bubbles, caress those lovely shoulders. "Don't you want me to get you all clean?"
"Depends. Will you keep touching me like that?"
"Of course."
"Then please continue." You lift your head, allowing me greater access to your neck.
"Thank you," I chuckle against your neck. "I think I will."
And I do. Scooping up another handful of bubbles, I let my hands travel down your arms. My mouth, meanwhile, continues to nibble on that long neck. Eventually my hands work their way down your sides, around your waist, to your back. Such beautiful curves back there. Fingers trail along your spine, making you arch against me.
"Oh, Sam, that's wonderful. You have the best hands..." Your purr of satisfaction is music to my ears.
I place a kiss on your collarbone. "You have the best body." My lips move downward, carefully brush kisses on the swell of your breasts. Any lower, though, and I'll be underwater.
"Should I move up a bit?"
"Let me do it for you." Hands cup your bottom, push you upward. Instantly pert breasts appear, covered in droplets. "There they are. Shall I wash these off for you too?"
"But your hands are busy!" With a little wiggle that's supposed to remind me of their location.
"I'll just have to use something else, then." I kiss my way down to those pink nipples. My tongue lightly traces the outline of one, draws tiny circles around it, idly toys with it. Then, without warning, my lips cover the erect peak, begin a slow suckling.
Your hands curl into my hair, sending warm water down my neck. I can feel the tiny ripples of excitement as they vibrate through your body, can hear the soft moans of pleasure against the tiles. "Oh, Sam... you know I'm sensitive there..."
"Mmm-hmm." Moving over to the other breast now, giving it the same amount of attention.
"If you don't stop, I'm going to come..." Another writhe, long and slow, like the one earlier but with subtle urgency. Should I make you wait?... Nah.
"Don't hold back." And I lightly press the nipple between my lips, clutch your bottom with the same firm pressure. Instantly the tremors become full-fledged quakes, the moans become cries, and I enjoy your movements against me. I suckle until you're sated, then lift my head and give you a grin. "How did you like that?"
Your eyes are lowered, your lips parted, your breath comes in short gasps. "Nice. I want another."
I pretend to ponder the options. "Mmmm... no. I don't think so, not yet. I haven't finished your bath yet. I'm only half done." So my fingers move up to your stomach.
"Damn," you mutter, kneading my shoulders. "You'd better get on with it, then."
Get on with it! Just for that, I'm going to take my sweet time.
And I do--carefully massaging that lovely body all over. Gently stroking those gorgeous thighs, caressing those tiny feet--and pressing a kiss to each arch. Though it seems to take forever, all too soon I'm moving back up your body, murmuring, "There, all done."
"No, you're not. You missed a spot."
"I did? What did I miss?"
You take my hand, place it between your legs. "Right here."
Ha. I was hoping you'd notice that. "I did miss that, didn't I? Guess I'd better get it, huh?" Fingers go on the prowl again, slipping underneath those red curls and into the inviting warmth of your body. Moist, taut muscles welcome me, pull me farther inside. As my fingers thrust deeper, harder, faster, your shivers of pleasure become more violent, your sighs become hoarse cries, and I find myself dangerously overexcited again. Don't you dare--you're not going to until you've sufficiently satisfied her...
Another cry, another wild tremor. I savor the delights of your pleasure and decide that you're sufficiently satisfied, and not a moment too soon.
After the orgasm subsides, and I lean over to kiss you, your whisper makes me think it's time. "Now--"
"Yes, now," with another stroke against you, because I am so ready to be inside you.
A wicked grin. "No."
No? No?!? "Why the hell not?"
"That makes two baths you've given me. Now I think I owe you one."
On some level, your focus on me is adorable and admirable. Of course, on another level I want you to just give in and let me frickin' jump you! "No, no, that's all right, I can wait--"
Somehow, though, you end up straddling me, and I'm back in the still-sizeable bubble cloud. "Damn you," I moan, even though I know it's my own fault for torturing you.
You playfully wipe a tiny clump of bubbles on the tip of my nose. "Don't you want me to get you all clean?"
"No! I like being a dirty old man!"
You giggle as you grab some bubbles. "Yes, you are. You are a very dirty old man, and I love it." In response, I stick my tongue out at you, then settle back to enjoy my bath.
Dainty, soft, slippery fingers skim across hard muscle and coarse chest hair. Then they're tracing lines down the back of my neck, down my back, sending electric tingles through me. I sigh, reach for you, but you wiggle out of my grasp and continue your explorations. It's incredible; lightning caresses and a soft, warm, wet body on top of me are driving me crazy; and I decide I'm not going to wait another second.
I capture your derriere in my palms and lift you onto me. Hot with sweat and longing, I glide smoothly into you, slick with soap and water and desire. My groan meets your gasp--Oh, God, did I hurt you?
"Are you okay?" I mutter, forcing myself not to move.
A husky whisper, full of wonder. "Oh, yeah... so full... feels good..." Then, to my surprise, you place those lovely little hands on my shoulders, carefully rise until I'm nearly outside you... and slowly lower yourself on me again.
For a moment, I can only watch as you ride me: watching your eyes grow dark with desire, watching those quivering breasts with their moist pink tips, watching the motions of your body against the frothy backdrop, watching me disappear into you and you disappear into the water... Disconnected thoughts in the middle of raging arousal, Aphrodite born from the foam of the sea... my Aphrodite, and I must drink from her or die...
Hands reach out, seize breasts, press them together; mouth plunges forward; tongue lashes both stiff peaks simultaneously. Insides clench, moans and splashes of pleasure... hips move faster, going faster, harder, deeper... and can't wait but I have to--
High siren's song, "So close, Sam, Oh, God, please, more..."
Hands release breasts, grab hips, press deeper. Voice rough. "Yes, Delia, sweetheart, come for me..."
"Yes, yes, yes--"
Oh, yes--
Both of us, drowning in waves of pleasure and mango scented bubbles.
And after that, I think I'm dead. Hell of a way to die.
Oh, wait. No, I must not be dead. I think I'm still breathing. And I'm able to feel you against me, run my fingers through your wet hair, kiss you. Thank goodness.
Hell of a payback, Sam. Debt repaid, with interest.
Oh. No. Wait. I forgot something. I forgot to wash your hair. Damn it.
Meanwhile, you're giving me a sleepy smile. "Wow," you murmur dreamily, your hand feebly searching for the bubble bath container. "That was the best bath I've ever had. What's in that stuff?"
"Just an incredibly sexy woman and a man who can't seem to keep his hands off her." My hand reaches into the basket of bath stuff beside the tub and grabs a bottle of strawberry shampoo. "And you know what? Even after all that, I still haven't completely finished your bath."
You raise your head and give me a horror-filled look. "Again?!"
"No, God, no!" I laugh. "Back to back? You want to kill me? No, I just forgot to wash your hair. Turn over."
After the wild insanity of orgasm, washing your hair is a relaxing change of pace. I can lie there, run my fingers through that gorgeous long hair, enjoy the feeling of you on top of me, hear the quiet sighs of satisfaction.
"Guess what," I murmur, lathering your hair.
"Hmm?"
"I'm desperately, hopelessly, deeply in love with you."
"Oh." A tiny pause. "Why?"
I shrug. "Because you're pretty and smart and sexy and wonderful, for one thing. And, you make a nice bath toy."
We giggle for a moment. Then you whisper, "Guess what?"
"What's that?"
"I'm desperately, hopelessly, deeply in love with you."
"Oh." A tiny pause. "I'll never understand why, but I won't question it."
"Silly!" You playfully hit my arm. "Because you're handsome and smart and sexy and wonderful. And, I adore dirty old men."
"Uh-oh. No wonder you love me. I'm the dirtiest old man I know."
"Hey, speaking of which..." You turn around and grin at me. That familiar mischievious twinkle has returned to your eyes. "I don't think I actually finished your bath."
Oh, Lord. The woman's trying to kill me. "Let's hurry up and get you out of here," I quickly answer. In response, I get a wicked chuckle.
Good-bye and bless you, mango bubbles. Then a quick shower (which was probably more useful than the bath proper), and the careful drying off with towels and mouths. "I wish you could spend the night," you say against my lips. "That would be so nice..."
Oops. I guess I forgot to tell you that it's entirely possible. "Who says I can't?"
You pull away, look at me in confusion. "But--the kids--if they come home and find us here... goodness, you might have to run out in one of my gowns!"
The image of myself wearing a silk nightie is not pleasant. I hope that never happens. At least I know that it won't happen tonight, though. "Nope. I've got an assistant who's going above and beyond the call of duty to ensure a pleasant evening for us. Alone."
"Aww... Tracey's doing that for us? Isn't he sweet!"
"Yeah, the boy has a good heart." And an extremely low tolerance for needles. But he's probably having fun anyway, despite the threat of death-by-injection looming over his head. How difficult can it be to convince young people to stay away from home?
"All right," Brock had said as they were leaving the theater. "Now that was a good film."
"They don't make 'em like that anymore," he answered, being a typical nerd. "Bellissima Cosa is clearly the best movie ever about the Kanto Mafia scene. I'm glad we got to see it on the big screen."
"And Fiorello Cappuchino is the best actor in it," Misty gushed. "He was so totally emotional, and he made his lines sound so natural, and he had the most penetrating stare..."
"Aw, you're just saying that. You really liked him because you thought he was cute," Ash answered, giving her a playful shove.
"Shut up!" She shoved him back. "He was really good! I can't help it if he's good and good-looking! Besides," she added haughtily, "I like him because he has impeccable taste in beautiful women."
Brock laughed, remembering the Princess Festival and Fiorello Cappuchino's judging there. Tracey laughed at Misty's hair-flipping and Ash's snort of laughter.
On the drive home, Ash had yawned loudly and said, "Boy, I can't wait to get home and get in bed. It's been a really long day."
"Same here," Misty had answered. "We've done a lot!"
"No!"
Under the confused gazes of six eyes, Tracey began to sweat.
"I mean, uh, why end a great evening so early? I was thinking we could all hang out together at the lab for a while."
Silence reigned for a moment. Then Brock carefully said, "You sure we can do that, Trace? I mean, we wouldn't want to, ah, interrupt the Professor or anything."
He could see Misty nodding fervently in the rearview mirror. The time for melodrama had come. "Okay, fine," he sighed, with a roll of his eyes. "Excuse me for wanting to spend time with my friends. I mean, you guys are always out on the road, and I never get to see you anymore... but if you don't want to hang out with your poor, lonely friend, that's cool."
"Awwww... Tracey, it's not that, and you know it," Misty said sympathetically. "It's just, well... if we bother the Professor while he's doing something..."
"Like a breast exam," Brock added, sotto voce.
"Come on, guys." The formerly exhausted Ash had suddenly gained energy. "If Tracey wants to hang out, we should. Besides, the Professor said he'd be dead to the world when we get back. We probably won't bother him at all."
The other teenagers shrugged in agreement, and Tracey grinned. "Great! But first, since he'll probably never let us use the car for this long again, let's ride around for a while."
After a few minutes, and while Misty and Ash began an argument in the back seat, Brock leaned over to Tracey and whispered, "He's gettin' some at Ash's house, isn't he?"
Tracey nodded slightly, keeping his eyes on the road and trying not to think about the flush creeping over his face.
Brock settled into the seat's cushions and sighed. "Lucky bastard," he muttered.
You're nibbling your lip thoughtfully. "So that means that we have the whole evening. That's a lot of time."
"Oh, I'm sure we can find some way to amuse ourselves." I carefully lift you into my arms and carry you to your bedroom.
"Will you draw another sketch of me?" you ask as you wrap your arms around my neck.
That's not a bad idea. "Sure. I just have to prepare my model first." I gently place you on the bed and kiss you. We quickly become lost in a tangle of tongues, hands, sheets. Eventually you pull away from me. "If you don't get a pencil and some paper in a hurry, we might have to forget the sketch."
"Would that be so bad?" However, the Haughty Delia glare is back, so I spend a few moments pawing around the room with no success. "Looks like there's nothing around, Delia."
"Where on earth is my paper? The kids must have used it... That's too bad. I wanted you to draw me again." Poor, sweet baby: your voice sounds so sad. I'd do anything to draw for you, but what's an artist without paper and pencil?
And then I think of a pleasant alternative to pen and paper. That idea's so crazy, it just might work.
I come back to the bed, back to your arms. "Who says we need it, anyway? A true artist can work in whatever medium's available." A quick kiss before I continue. "I have a very nice canvas in front of me and a very useful paintbrush on my person."
"What do you mean?"
"Well..." I trail kisses down your neck, past your breasts, to your stomach. "Canvas: beautiful woman. Implement: tongue." Tongue begins a swift lashing across your stomach, leaving heat and wet in its wake. You gasp, and your fingers curl into my hair. I finish with a bold stroke, then lift my head.
Huge brown eyes are staring at me in awe. "What was that?"
I smile. "That? Oh, that was just my signature. I haven't done the actual piece yet." Hands part legs. "And I think I'm in the mood to copy Georgia O'Keefe this evening."
"The woman who painted the flowers?... Oh. Oh." I can't quite tell if that was a sigh of understanding or of excitement.
"The one and only." I place a few kisses on the inside of your thighs. Just as a guide for the painting, you know. "And you can help me in this artistic endeavor."
"How?"
"You can sing to me while I work." I begin my painting in earnest--tracing the outlines lightly, then working with bold, firm strokes, shading in the dark areas, lavishing attention on the tiny details. Your passionate song-cries grow as I work, culminating in a C above high C, of sorts.
And when the painting is complete, I lift my head and grin. "And just think. You haven't painted me yet. You owe me a sketch."
Needless to say, you repay that favor pretty quickly.
Spending the night with you is everything I thought it would be.
First, lying there all night, sleeping with a warm, lush body curled up next to mine.
Next, waking up in the morning, watching the sun rise through your window, seeing the delicate features of your face become illuminated by sunlight.
Then the joy of morning lovemaking... sleepy kisses, murmurings of love, tentative explorations that lead to hungry licks and fevered strokes.
And all too soon we're getting dressed, having breakfast with each other, wondering where on earth the kids are (because it's too peaceful here), talking about the day's plans, just enjoying being together.
We should have more mornings like this. I wouldn't even mind mornings with child-induced chaos. Of course, if we got married, we could live like this everyday, love and breakfast and bubble baths and children and all.
Whoa. Two encounters with you and I'm thinking marriage. I better get out of here before you can tell how whipped I am.
"Well, my dear," I say as I'm leaning against your doorframe, "we really must do that again soon."
You look like a cat who's lapped up the last bit of cream. Oh, wait--you did that! "I definitely agree. But what on earth can I do to top the bathtime incidents?"
"You're a clever woman. I'm sure you'll come up with something." I lean in and give you a deep, passionate goodbye kiss. At least, it's supposed to be a goodbye kiss. It ends up being a nearly-rip-your-clothes-off-and-take-you-again kiss.
However, you swat me away. "Go find my children before they end up destroying something valuable, like themselves or your lab."
"I'll see you later, then." I reach out to touch your cheek. "I love you."
"I love you too." You gently brush your lips across my fingertips. Then you're closing the door, leaving me standing there, grinning at my hand and giggling like a schoolgirl.
That giddy feeling just gets stronger on the walk home. I feel good. I feel really, really good. (And suddenly I've got James Brown running through my head.)
Come on, Sam, snap out of it! You think a feeling like that can last? I'm right, of course. I'm sure something catastrophic has happened at the lab to ruin my good mood.
To Tracey's credit, the lab is still standing, and he and his cronies don't seem to be disfigured. I've just looked in on them. They're all sleeping in the den upstairs. Tracey's curled up on the couch with his ever-present sketchbook in hand. Brock's in my recliner with a copy of Breeder's Weekly over his face. Ash and Misty are in the love seat, practically sprawled over each other. Granted, they appear to have fallen asleep mid-tussle, but from their peaceful smiles I can tell it was just an excuse to fall asleep in that position.
It's almost too bad. I'd have liked to have some company this morning. Still, the children need their rest, and I need to change my clothes. So I bravely head towards my room.
Yeesh. You're right. This room looks like homegrown hell: clothes all over the place, papers and books all over the bed... oh, yeah, and that pizza box I forgot to throw out. Yuck! Still, I can usually find anything I need despite the mess. So I find a blue polo shirt, a new pair of khakis, and the infamous Pokeball boxers. As I'm changing, I cast aside my red shirt--and hear a tiny squawk. "Pi! Pichu!"
Whoops. Looks like I got Liachu, aka Delia the Pichu, who is just as cute as her namesake. I lean over and lift the slightly irritated Pichu from the clothing pile. "Good morning, Liachu, sweetie," with a scratch behind her ears.
"Pi pi pi!" she cries, giving me a tiny but firm neck hug. She's hanging on to me as if she hasn't seen me for eons. I guess she really hasn't seen me for a while--with all the lab's insanity and my newfound sex life, I haven't spent as much time with her as I should. She deserves a lot more than that. After all, if it weren't for my conversation about her bath, neither of our bathtime incidents would have happened.
Heh, guess I owe Liachu one too. Fortunately, this debt's a little bit easier to repay. All it takes to make a Pichu happy is a little bit of attention and a trip outside. "Hey, sweetie, want to spend some time outside with Daddy?" I get an excited squeal and a baby kiss in response.
So she and I take on the morning tasks together. I take notes on and try to feed all the monsters; from her perch on my shoulder, Liachu entertains me with a running commentary in Pichuese and a yelled threat to any monster that tries to threaten us. It doesn't quite work--Muk still manages to end up on top of me, despite her attempts to thundershock him--but it's a good effort.
I thought that doing all the work around the lab by myself this morning would take some of my energy away. Surprisingly, it doesn't. If anything, I'm even more keyed up, especially after Liachu and I have morning tea with Krabby. Right now, I feel like singing and dancing and conquering the world. And I've still got James Brown going through my head.
Eventually, when I'm at my desk, struggling to get through a particularly convoluted Ice-type case study, my concentration snaps, and I decide that I want to be silly. Really silly. So I head over to my CD player and search through the stack of CDs nearby. "Hey, Liachu?"
The little sweetheart's kicking a ball of paper around my desk. "Chu?"
"Want to sing a song with Daddy?"
Her ears perk up. "Pi!"
It takes us a couple of rehearsals. Since Liachu's going to sing backup, I have to give her cues. Finally we get it right, and we're ready to get up and do our thing.
"Get up!"
"Pi-chu!"
"Get on up!
"Pi-chu!"
"Stay on the scene..."
"Pi-chu!"
"Like a sex machine!"
"Pi-chu!"
Let's face it. No one grooves better than a middle-aged Pokemon researcher and a Pichu. Samuel Oak on air guitar and lead vocal; Liachu doing backup vocals and wiggling her bottom on my desk. We're having a really good time, at least until Liachu suddenly races away screaming, "Pipipi!"
"Shake your moneymaker... Hey, backup singer, where you goin'?" I whirl around to find her--and come face to face with four sleepy, slightly amused, highly shocked teenagers. Wow. Oops.
Ash grins weakly while Liachu babbles from the brim of his hat. "Uh... morning, Professor. Guess you got enough rest last night, huh?"
"Um..." I casually turn down the volume, straighten my collar, smooth out my hair in an attempt to restore my now-shredded dignity. "Yes. Yes, I did. Quite a restful evening. Did you all have a good time last night?"
"Yeah, but probably not as much fun as you had," Brock says with a nod and a sly smile. Ash looks confused, Misty looks ready to die laughing, and in an open display of support for me, Tracey punches Brock's arm with a scowl.
"What are you all going to do tonight?" I ask quickly.
A moment of confusion while the young people glance at each other. Then they all shrug simultaneously.
"Should we be doing something?" Tracey's expression clearly tells me: Please don't make me come up with more ways to keep everyone out! No, I won't torture the boy again.
"Why don't you all come back here tonight? I'll fire up the grill, and we'll have a nice outdoor picnic. Bring Mimey, your mother, everybody. Then maybe we'll rent a video or something. Does that sound all right?"
Ash's smile becomes brilliant--it's so much like your own smile. "Sounds like fun, Professor, thanks!" The others agree, while Tracey mouths "Thank you" at me.
Misty nudges the boy. "We should go home and tell your mom, Ash."
"You're right. Come on, Mimey! Get down, Delia." He places the Pichu on the floor as Mimey appears from the kitchen. "We'll see you later, Professor! Bye, Tracey, and thanks!" The trio leaves, with much laughter and whispering.
Poor Tracey shoves his hair out of his face, revealing bleary, red eyes. "So, Professor," he says, tottering over to my desk. "I guess your experiment was a total success."
"Yes, I think my research turned out rather well." I can't stop smiling. "What about your evening? Did you really have a good time?"
My long-suffering assistant straightens up and gives me a level gaze. "Yeah. Sometimes they drove me crazy, but sometimes we actually had fun, too. Though I wouldn't want to do it again anytime soon. Getting them all to agree on something is hard. But we survived." He practically collapses in my chair. "What should I do first today?"
"You should go upstairs, rest, and take the day off, my boy. I can take care of the lab by myself."
"Thanks, Professor. I appreciate that." It takes him a second to pull himself from the chair. "I must be tired. I don't even have the energy to pick up a pencil!"
Poor kid. You're right. It was really nice of Tracey to make our evening together possible, even if I coerced him into it. For that, he's earned a huge favor in my book.
"Trace?"
"Yes, Professor?"
I grin at him. "Thanks for last night. I owe you one."
Tracey's expressive face strikes again. First, bright eyes showing pride that he could help his longtime hero and boss. Next, thoughtful reflection, as if considering the possible favors. Then... I've never seen a look on his face like that before. It's almost... wicked.
"I've got just the favor, Professor." He picks up a picture frame from my desk and holds it out to me. "One date with her. That's all I want. All you have to do is just get me the date. I can take it from there."
I take the frame and frown. Of course. It's a picture of my very pretty (and very well endowed) teenage granddaughter, May. He's been eying that picture since he first came here. He really expects me to arrange his sex life, with my granddaughter, for him? Sheesh!
Meanwhile, the CD player sings at me: "I got mine--don't worry 'bout his..."
Wisdom from the Godfather of Soul? Well... and he did sort of arrange my sex life for me. And I am a man who repays his debts generously... "All right. I can't promise anything, but I'll do what I can." And he better not try that 'true artist can work in any medium' line on her, either.
Just to add insult to injury, I hear a snippet of conversation from outside. It's Ash's voice, and it's loud enough to carry across the valley.
"Why do you think Tracey wouldn't let us go home last night? How stupid do you guys think I am? I know the Professor's sleeping with my mom! I don't care!"
Oh, man. At this rate, we're both going to owe Pallet Town an explanation.
But before that happens... you owe me a complete bath, you sexy woman.
The End