The boner digs into my thigh like a loaded pistol and I sigh. Great, now we're a fucked up holster. Susan clears her throat, my throat. "We're calling in sick. Both of us."
"Agreed," I squeak. Actually squeak. I'm not sure I've heard that noise from Susan's mouth in a while, but suddenly I'm the one making it. "You try faking my concrete pour schedule and it's tens of thousands of dollars of wasted time and materials. And there's no way I'm dealing with your work friends all day, pretending to know what you discuss."
She winces. I was a little unkind, I know there's more to her job than that, like filing insurance claims, scheduling, and so on. But you've got to cut me a little slack, given the situation, right? "Fair. Okay, next. We're taking showers, but separate." I shrug, we've been taking separate showers for over a year now. This is nothing new. "But supervised. You peek on me, I peek you on. No funny business, at least not until we know how long this lasts." She waved back and forth at us.
"Deal," I say, trying to ease out of the hug, Susan's nightgown clinging in a bunch of places it really shouldn't right now, and I realize that this body's nipples are hard, jutting forward against the silk fabric, making it look very appealing. I swallow, mouth suddenly dry, and realize that might be why Susan-in-me was rocking the boner. "But I really don't care if you masturbate my dick," I chip in. "I just don't want to be there for it." She rolls her eyes at me. Apparently that grace only goes one way.
I gesture back to the cold shower, "Unless you're gonna start cranking the hog, I suggest you get back in that cold shower." I watch Susan pilot my naked body back into the shower, a shout of frustration ringing out as the frigid water cascades down over her. Sucker, I think to myself. Should have just masturbated.
"Which one is your conditioner?," she asks, her body shivering with the cold, and I laugh.
"Don't use that stuff," I tell her helpfully. "Just grab the shampoo, hit your face with it, put soap on the washcloth and hit the high points like face, armpits, groin, and butt-crack, and you're close enough to done."
Muttering curses about the inadequacy of male bathing habits, she does as I instruct, finally stepping out. I hand her a towel without looking and I can practically hear my body's teeth chattering as she continues cursing at me, at morning wood, and at cold showers. Chuckling, I reset the temperature for warm and wait for the water to get up to temperature. I pull the nightgown off over my head, pausing for a moment to appreciate the now-nude breasts bouncing pleasantly on my chest, before sliding down the panties.
Susan is having trouble looking at me, and I ignore her as I step into the shower, the hot water cascading down my body as I groan with pleasure. This feels great. I get my body all soaking wet, running my hands through the long hair in fascination, as Susan manages to finally talk, voice sounding strained. "You gonna stay in there all day, or actually get clean?"
Mumbling to myself, I start to dig through the collection of bottles, looking for one that says shampoo. Eventually, I pick one up, only to hear the immediate correction. "No, not that one, the mauve one." What the fuck is mauve? I set down the bottle and grab another at random, opening it and getting ready to squeeze. "Only about a dime sized amount, that one is expensive." Sighing, I pour a goodly amount out into my hands and hear Susan growling in frustration as I start lathering whatever the mystery bottle contained into my hair.
"Now what?"
"Conditioner. That one, to your left. No, your other left." I grab the bottle, shaking it experimentally, but can't seem to feel any liquid in it. I pop the cap, peering it, and it looks almost solid. I've seen more malleable concrete on a job site. I start to tilt the bottle toward the shower head, figuring a bit of water might loosen it up, and Susan leaps into the shower, ripping the bottle out of my hands. "You can't do that!" Two hundred thirty pounds of wet, horny husband crashes into the shower and I'm suddenly pinned against the shower wall.
Flustered, I look at her - at me - and then back down at the me that I currently am. She's still nude, having dropped the towel when she jumped my body back into the shower. The warm water is cascading down, rivers forming across my old body's muscular chest as one strong hand grabs the conditioner bottle from me, the other on my waist to steady us both. She's close to me, so close I can practically feel her breath, and suddenly that erection is back, jutting into my chest, as she stares down at me, a blush barely visible under the stubble. Now I'm blushing, hard, and having trouble meeting her gaze, but absolutely not staring down at the big cock pressing into my bare chest.
"Uhm." I don't know what to say right now.
"Yeah." Seems like she doesn't either. "I, uh. Let me help you with the conditioner."
"Okay."
She gently turns me around, facing away from her, and scrubs the shampoo out of my hair, helping me lean back and rinse it. Then she lathers in the conditioner. I, unfortunately, accidentally lean back into the giant boner multiple times, each instance triggering a strangled "Sorry" from both of us, and I feel something starting to warm in my stomach.
"I'm really sorry about that," she finally says.
I shrug, still not looking at her. "Don't be. It's mostly involuntary. When I - any guy, really - sees an attractive woman, there's a good chance we get hard. More so if there's an emotional connection there, too. After years of marriage, that's just life. When I see my naked wife, I am guaranteed to get a boner. And if you include touching? Good luck getting that thing to go away." Deciding to change the subject, "Are we done here?"
There's silence from behind me. Long, almost uncomfortable silence. I almost turn around. Almost.
"Ed..."
I don't look back. I can't. Part of is that I don't want to see my body sporting a giant erection, struggling not to jam it into Susan's body and get our fuck on for the first time this year. Part of is that I don't want to see the expression I'm sure is on Susan's face right now. Yeah, hurts, doesn't it? When you want someone, and they don't reciprocate? I am such an asshole.
The shower turns off and Susan steps out, picking the towel back up and wrapping it around my body's waist, then handing a towel in for me to dry off with. She refuses to meet my eyes as I step out a minute later, and I know that I've hurt her. I regret everything immediately, but I don't know how to make it better. We've grown too used to that constant sniping at each other and the words can't be undone.
"Let's get dressed," I finally suggest, and she nods. We walk toward our closet, a large walk-in unit with my stuff in one corner and hers sprawling through most of the rest of it. I grab a pair of boxers, gym shorts, and a t-shirt and hand them over to Susan. "This works for now." She nods, accepting the garments, and puts them on.
After some pacing back and forth, she finally comes up with a set of clothes that she's willing to allow me to dress her body in. I glance at them, blush, and then up at her, where she's struggling to meet my gaze, but also trying to frown disapprovingly at me. The combination doesn't work, and I ignore both emotions she's broadcasting. Accepting the garments, I glance at them, sighing.
"This is so weird," I complain, dropping the towel as I step into a pair of panties, tugging them up over this body's generous hips. She'd at least picked ones that were mostly normal, but the lace is digging into my butt and feels so soft across my body's new lower equipment, that I'm starting to wonder if the air conditioner broke in here. Susan has spun to face the wall, and I can see the back of my old body's neck is beet red, normally a sign of extreme embarrassment that I'm used to from my own experiences.
Yeah, fair. None of us are comfortable with this.
I sit down on Susan's closet stool, tugging on a pair of leggings, growling as I have to try to smooth the fabric down, getting it to stretch right on these toned legs of hers. Next, she hands me a sports bra and I try, really, to tug it on. After a minute of cursing, I toss it to the side and decide I can worry about that later, just slipping on the tank top that she'd included in the garment pile. Standing up, I glance at myself in the closet's mirror.
Susan's body looks, as always, fucking spectacular - and the leggings and tight tank top doesn't detract from that in the slightest. Her nipples - mine now, I suppose - are suddenly hard, tips jutting against the soft fabric of the top and tenting it. In the mirror's reflection, I get a glimpse of Susan, in my body, a sudden expression of desire on that face and reaching down, making an adjustment in the gym shorts as that erection is back once more.
Oh. Well, that's complicated.