Bad Like Me, Chapter 3

  • Posted on May 11, 2015 at 3:43 pm

By eloquent delinquent

“Will you wash my back?”

Charlotte freezes. The shoulder strap on her training bra droops down her arm. Carefully, she sets down the brush and begins a slow retreat from the room. Megan’s back is already turned, bent forward, she’s looking up over her shoulder. Charlotte takes another halting step. “I – I don’t I, think that maybe…”

Megan’s expectant face falls, eyes plaintive. “Mrs Baxter won’t, either. She won’t even come in here with me.”

Without a single thought Charlotte stops in her tracks and kneels next to Megan, and the little girl’s disappointment blossoms into pure sunshine. She looks away, wiggling her shoulders invitingly, as Charlotte takes the body wash in one hand and a loofah in the other. She pumps a little soap onto it, but the second it touches Megan, she jerks away. “No! It’s too scratchy.”

For a second Charlotte looks desperately around for a washcloth, but then something switches in her head, she inhales deeply, holds it, pumps the soap directly onto her hand, and places it on Megan’s back.

The breath escapes her in a long, astonished sigh, as the sensation of Megan’s slick, warm, soft, impossibly fine skin comes through to her. Her hand moves slowly, savoring, across the girl’s shoulder blades in long circles. She’s touching her, she’s touching this lovely naked girl. Charlotte dips her other hand in the sudsy bathwater, then adds it to the first, and she’s more stroking and rubbing than washing, exploring her flesh, but from Megan’s soft little “Mmm”s she doesn’t seem to mind. Her pleasure is mine, and mine, hers. It’s a circuit, she thinks, and her body glows so hotly it blots out her doubt.

“Stand up,” she finds herself saying.

Megan obediently pulls herself to her feet, a foamy sheen sliding slowly down her silky bottom and legs, and Charlotte gets up on her knees to match her, soapy hands following the bubbles down her body. At first she just lathers Megan’s pert bottom, mesmerized by its yielding firmness, by seeing her own hands doing this. But gradually her soaping gets more general, returning to her back, her shoulders, that magical curve above her bottom, the backs of her legs. Megan lets out little contented hums and coos. Then Charlotte dips her hand in the warm water and reaches around to Megan’s tummy, gliding all over the vulnerable, satiny flesh and then up to her chest, over the little pads of her undeveloped breasts, running again and again over the hot hard points of her nipples.

Now she’s soaping her back and her front at the same, and can feel Megan’s breathing getting deeper, faster. The girl’s arms rest at her sides, but her hands make little rubbing motions over her hips. Charlotte leans closer, her front getting a little wet, her stroking getting relaxed, more luxurious. Charlotte’s own bottom is rolling in slow thoughtless pumps, her breath so ragged she can hear it.

“Turn around.”

When Megan does her eyes search out Charlotte’s, and there’s confusion there, and hunger, and pleasure, but mostly there’s sweetness. They gaze at each other, feelings mirrored, as Charlotte rinses her hands, cups them with water, and begins gently rinsing away the lather. Starting at the shoulders, she brings the water up again and again, pouring the little handfuls down Megan’s body, then smoothing her clean and sleek. Megan’s eyes fall dreamily shut. Charlotte watches her own hands as she does this, seeing everywhere she’s touching Megan, rinsing her chest then placing a hand on it. She reaches around and sluices her back, and this she can only do by feel. As the last handful of water back there pours over Megan’s bottom, Charlotte slides her hand all around the luscious swell. And when she runs a finger slowly down through the snug crack between her cheeks, she touches her tight little butthole, fingertip exploring its texture, and Megan gives a sigh and a shiver.

Leaning back, removing one hand from Megan’s chest and scooping them both into the water, Charlotte rinses the foam down the girl’s tummy, over her plump pelvis, and down her legs. But her gaze is fixed on that secret little place, the shiny bare cleft of her kitty, shy between her legs. Charlotte’s heart begins to pound, pulse singing in her ears, as she considers it, staring. She dips into the tub, wraps both wet hands around one soft leg, starts at the top rinses down. Dips again, and does the other. Back and forth, one then the other.

She dips once more, but this time only one hand comes up, trailing up the inside of young girl’s leg, until it comes to rest on the hot delicate squishy softness of Megan’s kitty. Charlotte squeezes gently and Megan gasps, mouth an ‘O’, brows high in surprise. Her eyes pop open wide and lock onto Charlotte’s. Megan’s hands leave her hips, move as if to push Charlotte’s searching hand away, but she hesitates and Charlotte squeezes the girl’s kitty again, starts a rhythm, middle finger settling into the wet tender cleft and sliding softly. Megan’s hips rock slightly in response, she lets out a broken, “Ah-ahhhh,” and her hands waver over Charlotte’s wrist for a moment. Then she raises them, pulls them in against her shoulders, like she’s draping an invisible towel across her front.

Charlotte continues stroking Megan’s kitty, pressing a bit harder, diddling her fingertips. She knows what she likes, and is fascinated at what it’s doing to the girl, her loins starting to move against her hand in their own time. She watches Megan’s face, her mouth slackening as she breathes hard, the color blooming on her cheeks, and the way her eyelids droop even as her brows stay arched in shock. Oh, look at her, she feels so good as I rub her kitty, so tender and wet…

When she pulls her hand way, Megan snaps alert. “Why’d you stop?” she urgently whispers. Charlotte is roughly rucking her skirt up to her waist, forcing her panties down. Megan gazes fascinated at Charlotte’s naked hips and fuzzy kitty, realization dawning as the older girl slips her hand between her own legs. She looks back to Megan, grinning, panting, sliding her other hand up Megan’s leg and nestling it back in her kitty, and the girl sighs with something like relief.

She matches the time for both of them, cupping, stroking, squeezing, fiddling. Her own body urges her on, and she speeds up, applying more pressure. Her own kitty is as wet as Megan’s, she can hear the slick noises her hands make in both of them, her hips thrust against her fingers in sharp, demanding jerks. And it’s so good, so good as she watches Megan begin to stiffen, back arching, winding up with tension. She goes, “Uh, Uh, Uh-huh,” and her hands shake. Charlotte imagines the pleasure building inside her, so much like her own, and her hands move even faster and she wonders, will she get the shock can a little girl get the shock oh I want to give her the shock

But instead, the shock rushes up on her, sudden and huge and electrifying, she cries out as her body desperately humps her busy hand. It grips her for a long time, continually erupting, the most she’s ever felt, and when it lets go of her she’s floaty. She looks up sleepily to Megan as the waves start to subside, her hand still working the girl’s kitty as if on its own. Megan looks on, her expression mixed up but excited by what’s happened to Charlotte. And the tight rhythm gets stronger, straining toward something, her voice climbing in pitch as she goes “Oh, Oooh, Uh-huh, Uh-huh!” Charlotte sees the girl’s face and chest flush bright pink, and suddenly Megan’s legs clamp tight around her hand, she lets out a squeak, and the girl’s hand flashes down and clutches Charlotte’s wrist, pressing her fingers hard to her kitty as her whole body shudders against it.

Her breathless panting slows, her body unwinds and sags, and Charlotte uses the hand still in her groin to lower the trembling girl back into the soothing water. They lay there for a while, Charlotte’s head resting on the edge of the tub, Megan lying back, lazily sending little waves over herself.

And then, as if waking, Charlotte’s awareness of what she’s done begins to creep back in. She’s here, on Mrs Carmody’s bathroom floor, with her panties around her knees and fingers that smell of the bad thing. She’s done it, she’s been bad in front of somebody, somebody knows what she does, her secret is out. Even worse, she’s done something bad to somebody, to Mrs Carmody’s little daughter, the one she’s supposed to be babysitting, the one she’s supposed to take care of, and she did it to her anyway.

Megan opens the drain, and the water gurgling, wasted, matches her sinking feeling. Almost queasy with shame, she gropes at her own panties and pulls them up, starts unrumpling her skirt. Oh no what time is it what happens when Mrs Carmody gets home oh no oh no. She reaches for her top and clutches it to her chest, her eyes wide.

Behind her, Megan asks, “Will you help me dry off?”

Almost mechanically, Charlotte lays her top over the hamper and reaches up for one of the yellow bath sheets hanging from the bar. Of course she’ll help Megan dry off, she thinks, resigned. She’ll use any excuse to handle the young girl’s naked body; she’s the most horrible babysitter that ever lived. Megan’s still a little shaky, holding onto the edge of the tub as she climbs out, her sleek golden body posing in such a darling, pouting curve that Charlotte can’t help but stare. The older girl fluffs the towel over her hands, stretches out her arms with it draped between them as if to receive Megan in an embrace, which Megan unhesitatingly steps into, her eyes wide and searching Charlotte’s face.

Charlotte lifts the towel over the girl’s head, enveloping her, separating her, hiding from her. She dries her scalp even though it wasn’t very wet, and the rest of the initial toweling is a scrubbing, a little brusque, rougher than necessary, and she’s careful to make sure that the terrycloth stays between her and the girl’s skin. Megan meekly accepts this jostling. Eventually, it’s time to do her legs, and as she wraps a corner of the towel around the girl’s right ankle, her careful wrapping comes unraveled, Megan catches it in the crooks of her elbows and it’s swathed across her back, and Charlotte is confronted by her body, nude and glowing and smelling sweetly of soap.

She averts her eyes quickly, bending down to focus just on the leg she’s rubbing dry. Don’t look up don’t look don’t look at her kitty haven’t you done enough? She gropes for the other banner end of the towel, repeats the process on Megan’s left leg, starting at the ankle and working up, but quitting just above the knee, unable to bring herself to face what she couldn’t resist just minutes before.

She’s done all she can. Sighing, Charlotte reluctantly glances up at Megan’s face, but the girl’s gaze is fixed on Charlotte’s chest, where her current position reveals most of her budding breasts in the sling of her training bra. She tries for a second to make eye contact, but Megan is fascinated, and Charlotte is touched and flattered, surprised by the girl’s curiosity, is tempted to let herself stare at Megan some more, but that thought curdles into disgust with herself before she’s done thinking it.

“Here, finish,” she places the ends of the towel into Megan’s hands. “Where are your pajamas?”

“On the bed,” Megan replies, absently wiping the places Charlotte neglected. “I just wear on of my mom’s old t-shirts, she says I outgrow my clothes too fast.”

Charlotte stands, picks up her top, and edges out of the bathroom, Megan’s gaze following her every move. It’s a relief when she turns the corner out of her sight. A little simple deduction takes her to Megan’s room, where switching on the bedside lamp reveals a level of disorder that makes the rest of the house look tidy. The sky blue t-shirt is in a rumpled heap exactly where Megan said it would be, so she retrieves it and heads back to the bathroom.

Seeing her, Megan drops the towel, lets it gather around her feet almost like a dare. Charlotte can’t help the gasp she makes. She holds the nightshirt out at arm’s length, and Megan plucks it from her almost as diffidently, stretches it out over her head, lets it slip lightly over her body, swishing as it comes to rest just below her knees. Charlotte can’t help the pang she feels as the girl’s body is concealed any more than she could help the gasp. Megan chews her lip and looks inquisitively at the older girl. In return, Charlotte takes her hand and, without a word, leads her to bed and tucks her in.

Folding the sheet down over the coverlet, she can’t escape the concern on Megan’s face. Or is it wary? Is she afraid of me now? Charlotte’s own fears rise up like smoke.

“You can’t tell anyone what happened. Not even your mom, okay?”

“I won’t tell anyone.”

“No, it’s important. No one can ever find out. You have to swear.”

“Okay. I swear. I won’t tell.”

Charlotte can’t doubt the girl’s sincerity. But looking into her troubled face, all the other words just seem to block themselves up, jammed in a snarl. What can she say? What could possibly excuse what she just did? “It’s late. Go to sleep.”

She darts up from the bed and quickly crosses to the door when she hears Megan timidly say, “Charlotte?” She pinches her eyes shut, but turns, and watches a moment as the young girl hesitates, struggles, and finally says, “Could you leave the door open? Just a crack, okay?”

“Okay. Goodnight, Megan.”

“Goodnight,” Megan replies, immediately, urgently. Charlotte draws the door nearly closed.

The next hour and a half are agonizing. She goes through the bathroom, trying to set everything back the way it was, but she doesn’t really remember, so it’s as frustrating as it is useless. So she wraps her hair up into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, staring accusingly at her reflection in the bathroom mirror the whole time. She sits on the couch, chewing her lip, and when she can’t stand it anymore, she stands up and looks out the window at the street, and when nothing happens, she starts to pace, and at the end of each length, she’s standing in the hallway, looking at the crack left open in Megan’s door. Then, she sits back down and gnaws her lip some more.

She’s at this point in her anxious cycle when Mrs Carmody comes home, Charlotte feels a hollowness spread through her middle.

“Sorry I’m a little late.” Mrs Carmody says quietly. “Sometimes I have trouble getting the car started.”

“Oh, it’s okay.”

“How was she?”

“Fine. She was great, really.” Until I molested her.

“She’s a sweetheart, isn’t she? Well, mostly. Did she fight you on bedtime?”

“No, no. She went straight to bed right after, um, she had her bath.”

Mrs Carmody gives her an admiring glance, “Well, you must be quite the charmer. I practically have to peel her off the couch and tie her into bed.”

Charlotte laughs a little, and it sounds really nervous to her.

The mother shakes her keys. “Come on, let’s get you home. I can’t imagine what your mother will do if we get you home too late.”

In the car, she’s mostly quiet as she stares out the window, stealing occasional glances at Mrs Carmody’s profile as the streetlights shift across it. She’s so pretty, with her strong straight jaw, pouty lower lip and the stray curl dangling along her cheek. Once, Mrs Carmody catches her looking and makes a catlike grin and it’s electrifying, Charlotte can’t look away fast enough.

“I’ll bet you two got along really well,” Mrs Carmody says. “You’re both so smart, and so quiet in public. I’ll bet you’re just like her in private, though, chirping away like a bird singing in a tree.”

“I guess so. We did have fun talking, and she showed me her drawing. It’s really good. Then she wanted to braid my hair.”

The mother smiles. “It’s like you’re friends more than a babysitter. That’s okay, though. She’s probably old enough to do without, but I just feel better with someone else there. And besides, I’d like it if she had more girls to spend time with. So many of the mothers started keeping their kids away from Megan, after… after Mr Carmody and I split. I think she could use some more friends.” She sighs. “I know I could.”

They’re passing the Church now, a few lights still on in the office area. The darkened windows in front are like eyes as they pass.

Charlotte tries to recall what’s happening with the Carmodys. She knows that Oliver… er, Mr Carmody, met Mrs Carmody on mission to a big city, and that Reverend Bealing married them shortly after they returned. Then, a little over a year ago, Mr Carmody moved out, and got a divorce, even though Reverend Bealing counseled against it, causing a lot of conflict amongst the Congregation, at least at first. Less than a month later, though, Mr Carmody married Miss Roeder, the Reverend’s cousin, and suddenly all was right between the Reverend and Mr Carmody again, and Mrs Carmody had to move out of the big house on Knoxville Street and into a little one on Whitcomb Circle.

Her Dad gave his passing judgment of the whole thing one night at dinner, when the scandal was just coming to an end: “That’s the way Oliver’s always been, softhearted, more pity than sense, always taking in strays. But now he’s seen the light about that woman, and is coming back to us.”

But what happened between them, what scandalized the Congregation? It was never mentioned to Charlotte. She supposes grownups have secrets of their own. What else do they hide?

“Do you have Bible study tomorrow night?”

“No. Only on Monday and Wednesday.”

“I’ve got a few more shifts coming up. Do you think you could come back tomorrow, a little earlier? I’d really like it if you could.”

You may not feel that way after you talk to your daughter. “Um, maybe? You’ll have to call my mom first, I think.”

“Of course, sure.”

There’s a pause while Mrs Carmody turns up Pine Street.

“Everything okay, Charlotte?”

“Um. Yeah. It’s fine.”

Mrs Carmody says, “I see you every week at Bible study, and you seem… I don’t know, a little sad? Subdued.”

She shrugs uncomfortably. “Sometimes, what Christ wants from us seems so hard. I want to be true in my faith, but how can I when it seems like every week we’re finding out how full of sin everything is? Especially us. I don’t really get it, and I guess I feel dumb.”

“Can I confess something?”

Charlotte nods.

“I think sometimes the Church is too harsh on girls. Women. I know I’ve been in it for a long time, everyone I know anymore is there, but still. Doesn’t it seem strange that women have to have their hair and their clothes just so, but not the men?” She sets her chin. “I don’t know. I went to church plenty when I was young, and it wasn’t anything like this.”

“Really? I guess it seems weird, but… what else is there?”

And Mrs Carmody reaches out and she’s squeezing Charlotte’s hand. “Yeah. Exactly.”

They’re pulling up to Charlotte’s house.

“You’re a sharp girl, Charlotte Geist. I hope you and Megan do become friends. Maybe we can be, too.” She squeezes her hand again, and Charlotte, against all her shame and anxiety, feels a thrill at her attention.

“Me too. Thanks, Mrs Carmody.”

“Call me Miss Wells. No, you know what? Call me Amy.” She smiles again and cups Charlotte’s surprised face. “I’ll call your mom tomorrow. Take care, okay?”

The smile that comes to her own face is also a surprise. “I will. Goodnight.”

Charlotte’s mother is awake in her armchair and reading God’s Plan for You, but doesn’t say a word as Charlotte crosses to the stairs and goes straight up to her room. She changes into her pj’s (it’s still strange undressing in front of the open door) and climbs into bed, but spends a largely sleepless night staring into the dark, imagining the events at the Carmodys that would bring disaster to her. Imagining what her mother & the Reverend would do when they found out how awful she was.

When she finally sleeps she dreams she’s standing nervously before the Congregation, but then a heavenly, feminine voice begins to sing, the Song of Solomon 4:10, and with amazement she realizes it’s her own voice erupting out of her. And while she sings, her clothes begin to crumble and fall away as if they were made of old paper or ashes. The Congregation is riveted, shocked and rapt. Her mother is scowling, promising dreadful things. To her left, the Reverend has taken the stage, stabbing a finger at her and shouting, but she can’t hear it. Her voice rises over all of it, grips her, flows from her, and even as the last of her clothes crumble away, leaving her naked and mortified and judged, she continues to sing. She remembers it when she awakens, drifting in and out as the light slowly creeps in, letting the last hours till dawn pass in a reverie.

Then she hears the phone ring downstairs. She bolts up in a panic, stumbling into her robe and slippers, dashing downstairs, but her mother’s already hanging up the phone and it’s too late, too late.

“That was Mrs Carmody,” her mother says. “She seems pleased with the way you took care of her daughter. Wants you back today by 4:00. You should probably head straight there after school, the Church is halfway to their place already.”

Waves of relief and apprehension crash around inside of her, and there’s a swirl of other feelings beneath them that she barely recognizes yet. She finds herself numbly nodding.

“I’ll fix an extra snack for you for after school,” Charlotte’s mother says.

“Okay, Momma.” She turns to head back upstairs.

“Charlotte,” her mother says and she stops. “It’s good to see you doing something useful with your time.”

“Thank you, Momma.”

Continue on to Chapter 4

 

3 Comments on Bad Like Me, Chapter 3

  1. Euphorsyne, Thalia & Aglaia says:

    Loved it!..the story is unfolding in a lovely way, with Charlotte internally at odds with her natural desire all the while struggling with the pangs of her conservative moralized guilt…
    The bath scene in this chapter was so good!, with cute Megan accepting the companionship and sensual experience of Charlotte’s helpful washing hands, much like that which any caring, loving mother who shared a deep relationship with her daughter would show…well, maybe a bit more!

    Hoping that Mrs.Carmody, er, Miss Wells, er, Amy will become closer with Charlotte and help her to realize that feeling “bad”,..really isn’t.

    E,T&A

  2. Megan says:

    Amazing. The pacings is phenomenal. The characters are lovable. I can’t wait to get into the next chapter. By the way, this religious commentary is “beautiful” having a father who is a preacher, I can relate.

  3. sue says:

    Hadn’t read this one in awhile, yes you’re right, Megan, I agree with your comments. Enjoyed this story very much.

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