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the necessary areas. Unfortunately, it was starting to
become obvious.
Now that the main structure of the phallus was complete,
Tracy and Rory were working closer together, clipping
and shearing, and it was quite clear to Tracy that the hot
water situation would soon make being anywhere near him
an extremely unpleasant place to be.
He took a deep breath. Rory, I have a favour to ask.
Shoot. Rory gave a little grin, obviously pleased with
himself for using such an up-to-date word.
It's the hot water at Tiny Cottage.
What about it?
Well, there isn't any.
Oh weally? Since when?
Tracy sighed. Well, there's never been any. Not since I've
lived there anyway. And I just wondered if it would be
okay for me to use the shower here? It's just that I can't
bear the cold water any more and I'm worried that I'm
starting to get a bit ... He gave his armpit a little sniff,
... ripe.
Rory turned to face him. Why on Earth didn't you ask me
before? He looked a little hurt, and Tracy felt foolish all
of a sudden.
He shrugged. I don't know. It seemed a bit rude.
Well of course it's not wude. In fact, it would be wude
not to. Do you want to have one now? You can have a bath
or a shower.
The thought of a cascade, or even just a dribble of hot
water, brought a flush of excitement to Tracy's cheeks.
Yes please. I'd love to.
* * * *
Tracy opened the door of the bathroom to be greeted by
another seventies decorating oddity. The burgundy carpet
that ran through the house continued into this room,
forming a vibrant, clashing platform for the avocado suite.
The enormous round bath in the centre of the room
wouldn't have looked out of place in a tacky Vegas motel
the type that charged by the hour. While Tracy would
have loved to have plunged himself into a deep lagoon of
steaming water, he didn't have the patience for the huge
bath to fill, so he opted for the shower instead.
He had underestimated the joy that could be brought forth
by a steady stream of hot water. He stood under the
heaviest part of the flow, allowing the warmth to flood
over him. As the steam rose up, Tracy closed his eyes and
reached out for the shower gel. His hand instead brushed
against a bar of soap. Of course, Rory would use soap.
Understated and practical, that's what soap was. Tracy
lifted it to his nose and took a long sniff. And utterly,
utterly arousing.
Although it was still a substantial bar of soap, the edges
were smooth where they had rubbed against skin. Rory's
skin. Tracy started lathering. His eyes rolled back a little,
as he allowed himself to indulge in the sensuality of the
soap's caress. The masculine aroma was so distinctively
Rory, it took very little thought for Tracy to imagine the
man's powerful frame pressed up against him, his large
hands slipping sensuously up and down Tracy's slender
body, gliding over his chest, pausing to feel the thud of his
heart, before dipping downwards to his waist. And then,
after lightly brushing against his hips, coming to rest on
Tracy's smooth buttocks, and giving them a tender squeeze.
Tracy gave a little whimper of pleasure. He moved his
hands to the front again, using one to cup his balls, while
the other held his cock in a light grip. His heels rocked
gently backwards and forwards in the shower tray, the
motion pushing his swollen bell end through the circle
made by his fingers.
While he had certainly honed his masturbatory skills to
Gold Medal standards during his enthusiastic participation
in the the Wank Olympics, training sessions had always
been devoted to speed. However, now with the steamy
vapour enveloping him, he began to question his previous
stance that artistic merit was overrated. This was indeed a
most beautiful wank, of the kind he had never experienced
before. A whole body sensation, from the roots of his hair,
to the tips of his curled up toes. He rocked some more,
giving in to the all encompassing bliss.
The intensity of his explosion against the shower screen
nearly knocked him off his feet, and his back pressed
against the tiled wall behind him as he shuddered and
shook with the force of it. He continued to stroke his
softening cock, lightly rubbing the remaining traces of his
orgasm over the head, not willing to give up the moment
quite yet.
After reluctantly using the last few precious drops of hot
water to wash away all traces of his climax, Tracy
stepped out of the shower and dried himself with the fluffy
towel Rory had given him. He couldn't quite bear to sully
the sensation of cleanliness by putting his sweaty pants or
T-shirt back on, and he dressed quickly, just wearing his
loose pair of tracky bottoms. The thought of pulling his
stinky socks back onto his freshly cleaned feet repulsed
him, so he opted instead to go barefoot, and padded down
the corridor, his toes sinking into the thick carpet.
The bathroom was just one of many rooms off the large
galleried landing, and as Tracy trotted along, confronted
by several closed doors, he realised that he wasn't sure
how to get back to the wood-panelled living room to find
Rory. Had Rory told him the bathroom was the fifth or the
sixth room along? The pure unadulterated joy of hot water
teamed with a top-notch orgasm had left his mind fuzzy.
He looked back down the landing only to realise that
because he had closed the bathroom door on his way out,
he didn't even know which door he was supposed to be
counting from.
Rory! he shouted. He waited for a moment for a reply. It
didn't come.
He leant over the balconied area, and yelled again. Rory!
I'm lost! Nothing. He'd just have to try a few doors until
he found the right one. He opened the one opposite him to
find a space so large and with such high ceilings it could
have swallowed up the whole of Tiny Cottage, still with
room for more. And yet it was filled with nothing. He
pulled the heavy door closed again.
Tracy turned the handle of the next door along, which
stuck solidly in its frame. Tracy gave it a hard shove with
his shoulder. The door shuddered for a moment, before the
multiple layers of paint on the frame gave in their tug-of-
war, and it flew open. Tracy tumbled through, landing face
first onto the carpet, cursing his inelegant entrance into the
room. But the words became lost in his throat somewhere,
as he looked up. His mouth gaped open. An array of
paintings lined the walls, distinctive in their strong brush
strokes and stunning use of light. They were in a style he
had only ever seen once before, when Rory had revealed
his beautiful phallus painting. The effect was simply
magical.
Tracy got up and dusted himself down just as his mum
had told him to do and viewed the bewitching display.
Some of the paintings were mere concepts contrasts of
dark and light, blends of colour indicating the depth of
shadow against various textures and surfaces. Others were
more realistic in style. One painting showed a view of
Twink's Bottom Manor from the village. The building
loomed large and imposing above the viewer. The slightly
naive style indicated to Tracy that this may well have been
one of Rory's earlier works. The privet hedge in the
picture that reached only to the top of the ground floor
windows confirmed it. It was painted when Rory was a
child.
The one below intrigued Tracy. A thin elderly woman
stood, arms outstretched, trying to reach right out of the
painting to grasp something with her tiny gnarled hands.
Despite the subtle halo of light glowing against the thin
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