Page 28 of The Heartstrings of Harry
“Oh fuck!”
I stared down in alarm at the cum-sized spatter down the front of me.
“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!”
I put down the bottle and carefully tried to wipe up the lube with both hands. Unfortunately, all I did was smear it farther up my T-shirt.
“Fuck.”
I stared from the smudge to my lube-slippery hands, the air filling with the smell of peaches.
Panic was setting in fast.
I tried to turn the tap on, but my hand slipped off the silver faucet, hitting Dean’s toothbrush which proceeded to topple off the bathroom counter—charging stand and all—and land in the open toilet with a splash.
With a buzz the toothbrush came to life like it was suddenly possessed, the swiveling bristles swirling against the side of the bowl.
Sparks hissed from the electrical socket where the charger cord stretched from the wall into the toilet.
I jumped with fright…
And horror…
And a feeling of revulsion that made my stomach turn.
“Oh no, no, no!”
Grimacing with dread, I peered down at Dean’s toothbrush buzzing away in the toilet, cleaning the sides of the bowl.
I knew I had to rescue it, I couldn’t just leave it there, but more sparks fizzed from the electrical socket and I knew I had to get the charger cord out of the wall first.
My hands were still lube-slicked.
I used my left hand to turn the other tap on.
Unfortunately, it slipped straight off the silver faucet as well, this time hitting the bottle of cologne. It fell to the floor and an explosion of fragrance—pine needles and mountain rain—wafted through the air.
“Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me.”
I crouched quickly and scooped up some of the large shards of glass.
The toothbrush continued buzzing.
The socket zapped and sizzled.
I winced as I cut my hand on a piece of glass.
“Ow! Fuck!”
That’s when there came the knock on the bathroom door. “Harry? You okay in there?” It was Dean.
I gasped.
My eyes scanned the bathroom -turned -disaster -zone—taking in the lube on my shirt, the blood on my hand, the smashed cologne bottle on the floor, the fireworks coming from the socket, thebuzzzzzzzzzzzof the toothbrush cleaning the toilet—and I quickly realized my chances of salvaging this wreckage were slim to none.
The next few moments wouldnotbe big on dignity.
I drew a deep breath, unlocked the door, and in no uncertain terms said, “I think I owe you a new toothbrush.”
