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This is a story I’ve thought of sharing many times, but the short version sounds too unlikely to be true and the long version was just too long. But this stunning memory remained at the top of my spank bank for so many years that I thought it was worth telling. So the short version of this story is that a hot stranger asked me to help her in the shower, not some wack job with a fetish, a good, normal, take-home-to-mom type of girl. Like I said, sounds impossible, so on to the long version!

In the prime of my drinking and partying days I ran with a tight group of friends. One hot summer day we were seeing off one of “our” girls, Jo, who was leaving the warm weather to work a ski mountain in Australia. The other reason why we were getting together is that she had arranged an apartment exchange with some girl who was a semi-pro mountain biker from Australia who was coming over here for the biking season and she wanted to introduce her to our group. Her name was Caroline and she arrived hours later than expected so we were already well sauced. She was hot and I thought our group did a great show of trying to impress her in the best way that young 20s know how; taking the party to wee hours, drinking hard, buying rounds, creating a dance floor where one was never meant to be, and belting out the lyrics to anything singable. Apparently she wasn’t as taken with us as we were with her because she didn’t make an effort to get in touch with any of us again.

I didn’t think of her until a month later when Jo catches me on chat. It’s 2:30am and I just got home from a night of bar hopping. It turns out that she got a message from Caroline that was heavy on panic but light on details with a “I don’t know where else to turn” type of vibe. I was not her first choice to ask but she can’t get a hold of anyone else at this hour, so she convinces me to go check in on her the next day.

I arrive at Jo’s late morning feeling weird about the situation and knock. I hear footsteps right away then soon after the doorknob starts rattling. It rattles for far to long before someone kicks or hits the door and swears. Then I hear someone, presumably Caroline call out “Come in it’s open”. I can tell the voice is just on the other side of the door so I ask if I should come back at a better time. The reply is urgent, “No! Please open the door!”. I cautiously open it and recognize Caroline right away despite looking far less attractive than when I last saw her. She had on old makeup that was only partially washed off and her face had that red and puffy look that comes from hours of crying. The situation finally makes sense when I see that she has casts on both arms. On the right hand, the cast completely immobilized the thumb and went way up the hand. The left was more like a cast you usually see and should have offered more mobility, but all her fingers were black, purple and hugely swollen making every task, including opening the door, a hard one.

As much as she needed physical help, she needed a therapy session to share the shit-show that had been her life over the past 3 days. The kitchen was a disaster from prying open various leftovers and snacks with her teeth then leaving out the containers. Her last meal was cereal from a box that she had accidentally dropped so she bent down and ate it with her mouth off the floor. Eating like a dog in a country far from friends and family is what finally broke her. I was able to make her first decent meal with groceries she had around the house and fed it to her. It was humbling for both of us and made the new friendship seem more intimate than it deserved to be after just a couple hours. As she talked, I cleaned up the lunch and her various messes kitchen. She told me everything starting from the mountain bike race that did her in.

It happened on a Thursday and a “sort of” boyfriend got her to and from the hospital. She shared much but I was never quite clear on the nature of their relationship. I know that she had him help her out of her sweaty racing gear when she got home in the middle on the night on the accident day but there was some sort of dispute when he expected to sleep in her bed. I don’t know if they were not intimate, or if she just didn’t feel like sharing a space after a gruelling day ending with 12 hours of doctors, x-rays, and getting casts. But she wants someone to be there, so he stayed on the couch. I am trying to see both sides of the story while only hearing her version, but I’m guessing that he is stewing over being shunned the night before while she is oblivious to this and expected breakfast and someone to help her get dressed. For the wardrobe side of things, she wanted jeans and a t-shirt, which would later prove the be disastrous, and for breakfast she suggested he check if there were enough eggs. I gather that she got her own panties on, but expected him to help with the bra. Now some sort of fight started when she faced the other way for him to put it on. The word she hung on was “deserved”. “Can you believe he thought he deserved to see something for helping me?”. He said he was going to leave but she got him to do the bra and pull on her jeans before he walked out the door. He left an empty pan with nothing but sizzling butter while the eggs sat on the counter. That was 2 days prior and I had just put away the same eggs and washed the pan with the, now congealed, butter. It was a Friday, so it was reasonable to imagine that he would have to work. Through text, which she did tediously with the last 2 fingers of her left hand, she figured he was coming back to sort out dinner at the end of the day, but he never did.

Now we get to why jeans were a poor choice. Despite trying for hours, she could not undo the button and nature has a way of demanding that the button be undone. She held on well into the evening while calling the BF many times to only get voicemail when eventually she squatted in the tub and peed through her jeans. The full admission of this was another example of how the odd circumstances were leading to an unusual level of sharing between us. He did eventually show up but unfortunately for him, he arrived not soon enough to prevent the disaster and not long enough for her to cool her anger, and all words exchanged were far from pleasant. I don’t know exactly what happened in the awkward moments that would later be defined as their break-up, and her being relieved of her piss-soaked jeans, but somehow before he left, she ended up in the dress that she was wearing when she greeted me when I opened the door.

Now well fed, in a clean house, and having unloaded to a new friend, she was feeling much better but the next thing she desperately wanted was a shower. It had been 4 days since she last shower and one of those was sweating it up in a mountain bike race, the next involved her pissing herself, plus she had been wearing the same clothes for the past 40 hours. Now please excuse where my mind went when she asked if I’d help her with that. Everything that I’d done up to that point was in actual human interest in helping someone with a crappy situation. But I must admit that my mind went straight to porn music. The reality of what she wanted was much more sobering. She asked if I could tape some plastic bags around the casts, undo her bra, and she would manage the rest.
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That's all the time I have. I'm a little disappointed, I really wanted to write about the good stuff, but I think the preamble is probably necessary. I don't need comments or likes to post the rest, I will get it up for sure because the part that's left over is the stuff in my spank bank so I'll enjoy writing it. However, if there are comments and likes then I am sure to get to it faster. Just wanted to let you know that it's not a ransom story demanding your admiration before it continues.