Vadim Startsev's room was just like mine, one of the unpretentious yet luxurious offerings in the hotel's South Tower. As soon as he opened the door with his card key, I felt a cozy wave of heat envelop me. "Welcome home, Remy," he quipped with a gentle smile. "Make yourself comfortable." I did, sitting down quickly on an unoccupied—and thus still-made—double bed.
"Thank you for inviting me up here," I said.
He stood hesitantly in front of me and paused. "I'm...trying to figure out what to do with you."
This made me guffaw so hard that I let out an unceremonious snort! "Uh, I can think of a few suggestions," I finally said when my brain finally regained control of my laughing reflex.
Ugh!
I thought.
You must think I'm a total idiot. Chess players aren't supposed to act like THIS at all!
Before I could mope any more, however, I caught an odd scent in the air: "What's that smell?"
Vadim gave a slight start. "I'd hoped—I hadn't wanted—
bah!"
Trailing off, he turned toward his own bed and began to fumble inside of a gargantuan black duffel bag on top of it. "I sweat a lot at these tournaments, unfortunately," he admitted at last. "I'm soaked straight through."
"You mean your armpits?" I asked and sniffed the air again. "Oh. I won't look if you take your shirt off and put on more deodorant. I might want to do the same before the next round."
"No. Not there." I saw what he now had in his hands: a new pair of black nylon boxer shorts!
"Uh..."
Stupid, stupid me!
Why couldn't I stop
saying
that? "In that case I definitely won't look."
"Even if you want to?"
I flopped back on the bed, letting myself stare up at the ceiling. "Blah.
Touche
."
Vadim stepped toward me. "Remy?" he said teasingly. "For your forfeit, the task you must perform is to watch me in the bathroom as I wash up. I like it when women admire my body."
"Any women?"
"Of course, but especially cute beginner-to-intermediate players who try the Scheveningen on me." He offered me his hand. I took it, and he pulled me back up to a sitting position. "Come."
I did. The bathroom was like all other hotel-room bathrooms: sterile, white and unappealing. However, the vast selection of plush towels and washcloths did hold several possibilities...
"Hang on a minute," Vadim said. "I need to get some more supplies—namely, the body wash."
The area between my legs began to swell and ache just a little, in an exquisite way. While no one was looking, I gave it a rub through my pants. Hopefully, Vadim wouldn't notice just how much I yearned for him—and how wet
I'd
inevitably get while
he
was getting all wet and soapy. That was my distinct advantage: no guy can ever really tell if a girl is horny or not!
Guys acquire an embarrassing bulge in their pants if they think nasty thoughts and aren't careful. We women can imagine all the deliciously dirty things we want and won't have any errant parts of our bodies betray us! Of course, we have to keep eyes and feelings in check...
Vadim returned, wearing only his tight and sweaty boxer shorts. "Remy? Are you all right?"
Only now did I realize I was staring open-mouthed. "Yeah. Yeah. It's just—you're hot!"
The look in his cunning dark eyes said
Thank you,
but also
I know, darling. (Men...ha!)
He crooked his right index finger, beckoning me to follow him as he carried a rather large bottle of body wash into the bathroom and laid it on the white porcelain sink. I did and sat down on the toilet. I wasn't going to the bathroom—didn't need to. I gently perched myself on top of the lid.
The scent of him was now almost overpowering me. Not that I was complaining, aside from the fact that it was a combination of copious amounts of sweat and male musk. What he needed was a thorough lathering with plenty of soapsuds, not just a quick "freshening up"! I suspect Vadim himself knew it, as I was trying hard not to wrinkle my nose (and failing.)
"I'm so sorry!" I said miserably. "It's just—"
"Yes?" He turned on the sink faucet so hot water started gushing into it full-blast.
"You
need to be scrubbed until you look like you have a Speedo® on, made out of soapsuds!"
Vadim said nothing, taking two clean washcloths from the rack nearest the sink on the wall. I could tell he was looking askance at me, even though he was trying to pretend he wasn't. I was trying not to stare into his eyes, those black pools that were two vortices of fatal bliss...
Luckily, I had something else at which to stare once he had removed his boxer shorts! "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked me. "I don't want to make you at all uncomfortable."
I smiled. "Trust me, I've seen men's—bishops—before. Just not one as beautiful as yours."
There!
It was out. No shame, no guilt, no screaming voices of my parents in my head. I'd just told a man that his manhood was a work of art, and what on Earth was the matter with that?
Vadim chuckled. "I see." The sink was full, and so he slowly dipped one of the washcloths into its steaming depths. "I am also sorry," he said.
My heart leapt into my throat. "Why?" Was he going to tell me to get out?
"You've told me exactly what I need," he announced, "and I fully agree. However, Remy, the words 'be scrubbed' have betrayed you. Thus, for your loser's forfeit...you shall do so."
My cheeks flushed desert-hot. So did another part of my body. "Is that an order,
monsieur?"
"Oui."
