Christy’s eyes widened when she opened the bathroom door.
I ignored her and basked in the steam that billowed out.
“Um… did you forget something?”
“Crap! Environmental control. We just let all the heat out of the bathroom.”
“No, I mean something else.”
I glanced down at myself. “You’ve seen it all before.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” She shrugged and moved close to the sink.
I stepped behind her and closed the door. Then I spread my towel on the toilet seat.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m just gonna sit here and warm up for a bit.”
Her expression grew concerned when she realized that I was still shivering. My poor penis had retreated as far as it could, and my scrotum looked like a pink walnut. I gasped when I leaned against the porcelain of the toilet tank, but my skin was almost as cold itself.
“I used all the hot water,” Christy said. “Sorry. Can I do anything to warm you up?”
“Sit on my lap?” I suggested.
“Do you wanna cover up with a towel or something?”
“Nah, your bottom’s soft enough. Besides, your towel will keep us honest.”
She rolled her eyes but turned and sat on my lap.
I wrapped my arms around her.
“I’m not poking you with my bony butt, am I?”
“Nope. And I
“Thanks for all your help,” she said. “Not just tonight, but everything.”
“My pleasure.” I chuckled tiredly and closed my eyes. “It’s
She snuggled closer.
I patted her bottom and rested my other hand on her bare thigh.
She gasped at how cold it was but didn’t push it away. Instead, she kissed my chest and sighed deeply.
“You can say that again,” I mumbled.
She sighed, and I felt her breathing change.
I fell asleep about a minute after she did.
I woke a couple of hours later. Christy was still on my lap. I flexed aching muscles. Then I cradled her in my arms and stood. She sighed but didn’t wake.
Her towel slid open and revealed a tantalizing expanse of thigh and hip. I was tempted to peek at her bush, but I behaved myself. I carried her into her bedroom and laid her atop the bedspread. It was clear of clothes for a change.
I gently pulled it down and then covered her.
“Sweet dreams,” I said, and kissed her forehead.
Then I shuffled down the hall and to my own dreams.
I went to Professor Joska’s office the next morning. I told him about Christy’s project and asked if I could skip class to help her. I promised to get the notes from Freddie.
“Professor O’Riordan mentioned that you were helping Miss Carmichael,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
“So you aspire to be Michelangelo?”
“I’d rather aim too high and fall short than aim too low and hit the mark.”
He knew the actual quote and didn’t even try to hide his approval.
“Very well,” he said. “I’ll see that Mr. DeFeo gets an extra copy of today’s handouts.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome. Good day.”
“Thanks. And Happy Thanksgiving. See you next week.”
“Yes, Happy Thanksgiving.”
I dashed down to the studio where Christy was already at work. I snuck up behind her and covered her goggles.
“Who’s your favorite replicant?”
She dropped her tools and threw her arms around my neck.
“Told you I’d help,” I said.
“But I thought you had class. Professor Joska.”
“I told him I’d be here. He was cool with it. And I’d already decided to skip my Structures class. So I’m yours to command.”
Her eyes glinted with mischief, but she wasn’t
whatever she was thinking.
“Give me a sec to get my gear on,” I said, “and I’ll start working on the rough spots. You can do finish work. Okay?”
And so we went to work. Christy skipped her classes as well, and we kept at it through lunch and into the afternoon. I used rasps and progressively finer files to smooth away the remaining seams. She checked my handiwork and gave me the go-ahead to polish the stone to its finished look. She switched to detail work and used tiny chisels and sandpaper to highlight features that the mold had blurred. Siobhan checked on us between her own classes and seemed happy with our progress.
We finished with a couple of hours to spare, which surprised all of us.
Christy and Siobhan surveyed the sculpture from every angle. I turned it on the dolly so they could look at it in the best light. Then they ran their fingertips over it, feeling for imperfections we couldn’t see.
Once they were happy with everything, we gave the statue a thorough cleaning. Christy headed off to Siobhan’s studio to gather the rest of her exhibition pieces, while I wheeled the dolly toward the atrium. Other artists were already getting ready for the show, so I recruited three guys to help me (one was Jonas, the plexiglass sculptor).
Together we manhandled the statue onto its proper pedestal. I slotted the retaining bolts through the holes in the base. Then I tightened the nuts and covered the bolts with plaster plugs.
We stood back and enjoyed our unofficial preview of the sculpture.
“Damn,” Jonas said, “I’m so jealous of her talent.”
