"Kirk?" she hesitantly calls. "Hey, could you get something for me?"
"Sure," I reply, trying to sound farther up the hall. "I was going to call the locksmith." She chokes off a laugh. Then is quiet.
"Kirk?" she says again. "Kirk, can you get a pair of pliers?"
"Pliers?" I ask and look in the hall closet. No pliers. I remember putting them in the bathroom drawer when I fixed the extendible mirror. "Oh, the pliers are in the bathroom drawer."
Silence. Breath. Then Shelli says, "I can't reach them."
Oh, shit. I make my way to the bathroom, treading extra heavily on the carpet to foreshadow my arrival. Through the cracked bathroom door, I can see part of Shelli's reflection in the mirror. The light is off, but I can see her looking down. Her long hair covers her face. I wonder if the toilet pipes have burst. I stand outside the door and listen for cascading water.
"Uh," I say. "Shelli...I..I'll just turn my head, OK?"
"Hurry," she whispers. The sound is soft, the effect loud.
I enter the bathroom, with my back to her and reach for the drawer. Fumbling, my fingers slip off the knob and I finally wrench the drawer out...and onto the floor. Everything falls out-Aspirins, cold lozenges, Band-Aids, razors, pliers, wire, a small vibrator, condoms, K-Y jelly, perfume. They drop onto the rug. I grab the pliers and hand them behind my back, to her. I begin to stuff the fallen debris back into the empty drawer and stop.
"Sorry," I say and back hurriedly out of the room. I walk out of the bedroom and down the hall. "Kirk!" her voice is urgent. "Kirk!"
I stop and turn back. Stop. Turn. Panic. "What?!"
"Help," she says in a small voice. I almost believe I didn't hear it. "Help," she says again. I walk back to the bedroom and poke my head in. "Yes?"
"I'm stuck," Shelli says. "My zipper's stuck."
I breathe out. Breathe in. Oh, shit.
"Help," she says. "Please?"
I swallow any modesty that I may have and move from the bedroom to the bathroom. My head is down as I enter. Maybe I should have looked up. Shelli twists her head and tries to make eye contact. Her eyes are pleading, matching her crossed legs. The pliers are on her knee.
Her jeans look very tight.
"What can I do?" I ask as I grab the pliers. The rubber handles feel wet? Sweaty?
"I can't get leverage," she says, while uncrossing. She presses her hand to her crotch, hard. She moans almost inaudibly. "I'm trying to hold it."
I crouch down in front of her. I can see the blue denim of her jeans on the white porcelain of the toilet I've scrubbed. There is heat radiating from her body as it presses into the cold commode.
Although Shelli is thin, her pelvis looks crammed inside her thinner clothes.
The seams are looking for an excuse to burst. The last time I was this close to a toilet rim, I was puking. This was a completely different feeling.
My cock rises. I put my hand on her knee. She jumps. I remove my hand.
We re-arrange our thoughts and back off from the sparking attraction. She clamps both of her hands against her jeans. Her fingers are pressing the seam into her pussy. I believe I can see her puffy cunt lips spreading out from the zipper, as it smothers them. I cant help staring.
"What do you want me to do?" I ask. She stifles a sneeze.
"Um," she says, "grab the zipper tab with the pliers..."
I wait. Her hands are locking onto her crotch. "You have to remove your hands," I say. "Okay," she replies. She moans, presses her hands hard against her jeans. The area around the zipper is slightly darker now reminiscent of new unwashed jeans. Although I am staring at her crotch, I sense her eyes rolling back, holding back the flood. Which flood, I do not know? I think she is cumming, a little.
"Sorry," she whispers and quickly removes her hands. The smell of hot, wet pussy smacks my nose. My eyes water as if cutting an overpowering, musky, sweet, heavenly onion.
I peel back the zipper cover of her jeans and spy the stuck zipper. It is maybe a half-inch down from the top. A few small hairs are escaping over the top of the zipper pull. I lift the tab and grip it with the pliers. Using both hands, holding firmly and pulling gently, it trickles down. It goes about a half an inch and sticks.
"Ow!" Shelli screams. I drop the pliers as she shuts her legs, catching one of my hands between them. The pliers clatter to the floor.
"Oh God, Oh God, I don't know...I'm going to..."