Shower with Dad – fixed

I’m resubmitting this story with the correct themes. Let me know if you’d like to see more stories from me.

At 13 years old, spending a good part of my summer with a broken arm was not ideal, but what choice did I have? It was my own fault; I’d slid into home hard, intending to cream the catcher if he didn’t get out of my way. He didn’t, and I did cream him, but when he fell, it was directly on my right arm. I’d never felt that much pain before!

But the pain pills made up for that, after the bone was set and my arm put in a cast. Thankfully I didn’t have to worry about school, but for at least a couple weeks, my activities would be limited. I know a lot of kids my age would have been happy to have an excuse to stay inside, reading comics and watching TV, or to spend all day on the computer, but that just wasn’t me. I liked those things, but only sparingly. I’d rather be outside running and playing.

I guess that’s why I’m in pretty good shape, for a kid. Trim and muscular, but not pumped up like those ridiculous looking guys in the muscle magazines. I stood about 5’6″, weighed 140, and liked playing lots of different sports. Baseball was my favorite, but I ran cross-country and played soccer, too. I thought when I got a little older I’d look into football, but wasn’t sure yet.

The first couple of days without the use of my dominant arm was an inconvenience, especially when I finally needed a bath badly enough that my mom put her foot down. The doctor had said I could bathe or shower, but that I had to keep the cast dry. I knew I’d need help getting clean, which was why I was avoiding it as long as possible; it was too embarrassing to be naked in front of someone else.

Mom, though, finally said enough is enough, and told me in no uncertain terms that right after dinner, I was going to shower. Dad said he would help me, and I figured that would at least be less embarrassing since we’re both guys. Still, I wasn’t looking forward to it.
After dinner, Dad and I went upstairs to see if we could figure out how to do this. I needed something to cover my arm to keep the cast dry, but we were at a loss. Dad had some plastic, but it was a big tarp and he didn’t want to cut it if he could avoid it. Mom was the one who came up with the idea of using a bread bag. One wasn’t quite long enough, but by using two together, overlapped, we were able to make it work just right. Dad lightly taped the end over my upper arm, and we were set.

We thought a bath might be best, but then Dad said “You know what? I need a shower too, so why don’t we just get in together. You can wash most of yourself and I’ll get what you can’t. And I don’t have to worry about getting wet anyway.”

So that’s what we did. Now Dad is 6’3″, and also pretty athletic. At 37 he wasn’t in tip top shape, but he still worked out and we played a lot together, so he was in better shape than most of my friends’ dads.

With Dad’s help, I got undressed and adjusted the water, then got in the shower. Dad got undressed and joined me just as I was getting my hair wet to start washing it. We chatted about normal things while dad squirted some shampoo into my left hand, and laughed as I clumsily tried washing it with one hand.

“Let me help you with that, Champ,” he said, smiling. I grinned and relaxed while he gently, but firmly, massaged my scalp getting the hair clean. I stood under the shower head and he rinsed my hair, making sure to get all the soap out. Once completed, my eyes were clear and open for the first time since Dad had gotten in.

I’m not a stupid kid; I knew that at just 13 my own 4.5″ dick (when it was hard) was tiny compared to what an adult would have, but I was absolutely shocked at what my Dad was sporting!