She was clearly not going to talk. Accidentally on purpose, I knocked over my glass of orange juice and most of it landed on her. Needless to say, she...was not happy. I gushed out my apologies and offered to pay the cleaning bill for her skirt. We were talking, well, I think we were. I saw her again on the same day as we left college. Surprisingly, she was quite civil towards me and mumbled something like her skirt had dried out quite well. I liked the word 'skirt.'She began to sit with me most. She probably did, too.Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons I got to play with Crys's body. I mean: on those days, we spent the afternoons on her sponge bath. I didn't try to do her hair, by the way. The yellow pages yielded a traveling hair person, and she came once per week to un-braid, wash, dry and re-braid the wondrous blonde mane. I didn't like the utilitarian rope of hair that resulted, but it was much easier to deal with.I would wash her back, butt and legs. I usually played a little. More

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