Chapter 31

They had showered—together—in the six-headed shower that rained hot water from every angle; they had shit—separately—in the talking toilet which welcomed them aboard—apparently—in Japanese, and then washed their cracks and sacs with the built-in, rotating, hot-or-cold bidet. Naked and clean, they slid into the hot water, now up to their ankles, now up to their knees, now covering their butts as they sat, now up to their necks as the water erased gravity and cares.

Danny felt like they had plenty to talk about—last night’s show, the upcoming pageant, the ghastly prospect of a move to Texas—but as they floated, towards each other and away, occasionally clacking shoulders or knees, unless you counted the occasional “aaah,” conversation just wouldn’t come. The air was cool, the water was warm, and Danny didn’t find a hot bath in which he could fully submerge himself every day; for many minutes, they were content just to float hand in hand and be near each other.