Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction ❯ Memoirs of being in the Saddle ❯ The setup ( Chapter 9 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

=-=-=-=

While he didn't actually come in while I was at home, and he didn't spend every Sunday at my place, in the weeks that followed I got more than enough to be satisfied with my payback. 

 

Thanks to the riling between him and Nabiki, Ranma was finding convenient hot water at the Tendo household in short supply. I don't think Nabiki realized that he had placed her in the same category as the Kunos -a pest, potentially dangerous in states of vulnerability. 

 

The thermos I put out was getting some serious use, even empty at times. I didn't put the second one out there.

I could have, but didn't. You know why.

My furo, and the peace it provided, it was often too tempting for him to resist. While he couldn't stay long, I did get enough to fill one-hour long tape of brief stop-ins. 

 

And three more long glorious bathing scenes, the longest was twelve minutes female.

 

And every time, at the end, both male and then thankfully female, Ranma spent at least a minute studying himself and herself in the mirror. Still looking for that missing something.

 

It was the fourth one that was interesting.

 

=-=-=-=

 

I was happily sitting on my cushion in front of the TV, drink and tissues and oil at the ready.

No matter how long my weekend gigs were, I now had something to look forward to. Be it an old tape of Ranma-Watching in the trees, or my brand new volume four or Ranma in the Bath, I was a happy man.

 

I sipped my drink and absently stroked myself as I heard the bathroom window open on the TV.

Showtime.

 

Quickly I noticed a break in the established pattern.

 

Ranma was upset, really upset.

She still got naked she still scrubbed herself, but she spent nearly the entirety of it on one spot.

Her left leg, specifically below the knee. She scrubbed and scrubbed until it was red, soaped and rinsed it, and did it again. 

 

While it did let me enjoy watching her tits dangle and jiggle, the look on her face spoiled it a bit.

 

Eventually, with one leg which had to be sore by now, she rinsed off one last time, stood and still in her small towel, made her way to the furo.

 

And stopped.

 

A minute passed, and then another, and still she didn't get in. 

 

What was wrong Ranma? This was the part you liked best.

 

Finally, she turned and went back to the mirror and faced it. Her fists were clenched so hard I heard a knuckle pop. Her face was a mix of rage and terror and loathing. 

 

I'd seen it before, with some of the new girls. 

Ranma felt dirty. 

But about what?

 

Silently she pulled the little towel off, leaving her bare in front of the mirror and camera.

 

And then she posed.

 

Hands behind her head, shoulders thrown back, hips cocked to the side.

You know the one, a classic cheesecake pose.

 

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. I knew that look also. A lot of girls in the business had it.

After half a minute of posing, she tried another pose and another. As she did I started to see the cracks in the facade, the trembles.

Finally, she let her hands go limp, her posture defeated. Her head swept up and I saw such disgust and hatred at her reflection.

Her fist trembled.

She wanted to punch the mirror, destroy what she saw in it. 

 

Instead, she left with a choked sob.

 

And then I heard the feminine weeping in the room outside. It cut off when the sink turned on. 

A dry miserable male Ranma left.

 

I needed information badly.

 

=-=-=-=

 

From my home, I had watched what I could of the school from my high vantage spot.

I studied the kids, looking for that new rival, that Kuno kid with whatever weird magical crap he'd have, something.

Anything. 

 

What he was doing was shying away from everybody at the school. Rather, to every guy at the school. Especially two of them, whose names escaped me at the moment.

I think they were his friends or something, they'd hung out at the very least.

 

Something had happened. I wasn't sure what, but I had my guesses. 

 

School ended, and I got myself in my usual spot, tea and cookies, and newspaper at the ready.

 

In time he came.

Yes, he. He'd been extremely vigilant in staying male today. 

His face looked composed, but I knew it was just a facade.

 

"What's wrong?" 

 

I had to raise my voice a bit, as Ranma was staying well away from me.

In fact, he was on the far side of the street.

Did he even realize he was keeping his distance from every male he saw?

 

When he didn't respond but also didn't move on and ignore me, I deployed the big guns. 

 

I sighed, put down my newspaper, and limped towards him.

Yes limped, normally I can walk so well you can barely tell unless it needs ankle motions like on uneven terrain.

But I can also put my weight on it slightly wrong, make the plastic of my prosthetic squeak with each step. 

 

Ah, the cripple defense; Look extra helpless and weak. From drunk Yakuza to belligerent pricks on the subway, it worked wonders.

 

And by coming to him like this, I was showing that I was caring.

 

Once I limped to within spitting distance I asked again, quietly this time.

"What's wrong? I can see it from all the way over there."

 

He actually looked at me, which is more than he did to the guys at the school, but he didn't speak.

 

"Did something happen?" A poorly hidden flinch, yes something did.

"Something you don't want to talk about here, outside?" A tiny nod.

"Fine. Come."

I turned and limped over to my bench and grabbed my newspaper and thermos. Ranma automatically picked up the cookies but didn't eat any.

 

We strode inside.

 

=-=-=-=

 

Once he was seated at the kitchen table, I limped over to the liquor cabinet and opened it.

 

"When a man has something difficult he needs to talk about, often a drink helps." I grabbed a potent European brandy. "Bars have been the therapy center for men since they've invented stools."

 

With two glasses and the bottle, I returned to the table. A stiff shot for both of us was poured, then I joined him across the table.

 

"A toast." I lifted my glass wryly. "To dealing with our problems."

 

Instead of picking his own up, he pushed his chair back and went to my kitchen sink. A redhead came back, drying the arm she'd stuck under the faucet.

 

She sat down and picked up her glass. "To dealing with our problems." She sounded brittle, sharp.

 

We drank, and while she almost choked at the potency, she managed to get it down. She breathed, a touch of a flush hit her face as the drink burned it's way into her belly.

 

I poured us another.

 

After a second glass, she started to talk.

 

"I needed the money."