It had been a random question, a random request...like most things they were connected by things seemingly unconnected. He loved that randomness, that suddenness and unexplained coincidence. Why did we suddenly encounter each other, why did we suddenly connect...either way he felt it was some cosmic force outside of his control that inevitably brought them together...and he welcomed it. Call it what you want...fate...timing...circumstance. He didn't care.
I have a weird question for you...he offered randomly in a phone call. The day was rust, ending...oranges and coppers in an afternoon disintegrating.
Okay...she responded...in that way that was like being asked to put on a blindfold.
The next time you're going to take a shower...or a bath...or anything aquatic...would you let me interrupt you before you start?
The silence was a bit of a tell...she was likely wondering where it was going...and her opinion of him was likely dimming. He didn't like the silence, but he sort of needed it to proceed.
Can you tell me why? she had asked.
I want to wash your hair.
Scene II, Act II
From the first scent of crisp grapefruit and green almond to the romantic notes of camellia petals and lily, Shu Uemura's Moisture Velvet is utterly addictive. --From the website
Shopping for women's shampoo is like shopping for women's shoes...infinite varieties...endless colors. He fell in love with the Shu Uemura's description and ordered it via Fed Ex. When the simple package came he scrambled to open it, slitting open the taped ends, and unscrewing the top. He inhaled it...and let the scent roil into him and upon him. It was exactly how he imagined she smelled, when scrubbed, when cleansed. He screwed the top back on.
She called a day or so later.
Uhm...hey...I'm likely to shower soon.
She said it like she was announcing a visit...or a trip to the grocer's.
Look he started...I know it's a little off. Just indulge me...I just want to maybe do something that is intimately intimate...without voice trailing off...being intimate.
Again, the kind of silence where you imagine every scene from every horror movie replaying in her mind and whether or not this is violating some sort of border-line.
Come on over tomorrow around five. I'll be the one in the robe.
He laughed a slight one. I'll be the one with the potions.
The phone clicked dead.
Scene II, Act III
There is something sensual in warm waters, in the clasp of hair in a grip...there is the the spill of gushing across the scalp, the massaging of liquid into a lather, the feel of the delicate head against the press of a hand, the scents arising when the liquid meets the body, the massage of tender tendrils into the back of her hair, underneath, the layers of her hair folding into his hands, her closed eyes, he could see the pulse of her heartbeat in her throat, the lights of the bathroom cascading on her, the warming suds being gripped, slippery in his grasp, the feel of his fingers against the shape of her, her hair blinded by whites and bubbles and lathering, soaping, watching her lips gradually part as she relaxed, feeling the tension leave her like the whites escaping her wet hair, drowning in an instance, her eyes shut, the grapefruit scent rising and the warm waters steaming the mirror, and she is so close...so close...she is a kiss-close...and his hands meld into her, his thumbs along the tops of her ears, massaging gently, his fingers grazing into her part, letting the shampoo mix and meld and he is cleaning her...he is shining her...he is preparing her...she is clean and letting the warmth of waters pull out any impurities...while he stares down at her facade and imagines something all together impure and then tirelessly cleans her again, and again, and again.
Scene III, Act I
She is sitting at the edge of the tub, robe clenched tight, hair in a towel.
Well...that was different she said. She wore no disguise, no make up. She was perfectly clean.
Yes...it was. But I hope not in a bad way.
No. Actually, it was very good.
He let that sit between them...he wanted to tell her how beautiful he thought she was, no make-up, perfectly cleansed...unprotected by mascara and blush, lotions and potions. She was nubile, sexual, virginal, unencumbered. But he didn't want to ruin the quiet peace.
Can you tell me why you wanted to do this?
He thought for a second. She looked like a picture from the 1950s. But a perfect picture.
Because I thought you wouldn't let me. Because there is something very vulnerable in letting somebody stand above you, hovering, while you're exposed...your neck's exposed, your throat...you're there and you're giving in a bit. I didn't think a lot about it then, but standing over you...yeah, I could see it.
What?
The vulnerability.
I didn't feel that...you didn't make me feel that way.
Good.
But at first I felt a little...you know...
What.
Uncomfortable. Like you were in on a secret.
I get it.
But I didn't hate it. Just was maybe irritated...you know, like personal time was no longer personal.
No...I get it.
Well, I enjoyed it after I got used to it.
He let out a short laugh. Worst endorsement ever.
What am I supposed to say? I'm not used to this...so...different.
It's the different that makes it matter. It's somebody else's hands...somebody else's grasp. A stranger. A friend. Undefined I guess. It's a little bit of an invasion.
And what if I grow to like it?
He stared at her. Absorbing her like an afternoon shaft of sun on a carpet. That would be my favorite thing.
The bathroom still stood misty, air fogged from the steam of the water, the scent of grapefruit and spices still lively, just a tad of humidity in the space between them and its effect was to feel like a warm cloth clung to them, between them, a tiny web that intersected and held them together, apart in the room but his hands still tingling from where they had just recently touched the spaces and places of her.
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