Thursday, November 28, 2013

Shower

She stood in the shower gasping with relief.  The itching had been very bad, but everything released for her the moment the water began hitting the worst spots on her legs.  She stood, taking it all in, allowing the fingers of heat to invade her, to massage her, to crawl beneath and get to those places under the surface of her skin that her own fingers couldn’t reach.


She could feel herself pulling towards the heat, pulling, pulling, almost euphoric and hallucinating from the experience.  It was the closest thing to perfect, or to making love to the water.  The most delicious piece was that there was never a perfect plateau of relief. It was always just almost there, like her grandmother's chicken soup, which always wanted you to put in more lemon-just a little bit more, a little bit more. And then too much. That's what it was like with this heat, a little bit hotter, a little bit hotter, and then it seemed she was being burned.


This was better than making love, the violent kind, when all you want to do is devour the other person, to destroy the boundaries dividing your soul from his.  To pull and taste and nibble, to hold closer, closer, tighter, tighter.  To hold still and bounce off each other frantically.  All the contradictory, animal, reptilian brain instincts which pull you up the mountain towards the release.


She would hold her leg up, to get it closer, no-further, no-up, STAY-move, back and forth.  She couldn’t even direct her own movements.  Her skin was responding for her. She was all instinct, no thought and she happily gave into it.


Standing in the shower, the Poison Ivy at its worst, her future was narrowed.  Instead of the years and months and weeks ahead of her, or any impending doom which might destroy her normal life expectancy, she felt only The Next Thing.  None of which led to complete release.  Go back to the armpit.  The Poison Ivy Rash had spread to other spots on her body.  Maybe it was the sheet she had been wrapped up in. Maybe it had some oils from the leaves still on it.  Betrayal of her one true friend.
Or maybe it was something larger.  Not just a poison ivy issue, maybe it had triggered another type of response in her body.  Maybe she needed a doctor.


She was confident that flirting would continue the game, but was rather unsure if it would end with a trip to the doctor.  Funny how something tiny, like an annoying errand you would do for your child might be the thing that causes a man to dig a grave in his backyard.  She might have reached the tipping point of being too much trouble.  Even if he asked nicely, how could she convince him that she wouldn’t press charges?

Back to the shower, she thought.  Back to the moment to moment relief.  Back to having the physical freedom to shower herself.  As often as she wants.  With or without the blindfold.  She forgot, she still had it on.

Somehow she couldn't understand why she stopped taking it off when she didn't have to wear it.

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