Archive-name: SpecMome/coolbath.txt
Archive-author: Darren Toop
Archive-title: Hot Days, Cool Baths


>   Wed May 12, 1993   16:35 

>.... well it is 32C out there today....
>sweaty. sweltering. heat.....
>
>And me riding my bike home in this.  (ick).
>
>Keep an eye out for me, will you?  And come on over, later.

+ + +

It is 5:30 and through binoculars I see her toiling up the long grade 
through the sage brush, the sweat like a sheen on her shoulders and 
legs, forming wet patches on her cotton overshirt.  Her cycling pants 
are black, so it is impossible to see the damp that surely plasters them 
to her straining thighs and hips.  She pulls up to the house across the
way, and I slip on my headphones.  Modern electronics is wonderful.  So
many ways to keep in touch.

+ + +

They are talking inconsequential things.  Well, he's talking and she's 
eating pasta salad and sipping a long cool drink.  After she's taken the 
edge off her hunger and thirst, there's a bath waiting.....  

The bathroom is dark, the water cool but not too cold, and perfumed with 
a heady bath oil to keep skin soft.  In the sunny hallway, she slips out 
of the sweaty cycling clothes and kicks them into the bedroom.  She 
steps out of sight into the darkened bathroom, and slides into the water, 
relaxing, letting the ripples wash around her chin.  There is just the 
sound of a slow hollow drip of water, a deep sigh and gentle breathing 
when someone is leaning over with a wash cloth.  

"Here give me your hand, and I'll wash it for you.... Now the other 
hand..... Feet now.... oh, a bit ticklish, okay. no problem.  and your 
legs, mmmmm hard muscles, you've really toned up over the summer!  Lean 
forward and I'll do your back."

There is the sound of skin squeaking on the tub as she raises herself 
out of the water and leans forward.  The tiny sounds of skin on skin as 
she clutches her knees.  The water splashes gently and the sensitive 
electronics pick up the rubbing sound of a rough washcloth on skin. 

"Okay, now the other parts..... Right up on your hands and knees."
More squeaking and hard breathing, the sounds of water droplets sliding 
off her breasts and hitting the surface of the water.   The wash cloth is 
being soaped up again, and the soap makes a dull thump on the bottom of 
the tub.

Now I hear the sounds of soap being applied to the buttocks and thighs,
then the regular sounds of it being massaged into the skin and hair.  
More soaping and splashing of the first rinse.  

"Mmmmmm, poor tender bum sitting on that hard seat,  how does that 
feel?"  There is a kind of strangulated cry, and then deep breath 
hissing through her nose.  "You really must be clean, you know."   and I 
think I hear the soft sounds of fingers soothing soap into all the nooks 
and crannies.  

There is sound of more clothes being removed, and a second body enters 
the water.  "No, stay like that."  A bit of splashing then the sound of 
soapy fingers and gentle breathing.  "Be still now, or I must slap you 
to make you behave."  A raising up in the water is followed by a sudden 
wild sound and a grunt of satisfaction.  

"When fingers just aren't long enough, something else must be found."  
There is a long slow squishing sound, and the sounds of only one person 
heavy breathing.  A high keening is added to the sensuous aquatic 
symphony, and then all is still save the drip of the water and the 
shallow gasps.  The same long squishing sound comes again then a plop 
and grunt.  

More vigorous splashings and humming sound.  A deep chuckle, "I do swear 
you liked that cleaning.  Sit back on your heels."

Presently the splashing abates, and there is the unmistakable squeaking 
of hands on hair, as the long wet strands are gathered up and gripped.  
A lid pops, and shampoo squirts thickly and the head is lathered gently.  
The tap squeaks and I am already reaching for the volume as the thunder 
of spray fills my ears.  Water sprays on foam and hair and skin and in 
the background the plug pops.  The water gurgles down the drain and the 
plug is reinserted.  

The water level rises slowly and as the bath-essence is added, the 
bubbles rise gently.

He appears at the door, his prong waving undiminished in front, his 
hair wet and matted against his muscular thighs, his expression a bit 
haggard.

"Why don't you relax there for a while, then come out and I'll put some 
talcum powder on you.  Have you babied up in no time... Another drink??"

--
comments & criticisms gratefully appreciated.  
Darren Toop    rascal@bnr.ca