I skimmed the sudsy water with my toes, testing the temperature, which was perfect. I gingerly lowered myself into the tub, acutely aware of your masculine presence. I wasn’t really embarrassed of my nudity but I hoped that you approved of my curves and dimples and other various imperfections. Nothing in your regard led me to believe that you were disappointed. Your eyes were filled with the shiny light of desire, your insistent regard created an erotic tension in the warm, intimate ambiance of the bathroom. Immersed in white suds, I imagined myself to be a lemon tart covered in meringue waiting to be chosen in a bakery window. You looked hungry and something in your smile seemed so incredibly sad. Weary. I was quick to recognize your sadness, the kind of limitless sadness that a person can barely contain inside of himself. Constantly brimming over, bleeding out, leaving trails. I knew all about that kind of sadness.
You uncrossed your legs and slid down in the comfy wicker armchair, improving your view, now dominating the bathtub. To lighten up the jasmine scented atmosphere I lathered my hair and crafted a perfectly erect unicorn horn. It quickly wilted and we laughed at how ridiculous and childlike we have remained throughout our lives. I told you that I fully intended to continue being ridiculous and childlike forever. You wiped pearls of sweat off your brow and unbuttoned your shirt, revealing your strong, virile chest adorned with curly tendrils. Your melancholy lifted like morning fog and a moment of warm sunlight heated up my bath water. I felt light and heady as you slowly unbuttoned your trousers, extracting the hard evidence of your arousal.