I fill the tub — too hot, on purpose. Ease myself in tentatively. Can I stand it? Just.
Below the waterline my skin is pinking up. Slowly, slowly, I get as much of myself underwater as I can. Soak up the heat while reading a tome of a book, a borrowed hardcover with smooth, creamy paper. Mustn’t drop it, careful now. The water heats me to my core and I start to sweat.
Chapter finished and water more temperate, I put the book under my towel and start my scrub. A knock on the door and he asks if he can come in to visit. I ask him to give me a minute. (Mild contortions, one leg fully out of the water, crotch skyward, in the middle of shaving the undercarriage. Not quite ready for a visitor.)
When I’m done, I invite him in. I’m still a little shy, so my knees partly conceal my chest. A misheard question and I launch into an explanation of what I was doing when he first knocked.
The shaving is a novelty; I first tried it 3 or 4 weeks before he got back, figuring that if I hated it I could let it grow back and him none the wiser. But it wasn’t bad and I figured he’d like it so I kept at it.
Yes, he liked it. Rather a lot.
So now he bids me stand, turn, and bend forward so he can inspect my work. Admires the view, kneads my bottom. Spreads my cheeks a little and licks, deliberately and thoroughly, from clit to anus, lingering and prodding here and there. Squeezes my bottom and breasts, pinches my nipples.
I’m wet, I’m clean, I’m still mid-bath. Taking advantage of this liminal state, he gets licks in all over: bottom, back, thighs, breasts, chest, arms. I giggle.
When you’re in a tub full of water, it’s hard to tell if you’re wet.
But, yeah, I am.