The Bath

In any other kind of setting, he’d be called a ‘wolf’ a ‘fox.’ He really did eat up women. He hunted and devoured them all in one evening. But the reality was, his women didn’t minded being eaten. We only resented the limited engagement.

You wouldn’t know it to look at him. He wasn’t ‘drop dead gorgeous’ and that’s what threw women off. He just seemed like ‘a nice guy.’

I met him at a bar one night, when I set out deliberately to get laid. It was one of those evenings when I just wanted sex. Not romance. Not a chance at relationship. Just a one night kind of thing that so few women are supposed to want. I took a seat at the bar, and he was right next to me.

There was a smoothness to his voice that I liked a lot. If I close my eyes right now, I can still hear it. I can’t remember what we talked about, because it wasn’t the conversation. Not in the slightest. When he asked me if I wanted to come back to his place for tea, I said yes. We both knew that tea wasn’t the only thing on the agenda, but neither of us were particularly concerned about that.

I had no wheels at the time, so I rode in his car back to his apartment. I remember it as black and grey and spruce green. It was contemporary, and I think it had levels to it, but maybe not.

The kitchen was small and plain, as was the tea. He didn't ask me if I wanted to have sex with him. He asked me if I wanted to take a bath. It was something a stranger never asked me before, and without thinking, I said yes. He left for a minute.

I could hear the water running, and he came back out to finish his tea. Then he pointed the way to the bathroom. When I walked inside, I knew it was going to be one hell of an evening. First off, it was clean. There were candles lit around the tub. The shampoo bottle was opened, and the cap left to the side. The water had been perfumed and he left a white bathrobe hanging on over the sink.

Walking into that bathroom was the finest kind of foreplay. Understated. Partner focused. Private. He didn't come back in to do some Henry Miller routine. I appreciated that. I bathed slowly and dried off with thick towels and wrapped myself in the bathroom he left for me. I was warm and moist when I wandered out to find him. He was in his bedroom, wearing a silk robe.

His sheets were black and grey, if I remember. There was Miles Davis playing on the stereo. He asked me if I wanted a massage, and actually gave me one. It gave him time to look at the outline of my body from behind. I had a 'Donna Michelle' thing going, with a little extra weight. I never realized at the time how beautiful I was back then.

Then he asked me about my favorite sexual fantasy. A few months earlier, I had covered myself in dark body paint and donned a Polynesian costume for Halloween, and that image was still with me. I'm very fair naturally, and the idea of laying around half-naked in the sun without burning was a very tantalizing thought.

He just ran with the suggestion, stroking my body and telling me how turned on he was by my deep cocoa-colored skin. He was a slow lover who used a lot of body contact and his fingers to arouse me. I remember him kissing my breasts. I remember panting very, very hard.

I don't remember if we got any sleep that night. He was heading out to Italy within the week, and I knew that this was a one shot deal. In the morning, he brought me Cappuccino and a roll, then he offered to take me home.

It was quite a while before I went trolling again. Somehow, I knew that a guy like him wouldn't be waiting the next time. I also knew that he would be a very busy man in Italy, and the thought makes me smile, even today.