The Tub

He couldn’t stop looking at her. There was something with the fluidity of her movements, the intensity of her gaze, the nada-care attiture the she exuded. He found her interesting and quite attractive. For some reason, her expressive eyes seemed to suck him into a state of dreamlike stasis that he couldn’t get out, or move, or hear, or feel. The graceful curve of her eyebrows intrigued him. Her lips looked as if they were beckoning him to kiss them. Her hands, oh God, her hands were the most beautiful hands he had ever seen. They were not doll-like, like he used to see in the malls, hands owned by rich socialites. They were hands that could do anything. Her nails were not too big and not too small, not too long and not too short. They were just right. Whenever his eyes wandered to her hands, he felt almost possessed enough to hold them in his, to feel the warmth emanating from it, to feel the roughness and the softness of it, to experience the sensation of holding an exquisite hand in his.

He imagined them, together, in a tub. Her back to him, her elbows on his knees, while he pours warm, bubbly water on her back. He could almost feel her soft skin against his hard lean body, while he gently soaps her back. His soft hands kneading the muscles on her back, while she sips some wine and listens to Bob Marley’s lithe voice sing the lines of Turn Your Lights Down Low. Ahhh! Perfect for the moment. The room was dimly lit with several beeswax candles, emitting a fragrance that could only mean desire.

Ahhh! Desire. He was oozing with it. He wanted her so bad that he could not believe that she was there right in front of him. He recalled the stolen glances over bottles of beer, the accidental touching of their fingers when they passed the beer and the smokes, the utter wanton that he felt in his loins when they sat close to each other! He recalled these moments with fervor. He may have even smiled as he never expected everything to lead to this. She let out a small moan as he massaged his way down to the small of her back, tracing her tribal skin art. How saccharine it sounded! It gave him goosebumps of pleasure as he worked on the small of her back, luring the stress away from her soft, limber body.

Suddenly, she spun around and faced him. Their eyes met, flaming with passion and desire. her hands found his chest, his hands were around her waist. It was as if time stood still. His heart was pounding on his chest as he stared at her sensual face. Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes dreamy, beads of sweat forming in her forehead, with her hair gracefully tied to a simple knot to expose her enticing neck. Oh this was too much for him. The details of the affair was leaving his limbs rubbery with delight! He wanted to lift her out of the tub and glorify her luscious body, to quench his carnal desires as well as to extinguish the flames of passion that were burning in his soul.

Sadly, he could not. He did not have the courage to take control of the situation. He gave her a small peck in the cheek and then left the tub. She was left there sitting as she did before, wondering why he stopped when she tried so hard to lead him there. She stared blankly into the dimness of the room, dumbfounded and paralyzed.

His limbs were aching from the burning of his loins. It took all his will to get out of the tub. He could not do this to a girl he so cherished. He knew that he was poison. He tended to destroy the lives of the women who came into his life, often leading them to a stuttering stupor, bitterness surrounding their eyes. Yes. He knew he was destined to be alone. He knew that his lust should be spent only on the whores of the Avenue. He knew that he should stay away from young, innocent girls who had a bright future ahead of them. He quickly dressed and stood on the doorway, instantly regretting his decision. “No!” He muttered. “Guys like me are cursed to be alone. Nothing can change that”, and he ran to his car and sped away from the house.