Sunday, April 5, 2009

Mrs. Bloom

Since the afternoon I had been deciding on taking a bath tonight. I couldn't wait till Charlie was in bed so I could lay in the warm water, melting to sleep. Instead, the evening panned out more of me cooking as usual, a headache and Charlie waking early. Jesse rocked him and I took my bath first. Jesse did mention he wanted a bath but told me I could take mine first because he's such a fabulous guy as such. I managed to make the water too hot for my liking, feeling every pore in my legs open as wide as possible all at the same time. My knee caps turned bright red and I could even feel my asshole burning a little. Oddly enough, in this discomfort there was something relaxing, as if a numbing effect like the kind you get when you get a shot of novacaine before you get a filling. In this process my muscles relaxed. I covered any part of skin not submerged in water with damp washcloths. The space heater sat on the toilet full blast in my direction creating a sauna effect. I could actually feel myself sweating under my towels and little beads rolling behind my ears to the back of my neck. As I laid there, I started to over heat and did as seals do and let certain parts of my body out to cool my overall body temperature down. My right leg, which was parallel to the wall, was lifted out straight slightly along the wall using the other side of the wall directly in front of me as a prop for my toe. The other leg, which was on the free side of the bath tub, was more at a 90ยบ angle spread out and almost hanging over the ledge of the tub. I sat there thinking about how sex could be a good idea tonight but at the same time I was just too tired to even think of doing any physical activity outside of picking up a cup. I called Jesse. Three times. Just as I called him a fourth time he entered. Was this a subtle hint to see if he felt up to sex? I don't know. I guess part of me was waiting for a response from him. Instead, I asked him to get me something to drink. What? I dunno, wine or beer. I knew he'd bring me wine. I knew he'd bring me white wine. I hate white wine and really only have it here in the house for cooking or if anyone likes whites. I feel it's always nice to have a variety of beverages and as odd as it may sound at any given time have somewhere between 4 or more non-alcoholic beverage choices from sodas, juices, water, and a red and white wine choice, as well as beer and our usual Jack. Oddly enough, we rarely touch the Jack and a bottle can last us a year or longer, but it's one of those weird things that it's nice to have should you need it. Jesse comes back with a glass of white wine. I was right! I so called that one! I take a sip for validation in front of him as if rewarding his good deed even though in my head I am dreading his decision. I should have just told him flat out what to get me instead of trying to be coy and cute. Oh well. The wine doesn't taste that bad. I remember having a glass not too long ago and not really enjoying it much. But not now. This time it tastes sweeter and less oaky. Was this still the Chardonnay? Or the Pinot? Wait, did I get a pinot? Or did I get a Cabernet Blanc? Crap. No point stressing out over technicalities at this point. It's good and I like it. I take a sip, each time less reluctant than the last. I debate whether chocolate would be good with this because there's a Reese's Peanutbutter cup on the coffee table for me, but that doesn't do me any good in the bath. I'm trying to think of what kind of pie to make if I'm here for the fair again this summer. I have so many ideas for pies it's sort of sickening. I toyed with making a pie cookbook that's just variations of apple pie recipes. I gotta come up with something spectacular and I'm thinking something totally outlandish like an upside down Dutch apple pie. How wild would that be? Crumb topping as the bottom crust and pastry as the top? I'm sure serving it would be an issue in itself but if it works for cheesecakes, why not this? Would that still be considered a pie? I figure as long as some form of pastry is made and incorporated with it, it's still a pie? I could be wrong. Jesse comes in and asks how my bath is. Fine. He tells me he's not up to sex. He's too tired. Ok, thank you for confirming that. I'm too tired too. But at least now I know for sure he's on the same wavelength. I suppose that's part of why we're so good together: we seem to always know what the other is thinking without ever saying anything. Then again, it's kind of hard to not know what someone wants when they're sitting bare naked with their legs completely spread apart in the bath or if you turn around and there's a penis in your face. Although I guess being blatant is what works for us. No harm in that, right? I feel like I have to pee and I know Jesse is going to bed now. I sit with my glass in hand, resting on my tummy that is poking out of the water like a little island in the peninsula of my boobs and legs. I watch as the condensation on the glass drips into the water and can feel a little bead of urine hiding under my skin not ready to come out. Jesse comes back in and I confess my need to pee. I tell him I'm blogging in my head and he gives me a look of uncertainty as if he doesn't quite know how to respond to that. He leaves. Not too long after, I pull the drain and I get that pee out. There was more than I thought. I dry off, put on my jammies and do my 'puting for the night. Jesse comes out as I start this blog and questions, "Mrs. Bloom?" Yes. It's a Joyce reference. This would all make sense to you if you know what I'm talking about. Yes, yes, you would, yes.

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