Mrs. Bubbles

There is something about a hot August night that gets my juices flowing. I love soaking in a hot bath. I just spent more than forty-five minutes with candles burning in the bathroom and my legs spread apart with one leg hanging over the edge of the tub. It was so quiet in the bathroom. I could hear the water drip from my toe onto the tile floor– that’s how quiet it was. I love how smooth my legs are today– just waxed. They feel so tight under the warm water and bubbles. Jack’s away this weekend, so I’m here alone, just out of a hot bath and it’s pulsating down there– like a drain on a tub pulling all that water inside me, I’m hot. My head is spinning from all that rubbing with the washcloth. I need something real to go in there and move from side to side inside my walls of cotton candy like warmth, ready to melt at the slightest touch of dripping saliva.