From Max to Nell, Part 2

Dear Nell,

OK, so now I can't take a shower anymore without laughing. You fiend. I hope you're satisfied. I got up this morning and stumbled into the bathroom the way I always do — without glasses, absent-mindedly scratching my balls, stepping into the tub with my left foot first, pulling the curtain, turning on the water and bending over to test it with my fingers (having once again found my toes untrustworthy). My eyes were barely open, Nell, and yet… There I was, laughing out loud as soon as I heard the water coming through the nozzle, felt it hitting my head and dripping down my chest. I can't help it. It was ridiculous, last Friday night. We shouldn't be allowed sexual roaming.

It's these summers, isn't it? They keep driving us back to the water. Two years ago, it was the plunge pool beneath the abandoned falls at Jennings Branch. The water was clear and cold as snow. Minnows swam around your breasts like silver satellites. Beneath the water, the limestone ledge we sat on was covered with mossy green algae, so wet and slick I began to think that maybe you were lined with algae, pink instead of green. I was sitting on algae; you were sitting on me, covering me with algae. I felt as if I were becoming part of the ledge. I thought, "This must be what it was like to make love in the Paleozoic."

And it was nice to know Non-Oxynol 9 also kills freshwater organisms.


Water. Do you think the tub in my apartment was wider? Not that making love in that tub was without humor, as you no doubt remember. That was last summer. We had just gotten back from the softball game, sticky with sweat. A shower sounded wonderful. You were out of your t-shirt and bra before I even got to the bathroom, closing the door behind me and turning out the light. It was late afternoon and the sunlight coming in through the plastic curtain over the tub made the room swim in a grassy green.

I grabbed you by the waistband and, sitting down on the toilet, began to take off your shorts — brass button, zipper… then stopping for a few minutes, taking time to run my green hands up your inner leg, letting two green fingers slip inside the green cloth of your shorts, then coming back down to your knees. I pulled the shorts down over your hips and they dropped to the green floor. I rubbed you through your panties, which were drenched with sweat — a running start. You held my head to your chest and I licked salt from beneath each breast. As I undressed, you sat on the sink, legs apart, feet swinging, kicking the cabinet over and over, showing me some bit of other color, an exclamation point in shades of magenta and rose. My erection bobbed with my pulse — and yes, it was green, too.

In the tub, you were on your back, legs drawn up. I was on top of you, feet pushed up against the end of the tub, hands on the rim, my back an umbrella. Water dripped from my shoulders into your mouth. It ran down the crack in my ass and pooled between your legs. All around, the green seemed to get deeper, the color of malachite. Our breath began to sound like a hard rain. I was so carried away by the time I came, I was nearly driving your head into the faucet with each thrust. "We'll have to switch ends next time," you said.

Here it is, summer again. Friday night, we were so hot that we had taken to fanning each other with old vinyl album covers. When you mentioned taking a shower, I was on my feet in seconds, leaving a trail of clothing from the living room to the bathroom. When you came in, I already had the shower turned on, cooler than lukewarm. You turned out the light and got in the shower. It was almost completely dark. I followed your lead; I followed your scent. You told me to sit, so I sat in the tub, my back to the drain. The water was hitting me in the back of the head, rushing over and running into my eyes and nose. You sat, straddling me, and together we maneuvered until I was inside you. Your legs were pressed into my sides; my legs were pinned to the tub. When we started moving, it became obvious that the fit was too snug to be practical. We couldn't move. When we tried, the water that was pooled between our stomachs shot up between your breasts like a geyser, spraying both our chins. "And they found them there, naked, wedged in the tub, having died from starvation." We fell into laughter and each others arms, my erection fading and withdrawing. Another time.

I think of it every time I take a shower now. And that's why you're a fiend.

Of course, that wasn't the end. After we dried off and poured some lemonade, we began kissing on the couch. The fan moved back and forth like a dog atching tennis. I took an ice cube from my glass and placed it against your skin. Starting at your chin and coming down your throat, I moved the ice so slowly that it melted, spilling drops of water down your stomach and sides. You took in such a sharp breath of air when I brought the ice to your nipples, I thought your back would break. When I put my tongue on one of your nipples, it was cool and hard as a pill. You sipped at your lemonade. Taking some ice into your mouth, you brought your head to my lap and took me into your mouth as well. Hot and cold. I could feel your tongue like never before — I could feel it tracing my veins, reading braille.

We made love on the coffee table, resplendent with its fake wood formica top. The fan droned on, white noise and artificial breeze. The Mets were playing the Giants on television; with the sound off and my glasses off, it was just another square of dancing colors. You know I like it that you've grown your hair long again. As I slipped into you, feeling that familiar tug and grip, I saw your hair spilling over the end of the table like a dark waterfall. These old knees wouldn't take kneeling on the table, so I straddled it, moving up and down, rocking on my toes, in and out of your sunset, your question, your every answer.

Nell, laughing in the shower is a solitary thing. But I worry about entertaining in the living room. It will definitely never be the same. People will set their iced tea where your head once was. I'll place chips and salsa where we drew a spider from our pond of sap.

My god, but you're everywhere these days, Nell. Except here, of course. Come back soon.

Still in you,

Max

Thursday, June 09, 2005