Why do my guys shower so much?
Rina speaks out again.
He’s in the shower. I hear the rain on the pebble floor and smell the lavender and lemon fragrance from his soap and shampoo. He’s using too much as always. I’m on our bed, waiting to be petted, and my belly hungers for the touch of his fingers. He’ll be here in a second, clean, dressed and smelling like a florist shop.
“Oh bugger,” he says, “They’ve forgotten to replace the towels… again.”
He’s not talking to me. I’m Rina, not RinTinTin. He doesn’t expect me to come running to the rescue with a towel clenched between my tiny teeth. I smile, open my eyes wide and await the rerun.
And then he appears, naked, with water dripping from every floppy part of his body, shuffling, jiggling and sliding across the cool glossy bedroom tiles on his way to the linen press in the living room. This performance has my complete attention. He looks like he’s auditioning for one of the hippo roles in a porno remake of ‘Fantasia’. He’d win the role if he popped one of those blue pills he keeps in his bedside drawer, but he saves them for super special occasions. He’ll be back in a sec, zigzagging along on a towel, wiping up the drips, so he doesn’t go arse-up. Finally, he’ll dry himself, get dressed, and then we’ll play.
Of course he should move the linen press into the bathroom, there’s room, but I hope he doesn’t, I like this show.
The younger one’s been away for a while now, but his after shower performances were delicious, and not prompted by a missing towel. Most nights he’d come out of the bathroom dressed, smelling of oils, creams, deodorant, toothpaste and perfumes, but occasionally he’d put on a show that had the big one drooling and groaning.
“Are you ready?” he’d say and come go-go dancing through the bathroom door into our bedroom. Honey brown, naked, and with muscles rippling he’d gyrate and dance as he sang, ‘Mahluk Tuhan Paling Seksi’. From the bed we’d stare open-mouthed.
Finally, the old one would say, “You look amazing, come here.” That’s code for, ‘Rina, your sleeping under the bed for the next hour.’ Steve would lower me to the floor, dim the lights and his clothes would rain down onto the floor. I didn’t mind, we all need time to drift into dreamy places as our bellies get rubbed, behind our ears gets scratched and we hear those tender words, “I love you”. They did this to me, many times a day, so I could not begrudge them their once or twice a week.
Now, here’s the really strange part – after they’d finished rubbing each other’s bellies, they’d go and have another shower. Two, three or four times a day these guys shower, washing away their delicious earthy mushroom smells and replacing them with that artificial sweet frangipani and rose fragrances, as if this was better.
But I keep my thoughts hushed, not wanting to draw attention to myself. I smell delectable; always, and certainly don’t need a shower — ever.