Written: May 31, 2003
I love the scent of gardenias. I love them in an innocent way. But the night I sprinkled gardenia scented bath salts into the tub of water that would surely overflow once I stepped in, I knew that something delightful had come to visit. The air was filled with the smell. My body started to ache for the touch of a warm hand. I was alone.
I don’t remember when or how my clothes came off but I was already submerging myself. As the water rose to the rim of the tub my nipples rose like two marbles, hard atop a mound of freshly kneaded dumplings. I was moist. Even as the water moved around my swelling plum, I knew that I was ready to be taken. I was still alone, save for my hands that could hear my body calling to them. There was something strangely exhilarating about accepting the invitation. I wanted something more, however, a warm body, the feeling of his flesh against me. Then, it was as if my hand was obeying my body’s every wish. As I imagined my lover reaching down between my legs, unfolding the warm flesh of my wanting plum, I could feel my hands gently stroking the folds, rubbing my clitoris until I moaned with pleasure. As my hands, like creatures entranced, stroked and my fingers, first one, then two, slipped into the wet wanting lips, I imagined my lover licking like a baby suckling for the first time.
I felt voracious lips, whose sole purpose was to bring me to the brink of ecstasy. The water felt hotter. It almost seemed to rise higher. It rose as I rose. My invisible lover continued to stroke my clit as he rolled my nipples around between his fingertips. Both hands worked. The water felt hotter. It rose higher. I rose higher. I felt it coming. I felt me coming. The glass was fogged over from the steam. I rose still higher. The water rose higher. The floor was wet. I could still smell the gardenias in the air.
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