fair warning, this is likely a ‘more mature’ read than usual. you have been warned.
i love peppermint lotion. actually, i’ve been creating something of a love ritual for myself over the last three years. preparation for some unknown that i cannot help thinking is soon to arrive. i laugh, of course. i’ve been saying that a long time. but it occurred to me that preparing and being in the mind for it as actuality rather than dream is likely not a bad idea.
i’m not one of those ‘have to be squeaky clean at all times’ kind of people. the natural process of body and skin do not bother me. i am clean, yes. but i’m not someone who is compelled to scrub every new layer of dead skin off in the morning and then, repeat the process at night. all that gets you is dry skin and itching. no thanks.
i suppose i’m an every other day person. hmm. i never actually thought about it. bleh. rambling. back to the point!
regardless how often or not during the week, saturday is the day of the loving ritual. many names for it, really. it just depends upon my state of mind.
always undertaken as if he is here. watching. a slow and utterly luxurious process. as much display as duty. first, the process of returning to natural presence. cloth and bindings lost and standing to shiver slightly in the cool air. a stretch, a sigh, a soft and slow series of caresses… as much for reminding myself of it all as anything. stoking fires of belief.
pre-shower, a careful and tender shaving… arms, pits, legs, thighs… careful strokes of razor over wet skin, emulsifying oils aiding and scents of lavender and vanilla swirling in the air, mixing and mating with potala that burns upon the counter. the slow rinse and pat down, then to run hand gently along silky stretchs and imagine it is not my hand, but his. sigh. smile. eyes closed and leaning into it fully – triad catching and simmering. humming, i turn to the shower…
hot water only slightly tempered by cool, jets that land and spread warmth as i step under the spray. lilac greek soap and a corrugated strip of cloth take turns dipping and diving around and under curves… lifting breast… coasting smoothly across the hidden underneaths… warmth and sensation causing crinkling and goosebumps. delight.
stretching slowly… mind’s eye blinking and smile appearing as, in the mist, he stands before me, silent and attentive watcher. i offer both, all, really… he is unmoving. a chuckle and sigh blending, turn away to stand face up under the showerhead and be blessed.
rinsing leisurely, bend my head and stand for a time with eyes closed… only the sounds of what might be surf in my ears as the water sluices eager and unrepentant. sometimes i imagine falling into liquidity and running with it, down and out, to the ocean, to freedom.
turning off the water, stepping forth and reaching for the thirsty towel. buffing and patting and stretching like a cat under the hand, drying off. stand before the mirror and laugh at my smokey eyes and secretive smile. laugh for feeling him here, regardless where he may really be… laugh as well for being oddly content despite it all.
vanilla dry oil and peppermint lotion. spraying the former over shoulders, elbows, under now tender and aching breasts… into corners and crevices, softening and spreading nonchalantly with patient fingers. the lotion warmed next, between my hands, sitting and tending poor, forgotten feet, curling mindfully around toes and massaging into arch and heel, sweeping the remainder up the ankles and blending it in before reaching for more…
peppermint lotion tingles. the feeling of it, warm and inciting circulation along my now silky legs is self-inflicted torment. here, the place where the growl finds its way from me, making me laugh again… energy channeled elsewhere, i harvest it like sap rising and turn it to other things.
straightening the bathroom, hanging the towel, extinguishing the incense, and taking the laundry to the bin, i ponder a nap or perhaps the beach. undecided, i turn instead here… the thought to chronicle the weekly ritual seems silly, but also thoughtful, me to myself.
so, done, i sit back and chuckle. the thoughts that accompany it all mostly unwritten, but a clever reader will find them nonetheless. thrumming with the skillful oil still sinking into me, i smile and end.