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The moment she wakes up that morning but it is later than usual. He has already left. The clock has just turned nine. She clearly sees the two hands pointing in the perfect shape of a pie. There was no need to run her eyes as she did almost every morning.
She felt a bit tired but then started seeking in her memory as to why. This “why” led her to the events of the previous night. When she has danced on his lap while wrapping her hands as to cease her own fraction that has been lost for some time. She bit her lower lip and could not think much longer about the events of the last night. She knows if she pursuit these streams of thoughts, she would no longer be able to hold herself together.
She takes a walk down the alley that connects every entrance in the home. The alley leads her to the desired destination, the bathroom. She observes with a frown on her face that he has again forgotten to put the toilet seat down. Typical guy thing. The moment she sits on it, a stream of warm droplets flow down her vagina. She is not wearing any underwear. She never wears any underwear when she is at home to go to bed. She likes the sensation when the bare linen sheet touches her bare hips during the night.
From the corner of her eye, she could see he has cleaned the bathtub. It looked nice and every article that can be used during the process of bathing they possessed, were too neatly arranged. For how long, she thought as she passed the button to flush down the contents.
She moves her curves in front of the mirror, takes her time to undone the button of the shirt she is wearing, and lets it quickly fall down on the fall. This is not her routine. Then again, today she is later and is constantly fighting with the thought of not doing much around the house anyway.
She took her favorite toothbrush with some paste on it and started rubbing it against the front of her teeth. She likes to take her time and run her teeth slowly by putting an equal amount of pressure on the head of the toothbrush such that it cleans her teeth without tearing apart her gums. This is her routine but soon she is bored with it. She desires to do something that she won’t do it any other day.
She takes a glance again at the bathtub. She admires the attractive asset he has left like that sculptor who finished working on the Madonna of Bruges for the final time. Taking a look at every corner of the tub from her eyes which are then led to the hand shower, slightly placed at an elevated level than the tub itself.
The hand shower is neatly tucked in its holder and is shiny on the surface. Like it has been massaged in time and the fruit that process is going to bear, in mind.
She took a closer look at the hand shower. She wants to feel it. Touch it. And she does. She finds herself standing in the bathtub. Her right hand slightly nudges the valve such that starts a sudden brisk of cold water which circulates her lower thigh and makes her feel the thin the line between the pleasure and the pain at the same time.
This brisk of cold water soon becomes persistent and she feels that the surface of her thighs can handle it now. She directs the insistent stream of water to her clitoris, just like she has done so many times. Just like she had done for the first time when she was nine.
She lies down, plants her feet on the cold tile and let the waves of water ride along her inner thighs until and unless her thighs start to quiver and she feels a sudden wave of gust insider her waiting to match the wave outside and then blend together in such a way that it will be difficult for an on-looker to tell the difference between the two. This is how she had felt safe most of her life. Since the age of nine, since that day.
This is how she felt most joyful and her body alive. This also reminds her about the early experiences she had in life while her head rests on the inner rim of the bathtub. She could memorise the thrill she felt at that time but she could not let whole body absorb the same thrill again. It was over. She is once again feeling that emptiness.
At that moment she realises she has to do something to bring back the thrill. She leaves the bathroom door ajar and the his old shirt which she wore at night, on the floor.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/i48yp8/the_admirable_work_of_a_sculptor