I wash my face and smell a mixture of soap and love juice. First I have washed myself between the legs, with both hands and very carefully. Then I have washed my face and then my feet. This was quite the opposite of what my grandmother always told me. First the face, then armpits, then between the legs and then the feet, she had preached.
Right, I need to wash my armpits.
I am lying in a bathtub with steaming hot water. I grab a beer and take a sip of the cool golden liquid. It is my fourth tonight. I reach down with one hand. Two fingers spreading my already swollen inner lips wide, letting hot water enter me, caress me, penetrate me. The chilled beer running down my throat is providing a sharp contrast to the hotness I feel between my legs.
My grandmother had taught me to use soap. My grandmother had been from East Prussia. Shower gel is for pesky bureaucrats, she had always said. If you use shower gel, you have to use deodorant and perfume as well. Use just soap and you're sufficiently clean.
I am working at the Scottish Agricultural Department. I guess that qualifies me as a pesky bureaucrat, only a pesky bureaucrat smelling of soap. I still use soap the way grandma has taught me to, but I don't wash myself like she has told me to do. I love to wash myself between the legs first, afterwards continuing to my face. If I am lucky I can smell myself on my hands. I love that.
Today I am lucky. Or not.
How funky can life get? For nearly half a year now I'm after the proverbial boy next door. He is just perfectly my type. He is from Korea, but tall and well build. He studied management science, but is a gifted singer and enjoys practicing taekwondo. His last name is Kim, what a cliché. I like to tease him about it and always call him Kim, never Kyoung-Soo. When thinking of him I call him wonder boy, because his mind is sharp, his voice beautiful and his body athletic and sexy. We became friends, but I never told him about my romantic feelings. In all those nights we watched videos together I never said a word. I never considered that one day he might be engaged to someone else. I also never told Karen, my roomy and beloved friend from childhood days. Three weeks ago she announced that her new boyfriend would join us for dinner. I was sincerely looking forward to meet the man who was able to make her happy. I knew he must make her happy, otherwise Karen wouldn't have chosen him. I was still in the kitchen, when the doorbell rang and Karen opened the door. I thought about nothing in particular when I heard Kim's smooth voice. Only when I entered the living room and caught Karen and Kim smooching one the sofa I got the point.
I didn't blame Karen. I never told her about him and I was sure she hadn't noticed. I am good at hiding feelings. What I also never have told Karen is that I have watched her. First I have watched her and then I started fantasizing about her, about what I could do to her. I hadn't intended to watch her. It just happened. I felt incredibly guilty, because she was like a sister to me. We grew up in the same neighbourhood, went to the same school. We travelled together, we studied together, not the same subject but at the same university. Together we decided to go to London and together we ended up in Edinburgh. I loved the Scottish accent and hated the weather. She loved the weather and claimed the accent would cause her a headache.
Without thinking I reach down, with the bottle still in my hand, caressing my labia with the bottleneck. I could penetrate myself now, but refrain from doing so. If I sink that low to make love to myself, I will do it with style. I take a deep breath, put the bottle aside and take the soap. I stroke the soap bar. Speick. I always use Speick. It smells very soapy and spicy. My grandma had sent it to me. I know they have no decent soap where you are living, she had written. Grandma had sent a whole package of Speick and another package of sausages. I caress the orange soap bar. It feels slick. It could be Karen's juice on my hands, I muse. I lift my hips and caress myself with a soapy hand. How deliciously slippery it feels. I caress my boobs. Actually I like them, they are just a good handful for a gal like me. I particularly take care of my nipples, standing erect and begging for attention.
"Speick? Are you there?" Her yell violently catapults me back to reality. Karen has started calling me Speick because I love to take long baths and to use a lot of soap. A bar of Speick, in most cases. If only she'd know. I let go of my breasts and crotch and try to regain composure. Suddenly she is standing beside the bathtub. Her look wanders dismissively over four empty bottles of beer.
"What are you doing?" she demands.
Fucking myself, because you aren't doing it? No I shouldn't say that. I just shrug. My upper torso is out of the water and she hasn't missed my erected nipples for sure.
"Get out of the water," she demands, grabbing me under my arms and trying to lift me up.
"Ok, ok," I murmur and shake off her hands.
She turns on the shower. "Too much soap," she says and smiles fondly at me. Damn Karen. Why does she have to smile at me like that? I am nearly drunk, hot as hell and wet. Everywhere. I am stronger than she is.
"Everything alright?" Oh well, wonder boy to the rescue.
"We can handle ourselves, right?" She says before wonder boy can enter the bathroom.
"Yeah," I whisper sort of unconvincingly.
I straighten up. "You should go to Kim, he's waiting for you."
"He can wait a little longer. He feels at home here anyway."
"Right," I pause and watch her. True, Kim feels at home in our flat. He seemed to feel comfortable from the first day I invited him over.
"I know what you're doing," I suddenly say, not quit in control of my mouth.
"You do?" She looks puzzled. Clearly irritated.
"You use my soap," I state matter-of-factly. "You make fun of me, but you use it yourself. You like to use it."
"How the hell do you know?" She says, her voice raspy. I smile victoriously.
"Now hand me the towel or leave."
She stares at me. "How do you know?" she repeats, sounding dangerously impatient.
"I've seen you," I answer amazingly calm. "I've seen what you've done with the soap bar and with yourself." Damn did I really say that? Didn't I want to say I know because of the traces of foam she leaves on it, traces that do not look like mine? It was the truth. Well, that I have seen how much she has enjoyed my orange soap bar is also the truth. And if she has always enjoyed my soap as much as she did when I observed her. Good Lord. Who could blame me for having those fantasies?
"I always knew you had an unhealthy interest in my love life, but I didn't realize you would go this far." She looks at me rather impassively.
That irritates me. Isn't she angry? I would be, I think. We're like sisters. Yet it is an incredible turn-on to fantasize about Karen, making me hot and greedy, although or just because the idea of it feels pretty incesty.
"And," I start again. "I think I was the first one, who fell in love with wonder boy. I dunno when, but I think I loved him first. Must be his youthful face, his innocence."
"You're drunk," Karen says softly. I can't deny it. But I am not that drunk.
"You think I say that to piss you off."
"I didn't know you had feelings for him."
I step out of the tub, naked and dripping wet as I am.
"Wonder boy and I would have been quit a pair, don't you think? And we both have an interest in management science. There aren't many people who think that is an exiting subject." I stumble over a towel lying on the floor. "He can sing and I can listen."
Karen stares at me. "I didn't know, really."
I wave jovially. Four beers are enough to become forgiving for now. "Nah, it's ok. You also don't know that it turned me on to watch you. Believe me, you're hot when you touch yourself."
"Speick," she says, sounding unsure. Shocked?
"That's the word of the night. Speick can pleasure a girl, right? Speick can be taken, shared, even." I pause and watch her. She is glancing at me. As if she has never seen me naked before. As if she has never seen me drunk before. I grin.
"At least there is one thing we can share. The soap," I continue with my boozed ranting.
But suddenly, Karen is making a step forward. She grabs my chin and kisses me on my half-opened mouth. It's not easy to shut me up, but this definitely does the trick. I see wetness glistening on her lips. Then she turns round and practically storms out of the bathroom.
For a while I am standing in the middle of the bathroom, until the air starts cooling off my wet body. I shrug and climb back into the tube. I add some hot water and grab my beloved orange soap bar.
How funky can life get?