by Jenn Cooksey
“Mm-hm, a dirty mind like mine is a terrible thing for you to waste so I’m gonna help you put it to use,” he told me, chuckling at my squirming and squealing.
The big brat is tickling me too. He very rarely does that, but I think he’s trying to let me know he’s not being entirely serious about what he just said by keeping me laughing and not freaking out. I gotta give him credit because it’s working.
“But you’re getting me all dirty!” I complained through my laughter with images of dirt and grass stains on my freshly laundered white shirt.
“Kind of the point, Baby,” he told me and before I could say anything else, we were in my bathroom and he was pulling the shower curtain back and turning the water on.
So I’m sure you can guess what happened next, right? Uh-huh, my incorrigible idolater dumped me in the tub fully dressed with the shower pelting my previously dry person with water, all the while laughing at my garbled protests and/or my victimized expression. At least I wasn’t wearing shoes. I stood up, looking like a drowned rat I’m sure, and went to climb out of the bathtub but Tristan shoved me back in, following me this time and closing the shower curtain behind him.
Yeah, although we didn’t stay that way for too terribly long, we’re both standing there in my shower fully clothed with the water running. And laughing our asses off about it. Seriously, it was one of the funniest damned things ever. I was laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe (not in the scary way from a few days ago though, that would’ve been bad and ruined everything) when Tristan reminded me of Cary Grant in the movie Charade. There’s this one scene when he gets in the shower in his suit and proceeds to lather up and use soap under his armpits and everything. He does it all in front of Audrey Hepburn and when she looks at him like he’s certifiably insane; he searches for the washing instructions on the suit and pleasantly informs her that his suit is “drip-dry.” Oh God, it’s so funny, you really should see it if only for that one part. Anyway, Tristan actually did something very similar by washing himself and his clothes off—while he was still in them.
About five minutes or so later though, we were down to our underwear when there was a knock on the partially open bathroom door.
“Fuck off!” Tristan hollered with a laugh.
“I’m just the messenger… Pizza will be here in about thirty minutes and Pete wants to remind you he likes hot water, and because I’m sure you’re both interested in my thoughts, I’ll tell you, I couldn't care less if you both drown in there,” Jillian said, having let herself in to relay that information.
“Tell Pete to bite me and that if he wants hot water he should get a move on in one of the other bathrooms featuring that modern wonder ‘cause we’re gonna be a while. Oh, and if we do drown, do us a favor and feed the girls. They like Duck a l’Orange and appreciate a nice pheasant when in season. And make sure Ferb gets to vomit on Jeff at least once a week,” Tristan answered her, making me start laughing again.
“They’ll have to settle for Friskies, but the Jeff thing I can do. Have fun drowning and don’t blame me if the pizza’s cold.”
“Mm-kay, bye!” I called out and then giggled when Tristan pulled me to him again and planted a big, watery kiss on me as I heard the bathroom door shut.
Now I have to say even though I might’ve preferred frolicking with him in a bigger body of hot water like my Jacuzzi, because surprising as this is, aside from that time in the ocean, Tristan and I have never had the chance to play alone in water, I think our shower/bath might just go down as one of my all-time favorite moments with him. It’ll also be a moment I fiercely hold onto and replay in my mind over and over in the coming weeks as another example of hindsight. He was playful and affectionate, but it was simple. It didn’t once feel like we were headed towards doing anything other than just being together. It’s kind of odd and I’ve noticed it a little before, and again, I’ve never been alone with him quite like this, but it seems like when Tristan’s in water, he just completely relaxes and allows himself the freedom to let his intensity slip. Well, aside from when he’s playing water polo or competing in a swim meet…then he’s scary intense. Maybe it’s a combination of being in water and being alone. Whatever, I don’t know how to explain it, although I will say this, I thoroughly enjoyed our freshwater maritime togetherness.
Still non-naked, we ended up reenacting the bathtub scene out of Pretty Woman, with Tristan soaking his sore muscles (which is why he was so fully submerged in the Jacuzzi last night) and doing most of the talking, while I washed his hair for him. Yeah, I totally gave him a soapy Mohawk too, it was hilarious. He told me all about the last two days with Pete and that it seems like Pete might be holding back, which Tristan pretty much expected, but that he seems to be throwing well regardless. Tristan also told me Pete’s doing a really good job of keeping him out of his head and that he’s not sure if it’s because he’s in pain and doesn’t wanna confess that he is, or if Pete is just messing with him on purpose. But whichever the case may be, Tristan hasn’t really been able to step one foot into Pete’s head and that’s not because of a lack of effort on Tristan’s part. That’s another reason why he’s so tired. I guess it takes a lot out of them mentally in the beginning when they’re reestablishing the connection, and it doesn’t help that Pete’s being a stinker. Tristan’s not worried about it though. He knows with enough time they’ll sync up again with no problem, whether Pete wants to or not, which he does, so the whole thing is a non-issue. However, Tristan really wants to get in there and make sure Pete’s not being dangerously stubborn about the pain thing. Anyway, he warned me that chances are it would be another really early night for him, which I was completely okay with this time.
Surprisingly and without being asked, Jillian delivered our dinner tub-side. She really had to work to swallow her laugh and hide her smile when she saw all our wet clothes dripping from the curtain rod and Tristan all sudsy though. So, we ate in the bath and then before either of us turned too pruney, we got out.
Before the evening was over however, Tristan had one more movie scene reenactment he wanted to get in. We didn’t reference any of these movies and none of the reenactments were actually planned, so the whole evening was genuinely spontaneous and real, which is amazingly great to experience. Anyway, I went to sleep that night with freshly painted toenails.
If you’ve ever seen Bull Durham you’ll get this and if you haven’t…well, I don’t know what to say other than you’re missing out.
25.
It Seemed Like Such A Good Idea At The Time
“Okay, so I’m dying to know what it’s been like for you living with your boyfriend...” Kate told me towards the end of cheer practice on Monday.
“Well, you were there Saturday so you know what that was like, and Sunday wasn’t a whole lot different aside from bathing together when he and Pete got back, and then this morning was a little weird waking up together and getting ready for school and everything, but really, except for him watching me pick out my clothes and do my hair and stuff, it’s been pretty close to what it was like when we were at the desert,” I told her truthfully. Really, it hasn’t been too different; we just get to kiss each other good night in bed rather than on the porch. Oh and sharing a bed rather than sleeping alone and all that “could” happen, but he’s been so exhausted that I’ve had no anxiety on that front. Plus, I think I’ve made up my mind on that anyway.
“Wait…you bathed together?”
“Yeah,” I answered with a giggle, thinking about that whole thing last night. It really was so great and I loved every minute of it…I sort of wish Jilly had videoed everything for me. Oooh, maybe she did...I’ll have to ask her later.
“As in got naked in the water together?! Uh, Camie, don’t take this the wrong way but, how did you not have sex? Or, oh shit, did you?!” Kate asked, almost bouncing up and down to know the details that will most likely disappoint her once she has them.
“No, we didn’t actually get naked together…it was more funny
than anything else. He threw me in the shower fully clothed and got in with me. We ended up in our underwear and took a really long bath, that’s all.”
“Oh, okay. I thought for a minute...well, you know. Are you thinking this week is gonna be hard for you guys at all?”
“You know, I don’t think so. He’s been super tired and we went to sleep at like eight last night. Plus he’s been really great about not even trying to get past the base we’re on.” It’s true. Other than that invite to shower with him on Saturday, which I’m sure would’ve had a dramatically different outcome than the one we took last night, Tristan hasn’t hinted or made a single move further. In fact, the last time we actually had a quality make-out session was on New Year’s Eve.
“Wow. I gotta say I’m impressed and, really surprised,” Kate said, sounding exactly that.
“What do you mean?”
“Um, well…I’ve just been thinking he’s totally chomping at the bit and I guess I’m surprised he hasn’t at least tried. He’s really not the most patient guy in the world and he’s basically gone without for sort of a long time now, you know?”
That’s true too. Actually now that she said it out loud, I’m kind of surprised too. Not that I expect Tristan to give me an ultimatum or anything, but you’d think he’d be pulling out whatever tricks he has to move us forward at a little faster pace, especially after New Year’s, but he seems almost content with the status quo. Huh. I’m not really sure what to make of that. I know he wants to…I mean, he really, really wants to, because hello? It’s been almost five months since he’s had sex with anyone and from what I gather and from what Kate just confirmed, that’s a long time for him. So, I guess I can chalk it up to Tristan’s inordinate amount of self-control and discipline for not pushing me; either that or he really is just content. Again, huh.
“Yeah, I know, but I don’t think he’ll have to wait too much longer…just um…just don’t say anything to Jeff because I could still freak out and change my mind,” I quietly confided.
“I won’t, but have you talked to him about it?”
“No, I figure I’ll wait until the situation presents itself, you know? I’m not in a hurry and it’s not something I think we should discuss at the dinner table,” I said, giggling to myself and picturing how that dinner conversation would go. “Besides, I’m more preoccupied with trying to figure out a way to get him to take me to the dance that he’s so vehemently opposed to. I honestly have no idea how to go about persuading him to do that.” I really just don’t understand why he’s being such a turd about this, it’s not like I’m asking him to marry me or donate a kidney or anything.
Kate laughed at my stubborn expression, knowing full well that Tristan and I are in a battle of wills over clothing at the moment and neither of us is likely to give in without some heavy-duty incentive.
“I bet you’ll think of something. After all, you got him to agree to that contract you’ve literally tattooed on yourselves, which I still can’t believe either of you actually did…good lord! Camie, I swear you have him so tightly wrapped around your finger it isn’t even funny. The guy is already so incredibly whipped and you haven’t even had sex yet…imagine the power you’ll have once you do!”
OH OH! Can you say, Epiphany?!
“Oh Kate, that’s it! You’re the best!” I said excitedly, giving her a big hug and then I skipped off to privately think about this new scheme before Tristan picked me up.
“Uh, glad I could help?” She called after me, sounding unsure of wanting to take credit for being the best and not having any idea why she was.
I don’t know if you’ve caught up to where my mind is, but I’ll give you a hint:
Incentive = Sex Sex = Power Power = Formalwear
Now I just need to make him an offer he can’t refuse. Maybe I should watch The Godfather when I get home—just for pointers.
*****
I’ll admit right here and now, I cheated. I’d gone through my plan over and over in my head and I was sure of my decision, but I was really nervous about bringing it up and even more so, going through with it, so, I snuck some of my dad’s rum into my soda Monday night. I think I understand why Tristan wants me sober and everything, but in my mind, it’s a technicality at this point. After all, if I made the decision while I was sober, what difference does it make if I go through with it not quite so sober? I mean I wasn’t anywhere near drunk, just a teensy bit more courageous.
We were sort of sitting in bed and I was straddling his lap while he was trailing kisses along my collarbone when I finally worked up the nerve to speak. “Tristan?”
“Camie?” Even being as nervous as I was, I couldn’t help but giggle a little at the lighthearted playfulness in his tone.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Can I continue tucking you into bed?” He asked, making me giggle even more.
“Yes, by all means, continue.” It might make it harder for me to focus and verbalize my thoughts, but really, stopping him now would be counter-productive to the end result of my plan.
“Yes, then by all means, ask me anything,” Tristan replied as he tossed me onto my back and continued what he was doing further down my body.
I thought about apologizing in advance for the blindsiding that was about to come, but decided against it. Maybe what I was about to ask wouldn’t actually faze him, you know? “Do you wanna have sex with me?”
There could be no doubt about it. He was fazed. His mouth stopped its progress abruptly and he became still, but he didn’t look up. I got the impression he was dissecting my question from all angles, looking for a trap hidden within it.
“Uhh…umm” he stammered, then he cleared his throat and tried again. “I don’t think I understand the question.”
I should’ve apologized. “Well, you do want to, right?”
“Yeaahh…?” He answered in a way that sounded like he could’ve been asking, “Where are you going with this?”
“Okay, and you wanna have sex with me, right?”
“Uh-huuh?” Again, his answer came out more like a question, this one being “Is this a trick question?”
“So, do you want to? I’m not asking for an essay answer or anything, a simple yes or no will suffice.” I didn’t think it would be this hard to get a response out of him, but all of sudden, he seems so guarded, like he’s on the bomb squad and I’m the bomb; one false move and Kaplooie!
“Baby, that is probably the worst rhetorical question of all time,” Tristan answered with a small chuckle while regaining his composure by picking up our new bedtime regime with maybe a touch more enthusiasm.
“Good. So umm…I have a proposition for you.” Can I just tell you here how difficult it is to not be holding my breath right now? I’m sure I will in a minute, but if I do it now, I’ll most likely pass out before I can even put forth said proposition and if not, then I’ll certainly be out before I hear his answer.
“You’re propositioning me? I’m pretty sure that’s illegal,” he told me, still not having realized that all his frustrating waiting is about to be over once and for all.
“Pretty much all of this will be illegal in a month anyway, so do you wanna know what I have in mind or not?” Actually, now that I think about it, this is good timing, seeing as how we only have a month left where we don’t really have to worry about the potential of him going to jail for statutory rape.
“I’m intrigued…” Tristan answered, and his absorption with a particular spot of my thigh/hip had me thinking he was intrigued by it and not by what I’m endeavoring to talk about. Again, the whole talking thing…truly difficult at the moment and when I say, “absorbed,” I mean preoccupied in a way that’s making it increasingly difficult for my brain to fire the correct synapses required for speech.
“Well, um, I was thinking…what would you say if we had sex, um…tonight or whenever, and then you agree to take me to the dance?” I sort of stammer/blurted. And yeah, now I’m holding my breath.
&
nbsp; He paused again like he was making sure he heard me right and it wasn’t a figment of his imagination. “Is this a hypothetical question?”
And so we’re back to the bomb threat answers.
“Uh, nu-uh?” I hadn’t intended to sound so wishy-washy, and I have a feeling his oral ministrations to the lower half of my body is really beginning to mess with my ability to communicate in any language aside from early Neanderthal.
Tristan sort of chuckled and with some very mild sarcasm that I didn’t quite pick up on until it was too late he said, “Oh, well, in that case I’d say sure. I mean why not, right? That sounds completely reasonable to me…trading sex for a dance. We should’ve agreed to this a long time ago.”
I blew out the breath I was holding only to take another huge lung-full of air so that I could emotionally and literally gird my loins for what was to come, that, in all honesty, I am ready for. The only problem was that I was preparing for something wholly different from what was actually coming.
A minute or so later he paused again to ask, “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Mmm-hmm,” I said in perfect Neanderthal-ese. He continued half-heartedly, then stopped entirely and sat up, leaving me panting and rather disoriented. “W—what are you doing?”
“Processing information,” Tristan informed me with a frown and a very distinct, angry edge to his voice.
“Are you mad? Wait, where are you going?” I asked in real confusion as he left my bed and made his way to the door. Seriously, he was in such a playful mood before and now I’m getting the unmistakable impression he’d like nothing more than to throttle me.
“No, I’m not mad…I’m fucking angry as hell and I’m going to bed,” he told me over his shoulder as he opened the door.
WTF? I thought we were on our way to having sex for the first time! If this is some kind of warped version of foreplay, I gotta say, I’m not a fan.