It always takes me a while to wind down after a day like that. Not one, but two cases that both proved to be much more challenging than expected. The drama of surgery is incredibly high, pushed up there by the stakes at hand...namely someone's life. As a difficult case progresses the tension of not knowing how it will turn out is thick and coarse. The memories of cases plummeting to a dreaded demise swirl around the room like hateful ghosts. But then to stay the course, relying on solid principles, not panicking, trusting one's training, so that thankfully and finally, things go right and everything looks really good. Just makes it all worthwhile.
As I drive home I leave the radio off. It's as though my ears ring in the silence. I know I am tight all over. It always takes a while to wind down.
You kiss me at the door and I love looking into your eyes first thing. I tell you I think I'll shower before dinner. Your hand slides off my belly as I head toward the bedroom. I slip out of my scrubs as the water pushes the steam over the glass door. Stepping in, I can't wait to get this layer of grunge off my skin. I slowly ease the water as hot as I can stand it, and let it pound my traps and rhomboids. Soap, back brush. Shampoo twice. Better now.
I stop at my mirror and use my wide tooth brush to push my hair back. I don't even towel dry it at all, nor apply anything to it. Wet is fine tonight. I head toward the bed and think I'll just lay down a few minutes. I can smell something wonderful from where I know you're stirring around, but my tiredness is outrunning my hunger for the moment. I lay on my belly, and upwrap the slightly damp towel from around my waist, letting it serve as a little cover transversely across my bottom. I lay my head down, facing away from the door. Just for a moment.
You enter only a moment later but I don't notice. You lean over me and can already see those little twitches of beginning sleep. You see me nude except for the towel. You smell my cleanliness. The reflection of the light on my wet hair.
You slip out of your button up cotton dress. Nothing underneath. You crawl up on the bed and straddle the back of my thighs. You take the oil from your bedside table and warm some in your hands, then apply it to my smooth clean back. It still has pleasing definition, a masculine v-shape not too far removed from my college days. Your hands paint the oil all over my back. Sliding smoothly. Warming more. Up and down. I still don't even wake...so comfortable with you I am. You see a little trail of water down the middle of the nape of my neck and work it into the oil. Wet. Glistening. Firmer now. You find what you know will be there...the tension of the day as marbles in my muscles. Your hands begin to push them away, to rid me of them so that I will only think of you.
