It's a Saturday evening, and I'm feeling feverish.
I take off my heels as I enter our home, and as my mind is elsewhere, I set down my keys and purse. Maybe it was the dirty things you whispered in my ear last night. Maybe it was that we didn't get to see each other for lunch, and how the last time we did I let you take me against the kitchen sink.
Sometimes though... I just can't quite help myself. It was a long day at work, and my mind kept drifting off below my skirt. Now I'm walking into the bathroom, and I take down my hair. Looking in the mirror, that playful glint is definitely in my eyes. I turn around, and there behind me is a black porcelain seat (you never did question what I was thinking when I bought it), on a white porcelain throne. The lid to the seat is down, and I idle for a moment, feeling a little antsy. Maybe I don't mind that the lid is down, and maybe I want to use it as an excuse. I'm sure later you'll remind me that I'm often hungry for excuses.
Leaving the bathroom, with the lid still down, I switch my course and slip into the kitchen. From the pitcher I pour myself a large glass of tea, and I take it with me into the bedroom. Sipping every so often, the layers I was wearing are removed. Starting with my sweater, I expose my arms to the warm air. Then I unzip my skirt, and drape it across a chair. The tea tastes sweet and fruity. Rolling it softly in my mouth, my thoughts drift to your appreciation of saltier fluids. My fingers undo the buttons on my blouse, and my hair brushes against my barely covered nipples. I shiver as the blouse comes off, once again, the fever in me rises.
I wrap and tie my robe, and take the empty glass back to the kitchen. Checking the clock, I can see you'll be coming home soon. This time I choose two wine glasses, and fill them both. With one in each hand, my robe opens slightly as I walk through the house. Passing by the bathroom with its open door, I let myself look at how the lid is still down. Feeling a little hotter, I start to notice a growing need. Did I mention I forgot to let myself go before driving home?
Our glasses are on the table, but mine has a lip mark already. I'm sitting and fidgeting a little. Didn't you say you'd come home earlier? Surely you can't know what I'm up to. Surely you're not letting my need get stronger on purpose. Trying not to get bothered, back to the kitchen I go. There's got to be something to help me cool down.
Looking around, there's nothing in the pantry or fridge that seems to stand out. Then I open the freezer door, and can't help but grin. You got some more of that sweet and salty ice cream. That's exactly the right thing.
I scoop some of it into a bowl, and hear the door open. Damn, I wanted to meet you in the living room. You hear me in the kitchen, and enter the room. I put the ice cream back up without seeing you, and you come up behind me. You nip at my neck, and I smile. Maybe you're feeling feverish, too.
We say the hello's and the how was your day's. I spoon you some of the ice cream, and you open your mouth invitingly. I see you letting it melt, and can only imagine you tasting the salty clusters in the mix. I loose focus, and get distracted by how full I feel. You asked me some question about my day, but I must have missed it. You tilt your head, and it looks like you're thinking that something's going on. But I laugh, and lead you into the living room by your hand. You don't need to know just yet.