A Tryst to Trifle a Truffle

The bubbles comes up to my chin and lap at the bases of the half dozen candles surrounding me.

There’s no music tonight. I just want the soothing ripple and splash of the water as I wiggle my toes. The constant drip of the faucet behind me is my metronome.

It’s nice, this silent time deep in my tub. There’s no one to reprimand me if, while lost in my imagination, the edges of my book accidentally dip into the water, and curl like the tide laps at the sand.

It’s a good book tonight, and my water is so hot. There are 100 pages in this bath before it turns cold. I lay the old book across my eyes and close them, breathing in the musty smell of it’s old pages with the soapy scent that floats like steam.

There’s only one thing missing, and I feel my way up to the tiny ledge on the side of the tub to find my final treasure.

The dark chocolate truffle melts under my fingerprints, and I feel them sink in, a millimeter deep. It’s enough to coats my fingers and I paint the swell of my breasts with it then bite into the center.

My toe bumps a candle as I sink deep into my moan.

Mmmmm….

The hot water covers my face and I move the truffle through my mouth without breath, trapping the indulgent sweetness on my tongue, in my lungs until I rush back to the surface and swallow gulps of humid heat.


When I open my eyes, they land on the robe you gave me. It’s all smooth silk, and swirly purples, but my favorite thing about it in the gash I cut, up the right side, when you gave it to me.

“It smells like Hershey, Pennsylvania in here!” You’d said, pretending to choke on my chocolate fumes.

I’d invited you into my inner most sanctuary and regretted it immediately.

First of all, there’s no such thing as too much chocolate. Second, the brashness of your voice had scared my fragile flames lining the tub.

I got out, because there was no reason to stay now that my bubble had been burst. I reached for my favorite robe, one of old, faded terry-cloth, with a belt shredded on the ends like the softest tassle.

“You’re wearing that?” If my oldest robe had offended you, just hanging on the door, then you had no idea how offended I was.

Am.

You bought me this new one that I tie around my hips now. Every time I wear it I worry my fingers in the gash, shredding and fraying the threads a little more.

I’m softening it as I soften my skin, rubbing lotion into my legs. My face. My hands.

I know what feels good against my skin; it’s mine after all. I’ve lived in it for as long as I’ve been alive in this form.

Sometimes I lurk from inside this body, peeking around my curves, but tonight is different.

It’s been a year, and it’s my birthday. I traded you in for having my whole heart.

So even though I’m only crawling into my bed, thick with blankets and sheets and covers, to read the rest of my damp book with pruney fingers, I still pick up my favorite hummingbird broach, and pin it to my chest.

I’m almost to my bed, humming myself Happy Birthday, when the most joyous thought erupts in my brain.

There’s cake down stairs.

~~~~~~~~~~

Happy Birthday, Mz. Mal. Your words and love and helped me so much since I’ve known you, and I cannot repay you for your kindness. Ever. This is my small gift to you… Thank you, love.