I cannot stop thinking about sex.
Every thought takes me in the same direction. Every road leads to the same destination. Everything in this freaking room is designed to turn me on, or so it feels. Like, I’m sorry, a bathtub big enough to fit two people? I wonder whatthatcould be for. A transparent glass-doored shower? Yeah, like I’m supposed to look at that andnotget completely hot and bothered by the idea of Thad standing in there, all naked and sexy and wet.
I wonder what Dr. Sandra would have to say about all of that? Probably, “Go for it!”So, I imagine what would happen if I did. If for some reason, in this unrealistic fantasy scenario, I’m unaware that Thad is showering and I wander in. I see his naked, lithe body, the crisscross of tattoos and smattering of scars. The crescent moon of his muscular buttocks in profile. I’m too startled to move, and he turns to face me. I don’t mean to look, but my eyes dart down, down?—
“It’s Thad.”
Right. I blink myself back into the actual, present moment in the bathroom, not the fantasy one where I’m ogling this man’s naked body, and chastise myself to pay attention to what he’s telling me.
“…I don’t mean to interrupt you but I have something for you, for the bath. I can just leave it here if you’d rather wait for another time…”
If I didn’t know better, I’d say he sounded almost nervous. Afraid he might actually leave, I sit up, calling out quickly, “I’m coming! Wait just a moment…”
I think about opening the door in just a towel, but despite my fantasy about him joining me in the bath, I’m not actually that brave. Instead I put on one of the soft robes hanging on the back of the door, making sure all of my bits are covered up, before I open it.
Thad stands on the other side, shifting from foot to foot and not quite meeting my gaze as he thrusts something toward me. “Here. I thought you might like some things for the bath. It’s okay if you don’t want them. So…here.”
He thrusts a small bag toward me. Perplexed, I take it from him, peering inside to find a few items: bubble bath, gourmet chocolate, and a book. Pulling the book from the bag, I find it’s a standard bodice-ripper romance. It’s not one I’ve read before, though I’ve heard the title.
Looking up again, I study his face. He’s still not making eye contact, and he’s rubbing the back of his neck. If I were to hazard a guess, he didn’t choose this book himself, but asked someone to pick out a romance, hoping I would like it.
The thought warms me from the inside out, and I feel my own blush rising. “Thank you, Thad.” Clutching the book to my chest, I impulsively lean forward, kissing him on the cheek.
When I pull back, he finally meets my gaze. We hold there for a long moment, lost inside of something.
Then Thad clears his throat, swallowing—hard—as he steps away. “Okay, well. Enjoy. Give a shout if you need anything.”
His tone is so curt and matter-of-fact that I might have almost convinced myself I was imagining thatmomentbetween us—if I didn’t see him reach up to touch his cheek where I’d kissed him, just before I shut the bathroom door.
I can’t stop thinking about that moment, replaying it again and again in my mind after I slip back into the bath. I try to read the book Thad gave me, but my mind won’t stay on the words in front of me. I eat a bit of the chocolate but don’t actually taste any of it.
Everything feels awake and alert andwanting. And not just my body. My thoughts circle around him, always drawn back toward him. Only him.
Thad.
When I’m finished bathing, I put on Thad’s T-shirt, inhaling and recognizing the smell of his detergent. The thought makes me grin at myself in the mirror. What a creep. I imagine burrowing up against him, smelling his scent, getting twisted up in him…
I know I should stop, nip this line of thinking in the bud. When I go back out there, we will likely have reset back to normal. He’ll be grouchy and distant, I’ll be overcompensating-ly cheerful and obnoxious. To imagine any other scenario is probably setting myself up for disappointment.
But…what if that didn’t happen? What if, instead of letting both of us fall back into our comfortable patterns, I decided to shake things up?
Some rational part of me warns that this is probably just a weird side effect of what happened to me this afternoon. Shock or PTSD or something else that’s messing with my usual common sense.
But another, hornier part of me remembers the thought I just can’t seem to shake since what happened this afternoon.
I don’t want to die before having sex.
I mean, I don’t want to dieperiod. Maybe I’m being hyperbolic for suggesting that I was close to dying this afternoon. Regardless, the same thought stands. I don’t want to die before having sex. I don’t. I know there are other great things to experience, and not everyone gets to or wants to have sex in their lifetime. I get it. I’m on board. But I don’t want to be one of those people.
I want to have sex before I die.
Preferably, with Thad.
The recognition of this honestly startles me. For so long sex has been this scary, foreign, unknowable thing that I feared almost as much as I craved. Maybe there’s still some fear mixed in there, but it’s like something happens to my body when I’m around him. I’ve never experienced this kind of feeling before, and it is heady. I want to walk out there in just a T-shirt and underwear, and I want him to want me to do that. I want to see him taking me in, unable to tear his eyes away.
I want him towantme.
With that thought in mind, I tousle my freshly blow-dried hair. All of my makeup was stolen with my bag, but I use the good old-fashioned method of pinching my cheeks to give them a bit of color. Finishing, I take a step back to honestly evaluate myself in the mirror and make sure I’m not making a ridiculous spectacle of myself.
