bathing with nature

Since the weather wasn't warm enough for riding motorcycles, I bumped up next weekend's plans to this weekend and went to visit my mother. Although I was only partially successful when it came to snagging her unpaid bills - she never did take her usual afternoon nap, and I thought the Super Bowl would have her nodding off in nanoseconds - I managed to stock her up with various groceries before leaving.

Later in the evening, I decided to take a Proper Bath. This is something I don't do often enough, especially as the previous owner had installed a reasonable jacuzzi in the bathroom. (Why he also installed a Victorian-style toilet in a 1920s bungalow is behind me - visitors are fascinated by it, but it's almost impossible to do even basic repairs as the tank's so bloody high.)

I was having quite a delightful soak, complete with Miss Dior bath gel, water up to my chin, and naughty fantasies featuring O.D.D*, a Valisere bustier and an improvised blindfold. Wash me, rinse me, fuck me. Wash, rinse, repeat. I began to wonder if I could find a waterproof vibrator on the Internet.

I was considering adding hot water when I heard an odd scratching sound. At first it seemed to be coming from directly under the floor, as my house is classic pier and beam, but then I realized it was directly behind my head. This made no sense, as the pump that ran the jacuzzi was right behind my head, built into a tiled wall about four feet high, and I'd turned it off. The noise stopped for a couple of minutes, then started up again. And it was still right behind my head.

At first I suspected that someone's cat, either one of mine or a neighbor's, had decided to get comfortable near the jacuzzi pump. Maybe it was warm there. But it just didn't sound like a cat.

After a few more minutes of intermittent scratching, I finally gave up, climbed out of the bathtub, and opened the door to the jacuzzi pump.

It wasn't a cat sitting next to the pump; it was a possum. Not the biggest one I've ever seen, but certainly not the smallest. And he was totally undisturbed by my discovering him (or her). He just sat there next to the pipes as if he expected me to bring him a drink, or some pretzels.

After about 20 seconds of mutual staring, with some shivering on my part, I decided to leave the possum alone. He stopped the scratching noises, but he didn't leave - at least he was still there some 20 minutes later when I got out of the bath. I can only assume it was really warm there, or his fellow possums had put him up to it.

* See Key to Characters at right.

the year of the fearless libertine

I arrived home tonight to find that the Shark motorcycle helmet I'd ordered had arrived, completing my bikerette ensemble. It's nothing flashy and only slightly sinister; black matte with a hologram stripe to improve night visibility, and a high DOT safety rating of course.

Now I won't have to borrow anything next time I go to Austin for a ride, at least not until I get my motorcycle license. My biker beau Ryan had been slightly embarrassed when loaning me his helmet as he wore such a large size on what he described as his "George Bush papier mache head". I still prefer to be the passenger until I get my license back. I'm still hoping to purchase a smallish motorcycle later this year. Perhaps one of the smaller Triumph cruisers, or a Yamaha V Tech.

The arrival of the motorcycle helmet reminded me how the year had begun. Beginning last December, I'd been having mysterious yet pleasant premonitions that this year would be an improvement over the previous one. Perhaps even a year that would go down in libidinous infamy. From spending the New Year's in Austin with my biker friends instead of alone with a book, to my eventual assignations with O.D.D., to the recent arrival of two problem-solving cash bonuses, these events could be the introduction to a more adventurous time.

This evening, I still feel an erotic, squirming shiver when I think about my times with O.D.D., even with legs still aching from shaolin class. It's if I had taken mental Polaroids during the events. My body had felt charged from the initial instance of his touching me. I remember the realization of how wet I'd become and how quickly it had happened; a surprise considering the months of celibacy preceding it. I remember the sensation of being deliciously objectified yet strangely powerful in equal measures, and my final and unexpected orgasm as he entered me. I remember how he tasted on my tongue.

When I think of the months ahead, I see them in brilliant colours and only slightly illegal. It reminded me when Ryan put the BMW K1200 into sixth gear last autumn, and we went over 100 miles an hour on the road to Blanco. My initial fear only lasted a few seconds and never returned, flying away behind me like sparks on the pavement, replaced by a desire that he go even faster.