Secret Confessions of a Smart Girl

Because my weekend plans just crashed and burned*, I just stopped my massive push to complete my manuscript edits by the end of the day in favor of taking a bath. After all, if I have an extra three days to get the work done I should be able to take an hour out to attempt to convert my muscles from knotted steel to spaghetti-like goo.

I don’t take baths all that often. I don’t really know why. They always feel so incredibly decadent to me while I’m lying in my coconut scented bubbles, letting the heat soak into my skin. I think part of that is the nudity. I’m not a casual nudist around the house**, and wandering about naked before, during, and after the bath tends to feel very sensual, or even downright sexual.

I like my body better without clothing than I do with. I may not be the skinniest person on the planet, not by far, but I’m strong and fit and when I’m naked I can see the curves and hollows that my hard work has won me***. I like my two current tattoos, and I like thinking of the next few I’m planning and picturing how their designs will adorn my skin. My body is far from perfect, but when it’s all out there, exposed to the air and light, I’m generally relatively pleased with what I see.

The other thing about bathing is that it brings out my imaginary exhibitionist streak. Throughout my life I’ve always had exhibitionist fantasies. Many of my early masturbatory fantasies were enhanced by my pretending that someone had hidden a camera in the light fixture or the shower. It used to turn me on enormously to imagine someone watching me and telling me what to do****. I never really got past that. It’s rare that I can make it out of the bathtub without hiding my face from the imaginary camera let alone with what little remains of my virtue intact.

So that was my shameless self indulgence for the day. After nearly 36 hours straight of doing nothing but researching depressing statistics on rape for the book I’m revising, it was a lovely break. I’m tempted to follow it up by some private musing on rape fantasies, just to further balance everything out. It would be good to get those out of my system before I start working on the facts again.

*And I had so been looking forward to having people beat the crap out of me this weekend! Sadly, sick pet needs to take priority. The one silver lining? Not having to deal with the 5+ hour drive on one of the heaviest travel weekends of the year… when the main freeway is under construction. Still, no beatings is terribly disappointing. I’ll have to see if I can manage to at least shake up a local date for some making out and biting.

**Self preservation. It’s bad enough when the dog gets a hankering to lick between my toes. Cold nose on the back of a kneecap? *shudder*

*** I can also catalog the bruises. My weekly exercise in group masochism left me, this time, with a solid green left inner thigh and a giant black spot on the back of my right knee. There are also several inexplicable bruises on my calves that I’m going to blame on attack shrubbery. I have an epidemic of attack shrubbery. I swear to gods that someday soon I will walk the neighborhood with pruning shears and an evil grin.

****Used to? Who am I kidding. Anyway… Part of this is an inherent enjoyment of being subjugated to someone else’s will “Do this. Show me that” and part of it is just pure bliss at the thought of being able to turn off my brain for a while and let someone else make the decisions.