“How about I give you a sponge bath,” I suggested to my sweetheart.

He’d been sick with the flu and mentioned that, while he was better, he still felt too weak to shower himself.

“Come on, I coaxed,” convinced that it would be a pretty straightforward thing, “it’s like getting a massage except with soap instead of oil.”

What did I know? I wasn’t expecting the happy surprise that was waiting in store for the both of us.

Covering one side of the bed with towels I told him to lie face up on top of them while I got my supplies ready:

A basin of hot water
Two wash cloths (one for soaping and one for rinsing)
Several small and large towels
Soap and scented oil
An eye bag to put over his eyes
Candles to enhance the setting
His favorite music on CD

First, I wrung out a washcloth in the hot water in the basin and pressed it to his face and neck, holding it there long enough for me to feel him relax. Then, I lightly soaped another wash cloth to wash his face with, gently drawing it over his closed eyes, cheeks and forehead. To finish, I wiped his face off and then once again pressed a fresh hot washcloth over it. Finally, I dried his face using a gentle patting with one of my small towels and put a lavender-scented eye bag over his eyes to help bring about a greater sense of release.

I lathered my hands and lowered them slowly toward his chest to give him the chance to feel their approach. I washed his chest, abdomen and underarms in wide, slow strokes, working my way up from the belly and then back down the sides to the belly again.

I enjoyed the feel of his body sliding under my hands, and with his foamy, muscular chest looking so manly and appealing, I washed him in a rhythmic way until all the soap had been absorbed.

I rinsed him off with a freshly wrung out face cloth and before I moved on, I laid a large clean, dry towel across his upper body so that he wouldn’t feel a draft.

I washed his arms and hands in the same way as I washed his chest—only using my soapy hands, being sure to dry and cover each freshly washed arm with a small dry towel before moving to the other. When I washed his hands, I interlaced my fingers in his and ever-so-slowly rotated his wrists to remove the tension.

I washed his strong and steady feet by rubbing and prodding them for several minutes with soapy hands, letting my fingers slide between the toes and holding onto them until I felt them soften in my grip. I washed both his feet at the same time rather than one after the other, and when I was done, I dried each foot with a small clean towel, finishing with a light coat of scented oil gently massaged into each one.

I washed his thick, muscular thighs and lower legs one at a time, and to allow me to wipe down the front and back at the same time, I bent his leg at the knee, sitting lightly on his foot so that he could hold the position without effort. His legs were hairy and to soap them too much would become problematic for rinsing, so I used soap sparingly. After I rinsed and dried his legs thoroughly, I placed a towel across them to keep in the warmth.

I washed his genitals by sliding my slippery, watery hands between his legs, up to just under his testicles and then back up to the top of his distended and content penis.

I whispered quietly in his ear that it was time for him to turn onto his stomach, and while he was doing that, I changed the water in the basin.

I used a soapy washcloth on his back, and starting at the base of his spine, I circled around each firm buttock, up the center of the back and then down the sides. I was more vigorous here than I had been, wanting to stimulate and warm the muscles in a greater way.

When I was done, I wrung out the washcloth, wiped the soap from his back, buttocks, the back of his neck and ears, and then rubbed the entire back side of him with another towel.

Finally, I removed the towels and invited him to turn over on his side while I pulled the bed covers up over him. Setting the basin and towels on the floor, I walked over to the bed and crawled in behind my beautiful man, spooning my breasts and belly against his back.

His body felt warm and supple, and he smelled delicious.

I was filled with the awareness that I had traced every inch of the territory of his form with my fingers, leaving my watery marks on the map of his body. His breathing was deep and even and as I reached around him, he took hold of my hand, squeezing it tenderly to his chest.

While I had always loved my man’s body and delighted in having my hands on him, I had offered to bathe him because he wasn’t feeling well. I had expected that the water and touching and tender nurturing in themselves would restore him. What I hadn’t expected was that my giving him a bath and his allowing himself to receive it would result in us sharing the deeply sensuous physical experience that we had, which drew us closer in intimacy, sensuality and anticipated eroticism.

Many, many sponge baths would follow that first one.

Sometimes they’d end the way the first one did; sometimes they’d end differently; and sometimes, we wouldn’t make it to the end of the bath before we engaged in other, definitely not bath-like behavior.

If I may offer a quote from Don deLillo: “Nothing fits the body so well as water.”

 

Author: Carmelene Siani

Editor: Evan Yerburgh

Image: Flickr