Storylog

Part of him wanted to lay her down on the bed and hold her and make passionate love to her the way they do in romantic movies. Part of him wanted to get his clothes on and get out of there as fast as possible. And never look back. And never discuss this moment. Ever.

They were covered in soapy bubbles, standing close to each other in the shower of her Fort Lauderdale townhouse. Steam crept down the bathroom mirror.

“Does that feel OK?” she asked, running her fingertips through the lather on his shoulder. He was a burly man, a merchant marine in his 40s who’d spent most of his life at sea. The only woman with whom he’d had any relationship was his mother, who was both religious and abusive. She’d often reminded him that sex was a dirty, sinful, unspeakable act.

Catherine, the woman touching him in the shower, was the first woman who’d ever caressed him.

“That feels good,” he said in a shaky voice.

“Now I’m going to rub the other shoulder,” Catherine said. A slim, modest-looking woman with straight, soft hair and a smooth, warm face, she was calm and reassuring. “That isn’t too bad, is it?”

Before they got in the shower, they’d talked a bit, getting to know each other. They started with soft touching on the hands and arms. Eventually, they were standing naked next to each other.

All the while, Catherine encouraged him to talk about how he was feeling.

He said he was frightened, tense. He couldn’t stop thinking about what his mother had told him so many times. He couldn’t help but feel that what he was doing was wrong. But it also felt good to be touched. It felt good to connect with someone, even if it was just temporary.

Catherine continued rubbing him and speaking in a soothing, caring tone.

He extended his hands to her body. First to her hands and arms, then her shoulders and stomach, and soon her breasts. As his hands moved over Catherine’s soapy body, he gulped. His eyes turned glassy. His hands shook. He felt a twisting deep in his chest.

Soon it was too much for him. The merchant marine was overwhelmed by the experience. He began sobbing.

“That’s all right,” she said, still covered in bubbles. Catherine’s voice was like warm syrup on a cold morning. “Stay with your feelings. Talk to me. It’s OK.”  (more @ NewTimes)