I watched him take a bath. He had no idea I was there. The steam clouded the air around his face and bubbles, silly and round, fluttered over him. I watched him take off his glasses. I wanted to put them on. I wanted to feel the sweat, collected from around his eyes and clinging to the Burberry plastic frames, stick to my face. I wanted to eat the glass, crush it into bits of sand. But I stood there, paralyzed. The tub was near overflowing and I could hear the water slosh with his every move. His body was chiseled wet marble. White, sinewy and naked.
I was already there when he walked in. I’d never seen a room like this. I’d never before seen columns, phallicly lovely and huge, tower into a ceiling, wherever it ended, too far up to see, up into the darkness. And as he turned his back to me he took off his robe. I caught only the barest bit of lower back as he slid from it. Into the water he went as I watched every moment. I was merely a ghost, a vapor. I could stare blatantly and he’d never notice. My mouth got hot and my neck was sweating a ring of fire around me. He was beautifully oblivious of my presence and as he sat there, staring into nothing I touched my face. I imagined it was his wet warm hand.