Bathroom (Non Fiction)

The door closes behind me
I stand for a second
In
Sergio Rossi boots and a
Zara
Coat and
Take it in,

 

Your bathroom.

 

I place my bag next to your sink,
Next to a cluster of
Smart glass bottles and
Enticing tubes:

 

“Aesop Mouthwash – Bain de Douche”
“Natura Bisse Barcelona C+C Vitamin Scrub”
“Kiehls Ultimate Man Razor Bump Relief”
“Arm & Hammer AdvanceWhite Extreme Whitening Toothpaste”
“MENSCIENCE Androceuticals Advance shave formula (Normal or Sensitive Skin)”

 

To name but a few.
Christ,
I grin at your
Products;

 

You’re worse than me.

 

I open your cupboard
And have a look;

One razor
A dusty “Chanel Bleu” with the cap missing and
Around 10ml left
Sleeping pills
Magnesium pills
Tooth picks
Painkillers
Disposable contact lenses and
A large Sanex body wash

 

From the bath hangs
A freshly pressed towel that no doubt your cleaning lady has
Thoughtfully laundered

 

Your towel hangs from behind the door
It’s damp
I
Take it to my face and
Breathe it in

 

Smells of you.

 

I stand there and
Inhale your towel a few times more
And
Heave
With arousal.
It’s like being
Right in the gutter of you
Right in your dirt
In the things that
Money and
Nice houses on Eaton Square and
Cosmetics and
Cleaning ladies
Can’t hide.

 

I like it
Being around all your things
There’s a
Sophisticated, deep intimacy to be found in
Sniffing you:
Animalistic,
Base,
A violation,
Perverse.

 

 

For me
You’ve laid out a folded towel, a new toothbrush, a travel sized shower gel and body lotion taken from a
Boring corporate hotel bathroom
And
A sealed envelope
On which you’ve
Tried to write my name in calligraphy.

 

You have kindness and
Loneliness and
Smells about you –

 

A perfect person.

 

But anyway,
I pull out a silk sack from my handbag and empty the contents on
Your bathroom counter.
I
Survey my materials like an architect
My hand lingers over two lipsticks
Red or
Pink?

 

Pink of course,
A glossy one.
I slip out of my sweater
Roll my jeans down
Pull off my cotton CK thong and reach for a
Little
Black
Agent
Provocateur
Number.
(The sort of thing you probably like)
I look over my shoulder and
Scold my reflection
Self consciously

 

Hurry the fuck up.

 

One stocking
Two stocking

 

My newly crafted manicure pierces
Stocking number
Two so that’s
No stockings
I guess.
Bra.
Black heels
Shiny black with a red sole and a
Stiletto that could kill a man
I slip into them and
Elevate
6 inches.
Lipstick
Shake my hair out
Check my teeth
Spray my hair with Dior, my
Neck with Chanel, and
Rub a small amount of
Tahitian monoi oil
Between my
Legs.

 

I look in the mirror
Oh God
God
Do I really look like that?
God.
God.
7/10.

 

My phone vibrates and it’s
Dominoes Pizza
On my case like a
Needy ex,
I silence it.

 

I’m ready.
I look over my shoulder and adjust
My thong, glance at the clock,

 

Shove a few
Things into the silk sack.
Exhale.

 

A voice in my head says “Woman, you’re crazy” and
I am filled with an
Unparalled rush
An unparalleled happiness.

 

I never want to be normal
Never

 

Fuck forever
Fuck stockings
Fuck 2.5 kids and a 0.5 life
Fuck comfort
Fuck clean towels
Fuck corporate pleasure

 

I’m on hedonism,
Have you heard of it?
It’s good stuff
It’s the real deal,
Uncut,
Pure,
High grade thrills.

 

I leave my bag by the sink
Glance in the mirror
Love myself and

Head back into
Your apartment.

 

 

“Christ Billie you took forever in there, what were you doing?”
You ask, eyebrows raised,
Handing me an ice cold Laurent Perrier,

 

“- Oh,” I laugh,
Looking up at you, my hand fondling your cock absent mindedly
“You know what us girls are like…”

 

— BF