He spread me out like Jesus on the cross; well, at least as far as he could in the confines of my bathtub. So there I was, lying there, ready, a willing sacrifice. He soon discovered that oral sex was nearly impossible in the bathtub unless he wanted to drown. Today was not his day to die, so I would just have to go without. I didn't mind all that much.
The softness of his wet skin against mine felt like silk or maybe it was satin. I can't be sure but either way I felt like a Queen. Careful not to crush my body beneath his, he held his arms on the edge of the tub, elevating his chest just above mine. Our legs entangled and he slowly caressed my lips with his. As we kissed I wanted nothing more than for the foreplay to stop. I had been waiting my entire life for moments like this with him.
Moments later I held him close to me as the lukewarm water sloshed up the sides and then out of the tub. Neither of us had any concern for our clothing on the floor, which at that instant was getting soaked. One hour later I would surely complain about the dampness of my jeans. Our motion was slow and full of compassion. The sweet love language of Trent Reznor entered my ears courtesy of his lips.
I now held myself above him returning the favor from before, although it wasn't long before my arms grew tired. I lay on his chest, my chin resting on his muscled shoulder. As our bodies moved in unison I could hear him breathing. It was rapid, but smooth at the same time. Never in my life had I felt so at peace, and it seemed now that he felt the same way. I could spend the rest of my life buried in him, was the only thought that passed through my mind.
Two hours and twenty wrinkled toes and fingers later, we toweled ourselves dry. As I dried my feet pain shot up my foot and ankle. Looking down, it was easy to see two perfectly circular blisters taking shape directly on top of my feet. A little too caught up in our fervor, I had failed to notice the rigid base of the tub eating away at my skin. Once I subsided his worry for my injury, we laughed it off and dressed.
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The evening came quickly, and as I dressed for the night my roommate noted my sores. Before I could explain my unusual marks, she began to laugh.
"Stigmata?" she questioned, giggling to herself.
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Two weeks later I stood trying on shoes with my mother, never once considering the newly formed scars, which lay atop my feet. Around the third pair of shoes she questioned me about it. As my mind raced, not knowing what to say, but knowing that the truth was not an option, my face must have drawn blank. As concern and question began to fill her mind, I found an answer.
"I wore my boots to the party, without any socks on...." I answered, trailing off. She laughed at my foolishness, and left the subject to rest.
He had crucified me. And I had asked for it. I had wanted it.
Originally published September 2006 - "Divine"