(Based on one of my weird dreams. Not that I have normal dreams, but this one stuck with me.)
Thus, I charged into this undiscovered country, books and action figures in tow. Sparse furnishings and troves of empty shelves greeted me upon incursion into my new dusty wonderland. The bathroom was a vast savanna plain compared to tiny apartment bathrooms of the past, housing a shower, a sink and two toilets. No, not a toilet, but a bidet! What a delightful surprise and a new experience I was very much looking forward to. No more OCD backside cleaning!
It was only entering the next adjoining room that gave me pause. It wasn't the heaps of boxes, the piles of newspapers, the lonely baseball bat or the rack of stale clothes that bothered me. It was the man in the crisp white shirt, black tie, and red nylon sleeping bag lying on his side on the ledge of my new garden tub. I had to call the landlord.
"Hello, this your new tenant.."
"Ah, yes, how are you finding the place? I'm afraid it's been vacant for a while now."
"Oh, it's lovely. The shelves are great! I have so many books and the bidet! I'm so excited about the bidet!" Best to start on a positive note, I decided.
"I"m glad to hear it. Well, I've got to go..."
"Uhm...but the man?"
A huge sigh on the other end of the receiver and a pause, followed by. "Just some things I'm storing. Nothing to worry about. You're welcome to use the tub. It is your tub, afterall. Just don't make a lot of eye contact and you'll be fine."
"Wait, so you're storing that man?"
"Yes."
"So he...what? He just lives on the edge of the tub?"
"Yes."
"And I just take a bath with him there?"
"Yes, well, like I said just don't make eye contact and you'll be fine."
"Wait. Why can't I make eye contact? Is he dangerous? Am I living with a dangerous man in my house?"
"No, no, no, nothing to worry about. He never leaves the edge of the tub, although he is capable of moving about. He doesn't even eat or use the bathroom."
"What? Seriously..." I broke in. My new landlord continued on, hardly pausing a breath.
"Really, I promise, nothing to worry about. He's just this stray investment banker my wife picked up for some unknown reason when she was out getting aluminum foil. We didn't really know what to do with him. Putting him out on the lawn with the garden gnomes just seemed weird, so we put him away. Just pretend he's not there, like an old sock. It's only the staring has bothered the other tenants. But, like I said if you don't make eye contact then you won't notice him staring. Have a good day!"
The proceeding dial tone held no further answers. I listened anyways, collecting my thoughts. Then, I promptly ignored those thoughts and proceeded with unpacking. Books arranged by category, action figures arranged by fandom, the mundane activity of organization and cleaning consumed the daylight hours. By the end I was sweaty, dusty and tired. Standing in a shower didn't appeal. Upon testing, the lackluster water pressure didn't encourage matters, especially to those of us that had the hair of a small alpaca adorning our heads. Besides, I had dabbled with a bit of nude modeling. I was no stranger to uncomfortable, fussy environments, I could bathe in front of a strange banker in a sleeping bag. Of course, I could!
Green eyes opened as I entered the room. His perfect, brown, weatherman hair remained unfazed by sleep. He remained on his side, perched on the generous ledge of the tub. His eyes closed as I removed my shirt. Was he being gentlemanly this first meeting, I wondered. It didn't last, his eye lids opened a sneaky crack, as my shorts slipped down.
"You may as well look." I said, turning on the taps. Even at invitation, I wasn't prepared for the open staring. Nudity held no scandal for me but, I could understand the complaints of former occupants. The intensity was a little unnerving as I stripped.
"Well, this is me nude!" I proclaimed doing a turn, arms raised in the air. My attempt to break the ice was met with silence. Perhaps, it was better to ignore him as the landlord suggested. I slipped into the water and kept my eyes averted. It was okay. The water temperature wasn't to my liking but it was okay. I fussed with the taps a bit more. Old houses tended to have tricky plumbing. The rush of ice water came to fast with too little of a turn. I shrieked.
"Here, let me." He said.
I leaned back and was rewarded with drifts of incoming snuggly warmth.
"That's so much better! Thank you!"
My tub pervert seemed a little stunned. "No one has ever said thank you."
"Well, they should. Do you have a name?"
His brow contorted. "I think I used to? I don't know... I'm just here now." He looked around at his garage sale kingdom and then went promptly back to staring at my vagina. Somehow, his eyes seemed to hold more kindness now. Kindness and lechery, I could live with this.
"A little warmer?" He inquired.
"Mm, yes please. I like it just short of scalding."
He obliged and I sighed sinking into my steadily warming contained ocean and watched as he picked up my red spiderman body puff.
"Would you like me to wash your feet?" He offered.
"Oh, that would be lovely! Thank you so much!"
He smiled. "You're welcome. No one's ever been this nice to me. I'm happy to do it."
Thus began a beautiful friendship. It never grew sexual. There was only innapropriate staring, warm baths, and helpful washing. He became a ritual at the end of the day to look forward to. At least, until cops barged in at my suspicious lack of complaining and forced my tub pervert to join society and work at a record store. If I had complained, or if I had been a liar I could have kept him. But, because I hadn't, I was consigned to subpar baths for a while and he a life of explaining why The Cure's Disintegration is such a great album. The fifth assault of glacial rush into lukewarm tub was the straw that caused me to seek him out. Miserable, surrounded by hipsters, he looked positively wounded in his new role. It wasn't hard to twist his arm, but, it had to be a secret. He was part of society now and had a work schedule to keep. Thus, I reclaimed him on Thursdays. The rest of the time I showered, and worried about the possibility of Norman Bates like shower murder, but on Thursdays I had the best baths ever.
