“Sort of. You must have a tape player.” When Barbara nodded, Maggie continued. “I want you to fill the bathtub with nice warm water and play this tape. Just play it. If you’re tempted to follow the instructions you’ll be given, do it. No one will be watching, no one judging. Just you. Will you do that for me?” When her friend hesitated, Maggie said, “Please?”
“If it’s important to you and your assignment.”
“It is.”
“Okay.”
“Good.” Maggie patted the back of Barbara’s hand. “And find a new bar of soap, one you’ve never used of a different brand than your usual. You’ll understand eventually. And I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”
Before Barbara could react, Maggie strode through the kitchen door and was gone.
An hour later, Barbara tidied up the kitchen and ran herself a bath. She had always loved the huge tub in the master bathroom. It was deep enough to fully cover her body almost to her shoulders. “This is pretty silly,” Barbara said out loud as she plugged in an old cassette player she had recovered from the back of her closet. But if it was important to Maggie, it was important to her, she realized. In two short days she had gone from incredulity and scorn to friendship. She rummaged in the back of the bathroom closet and found a new bar of soap, then pressed the cassette machine’s play button and stepped into the steamy water.
Music filled the bathroom, music with a quiet yet pulsing beat and a soft, slightly mournful clarinet and a baritone saxophone. The sounds that filled the room felt like soft summer nights with the sky filled with stars. Barbara thought of couples in open-topped cars staring down at city lights from darkened lover’s overlooks. She rolled a small towel and placed it at the back of her neck and stretched out. She sighed deeply and relaxed.
“Are you all relaxed?” a soft, sensuous man’s voice asked as the music faded slightly. “That’s very good.” Barbara started to sit up. “No, don’t move,” the voice said. “Just lie back and relax. Let the music fill you, create dreams, fantasies. Let it evoke pictures of teenagers in parked cars.”
How did that man know what she was thinking? Barbara wondered. The music swelled again, and for several minutes the voice was silent. Then the music faded slightly and the voice returned.
“I hope you’re naked, lying in a tub of warm water. The naked female body is such a wonder. It’s so beautiful.”
Yeah, right, Barbara thought. For all he knows, I’m a dog, a hundred pounds overweight with droopy boobs and three stomachs.
“Don’t think like that. All female bodies are beautiful regardless of the way they actually look. Breasts are soft, firm, large or small. Nipples are chocolate brown or dark pink. Skin is deep ebony or almost transparent white. God, I love a woman’s breasts. And your bellies are concave, with prominent hipbones, or full and round. I love to feel the pulse in a woman’s throat and know how it speeds up when she listens to me tell her how beautiful she is. Can you feel your pulse? Find it by stroking your throat. Go ahead. No one’s watching.”
Without really thinking, Barbara slid a wet finger up her neck and felt her pulsebeat.
“That’s your life flowing throughout your body. You can feel it all over, in your wrist, in your foot, at your temple, in your groin. If I tell you that I want you to imagine me touching your breasts, does your pulse speed up? I love that I can do that for you.”
Barbara felt her pulse. No silly man’s voice was going to make her pulse beat faster. But it did.
“I want you to make your hands all soapy. Please, for me. Feel the soap, so smooth and slippery. Rub your hands over the bar, touching its contours. Close your eyes and just feel the soap as your hands caress it.”
Barbara took the soap from the holder and rubbed it. She was strangely aware of the slick surface.
“Take the soap and make a rich lather, then slowly rub it on your throat. Feel the difference between the hard surface of the cake of soap and the soft, warm skin of your body. Move your hands around. Feel your jaw, the back of your neck. Now caress your cheeks. How smooth and soft they are through the lather. Keep your eyes closed and just feel. Feel rough and smooth spots, places that are warm and those that are cool. If you have fingernails, use them to scratch your shoulders, just lightly.”
Barbara did, her eyes closed, her head resting against the towel on the rim of the tub.
“You need more lather, so rub the soap again. Can you smell the perfume? Does your soap smell like flowers or spice? Can you picture a field of summer blossoms or an Oriental harem? Maybe lemons or blackberries. Inhale deeply. Fill your lungs with the scent and imagine.
As the music filled the room, Barbara breathed deeply and saw a Parisian boudoir with perfume bottles on a mirrored vanity. She vaguely remembered her mother buying her this soap many years before. She lay there seeing the boudoir. A woman sat at the vanity putting on makeup. She was dressed in a filmy negligee, waiting for her lover. Barbara opened her eyes. Now why had she created that scene? Waiting for her lover, indeed.
“I hope your eyes are still closed,” the voice said softly. Barbara snapped her eyes shut. “I want you to feel other places on your body. Start with your breasts. Your soapy hands will feel so good on your soft flesh. I want you to use the pads of your fingers to stroke the flesh of your breasts, just around the outside. Press a bit and feel. Are your breasts full, or small and tight? As I told you, I like them all. Can you feel your ribs or is there deep softness? Please. I can’t be there to feel your skin so you must do it for me.”
Tentatively Barbara sat up slightly so the tops of her breasts were above the waterline. She slid her soapy fingers over the crests, then pressed her fingertips into the flesh. Deeply soft and pillowy, she thought.
“Find the areolas, just where the color changes, darkens. Open your eyes if you must, then close them again. Run one fingertip over the slight ridge there, all around. Keep swirling around that line. Can you feel your nipples tighten? No, not with your fingers, but feel it inside. Don’t look, feel. Can you feel your nipples contract? Yes, I know they will.”
They did.
“I wish I were there to touch your nipples. I would first swirl my fingers around the outside the way you are doing it. Then I wouldn’t be able to resist sliding toward the tightened buds. I want to feel them but I can’t, so you will have to do it for me. Touch. Squeeze. That’s what I would do. I would squeeze those tight nipples. It’s hard to feel it when you touch lightly so make yourself feel it. Do what you have to so that you know the touch of your fingers. Pinch, use your nails.”
Barbara used her newly manicured nails to tweak the tips of her breasts. She felt it, tight, slightly painful yet very stimulating.
“I know you think this is strange and maybe you feel a bit guilty, but it’s your body and you are entitled to touch it. It’s God’s creation and so beautiful. I know also that you’re noticing that you’re not just feeling your fingers touching your breasts. You are also starting to become aware of the flesh between your legs. You’re feeling full, maybe getting wet, not from your bath but from your excitement.”
Barbara was aware of her groin. This is ridiculous, she thought, yanking herself from her dreamy state. It’s dirty.
“I know you feel that what you’re doing isn’t what nice
