A stash of little bottles in my bathroom gives the impression that my bigger bottles have been getting together at night and making babies. In fact, they're orphans collected from hotels where my lover and I have occasionally holed up during the two years we've been together. They contain the shampoo and conditioner, bath gel and body cream that I always feel compelled to pack when I leave a room.
For some time now I've felt annoyed at how they take space and clutter up my already cluttered bathroom. Sure, they come in handy when I run out of shampoo, and some of the containers will be great for my son to play with when they're empty (if they ever get empty), but other than that I have little use for them and a kind of disdain for their very littleness.
While taking a shower at home with my lover, I reach for one of these little bottles and spread a dollop of its contents onto his body. A wonderful earth-by-way-of-heaven fragrance fills the steamy air. On waves of that lovely aroma, I'm transported back to a rainy night last spring when he and I checked into the Hotel Le Germain in downtown T.O.
The lighting in the room was golden, the artwork vibrant, and outside the rain fell steadily. I did the requisite bed-bouncing and closet-checking upon arrival, then undressed, kissed my beloved long, slow and hard, and got into the rainforest shower. The wall separating the bathtub from the bedroom is all glass: one huge window covered with one big Venetian blind made of dark wood. As the water poured over me in refreshing, sensual torrents, my naked partner lounged on the bed, watching me through the open slats. Film noir via the jungle. Sam Spade meets Jane.
As I washed my hair, the scent enveloped me and floated out into the room, inviting him. He got up from the bed and walked toward the window that separated us and pulled the blind up.
Sam Spade becomes Tarzan, hard and primal. His eyes never leaving me, we came together with a sheet of glass between us.
Later, he showered and I watched.
For my next bath at home, I squeeze a body gel into my palm. Its fragrance sends me back to Sofitel in Montreal a room of champagne tones and dark wood, brass fixtures and soft lighting, with single orchids elegantly arranged in glass vases.
Tired from the trip, I shed my travelling garb and relaxed into the big bed. I sank under the duvet while my love went out to survey the Montreal scene. I fell into delicious dreams and woke up wanting him.
When he tiptoed in an hour later, I beckoned to him. He handed me a crackly bag of M&Ms from his pocket and I crunched a few as I watched him disrobe. Then, as he lay down beside me, I put a yellow one in his mouth and a red one on his cock. He crunched yellow while I took red in my mouth.
As I moved up and down over his growing hardness, the candy floated and swirled, got lost, then resurfaced. My tongue whirled and twirled, and as I sucked I tasted warm chocolate and him.
Candy cock and lemony marshmallows, the latter being the scent of Casino Rama Hotel's Citrus Body Wash. It makes you want to inhale your beloved, lick him, eat him, gobble him up. We use it regularly and will go back to this love and sex retreat as often as we can to replenish both libido and bath gel.
I try shampooing my hair at home with a concoction called Purify. Pantages Hotel. The contents of the clear mini-vodka-bottle with a silver top smell fresh and sensual, like a garden in the rain. The Pantages bathroom was boring, but the suite's low ceilings created an intimate feeling. It was a good venue for the hot sex we had there.
With my head hanging over the edge of the bed, my lover fucked me hard and I noticed, in the heightened awareness of a sex delirium, that the old city buildings out the window resembled drawings from a 1950s kids' book. As I thrust my pelvis up to meet him, the drawings became mere scribbles and then just an ecstatic bouncing blur.
In the movie Fight Club, these little bottles in the protagonist's apartment symbolize modern alienation. But I feel quite the opposite about them now. They stir up sexual memories that can lead to brand new explorations in lovemaking.
Slathering a Pantages lotion called Renew on my partner's body at his place, I find the product true to its name. Renewed passion, renewed awareness, renewed connection what these little vials actually contain are love potions, sex serums, ecstasy elixirs.
So this New Year's Eve, why not forget the big bottle of champagne and instead crack open a tiny bottle of Rosemary Mint or Nourish or Rain Bath? Your lover will thank you. Cheers!