how the hell does that even work he marveled

so freakin consistent

                  so consistent in fact that he might be cajoled convinced she salted his Jockeys

he urinated into the commode beside a rimed window crackled glass affording privacy in the bathroom that no one could see into unless it was neighbors on a distant ridge using powerful binoculars and inexorable patience

his next door neighbors lived on the downside of the hill his place was on and above everyone else

theyd need a periscope

he had no modesty

too many years an athlete too many nude showers as a boy to enter a public pool(which he relished because his familys home only had a clawfoot bathtub to bathe and cleanse in)

though he was grateful it was there for his girlfriend her modesty and that her naked body was a gift she shared and gave to him and was one of the few things he was possessive of

but beside the window in the pale light extruding into the bathroom he felt first its languid wrap and tug

peering down he saw it

a thin lasso around his cock

he ceased his stream and pulled at it felt it under his scrotum then it slowly unwound growing longer and longer

they washed their clothes separately

she had dainty things that he didnt want to know how to launder and admitted long ago those were hers to ruin because surely he would

washed  he didnt mind separating out what needed to be hung to dry and what could go into the dryer

Youd think he thought her haird cling to her clothes or tumble free and be captured in the lint trap while drying

yet somehow they spurned her clothing and manifested themselves in his Jockeys and t-shirts  the creepy feeling at his neck down his back and stripping off his t-shirts hed find lengths of her hair woven in and out of its cotton weave and gently pull it free

but more often than not her hair gathered and made itself a nest in his Jockeys . . .

he entertained that perhaps this was a latent statement of her possession of his body as he possessed hers

it was strange

always abiding

              always ticklishly dumbfounding

 

1519,  Thursday,  5 5. 16