A Tale of Soap and Shower in My Fuk’um Dress

Often, I have these flashbacks, memories of him. It’s as if he was once the greatest love of my life that tragically ended before we had a chance to swallow what was sensual and so delicious. My heart sank. The first time we met (those eyes), my heart sank. The first time we kissed (those lips), my heart sank. Not once have I regretted our crossing of paths. The sudden ending to such a delicious beginning was fucking worth it.

On a 110 degree Sacramento summer day we sped up a steep driveway and parked red hot. We couldn’t get into my best friend’s parent’s emptied three story house fast enough. Young and dangerous with enough passion to ignite the world. We played house and indulged in the roles of adults. He and I got lost in the syncing of our hearts. He turned on the shower in the lower level bathroom next to my best friend’s old bedroom. The same room she used to sneak her boyfriend into.

I don’t remember soap. What I do remember is our eyes open for every touch, every pant, every glide of a tongue. We admired each other’s skin and the natural adornments that sat on our bodies. The cool water rushed down eyelashes, misted hair, and captured rainbows swirling between summer sun rays and steam.

We were all of sixteen with every intent to maximize one another’s pleasures. Asking questions like, “How do you like it? Do you like this? Feels good? Closer?” The dance was beautiful and our song played like the crescendos of a Sade love ballad. My palms spread flat across against the back of the shower wall. Nipples hard as fuck. Thank you hot ass summer. He lifted my thigh and his left hand rolled over my knee and slipped down my lower leg. He grabbed my ankle and with a kind force, placed my foot on the soap holder that sat plastered to the side of the shower wall. Those muscular boa constrictor arms tightened around my body just right and supported every thrust. Until the soap holder broke the fuck off! This will mark an inside joke to a chuckle that will always be had between us.

We spent that evening in the on-the-market family home whispering our dreams and acknowledging our hearts and souls syncing. We knew what was happening. What wasn’t said was all the closet crap, baggage, mistakes waiting to happen, and fears that awaited us the next day and throughout our lives. We were only sixteen yet already he accumulated the bullshit that super grown folks go through. For some years we stayed on and off soulmate lovers pretending it was okay to settle for less and remained afraid of disappointing one another. Then one day he chose not to show up.

I understand now what I didn’t years ago. Not one single glance of a soap holder would keep me from the flashback. I’ve commemorated our passion through art, jewelry making, writing, and one day carving of initials into a soap holder in my own home. To the soul mate love that wasn’t meant to be; I know you think of me too and hope that our present or future partners understand because I know we're not the only ones with a missed connection.