Summer soap suds
A Sexual Fantasy
A hose resting on a galvanized tin wash tub pulsed with sparkling cool water. Nearby on a clothesline, a breeze blew up the lacy corner of a bed sheet. A white button-down shirt was plunged into the water. Several large bubbles came up.
A woman’s scrubbing joined the chorus of lawnmower hum, pruning clips, shovel scrapes and footsteps. This is how she would pay them.
Another cool breeze brought up the bed sheet corner. She was too preoccupied to notice.
Her hands were strong and calloused for she had done this for many years. She punched in and out of the water with precision and vigor. Behind her there was no fence, just a tall desert mountain in the distance.
After five minutes of washing, she clipped and hung the shirt. A man pushing the lawnmower shut it off and made his way over to the woman. It was his turn.
Her eyes met his.
“Give me your shirt.”
She enjoyed washing this shirt. She took her time. The breeze was picking up. The bed sheet nearly blew off the line several times. Summer was coming.
By itself, the lawnmower’s engine fired up.
Suds and water spilled over the side of the tub as the mower slowly drove toward the two. She continued to wash while he waited.
It was midday and they could feel the sun overhead. The mower’s purring became louder as it approached.
The simple task of washing became difficult. She was now clumsy.
Suds fell on the grass, splashed up her arms, and all over the sun dress,
It sizzled on the mower’s hot engine.
Sizzling, clipping, humming, splashing
Between her fingers a thick wet rope of fabric.