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“The Scent of Ginger” (Part Two)
Hi, my name is Danny, and on a Thursday afternoon some five years ago, my life turned on a dime.
For years, I’ve been fascinated by Middle Eastern women: how they talked, how they dressed, and their beautiful hair. I’ve also had an entirely separate obsession with women who mess their pants or diapers, thanks to a yellow-haired social worker with a delicate stomach. For a long time, I couldn’t combine the two, since I thought Eastern ladies were too enchanting to have such a problem. Well, suddenly on that Thursday, it all came together in the person of a lonely psychologist named Pratima Patel.
For years, I’d had an eye for Pratima, as I had been delivering packages to her hospital office. But I was too shy, and too intimidated by certain of our differences, to express my feelings to her. As it turned out, she had a strong desire for me as well, but was held back by her own fear of rejection. Pratima was born with a defect that made her unable to control her bowels, a condition that most people find disgusting. Unable to find lasting companionship, the 50-year-old doctor was going through a major bout of depression. Her own shrink had convinced her to take the plunge and offer herself to someone that seemed interesting or interested; perhaps she would one day get lucky and find a man who could look past her ailment and love her. Then, on that Thursday, our paths crossed as we were both heading home from work. She all but begged me to go home with her, and I obliged.
In the lavishly-decorated living room of her large townhouse, Pratima got me to admit to my attraction to her. She then told me of her own feelings, asked me to be her boyfriend - and next, she said three words that were like magic to me:
“I soil myself.”
I had found both of my dream girls in one, very unexpected place.
Pratima didn’t know, COULDN’T know, of my obsession with messy women. She just wanted me to know of her incontinence before I decided to start a relationship with her. Bracing herself for disappointment, she instead was told that I didn’t find her to be offensive. And that was that. Less than a half-hour after bumping into each other on the street, the delivery man and the wealthy doctor were lovers.
………………………………...................................... .................................................. ....................................
I continued to hold the crying woman as we sat on her plushly-cushioned settee, her face buried in my chest, my hand gently stroking her soft, thick hair. It was getting dark. I needed to go home. But I couldn’t tear myself away from this sobbing Indian.
The corner clock ticked off the seconds. Seconds became minutes. The room dimmed. My uniform shirt became damp with tears, as the doctor unburdened herself of decades of misery.
Finally, she looked up at me.
“You…you like to caress my hair?”
“Yes,” I told her. “It’s very beautiful.” I wiped tears from her cheeks with my fingers.
“You stroke my hair very nicely.”
“I also like your face, and your eyes.”
“You do?” For the second time, a smile briefly appeared on Pratima’s lips.
“Yes.”
“What other things about my body do you like?”
“Well…” I thought for a moment. “I can’t see any other things on your body, ‘cause you’re all wrapped up in that sari.” And a diaper, I thought to myself.
“Danny, very soon you will see all of my body,” said Pratima.
“I hope you don’t mind if I say I’d like that very much.”
“Remember what I told you, Danny. I want very much for you to see the rest of me. I want even more for you to do with the rest of me what you do with my hair. And I want most of all for you to do it as soon as possible.” She again rested her head on my chest. But then, the clock announced the hour.
“Pratima, it’s seven o’clock. I really need to get home…aw, come on, don‘t start crying again, honey…please…” If I had to comfort her again I’d surely be there another hour.
“I…I am afraid you will not come back.”
“I gotta go home and get ready for work tomorrow. But I absolutely, definitely WILL be back to see you. For what it‘s worth, you have Daniel Kerr‘s word. Would you like to have dinner sometime? Like tomorrow?”
“I would be pleased to be your hostess, tomorrow or any time!” She stood and walked quickly into the hall. “Leisha!”
The cook emerged from the kitchen. “Yes, Doctor?”
“Mr. Danny Kerr will be my dinner guest tomorrow!” The doctor now had the most beautiful expression on her face.
“Hey, that’s great!” said Leisha. “Sir, I hope you have a great appetite. Dr. Patel loves to eat. Do you have any preferences?”
“Surprise me.”
“Yes,” said my hostess-to-be. “You will be very surprised, and hopefully very full.”
I stood. “And now, I really need to go. Let me give you my phone number.” Pratima gave me hers as well.
“Please call me as soon as you arrive at your home.” She took my hands and squeezed. Hard.
“The minute I walk in the door I’ll call.”
“Is that a promise?”
“Ironclad. And I double promise to see you tomorrow.”
And Pratima Patel threw her arms around my neck and gave me the biggest kiss in the history of both our lives. There would be more kisses - many, many more. And plenty other things. But that first kiss, in that big front hall of that big old house, with her cook applauding just feet away, was earth-shattering. And with that kiss came, once again, a faint sensation of ginger. This time, however, there was no gasp, no dismayed look. Pratima continued to kiss me as she messed herself. And I kissed her right back.
If there had been any doubt that I was falling in love with Pratima, it ended with that momentous kiss. She had become the most beautiful - and most beautiful smelling - girl in the world, and I wanted to follow her into whatever romantic adventure she would lead me to.
“Pratima, I’m leaving, now, and don’t you dare start crying again.” She smiled. “Give me at least an hour to get home, and I’ll call. This time tomorrow night, we’ll be together again for more kissing and hugging and hair-stroking.”
“And eating!” Leisha chimed in.
“Yep, eating.” I took the doctor’s head into my hands for one last kiss. “Pratima Patel, you have made me fall in love with you, and I hope tomorrow will be the first of many night and days we will spend together.”
“Danny Kerr, I am honored to be your companion, and I am looking forward to spending those many days and night in your arms.” With that, she let me go, and unlocked the doors. “I will be thinking of you all night.” I walked down the steps and headed along the now-dark street, turning around to blow a kiss at my baby. The next thing I heard was the voice of Leisha.
“Mr. Danny?”
“Yes?”
“You may not realize it yet, but you’re now the luckiest man on Earth.”
Both women waved at me from the door until I was out of sight.
………………………………...................................... .................................................. ....................................
I felt like Tony in “West Side Story” as I walked to the subway station. No, I didn’t sing and dance, but one sound kept running through my mind. Instead of “Maria…Maria…Maria,” it was “Pratima…Pratima…Pratima.” But I was confident I wouldn’t end up like the ill-fated Broadway gang-banger. The musicality of her name, her voice, her contraction-less phrasing; the silken swish of her raiment (“clothes” didn’t do justice to her elaborate sari); the soft thickness of her hair, deep black in contrast to her pale skin; the big, dark eyes, always on the verge of tears; and those smells. All those things occupied my mind on my way home, along with a new thought: I wanted to make love to that woman in the worst way.
But how would I ask her? Furthermore, once we got to that point, how would we manage? First, Pratima, at age 50, was a virgin. Could a cherry that old even be popped? How painful would it be for her? An even bigger problem was getting to that hymen in the first place: would she have to wear a diaper during sex? How often were her bowel movements? What if she had an “accident” while we were doing the deed? I imagined her breaking down once again, apologizing to me for making herself messy during an intimate moment, and perhaps never wanting to try it again.
On the other hand:
I want very much for you to see the rest of me. I want even more for you to do with the rest of me what you do with my hair. And I want most of all for you to do it as soon as possible.
Pratima seemed to make it clear that she was hot for me, soiled diaper be damned. Also:
Pratima Patel, there is nothing you can say or do now that would offend me. Please remember that.
I’d waited decades for the extremely remote chance to make love to a messy woman, and now, suddenly, I was in a relationship with one. She had waited a lifetime for any man to make love to her without being repulsed. In our strange way, we were soul mates. We would find a way.
The phone was ringing before I even got to the door of my apartment. I wasn’t entirely surprised to look at the Caller ID display and see PATEL P, followed by the number she had given me.
“Hi, baby…I’m just walking in the door…”
“Danny, Danny…I could not wait to hear you speak again. I miss you!” It had been just over an hour. I went into “West Side Story” mode:
“Pratima…I just kissed a girl called Pratima…”
“DANNY! You sing to me very well…”
“Well,” I told her, “I like lots of music, and I want to share it with you.”
“Yes,” she replied. “Danny…” A few moments of silence.
“Baby?” I prompted her.
“I…I would like for you to spend the weekend with me at my home.”
Already, I thought. I was not inclined to refuse.
“I’d love that.”
“Yes!” I could almost see her jumping for joy. “You will come over after work?”
“Uh, Pratima…on Fridays I sometimes have to stay at work a little late to do extra stuff. If I do, I’ll rush over there as fast as I can. Also, I might be kind of sweaty, so I’ll want to freshen up a bit when I get there. Change out of my uniform and all. I won‘t have time to go home.”
“That will be fine with me, Danny my love.” If I hadn’t been on cloud nine already, those last three words surely put me there.
“Baby, I gotta start getting ready for tomorrow…get my clothes picked out and packed, and all that. And I need a good night’s sleep so I’ll be ready for work and then to have fun with you.”
“Fun,” said the doctor. “I like the sound of that.”
“You’ll like the feel of it too.”
“Yes. Well, goodnight. I will have pleasant dreams of you, Danny Kerr!”
“So will I, Pratima Patel!”
A few hours later, I lay in bed thinking of the evening’s events, trying to make sense of what was happening. Sometimes, a love affair is like a traditional rollercoaster: a long, slow climb, leading to a fast drop and a series of turns, hills, and valleys. The early days of my relationship with Pratima were the freaking Joker’s Jinx. Shot from a standstill to full speed in seconds, with mind-bending twists and loops. It was hard to predict what would happen next with her. But I was willing to take that ride.
The music-lover in me looked for a song to go with all this. I though of “Love Rollercoaster” by the soul group Ohio Players, but then an even better example came to mind:
Well, it starts like a roller coaster ride, so real it takes your breath away…
Those madmen of psychedelica, the 13th Floor Elevators, had the near-perfect track.
Come on, and let it happen to you…
Pratima Patel had happened to me.
You gotta open up your mind and let everything come through.
Love rollercoaster, indeed. And with that I fell into a deep sleep, with dreams of jinxes and saris and diapers.
………………………………...................................... .................................................. ....................................
The doctor, unable to wait, called me again while I was getting ready for work the next morning. “Perhaps you will have a parcel for me today!” she enthused. I actually hoped not, because it would have been difficult for me to maintain my professional attitude while seeing my brand-new girlfriend - especially knowing what was under her clothes.
“Maybe…but we’ll have lots more fun tonight. Gotta go…love you.”
“I love you also, Danny.”
That day at work was a blur, as I naturally couldn’t keep my mind off Pratima. I passed near her hospital once and fought off the urge to sneak upstairs in hopes of seeing her. As expected, I had to work a bit later than usual, hustling to get the extra stuff done as quickly as possible. Finally, I punched out for the weekend and grabbed my bag. Normally, it would have taken about 15 minutes or so to get a bus from our base across downtown, and then walk to her place. Instead, I jumped in a taxi.
Pratima was standing in a front window when the cab pulled up in front of her house. As soon as she saw me get out, she seemed to let out an excited little cry, then bounded out the doors. However, as she saw me pay the fare, she yelled “Wait one moment, please!” at the cabby and ran back inside. In a few seconds she emerged again, small white envelope in her hand.
“Baby, I already paid the man,” I told her.
“He deserves an additional tip for bringing you to me,” said the doctor. She handed the driver the envelope, thanking him for his services. Finally, as the cab pulled away, what I’d dreamed about all day finally started to happen. Pratima hugged me, placing her head on my chest.
“Danny…it has been a very long day for me. But at last we are together!” I stroked her hair, and said, “Yeah, honey, I missed you a lot. Let’s go inside.” Once again I followed as she waddled up the stairs, in the wake of her now-familiar scents, me knowing what was hidden underneath her sari and wondering how I would get to it. In the main hall, doors closed. I put my bag down, and for the first time I initiated a kiss with my new girl.
“Mmmmm…,” cooed Pratima. “This is what I have waited for.” And we stood there for about five minutes as we began to consummate our relationship. At last, we broke the hold.
“Well,” I said, “before we get too caught up in each other, I’d like to change out of these sweaty work clothes and freshen up.”
“Yes,” said the doctor. “I will show you to my water closet.” She led me up a long flight of stairs to the second floor. But instead of taking me to the “water closet” she first insisted on showing me her bedroom. I wasn’t surprised to see that it was as large, as aromatic, and as elaborately appointed as the living room. (It was almost a miracle that she didn’t have a canopy bed.) Three huge windows overlooked the street, a plush rocking chair stationed at the left-most one.
“Danny,” said Pratima, smiling up at me, “we will be spending much time together here in this room.”
“I like that…now, I really better change.” I got my needed things out of my bag, and we walked, hand in hand, down a long corridor to the rear of the second floor. She ushered me into the damnedest “water closet” I’d ever seen (and I’ve seen many). Pratima had evidently converted the back bedroom into a spacious, well-lit, airy bathroom, extensively decorated (of course), nicely scented (ditto), with an isolated area for the shower. There were several closets, stocked I supposed with bath linens and perhaps her protective undergarments. Looking at the toilet, I wondered if Pratima had ever actually sat on it.
“This is my water closet…you may acquaint yourself with everything here. Take your time. But please do not take too much time, for I will miss you.” She gave me a peck on the lips. “I will be waiting for you in my bedroom.”
Hi, my name is Danny, and on a Thursday afternoon some five years ago, my life turned on a dime.
For years, I’ve been fascinated by Middle Eastern women: how they talked, how they dressed, and their beautiful hair. I’ve also had an entirely separate obsession with women who mess their pants or diapers, thanks to a yellow-haired social worker with a delicate stomach. For a long time, I couldn’t combine the two, since I thought Eastern ladies were too enchanting to have such a problem. Well, suddenly on that Thursday, it all came together in the person of a lonely psychologist named Pratima Patel.
For years, I’d had an eye for Pratima, as I had been delivering packages to her hospital office. But I was too shy, and too intimidated by certain of our differences, to express my feelings to her. As it turned out, she had a strong desire for me as well, but was held back by her own fear of rejection. Pratima was born with a defect that made her unable to control her bowels, a condition that most people find disgusting. Unable to find lasting companionship, the 50-year-old doctor was going through a major bout of depression. Her own shrink had convinced her to take the plunge and offer herself to someone that seemed interesting or interested; perhaps she would one day get lucky and find a man who could look past her ailment and love her. Then, on that Thursday, our paths crossed as we were both heading home from work. She all but begged me to go home with her, and I obliged.
In the lavishly-decorated living room of her large townhouse, Pratima got me to admit to my attraction to her. She then told me of her own feelings, asked me to be her boyfriend - and next, she said three words that were like magic to me:
“I soil myself.”
I had found both of my dream girls in one, very unexpected place.
Pratima didn’t know, COULDN’T know, of my obsession with messy women. She just wanted me to know of her incontinence before I decided to start a relationship with her. Bracing herself for disappointment, she instead was told that I didn’t find her to be offensive. And that was that. Less than a half-hour after bumping into each other on the street, the delivery man and the wealthy doctor were lovers.
………………………………...................................... .................................................. ....................................
I continued to hold the crying woman as we sat on her plushly-cushioned settee, her face buried in my chest, my hand gently stroking her soft, thick hair. It was getting dark. I needed to go home. But I couldn’t tear myself away from this sobbing Indian.
The corner clock ticked off the seconds. Seconds became minutes. The room dimmed. My uniform shirt became damp with tears, as the doctor unburdened herself of decades of misery.
Finally, she looked up at me.
“You…you like to caress my hair?”
“Yes,” I told her. “It’s very beautiful.” I wiped tears from her cheeks with my fingers.
“You stroke my hair very nicely.”
“I also like your face, and your eyes.”
“You do?” For the second time, a smile briefly appeared on Pratima’s lips.
“Yes.”
“What other things about my body do you like?”
“Well…” I thought for a moment. “I can’t see any other things on your body, ‘cause you’re all wrapped up in that sari.” And a diaper, I thought to myself.
“Danny, very soon you will see all of my body,” said Pratima.
“I hope you don’t mind if I say I’d like that very much.”
“Remember what I told you, Danny. I want very much for you to see the rest of me. I want even more for you to do with the rest of me what you do with my hair. And I want most of all for you to do it as soon as possible.” She again rested her head on my chest. But then, the clock announced the hour.
“Pratima, it’s seven o’clock. I really need to get home…aw, come on, don‘t start crying again, honey…please…” If I had to comfort her again I’d surely be there another hour.
“I…I am afraid you will not come back.”
“I gotta go home and get ready for work tomorrow. But I absolutely, definitely WILL be back to see you. For what it‘s worth, you have Daniel Kerr‘s word. Would you like to have dinner sometime? Like tomorrow?”
“I would be pleased to be your hostess, tomorrow or any time!” She stood and walked quickly into the hall. “Leisha!”
The cook emerged from the kitchen. “Yes, Doctor?”
“Mr. Danny Kerr will be my dinner guest tomorrow!” The doctor now had the most beautiful expression on her face.
“Hey, that’s great!” said Leisha. “Sir, I hope you have a great appetite. Dr. Patel loves to eat. Do you have any preferences?”
“Surprise me.”
“Yes,” said my hostess-to-be. “You will be very surprised, and hopefully very full.”
I stood. “And now, I really need to go. Let me give you my phone number.” Pratima gave me hers as well.
“Please call me as soon as you arrive at your home.” She took my hands and squeezed. Hard.
“The minute I walk in the door I’ll call.”
“Is that a promise?”
“Ironclad. And I double promise to see you tomorrow.”
And Pratima Patel threw her arms around my neck and gave me the biggest kiss in the history of both our lives. There would be more kisses - many, many more. And plenty other things. But that first kiss, in that big front hall of that big old house, with her cook applauding just feet away, was earth-shattering. And with that kiss came, once again, a faint sensation of ginger. This time, however, there was no gasp, no dismayed look. Pratima continued to kiss me as she messed herself. And I kissed her right back.
If there had been any doubt that I was falling in love with Pratima, it ended with that momentous kiss. She had become the most beautiful - and most beautiful smelling - girl in the world, and I wanted to follow her into whatever romantic adventure she would lead me to.
“Pratima, I’m leaving, now, and don’t you dare start crying again.” She smiled. “Give me at least an hour to get home, and I’ll call. This time tomorrow night, we’ll be together again for more kissing and hugging and hair-stroking.”
“And eating!” Leisha chimed in.
“Yep, eating.” I took the doctor’s head into my hands for one last kiss. “Pratima Patel, you have made me fall in love with you, and I hope tomorrow will be the first of many night and days we will spend together.”
“Danny Kerr, I am honored to be your companion, and I am looking forward to spending those many days and night in your arms.” With that, she let me go, and unlocked the doors. “I will be thinking of you all night.” I walked down the steps and headed along the now-dark street, turning around to blow a kiss at my baby. The next thing I heard was the voice of Leisha.
“Mr. Danny?”
“Yes?”
“You may not realize it yet, but you’re now the luckiest man on Earth.”
Both women waved at me from the door until I was out of sight.
………………………………...................................... .................................................. ....................................
I felt like Tony in “West Side Story” as I walked to the subway station. No, I didn’t sing and dance, but one sound kept running through my mind. Instead of “Maria…Maria…Maria,” it was “Pratima…Pratima…Pratima.” But I was confident I wouldn’t end up like the ill-fated Broadway gang-banger. The musicality of her name, her voice, her contraction-less phrasing; the silken swish of her raiment (“clothes” didn’t do justice to her elaborate sari); the soft thickness of her hair, deep black in contrast to her pale skin; the big, dark eyes, always on the verge of tears; and those smells. All those things occupied my mind on my way home, along with a new thought: I wanted to make love to that woman in the worst way.
But how would I ask her? Furthermore, once we got to that point, how would we manage? First, Pratima, at age 50, was a virgin. Could a cherry that old even be popped? How painful would it be for her? An even bigger problem was getting to that hymen in the first place: would she have to wear a diaper during sex? How often were her bowel movements? What if she had an “accident” while we were doing the deed? I imagined her breaking down once again, apologizing to me for making herself messy during an intimate moment, and perhaps never wanting to try it again.
On the other hand:
I want very much for you to see the rest of me. I want even more for you to do with the rest of me what you do with my hair. And I want most of all for you to do it as soon as possible.
Pratima seemed to make it clear that she was hot for me, soiled diaper be damned. Also:
Pratima Patel, there is nothing you can say or do now that would offend me. Please remember that.
I’d waited decades for the extremely remote chance to make love to a messy woman, and now, suddenly, I was in a relationship with one. She had waited a lifetime for any man to make love to her without being repulsed. In our strange way, we were soul mates. We would find a way.
The phone was ringing before I even got to the door of my apartment. I wasn’t entirely surprised to look at the Caller ID display and see PATEL P, followed by the number she had given me.
“Hi, baby…I’m just walking in the door…”
“Danny, Danny…I could not wait to hear you speak again. I miss you!” It had been just over an hour. I went into “West Side Story” mode:
“Pratima…I just kissed a girl called Pratima…”
“DANNY! You sing to me very well…”
“Well,” I told her, “I like lots of music, and I want to share it with you.”
“Yes,” she replied. “Danny…” A few moments of silence.
“Baby?” I prompted her.
“I…I would like for you to spend the weekend with me at my home.”
Already, I thought. I was not inclined to refuse.
“I’d love that.”
“Yes!” I could almost see her jumping for joy. “You will come over after work?”
“Uh, Pratima…on Fridays I sometimes have to stay at work a little late to do extra stuff. If I do, I’ll rush over there as fast as I can. Also, I might be kind of sweaty, so I’ll want to freshen up a bit when I get there. Change out of my uniform and all. I won‘t have time to go home.”
“That will be fine with me, Danny my love.” If I hadn’t been on cloud nine already, those last three words surely put me there.
“Baby, I gotta start getting ready for tomorrow…get my clothes picked out and packed, and all that. And I need a good night’s sleep so I’ll be ready for work and then to have fun with you.”
“Fun,” said the doctor. “I like the sound of that.”
“You’ll like the feel of it too.”
“Yes. Well, goodnight. I will have pleasant dreams of you, Danny Kerr!”
“So will I, Pratima Patel!”
A few hours later, I lay in bed thinking of the evening’s events, trying to make sense of what was happening. Sometimes, a love affair is like a traditional rollercoaster: a long, slow climb, leading to a fast drop and a series of turns, hills, and valleys. The early days of my relationship with Pratima were the freaking Joker’s Jinx. Shot from a standstill to full speed in seconds, with mind-bending twists and loops. It was hard to predict what would happen next with her. But I was willing to take that ride.
The music-lover in me looked for a song to go with all this. I though of “Love Rollercoaster” by the soul group Ohio Players, but then an even better example came to mind:
Well, it starts like a roller coaster ride, so real it takes your breath away…
Those madmen of psychedelica, the 13th Floor Elevators, had the near-perfect track.
Come on, and let it happen to you…
Pratima Patel had happened to me.
You gotta open up your mind and let everything come through.
Love rollercoaster, indeed. And with that I fell into a deep sleep, with dreams of jinxes and saris and diapers.
………………………………...................................... .................................................. ....................................
The doctor, unable to wait, called me again while I was getting ready for work the next morning. “Perhaps you will have a parcel for me today!” she enthused. I actually hoped not, because it would have been difficult for me to maintain my professional attitude while seeing my brand-new girlfriend - especially knowing what was under her clothes.
“Maybe…but we’ll have lots more fun tonight. Gotta go…love you.”
“I love you also, Danny.”
That day at work was a blur, as I naturally couldn’t keep my mind off Pratima. I passed near her hospital once and fought off the urge to sneak upstairs in hopes of seeing her. As expected, I had to work a bit later than usual, hustling to get the extra stuff done as quickly as possible. Finally, I punched out for the weekend and grabbed my bag. Normally, it would have taken about 15 minutes or so to get a bus from our base across downtown, and then walk to her place. Instead, I jumped in a taxi.
Pratima was standing in a front window when the cab pulled up in front of her house. As soon as she saw me get out, she seemed to let out an excited little cry, then bounded out the doors. However, as she saw me pay the fare, she yelled “Wait one moment, please!” at the cabby and ran back inside. In a few seconds she emerged again, small white envelope in her hand.
“Baby, I already paid the man,” I told her.
“He deserves an additional tip for bringing you to me,” said the doctor. She handed the driver the envelope, thanking him for his services. Finally, as the cab pulled away, what I’d dreamed about all day finally started to happen. Pratima hugged me, placing her head on my chest.
“Danny…it has been a very long day for me. But at last we are together!” I stroked her hair, and said, “Yeah, honey, I missed you a lot. Let’s go inside.” Once again I followed as she waddled up the stairs, in the wake of her now-familiar scents, me knowing what was hidden underneath her sari and wondering how I would get to it. In the main hall, doors closed. I put my bag down, and for the first time I initiated a kiss with my new girl.
“Mmmmm…,” cooed Pratima. “This is what I have waited for.” And we stood there for about five minutes as we began to consummate our relationship. At last, we broke the hold.
“Well,” I said, “before we get too caught up in each other, I’d like to change out of these sweaty work clothes and freshen up.”
“Yes,” said the doctor. “I will show you to my water closet.” She led me up a long flight of stairs to the second floor. But instead of taking me to the “water closet” she first insisted on showing me her bedroom. I wasn’t surprised to see that it was as large, as aromatic, and as elaborately appointed as the living room. (It was almost a miracle that she didn’t have a canopy bed.) Three huge windows overlooked the street, a plush rocking chair stationed at the left-most one.
“Danny,” said Pratima, smiling up at me, “we will be spending much time together here in this room.”
“I like that…now, I really better change.” I got my needed things out of my bag, and we walked, hand in hand, down a long corridor to the rear of the second floor. She ushered me into the damnedest “water closet” I’d ever seen (and I’ve seen many). Pratima had evidently converted the back bedroom into a spacious, well-lit, airy bathroom, extensively decorated (of course), nicely scented (ditto), with an isolated area for the shower. There were several closets, stocked I supposed with bath linens and perhaps her protective undergarments. Looking at the toilet, I wondered if Pratima had ever actually sat on it.
“This is my water closet…you may acquaint yourself with everything here. Take your time. But please do not take too much time, for I will miss you.” She gave me a peck on the lips. “I will be waiting for you in my bedroom.”