IT'S COLD OUT THERE

ICE AND BUBBLE BATH

It's one o'clock in the morning and twenty-two degrees outside when there is a frantic knocking on my front door. I do not want to answer it, but the thought of somebody out in that cold sprinkles goose bumps all over my own half-naked body. I open the door, and there is my favorite Lesbian couple, Lillian and Lorraine, each holding a sleeping bag, shivering and shaking, dressed in skimpy party clothes. Absurdly, perhaps because I was still half asleep, Lillian's breasts made me think of scoops of vanilla ice cream, and, fleetingly, her nose looked like a maraschino cherry. Lorraine's nose was running, and she kept wiping it with her heavily braceleted wrist, while they both shrieked and giggled, babbling something about running out of gas a block away. Somebody would be coming to help them when it was light. So, they tumbled in, obviously high and wired, so much so they didn't seem to realize that they had been standing in sub-freezing weather, asking if they could stay the night. I told them they could sleep on my living room floor, under my desk. Lillian is young and lovely, Lorraine between 30 and 100, and weather-worn; but their relationship seems to have bridged their differences beautifully--they are one of the most pleasant, comfortable couples I know, in spite of... Lillian offered to sleep with me "to pay the rent," but I sensed that her lover would be quite hurt; so, since I am no longer up (!) to threesomes, I told her that my presbyacusis might be contagious, knowing that they would not know what that was. I just wanted to sleep, although it was quickly evident that I would not be able to. Even though in the same room, they talked and talked to each other, loudly, over their individual cell phones. They wanted to "wash up," so they filled and jumped into my old-fashioned lion-claw tub, splashing bubbles all over the place, dropping a whole roll of toilet tissue into the water, and leaving gobs of toothpaste everywhere from sink to commode. I admit that watching them warmed my blood, but I craved some good old octogenarian sleep. At last, they surrendered to slumber. In the 70-degree warmth of my home they finally settled down, squeezing into one sleeping bag. They woke me twice with over-dramatic noises of whatever it was they were able to do in that confined space, providing counterpoint to my own heavily erotic half-dreams. Once, forgetting where she was, Lillian woke up suddenly, and, rising quickly, smashed her forehead against the edge of the desk, causing a bruised lump over the bridge of her nose. When they got up, they made breakfast, Lorraine producing an exquisite potato-and-cheese omelet. Incomparably delicious, even though later it took me at least an hour to clean up the mess and repair the damage: there were traces of ketchup on the ceiling, AND, didn't they know that you do NOT put frozen hamburger patties in a pop-up toaster? Well stuffed, I lay down for a nap because I felt twinges in my chest. They were gone when I rose again, having left "THANKS YOU" markered on two pairs of panties.