Bath Love

Written by Derek Dujardin

Intro: “This is a true story. In 1986, I was nineteen years old, and working as a Lifeguard at the YMCA in Everett, WA. One of my regular lap swimmers was a 93-year-old man named Jerry. Every morning, he would drive his electric golf cart down from the retirement home. After he swam, he would sit and talk to me. About his sex life. Which was over like 40 years ago. But that didn’t stop him from talking…Oh there’s Jerry now. I’ll let him tell it.”

(Derek exits / Tyris enters as an Jerry the old man)

I was married to the same women for 73 years. Seventy-three years—that’s like ten marriages to most of you. (pause) It was to me, too.

At the retirement home, the young kids always ask me how I made it last so long with Maria, and I tell them: “You fall in love many times. But always with the same person.”

I’m the resident marriage counselor there. All the kids all come to me with their problems. This one fellow was having trouble because his wife wanted a new wedding band for their tenth anniversary. The first one was cheap. They didn’t have any money when their first got married, but now he has a good job. But he didn’t want to spend a couple thousands bucks on something that he said was “lavish, extravagant and frivolous.” And I said, that’s the point, dummy. It’s supposed to lavish, extravagant and frivolous. Love is not supposed to be practical.    He put up a fuss and finally I said: “Never mind, kid, her next husband will buy it for her.” He bought her the ring.

You know, I dole out advice about marriages the way they dole out medication, but I really don’t know what the hell I’m talking about. The reality is, I was happily married 73 years because we took baths together. It was as simple as that.

The baths started after my son Daniel was born. My wife was petite. Just a little thing, maybe 100 pounds. She nearly died giving birth to Daniel. The doctor said she wasn’t built to have more babies and would likely die the next time.

He told us we needed to start using birth control. So we went and talked to our priest, he wouldn’t let us use birth control, even if Maria’s life was in danger.

So, I went back and talked to the doctor by myself he told me what to do. He told me to use the Swirl-and-Swish method. I know you’ve never heard of this. When I tell people we did this for 25 years, they tell me it would never work. Well, it worked for us. Or maybe God saw fit not to give us another baby. Either way, whether you believe me or not, this is what we did.

The doctor gave me these directions: He said “Right after coitus, you get your butt out of bed, and run your wife a hot bath—as hot as she can stand it. And then you tell her to squat down and put her fingers inside and Swirl-and-Swish out the semen. Do that every time, no exceptions.”

Yeah, we didn’t think it was going to work either. But what choice did we have? We did that every time we had sex. And she never got pregnant.

Every time she was done Swirling and Swishing, I would crawl into the tub, wrap my arms around her and we would doze off together.

Even after the doctor told us that she was too old to have children, I would still run her a hot bath after sex. It was a ritual. For us, it became as indispensable as kissing. I think she looked forward to my baths more than the sex.

Over the years, I got really good at running baths. Adding bubbles, and salts and oils. We did that until she got sick. Maria passed three years ago. I’m not scared of dying. To me, death is just another chance to be with Maria.

You know, I look back on my life and I can’t remember entire years. Sometimes, it hard to remember in which decade a memory lives.    They flitter about like butterflies. But I do remember those baths.

(Tyris, fading back, slowly exiting)

Those baths.

Those baths.

Those baths.”

(Derek re-enters)

About six weeks later, Jerry stopped coming to the pool. I asked around and found out he had died from a stroke—and get this—he died of all places—in a bathtub.

My thoughts went back to the story that he told me. I liked to imagine that as the water turned cold, he felt Maria wrap her warm body around him one last time. Or maybe for forever.”

The End—————-

A lot of people want to know if this story is true. Jerry did exist. He did have a wife and he did use the swirl and swish method because the Catholic church wouldn’t let them use birth control. (By the way, I don’t recommend that as a reliable source of birth control.) He did run her baths after sex. However, that’s about it. All the jokes are mine. The real Jerry wasn’t that funny or insightful. I added that to make it more entertaining. He was a little senile. He told me the EXACT same story over and over again. I must of hear it at least 20 times. Which is probably why God had him tell me it so many times so 20 years later I could make a monologue out of it.

Anyway, the real Jerry was a little bit of a pervert. My first draft had in some of his real comments and we had to them out. He was a little too interested in my sex life, would ask me some uncomfortable questions and gave me advance that I’d rather not repeat. So, there you have it. I don’t know if Jerry died in a bath tub or not. If he didn’t, he probably should have. I added bit for poetic license. Hope this doesn’t ruin the magic for you. Much love,

Derek

One note: The italic is an interviewer asking questions of the vagina as disembodied voiceover.

The Vagina gives the women a piece of her mind.

The Puritan

VO: In this era of liberation, why has no one asked the vagina what IT thinks?

<From Vagina>

Ahem!  You want to know what I think?

YES!

Really?

Yes.  You have the floor… sort of.

Relax!

Me?

Yes.  No – everyone!  That’s what I want to say.

Don’t get so worked up.  And stop doing things on my account.  I’m not as starved and angry as you think!

No?
No!  I just want peace.  And respect.  And Love.

What makes me angry is when you women forget how sacred I am.  I am a place of life, of nurturing, of new beginnings… of Love.  Artists used to write poems and paint pictures celebrating my beauty and sacredness.  Now, I’ve been thrown in the ring to compete with the penis!

What?

Sure!  I’m supposed to be “liberated”.  Equal.  I have the green light to fight for the same treatment as men with penises, for the same opportunities, and for the same sexual freedom.

Problem is… no one asked me if that’s what I wanted.

So that’s not what you want?

I am so much more than just the inverse of a penis, ladies!  Stop trying to turn me in to one!  Don’t you see how amazing I am?  I do so many things.  I stretch and conform to accommodate your needs – I change every month, and you wouldn’t even recognize me during pregnancy…

So what do you need from us?

Value me.  Hold me sacred.

Why have values upholding purity and my sanctity been belittled and denounced as sexist and “out of touch”?  Why is purity “freakish” in today’s society?  Just maybe the Puritans were more in touch with me and my needs than you all think.

Really?

Sure.  I like to keep myself and my sacred place clean, peaceful and beautiful… and organized.  I enjoy entertaining the one I love, but I don’t want unexpected guests!  Who ever declared an open door policy here?  I wouldn’t bring just anyone over to your place, especially unannounced.  Why would you wave them all in to my place?!?

What if that’s not what we planned either?

That’s a crime against everything sacred. Rape is an obvious denigration that shatters all semblance of dignity and sacredness of me AND you.  I wish liberation eliminated that violence.  But it didn’t.  WHY NOT?

Maybe because we can’t control the actions of others or their obsession with domination.

That’s true.

So what can women do about that?

Sadly, maybe nothing.  But you can ask yourselves, “Have I taken my own vagina seriously?”

You wanted me liberated to experience pleasure without consequence, but yet you don’t value or even see my blessedness anymore than the men who abuse us do.  Instead, this open door policy… where countless streams of men wander in and out (and in and out) with no appreciation of the sacred place in which they find themselves.  Why do you give them a free pass?

There’s a double standard.

Yes, but I have a brain.  You should know this.  Stop putting me in the ring with the penis.  In a time when it’s not just OK but actually hip to denounce religion, conservatism, and chastity while supporting lifestyles and choices that devalue my sanctity… all in the name of freedom and liberation, what else are we to expect?

WOMEN, you cry out AGAINST violence and abuse of yourselves and your bodies by men… but what are you doing to yourselves?  What have you told yourselves in the process?

You want to liberate yourselves, but from what?  Abusive men?  Yes!  The devaluation of women?  Right on! Hatred and Injustice?  Sign me up! … Responsibility?  Good Judgment?  Consequences of your choices?  Stop right there!

If you cry out against violence to women, you cannot then neglect your own bodies or use them as weapons or tools of abuse.

Maybe the Puritans really did know what they were doing.  Why are we so eager to slam the door on that?  Sure makes my life easier!

Fine, call me a Puritan.  Out of touch.  I don’t care.

I want to give LIFE and celebrate real LOVE.  I am SACRED.  Embrace that and you WILL be liberated.