Mary Anne Mohanraj, editor-in-chief
Clean sheets.
Fresh from the laundry, warm and dark and soft, piled on your bed, spread
out ready for making. Laying yourself down in the clean sheets, sweet
with the hint of lemon, taking off your clothes, slow and sweet and laying
yourself down, naked in the sheets. Alone in the sheets on a warm summer
day, and the way the light, the sun's light, lays across your sweet body
might make you want to touch it, feel its soft light, caresses above and
below, front and back, chest and belly and buttocks and thighs... Why
would you want to leave these sheets, sweet with the rising scent of lemon
and you, you tangled in a warm cocoon of light against your sweet
skin...
- Clean sheets.
- Clean sheets spread out crisp and white. Crisp and white and waiting.
Corner tucked, sharp-angled.
- Two firm mattresses below the sheets. One light blue blanket above,
folded over at the top, tucked. One dark blue bedspread above the
blanket. Two neat pillows at the head.
- But hidden underneath the soft blanket. Hiding under the heavy bedspread.
Starched sheets ready to crumple. Clean sheets fresh and dry and aching.
Store-bought sheets, brand new, fresh and naked and waiting. Waiting for
their baptism in bodies and sweat and shouting. Birth and baptism, life
and death and joyous resurrection waiting, aching in the clean white
sheets.
Clean sheets.
...and okay, I admit that perhaps it's been a while. Perhaps it's been a
while since I washed the sheets. Perhaps I should have washed them this
morning, or yesterday, or Tuesday, or even last week. Maybe the scent has
grown a bit heavy, despite the open windows. Maybe the stains have
acquired stains themselves, and I admit it's not your fault that you can't
tell exactly what color the sheets originally were. And yes, they are way
down at the edge of the bed, shoved under the blankets and the comforter
and a heap of battered clothes, where they can't really do anyone any
good, and I admit that it would be nice to be able to fall asleep right
now with clean sheets pulled up and over us, why yes, okay, fine. But
honey, c'mon. Wouldn't you rather have had the wild, animal grunting sex?
Wasn't the last week worth a few failing sheets? We could just strip the
bed entirely and sleep on the mattress instead -- or not sleep, hmm?
Honestly, what would you rather have, a passionate, sweaty good time, or
clean sheets?
Well, yes. I suppose 'both' is in fact an option.
Clean sheets
(and great sex)
in one magazine.
