Stripped Down by Tristan Taormino

time and shaking the contents into the tub.
    As the steam began to do its job, I recognized a few scents. Rosemary, at first. Then mint. Something that smelled spicy, but I couldn’t quite place it. Soon, the scents were blending together so that I couldn’t distinguish between them, but the mere fact that I could smell them at all was amazing.
    â€œSee, I told you,” Marissa said.
    â€œThanks.”
    We stared at each other as the steam thickened and the scent of herbs filled the air. The whole thing was too surreal for words.
    â€œWhy are you delivering groceries?” I finally asked.
    â€œI saw your name pop up on the list and I wanted to see you.”
    Whatever I’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. I suddenly forgot about being sick and her seeing me in my ratty bathrobe. “You did?”
    She nodded. “I did.”
    â€œWow.”
    She smiled. I was starting to get used to that smile. “You’re welcome.”

    Now, if this had been my fantasy, she would have led me to bed and done wicked things to my body, but I guess the runny nose, grungy bathrobe and unwashed hair just wasn’t a very sexy combination. Half an hour after she had gotten to my house, Marissa kissed the top of my head and left me sitting in the bathroom. I could breathe again, but I was also horny—the real sign that I was feeling better. I was now a true believer in holistic dyke medicine.
    By the time I returned to the market the following week, I was humming with sexual tension. I needed to get laid. More importantly, I needed Marissa to do the job. Instead of throwing me against the papaya display and fucking me senseless, she only smiled at me and kept stacking bags of carrots.
    â€œGood afternoon,” she said.
    â€œHi.” I stood there, wondering if I should ask her out. Wondering why she didn’t ask me out. “Thanks for your, um, advice last week. You were right, I felt much better.”
    She nodded and turned back to her carrots. “I’m glad. Told you it would help.”
    â€œRight.” I wandered away, wondering if maybe I had imagined the entire thing after all.
    Two more weeks went by and the same thing happened. Marissa was nice, polite, friendly. Problem was, I wanted the sexy dyke who had come to my apartment and I wanted to be healthy and full of energy the next time she got there.
    I concocted a plan. It was childish and pathetic, but a girl has to do what a girl has to do.
    On the day before my usual Saturday trip to the market, I signed online and placed another grocery order. My entire list consisted of items from the produce department. If Marissa was working, she’d see my name. And maybe, if I was lucky,
my greengrocer would be back to give me a different kind of steam.
    Â 
    At 4:45 on Saturday afternoon, there was a knock at the door. My heart hammered in my chest even while I was trying to convince myself not to get too worked up because it might not be Marissa. But when I opened the door, there was Marissa smiling at me.
    â€œNot feeling well?”
    â€œNo, I feel fine—” I stumbled over my excuse. “I’ve just been busy.”
    She just grinned.
    I moved out of the doorway and gestured back toward the kitchen, as if she’d never been in my apartment before. “You can put them on the table.”
    I followed her, my entire body throbbing. “Um, I really didn’t—uh—I was hoping to see you again,” I said, rushing through the words so that they barely made sense to my own ears. “I mean, it’s nice to see you again.”
    Marissa set the groceries on the table and looked at me. Her eyes were so dark they seemed bottomless, yet they sparkled with humor. “It’s nice to see you again, too.”
    Clearly, she had no intention of making this easy for me. “About the last time you were here…”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œWas there something between us, or was that