You can reach the author at basementfiles@hotmail.com

Thursday, August 07, 2003
Copyright © Las Vegas Mercury

Basement Files: Bath Party

With the death of Uday Hussein, Iraq's Olympic athletes are finally free to pursue their sport without fear of retribution. As commissioner of the Iraq Olympic Committee, Uday oversaw a brutal and fear-based training regimen, with torture awaiting those who displeased the regime. Perhaps no one suffered more under Uday's iron rule than the Iraqi synchronized swimming team.

Baghdad Aquatic Center

February 2000

7:01 a.m.

UDAY: All right, my dolphins, gather 'round. Just a few notes before we begin. Umm, I have some good news and some bad news. The bad news is...after last month's disgraceful 14th place showing in the Pan-Asian games, Mrs. Hanjour has been relieved as your instructor. The good news is she's now eligible for handicapped parking. So, a silver lining there, yes?

Now, look, I'll be the first to admit I don't know much about synchronized swimming, but what I have seen I don't care for. It's all so sterile and mechanical. All that girlish prancing, those frantic, herky-jerking motions, stiff robotic arms sawing through the air. I mean, where is the sensuality? Seriously, why the tight hair buns? Why the modest one-piece suits?

With this in mind, I sat down last night to draw up a new routine that might put the woman back in the water, and the hunger back in the woman. I'm calling it "Bath Party of the Water Nymphs." Hello? Bath Party? Am I the only that gets this? All right, finally, some loyalty laughter. I'll take it.

All right, everyone, line up against the pool's edge. Shoulders back. Lovely. Now arch your backs and make a gift to the judges of your wet, glistening bottoms. Gavan, cue the music...

BODYGUARD: Yes, sir.

UDAY: Do you hear it, ladies? The haunting strains of k.d. lang's "Wash Me Clean," with its dual celebration of liquid desire and Sapphic need. You begin moving, writhing with the shameless sexual hunger of youth, your hands caressing your perfect bodies. And then...

INTO THE WATER! Look at us, frolicking, frolicking like water nymphs, the cold water swelling our nipples into metallic hardness. We fix the judges with a saucy, come-hither look and begin tracing a child's curious finger over our hard nipples. God, that's nice. Gavan?

BODYGUARD: Beautiful, sir.

UDAY: You, Basimah, stop for a second. You're still doing the robot thing. Look at me, dear. Well, not in the eye.

BASIMAH: I'm sorry, sir. I...

UDAY: Your voice has begun to irritate me. Take that thing out of your nose before you address me. Now, look, a nymph should be ephemeral, like a spirit. Your arms should undulate like a Chinese banner in a gentle breeze. Look how my arm is moving. Do you see? Now try it again.

BASIMAH: Yes, sir.

UDAY: She's never going to get it, is she?

BODYGUARD: No, sir.

UDAY: Then I want her shot.

BODYGUARD: Very good, sir.

UDAY: Now, see, I would have waited until she was OUT of the water. Now there are filters to clean, pH balances to correct.

BODYGUARD: I'm sorry, sir.

UDAY: What's done is done. Ladies, PLEASE, I understand that it's unpleasant to behold, but screaming won't make the body float to the deep end. However, a gentle nudge from a teammate...perhaps Kadira...

KADIRA: Yes, sir?

UDAY: I was saying a gentle nudge might suffice to...there you go...well, dear, do remove her nose plug first. Do you imagine those are free?

KADIRA: No, sir. I'm sorry.

UDAY: All right, we're frolicking. Our young, perfect bodies heave with overpowering desire. Kadira, you begin weaving through the water, hunting like a panther for your prey. And then you see Nabila, so young, so tender. Slip your arm about her waist and pull her girlish hips to your own.

All right, the rest of you, this is not a rest break. You spring out of the water, your jutting breasts barely contained by the small triangle of cloth. Fix the judges with your hot, hungry stares and mouth the words, "I want you." And then straight down into the water, your perfectly tapered legs locked rigid with need.

Now, Kadira, let your legs slide through hers, trapping Nabila in your hunger. Beautiful. Now push the hair from her face as her mouth opens in surrender. Your tongue rushes to fill the void and...Nabila, what is it?

NABILA: Nothing, sir. I'm just a little uncomfortable with...

UDAY: I see. Nabila, tell me, what did you see yourself doing when your swimming days were over?

NABILA: I'd like to teach someday, sir.

UDAY: Really? Do you ever see yourself clawing at the lid of a very small, almost airtight box as shovelfuls of dirt and gravel land with a dull finality on the cover?

NABILA: I'll try harder, sir.

UDAY: That's all I'm asking.

BODYGUARD: Sir?

UDAY: Not now. All right, submerged ladies, slowly your legs fall open, wider and wider, until you form a perfect T. Oh, that's exquisite. Feel the white hot stare of the judges, their eyes burning into the very core of your womanhood. God, look at it, Gavan.

BODYGUARD: Very nice, Sir, but I'm wondering if...

UDAY: Gavan, please. Now, Kadira, your hand travels up, her shoulder strap weaving through your fingers like a cat's cradle. You push the strap off, exposing a porcelain breast unkissed by the sun.

BODYGUARD: Sir, it's been almost three min...

UDAY: All right, your mouth finds her nipple, your teeth lightly teasing it into ever greater distension. And then submerged ladies begin to touch themselves, desperate to relieve the burning need...wait...why are they floating? No one wants to see a rounded back peeking from the surface.

BODYGUARD: They're dead, sir.

UDAY: Hmm. Pity. Is there a pairs competition?