Baby oil. Lanolin.
Grease.
Greasy wool.
Sweaty sailors.
Fish.
Hands sliding on ropes ... sliding ... with the erotic rhythm of a dying cod, thrashing.
Covered in baby oil.
Where was I before you silly women interrupted?
Of course. Baby oil. The Elizabethans would swim their sheep in cold water then shampoo and blowdry them, and anoint the wool with baby oil. Because Geoffrey Chaucer was a freak for that shit.
Totally. It's in a book I found in Google. If you can't find it that's not because I hallucinated it.
