Shower

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She invites lover to shower.
800 words
3.09
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annalee
annalee
1 Followers

In the evening, while I wait for my lover to arrive, I take a shower. It's not that I'm uncomfortable with my own bodily smells. Rather, I practice a ritual of deepening nakedness that opens me to the nightfall that awaits, so that I can greet him, untouched and unadorned.

First, I unzip my skirt. Unbutton my blouse. Shimmy out of my panties. Unhook my bra. I kick my clothing into a pile and stand before the mirror in the glare of the bathroom light.

I remove my jewelry. The hoops from my ears. The bangles from my wrist. The chain from my ankle. I run a comb through my long hair, over and over, until every snarl and tangle has been freed.

I run the tap until the room is steaming, then step under the spray. I close my eyes and let the water pulse in my open mouth, then run down my chin, my neck, my back. I sponge off the odor of the day. The grime of the office. The sweat from the checkout line. Liner on my eyes. Plum gloss, now faded, on my lips. Lotions and potions I applied when I felt fresh that morning.

My shampoo leaves a slight lavender scent in my hair, my body wash a mild peppermint aftertaste on my belly. I rub my skin with a harsh loofah until it turns red. I massage myself with a plush towel until even the folds between my toes are dry, and I dress in baggy pants, a sheer camisole.

After I greet my lover with a feathery kiss but before our tongues exploring each other's mouths make it difficult to remain standing, I ask him to shower, too. I don't want to shower with him, not yet. I prefer bathing each other between fucking, after the candles have grown cold but before light pokes from behind the curtains. Now, I want my lover to come to me clean as a newborn, the way I come to him.

I sit on the toilet and watch him, shower curtain parted, wash himself as if no one is looking. He, too, I notice, opens his mouth and lets the water fill it. He reaches his hands above his head until, vertebrae by vertebrae, he has stretched the tension out of his back. The water hits his shoulders and runs in torrents down his ass and thighs.

My lover chooses a soft washcloth. He rubs it with unscented soap until it foams with bubbles. He massages tiny circles, methodically, between his fingers, upon his palm, along his wrist and forearm and upper arm, across his shoulders, then down the other side. As he reaches the fingers of the other hand the soap runs out and my hand slides down my pants, so I can circle my clit to the rhythm of his bathing.

By the time my lover finishes I have undressed. I unfold a towel and offer to dry him, inch by inch. This way I can examine the muscles of his arms, the curve of his ass, the place where the hair runs out on his chest, where it begins beyond his thigh. I ask him to lift first one arm, then the other, so I can collect the drops of water hanging from his underarm hairs on my tongue. I lick and rub until his skin is dry and taut.

Then I ask my lover to bend over. This is not because I want to dominate him. No. I want to bury my nose in his ass and inhale deeply. I want to circle his asshole with my tongue, slowly, so I can taste every inch. I want to run my tongue along that now hard place between his ass and his balls. I want to take each ball in my mouth, gently, and lick and squeeze it.

As I breathe him in and taste him I think perhaps I can give him a fraction of the pleasure he has already given me. I want this quiet, almost contemplative moment before he forces his now throbbing cock against the back of my throat, before he leads me into the bedroom and fucks me until my head slams the headboard.

I like to taste and smell my lover apart from me, on his own terms, before his cum mixes with my cunt juice. Before our sweat and spit intermingle. Before our rubbing and stroking alter each other's body chemistry.

I start with a shower so that, as the hours take us from the bed to the table to the chair to the floor, with my nose and mouth, I can begin to discern the way my lover changes me, comprehend the way I change him, understand the subtle ways we lovers change each other.

annalee
annalee
1 Followers
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