Warmduscher



Why is the feeling of the hot water against my skin one of the best feelings in the entire world?
Is it its cleansing properties or is it the comfort that nestles itself inside my tired bones.
Worn out before 30. If you'd asked me this 10 years ago I would have never thought it possible. 
The water pools in the shallow pits of my collarbones before I work the soap over them. I've not used bar soap in forever. Everything's all about gels and oils now. Fuck that.

The shower is fragrant and inviting. I moan in pleasure as the water hits me. My desire echoing. God, I love the acoustics in here. In moments of emotional turmoil, I reach for his comfort. If I could swim in pools of his intellect I would. His voice echoes through my empty veins as I slip my t-shirt over my head. Why do I ache for a man who'll never want me as I want him? I suppose I will be doomed to the suggestion of daydream for the rest of my days. The heat of the water is a poor euphemism for the warmth of his touch; I long for the times when he was pressed against me, my skin alight for him. He is the only thing that's managed to slow the decay inside. 

His lips pull away from mine, his ragged breath on me. I need to taste him again. I press my lips against him with a new manic frenzy as he wraps his slippery hand around my neck, inching upwards and eventually cradling my head. His tongue explores the piercings in mine as my hands caress the chub on his hips. He invokes a strain of life within me that I thought depression had long since eradicated. His hair is tangled and wet as I work my fingers through it. He pulls me into him, allowing his fingers to explore my spine. I'm tangled up in him and I never want to be free. 

The night air mingles with the lilac fragrance of the candles I've lit to light the room. It's not that I'm averse to using the bathroom lights or the possibility that I might alert the neighbours that I'm showering at 2 in the morning, it's that my body needs to be hidden. I don't want to see it. This is my time and I don't need to be repulsed. I love the way the flames dance across the glass and marble of the room.

I'm drawn back into my fantasy as I work the shampoo through my hair. His mouth explores my soapy breasts, occasionally nibbling at my scarred sternum. He doesn't shy away from the destruction, Rather he embraces it. For a moment he lingers at the large scar that decorates my left side before turning his attention to my pubic bone. He slowly starts to kiss my vulva, alternating between soft, sensual kisses and gentle biting motions. He slips his tongue over my clitoris and begins to suck. I gasp in and grip his hair as I'm flooded with euphoria. Long loving licks send me quivering and clawing at the wet walls for support. Memories and light flash through my consciousness and my hands wash over me. The water only serves as another form of stimulation as I sink deeper into desire. I've never done anything like this before.

"I want you." He mumbles, his lips and mouth still stained with me he stands to kiss me while I straddle him. With one leg wrapped around him, he slides into me and grunts in pleasure.
"From behind. I need you inside me from behind." I pant and he happily obliges. He's our and re-entering me in a matter of seconds. "Use your fingers!" He reaches down and begins to work my Christina piercing and pubic mound. My fingers are climbing the inside of my vagina, everywhere I want him to be. "Why can't-" I start to moan, digging the nails of my free hand into my thigh as I speed up my pace. I'm almost there. One more and he-

His name cuts through the stream and echoes off the marble walls of my shower. It's almost otherworldly. I collapse into a wet and shaking heap on the floor, my hair plastered to my forehead, my fingers still inside me. I whisper his name to the water as I work the bar of soap in my hands. Although he's never touched it, it reminds me of him. I reach up, turn the water temperature to the highest possible setting and slump against the wall. Oxytocin and vasopressin are echoing through my veins as my rapid breathing begins to slow and the tension that threatened me earlier dissipates.

Water trails down my neck, then my back as I step out of the shower, reaching for the largest, fluffiest towel. I wrap it around me feeling its security as I make my way to the darkened bedroom. As I step inside the light disappears behind me and it strikes me that the room is as dark as his lashes. 


In the low light of the computer screen, I can see the blueish green of my veins. They snake up and down me, hiding behind scars, tattoos and freckles. I stick on finger into my navel and gently press another finger directly above it. I allow the beats of my pulse to lull me into a state of peace. It's as if I'm in the womb again. My skin is so soft, it's like the soft tissue paper that you find in those high-end gift boxes. The smallest little knick and all my stuffing will come out. 
He is the voice inside me that speaks when I'm too afraid to. He is the one who's led me to embrace inner truths, freeing me from the boxes that I've stuffed myself inside for the longest time. 

Title Translation: Warmduscher: (German) Literal translation: an individual who showers with warm water. // An individual who doesn't like to leave their comfort zone. A wimp. 


*Got some new book previews coming up for you guys, a new Adventures in Psychopharmacology, a new Delectables with Dan and a few other announcements!*



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