Shower Time

The water at first sprayed out at a temperature just a few degrees above freezing.

The kind of cold that you could see on the lake most mornings, as creeping mist cleared it’s way across to the small island in the middle of the brown hued waters.

The sensation on her skin was a pure one—a little short of ecstasy, but edging the line between shock and sudden elation. Goose pimples rose like Braille on her golden-tanned skin and the hairs spiked as if a current of electricity had been pushed through her.

The sudden convulsion of the body had lent a sharp, not unpleasant ache that drove to the core of her womanhood, a shiver rippled through her hips and she tensed her pubic region tenderly, only to unclench as the water turned warmer and the shimmer of heat ran rampant on her body.

A wave of pure unbridled sensuality that scared away the goose bumps and instead left a smooth, velveteen feeling. The great tidal wave cascading into the slight bump above her clitoris, the barely one centimeter sized spot that touches upon the hood, running down the button, through her lips and deep to the crease of the buttocks behind.

She shivered as the temperature turned from cold, sudden and penetrating—to the lush warm glow that made her skin dance. Her skin became like a raw nerve, every drip, trickle and spray of warm clean water sending a morse code of sensation through her and the pleasure senses in her mind read it out loud.

P L E A S U R E – E L A T I ON – S E N S U A L I T Y

Each part of the words ricocheting through her mind as if the radio operator was tapping the message on the most sensitive parts of her.

Each pulse and burst of the message tingling up in and into her, rooting from her crotch to her brain, and rushing back down again in shivers and tickles.

The dance again, between body and brain.

Her hands naturally wound up dancing too, long fingers pirouetting on golden canvas, toward that oh-so sensitive and hungry spot. Where the fingertips soon did more than just a gentle jig, and instead found a dance partner in the warm, sticky wetness.

Deep inside her there was golden warmth that felt like alchemy. The sensation building and budding. Her fingers probing in and around the lips and inside again her fingers wet now, not from the shower, instead from the rush of wetness inside her. It dripped down her fingers, running down her thighs, her legs coming together and seizing around her hand.

Her mouth a delicious O-shape that moaned and gasped. Each push of her finger inside, each touch of her finger on the button of her clit sending a wave of shivering convulsion the length and breadth of her body.

The complex crescendo of climax.

The morning ritual...

Where her mind could wander on memories of men and lovers, boys from her childhood, gentlemen who had smiled on trains and walkways... every one of them a dance partner for a moment or two, as her fingers went to work on the folds of her glistening, warm wet flesh.

The sighs rampant and breathy. And soon... a hush within the warmth, the sudden burst of ephemeral brilliance, a flash of white... and an intricate judder of incandescent confusion as the climax took hold.

Every morning she would do the same.

Her shower was her favourite past time.

There was love here, a silent, secret love for herself and her body.

Yes sir.

She loved her shower time...