HappyComeLucky

There is that moment when the temperature, flow and mood of a shower stops time just for a few breaths. Suddenly, all the demands of life quieten and my existence is reduced down to the sensuality of my response to the all encompassing caress of the water. For those moments, I’m just me, I don’t have a name. I don’t exist in any other space other than as the sensations of the water flow. Maybe it is because the water can wrap it’s way all around me, leaving no part untouched that the sensations are so time stopping.

Not all showers are so wholesome of course. There are the annoyingly rushed, I’ve-snoozed-the-alarm-too-much showers which are so utilitarian as to be almost cruel. There are the needing-a-scrub showers that are a whole different ball game depending on the reason for the filth.

Of course, there are also the utterly filthy showers that need another to join me. The type where I might be pressed hard against the tiled wall, stretched in tiptoe to give him the best angle; or down on my knees, my mouth filled with him while the water streams over me; or down on my knees before him, waiting for a different stream to cascade over me.

Whatever type of shower it is, they make my life better and feed my soul with nurturing and nourishing delights whether it is about being clean or being filthy.