Monday, 17 April 2006

Today's hot shower

It's been a very rollercoaster Easter weekend. J and I had our monthly(ish) "where is our relationship going"-chat, it being my turn to break down in tears this time.

Showers. Very underrated
But I really do think there's a point to them.

"I know you feel like you're banging your head against a brick wall sometimes," J said. "But ever so occasionally, the brick wall might budge. So it's not pointless."

And he also said, "I think we'd both be bored if there was never any drama." How true.

He woke up the next morning and wished me happy Easter, then apologised for not getting me anything. I hadn't realised you're meant to get your partner something for Easter, and at any rate I think the eggs here are way to chocolatey.

So we spent most of the day in bed watching Buffy, rounding off with a lovely roast leg of lamb in the evening.

So today we felt compelled to do some exercise; J's convinced he's getting fat.

We started a new and better life with a nice, long run along the Thames, and then we showered together in the lovely new shower (which has been installed in our house because the old one leaked down into the kitchen halogen lights; slight fire hazard anyone...).

The new shower is in a bath tub, with a nice tiled table-bit at the end of it for putting your shampoo and soaps on.

Or for putting me on. Despite having claimed about five minutes previously to be "completely knackered" from the jog, J suddenly realised that my wet and soapy body, with my nipples pointing at him (inadvertedly, of course, as they know full well that pointing is rude) as I was washing my hair, looked quite inviting.

He offered to "soap my back" which of course meant rubbing his soapy front on my still sweaty back, and enjoying the feeling of my slippery bum on his own (can I say also inceasingly pointing) dirty bits.

"Sit down over there," he said, and as I sat down at the edge of the tub, he kneeled down, pulled my legs apart and dove in, wrapping my calves over his shoulders.

The sensation of his hot tongue on me and the cold tiles on my back was fantastic. He was moaning so loudly I could hear it despite the gushing hot shower.

When I came, I closed my eyes, and the red light from the window completely disappeared; I actually think I was close to blacking out.

As soon as I could stand up again, at least on my knees, I put some conditioner in my hair and duly returned the favour, with J standing and clamping his hands over my ears, thrusting firmly into my throat.

It was lovely. I could hear him moan as he came, very vaguely, with the hissing dissiness of my own orgasm still ringing in my ears.

I stood up for a post-suckage kiss and saw bright spots dancing in front of my eyes.

Screw you, Thames water saving measures... J said afterwards that at least we'd saved water by showering together. I'm not sure that's enough to ease my environmentally bad conscience.

But it was worth every drop of it.

Moral of the story:

No, there isn't one. Was there meant to be? I'll work on it.


  1. Hi J's GF,

    I really appreciated your comment on my site. A staunch communist, huh? In college I studied under a person who went on to become the president of the American Communist Society, and acquired a fascination, though it is not my own doctrine. I am in the process of developing a debate site, and perhaps you would like to debate me on the best form of government, when the time comes. Let me know.


  2. I'm confused... I didn't realise girls had to apply conditioner before performing oral sex, and now I'm worried that in all the BJ's I've ever received I can't remember a single occasion where my partner at the time conditioned her hair first.

    Could I have got pregnant?


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