As a kid, I used to hate taking showers. I would protest and grumble as the clothes off my back were ripped off by mom, and I was pushed into the shower. Perhaps I found it a waste to wash off all the grime and dirt diligently accumulated throughout the day, or perhaps I didn't want my fragile soul and nubile young body exposed to the violent, pedophilic spirits that roamed the washroom. Either way, showering was one of the least favorite things of mine to do.
Now, I can't get enough of it. I eagerly anticipate every night, where I would get my well deserved cleansing of the body and soul. Showering has become not just a mundane task, but an entire ritual dedicated to pleasing myself in all my nakedness.
The first thing I do is to stare deep into the bathroom mirror. I closely examine my face in a trance-like state, occasionally tilting my head to get a better view of my jawline and bone structure. I frown at blemishes yet to be erased by Annie's needle, giggle at funny faces I make, and occasionally do the 'album-cover' pout, a come-hither look I was determined to perfect by the time I get my first album photo-shoot.
The clothes come off next. If I'm feeling extra sexy, I hum a tune from 'Cabaret' as I remove articles of clothing, all coordinated to the swaying hips, of course. You are very welcome for the visual image you now have. Reality almost always brings me crashing down to Earth after all the clothes are gone. I would then quickly hurry away from the mirror and the offending sight.
The initial contact of hot water against skin is pleasure akin to the revered orgasm. Water trickles down your back, tickling the areas which are not wet yet, then provides that blissful cocoon of steaming liquid nirvana. My left hand automatically rubs my chest, for no apparent reason other than habit. I always wet my body before my hair, and I do that as quickly as possible, none of the slow-mo-almost-sex-scene-like action like I did for the body. It's almost unbearably ticklish to have water start flowing from the head, and too many erogenous zones on the scalp are stimulated for a solo-shower.
The shampoo goes on first. For some unfathomable reason, I always get hungry when I shampoo. This is why they should not be using food smells in such products. What good can honeydew do for my hair, honestly. Next thing you know they'll be coming out with 'bacon-strip' conditioner and 'cheeseburger' night-cream. So anyways, I'd be grabbing and rubbing my head with my one free hand, while the other clutches the shower-head.
When I feel that I have sufficiently exterminated the evils lurking within my hair, I rinse it off and begin the delicate process of conditioning. I've been conditioned (pun!) to count to twenty when putting on conditioner, for reasons still unknown to me. To let it fully soften the hair? What's the use, I never can get the shampoo commercial effects anyways. Believe me, I've tried. The washing off of the conditioner is the glitch in this otherwise smooth ritual. I never know if the stuff is really gone, or if its just the now unnaturally smooth hair I'm feeling. It makes me uneasy to think about remnants of conditioner still clinging on surreptitiously.
Music, of course, is an integral part of any shower experience. Bathrooms are practically designed for mock concerts, with the superbly resonating acoustic effects and the makeshift microphone in the form of the shower-head. It is a habit of mine to take things to the extreme, as some who know me will testify. Others express slight irritation at an idea, I condemn the fool who inflicted that curse upon the human race. Others sing a line or two in the showers, I like to plan a whole concert set-list. It would be both irresponsible and morally corrupt of me if I were to trick my listeners and just do variations of the same songs. Nope, I have a better work ethic than that.
My favorite thing about showering is the nice smell on my skin afterward. I always leave the body foam part to the end, as I'm afraid the smell would be washed off by too much water. I try hard as possible to wash it with water as little as possible, and if I could just leave the foam on, I would. I reluctantly wash off the Cherry BodyShop shower lotion, and resign myself to the fate of the scent leaving me within two hours.
I step out of the shower a new person. I'm rejuvenated, glistening with water droplets, and most importantly, butt naked. If my neighbor from the other block chose that moment to look into my kitchen, she would be rewarded with a sight to behold. The new wine cooler is most magnificent. Hopefully she wouldn't notice the naked guy, because I doubt showers in prison provide Cherry shower lotion.
Now, I can't get enough of it. I eagerly anticipate every night, where I would get my well deserved cleansing of the body and soul. Showering has become not just a mundane task, but an entire ritual dedicated to pleasing myself in all my nakedness.
The first thing I do is to stare deep into the bathroom mirror. I closely examine my face in a trance-like state, occasionally tilting my head to get a better view of my jawline and bone structure. I frown at blemishes yet to be erased by Annie's needle, giggle at funny faces I make, and occasionally do the 'album-cover' pout, a come-hither look I was determined to perfect by the time I get my first album photo-shoot.
The clothes come off next. If I'm feeling extra sexy, I hum a tune from 'Cabaret' as I remove articles of clothing, all coordinated to the swaying hips, of course. You are very welcome for the visual image you now have. Reality almost always brings me crashing down to Earth after all the clothes are gone. I would then quickly hurry away from the mirror and the offending sight.
The initial contact of hot water against skin is pleasure akin to the revered orgasm. Water trickles down your back, tickling the areas which are not wet yet, then provides that blissful cocoon of steaming liquid nirvana. My left hand automatically rubs my chest, for no apparent reason other than habit. I always wet my body before my hair, and I do that as quickly as possible, none of the slow-mo-almost-sex-scene-like action like I did for the body. It's almost unbearably ticklish to have water start flowing from the head, and too many erogenous zones on the scalp are stimulated for a solo-shower.
The shampoo goes on first. For some unfathomable reason, I always get hungry when I shampoo. This is why they should not be using food smells in such products. What good can honeydew do for my hair, honestly. Next thing you know they'll be coming out with 'bacon-strip' conditioner and 'cheeseburger' night-cream. So anyways, I'd be grabbing and rubbing my head with my one free hand, while the other clutches the shower-head.
When I feel that I have sufficiently exterminated the evils lurking within my hair, I rinse it off and begin the delicate process of conditioning. I've been conditioned (pun!) to count to twenty when putting on conditioner, for reasons still unknown to me. To let it fully soften the hair? What's the use, I never can get the shampoo commercial effects anyways. Believe me, I've tried. The washing off of the conditioner is the glitch in this otherwise smooth ritual. I never know if the stuff is really gone, or if its just the now unnaturally smooth hair I'm feeling. It makes me uneasy to think about remnants of conditioner still clinging on surreptitiously.
Music, of course, is an integral part of any shower experience. Bathrooms are practically designed for mock concerts, with the superbly resonating acoustic effects and the makeshift microphone in the form of the shower-head. It is a habit of mine to take things to the extreme, as some who know me will testify. Others express slight irritation at an idea, I condemn the fool who inflicted that curse upon the human race. Others sing a line or two in the showers, I like to plan a whole concert set-list. It would be both irresponsible and morally corrupt of me if I were to trick my listeners and just do variations of the same songs. Nope, I have a better work ethic than that.
My favorite thing about showering is the nice smell on my skin afterward. I always leave the body foam part to the end, as I'm afraid the smell would be washed off by too much water. I try hard as possible to wash it with water as little as possible, and if I could just leave the foam on, I would. I reluctantly wash off the Cherry BodyShop shower lotion, and resign myself to the fate of the scent leaving me within two hours.
I step out of the shower a new person. I'm rejuvenated, glistening with water droplets, and most importantly, butt naked. If my neighbor from the other block chose that moment to look into my kitchen, she would be rewarded with a sight to behold. The new wine cooler is most magnificent. Hopefully she wouldn't notice the naked guy, because I doubt showers in prison provide Cherry shower lotion.
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