*This piece contains mature subject matter.*
When I’m in the bath everything outside of it ceases to be a concern. I’m selfish in this space, unabashedly so. Bath time is like good sex, I take my time and I am thorough. Better still, great sex where I am both refreshed and deeply satisfied. However, bath time is just for me. Selfish, as I said.
My hands spread slippery, soapy suds; shoulders first, then neck, down and over, cupping and molding my breasts. Sometimes I linger and circle the nipple, making it alert, standing at attention. The warmth of the water really brings out their natural blush, pointed rose tips defying gravity as I lie back into the tub; long hair fanning outwards, expanding in the water. My hands continue their journey, down to my stomach and thighs. I raise one leg at a time, washing and working those ever stressed muscles. I’m incredibly flexible. All those years of yoga do have their benefits. Besides, I have no desire to sit up.
Naturally, I save my favorite bath time activity for last. My middle finger works its way down my slit, massaging the innermost folds, playfully encircling an increasingly aroused clit. I occasionally tease my opening with that same middle finger, darting in and around my warm, wet entrance. I slowly trace back up, continuing on in that circular motion. Water gently laps at my most sensitive places, ripples made by my exuberance.
I finish what I start. Release is but another form of self-care and I take my self-care seriously. Wet on the outside, wet on the inside. I highly recommend it.
Christina Schmidt, MA