The Weekly Mindfuck: Shower Sex

In a word, shower sex is difficult. Height differences make standing doggy style and foot-up-on-the-ledge impossible, and the shower floor itself leaves bruises up and down your spine. Water is, well, wet, but not slippery enough to be a pleasant lubricant. Water gets in your nose and your eyes and your mouth and mats your hair in undulating rivulets down the sides of your face. At face value, shower sex isn't the greatest. Despite that, though, I love it; with the right person, shower sex can be incredible. It forms a different sort of connection with your partner, one that includes bright lights and no makeup and wet hair.

In a word, shower sex is intimate. 

It's kissing your partner somewhere usually reserved for alone time, watching him wash his hair while you run your hands over his chest. It's watching the water drip off the bridge of his nose and kneeling down just outside the reach of the spray. It's hopping on the sink ledge and propping your head against the mirror after everything is said and done, unable to make it back to your room before you finish up the job. Despite the corners and ledges and curtains and counters, shower sex leaves you exposed in a way that transcends physicality. And for that, I'm thankful.  

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