in the hindsight-perfected story of my life, this will have been written immediately following the experience of being a youth man's 1st ever blue devil after getting sick and missing the end of jouvay 2006.

i have to be in the right frame of mind for bathing. if i don't have time to indulge, sometimes i'd rather not start. it's a personally intense labour of love to lather then lotion to a smooth+creamy finish. it deepens my mood so much that i sometimes have to make myself "get up" for it.
it leads to the kind of introspection that makes me make a face- my bathing face- a combination of fighting to keep my eyeballs from swimming away, and the study of soap, lather-potential, and self.
bathing+lotioning is kinetic masturbation.
i adore myself in my smoothnes, softness, firmness, curviness, all in all the right places.
i take my bathing very seriously, hence the extra steam- it promotes absorption in thought by keeping the world a warm, wet wrinkle in time away. this is naked time @ it's realest when my hands explore flesh usually worshipped by others' fingertips wanting to visit the oasis conjured by my scent mirage.
watery grave it's not.
bathing would be more erotic if i didn't take it so absolutely dead serious.
the word "shower" is merely my vocabulatory concession to america because i'd usually rather not try to explain the langourous pleasure that demands the word i prefer, grew up on, in a climate that can't let you let shit slide. 5minutes sounds like criminal depravation. i need time to smell effortlessly and freshly earthy. like i have a naturally perfumed vagina pulsing against my thong.
bathing is composing odes to my navel, a small, lint-free pond i can never resist stirring with a finger. overflowing, displacing just enough to fill the gap between fingertip and curved nail. i take this bathing (ritual) so serious that it can be blasphemous to clothe the oiled, massaged skin begging to keep breathing freely and be touched all over again while it still feels perfect.

walk good.