🔊 Interrupted in the Shower

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What do you do when you lose a parent—are losing a parent? Can it be past tense if it hasn’t happened yet but is inevitable? I feel like I’m reading through a book that I already skipped ahead to the end of, and it’s not good. In fact, it’s absolutely horrible. I’m praying in my head. I’m muttering out loud. This sucks. Screw cancer. I’m interrupted by the shower curtain opening.

“I turned on a movie for Buddy,” Andrew playful leers at me, but he still looks sad. “He should be occupied for a while.” He wags his eyebrows as he climbs naked into the shower, but his heart really isn’t behind it. We both wash the day away and eventually end up just holding onto each other while sharing the spray.

We never do this anymore—shower together. We used to do it all the time, but now there seems to be no time with the 1,001 things that always need doing, and Corrin always wanting one or both of us.

We talk about the day. The evitable. The heavy cloud hanging over our heads. Hard truths. Positives. Negatives. Options. It’s a different world behind the shower curtain. Why am I the one crying? His dad the one dying of cancer. He’s not gone yet, but the grief is already creeping up, ready to strangle. What do we do? What can we do? We keep holding each other. The shower has gone cold, so we come out from behind the curtain, leaving the separate world and going back to harsh reality.

Corrin’s still occupied. How about a detour, hmmm? Let’s take some time for a different way of talking. We dry off and head to the bedroom. Every kiss, every caress says a thousand words.

“I’m here for you.”

“I love you.”

“We’ll get through this.”

We don’t have to say anything out loud. We’re lying across the bed. The thought snags in my mind that this seems to be our favored position. I’m not sure why we rarely go the direction of the mattress, instead preferring to have me across the bed with him either on top or standing at the side. Gentle kisses have deepened into urgent ones. Our caresses have traveled below waists.

My right fist is wrapped firmly around his stiff penis, pumping in time with the fingers of his right hand between my legs. I can barely fit my hand around him. He always feels so powerful. I lose rhythm as my first orgasm hits. Our kiss ends abruptly as I gasp for air.

“Keep going,” he urges darkly, curling his finger to find my G-spot. I love that lower, richer register his voice takes on when we make love. It makes my toes curl. I try to focus on him. I really do. Pumping, pumping, pumping. Our tongues swirl together in my mouth. His scent fills up my head. Ivory soap. His apple shampoo. That musk that is purely him. I can’t get enough of him. I lose myself again when my second orgasm hits, even better than the first. He hasn’t paused for a moment. Damn. I’m not even phasing him.

I want him inside me. Our foreheads press together as I draw him down. His fingers are replaced by the head of his penis, and I feel my third orgasm ripple through me as he pushes in. He buries his hands in my hair as he sets the pace. I can feel my inner walls fluttering around him.

“Ah, yes,” I hiss as he hits just the right spot. A thrill goes through me as he gently tugs my hair.

“Good?” He’s being facetious. Of course, it is. He knows how much I enjoy that. I’m orgasming again. He pauses, rearing back to hook my legs over his arms, grasping them by the ankles at his shoulders. He starts thrusting again, suddenly much firmer and faster. The sound of flesh rhythmically meeting flesh and panting breath fills the room.

I’m writhing, grasping the sheets, hoping to shatter again as his pace quickens even more. “Like the view?” Am I being wanton? Is that a bad thing? Oh, this feels so good! My fifth orgasm is the perfect level of so good it almost hurts. The sensory overload drowns out any response he might have given.

He’s still pounding into me relentlessly. His breathing changes. I know that sound. He’s following me over the edge. How I adore watching and feeling him come undone! That final, deep thrust. The fullness as he ejaculates into me. His back arches as his jaw goes slack, eyes half-closed, and a look of utter bliss on his face. Perfection.

We’re intertwined. We’ll clean ourselves up and rejoin our son in a few minutes, but for now, it’s just us, wrapped up in each other. I don’t know what to do about the harsh realities of a very not-so-distant future, but I know we’ll be facing them together.

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7 replies
  1. InLuvWithA88Hottie says:

    When my father in law passed away suddenly we were staying at my in-laws house so the bathroom was the only place my wife felt comfortable having sex. We had it several times with her sitting on the sink. Those were some special, emotional connections and healing times!

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