The Shower
I’m thirty-five, and the house is finally, gloriously empty. The kids are at my mother’s for the weekend; my husband’s on some work trip that conveniently turned into a boys’ golf getaway. The silence is thick, golden, mine. I lock the front door, double-check the kids’ rooms, and head straight for the master bathroom.
The en-suite is my sanctuary: white marble, soft recessed lighting, a rainfall showerhead I rarely use because it’s too gentle. But tonight, I’m not here for gentle. I’m here for the handheld. That sleek, chrome wand with the adjustable dial—seven settings, from mist to massage. I’ve used it to rinse shampoo a thousand times. Tonight, it’s going to ruin me.
I strip in front of the mirror. Bra first—my breasts spill out, heavy, n*****s already peaked from the ch
