Free Best of the Best Lesbian Erotica by Tristan Taormino Page A

throb the second I turn on the tap and hear the soft splash of the water against my claw-footed, porcelain tub. I draw a daily bath, sliding my body inch by inch into the piping-hot water and watching my skin turn pink before it slips beneath the bubbles. I soak for at least an hour, barely moving except to stretch my back or rest my foot on the edge, letting the water and bubbles drip down my thigh. When I’m done soaking I pull the showerhead into me and let the water vibrate over my clit until I come with the same lapping precision of ocean waves. For years I masturbated no other way, preferring a steamy, warm bath to any bed or couch. When I go to visit friends or family, the first thing I check out is how clean their tub is and what the water pressure is like.
    In my bathroom I have four different kinds of bubble bath; three different types of scented bath oils; and multiple candles, loofahs, and sponges, all within arm’s reach. My showerhead is a two-speed adjustable shower massager with a hose long enough to reach wherever I may be.

    I know if a woman is a good match for me based purely on her feelings about bathing. I once asked a lover if she would like to take a bath with me. She crinkled her nose in disgust and said, “In water?” We lasted three weeks. Another time I had filled the tub and gotten in fully expecting my current lover to join me. She came into the bathroom, took one look at me and said, “Sorry, but I’m just not into taking baths.” I had sadly resigned myself to solitary pleasures.
    The first time my new lover said that she liked her women wet, I was sure she meant between their thighs. She smiled and went on to explain that what she really liked were women soaked in water. My eyes lit up.
    â€œI really have this thing for wet women,” she said. “I love women walking in the rain, washing cars, taking showers or baths. It just gets me so hot.”
    Did she say baths? I had to replay the last part in my head several times to make sure I wasn’t hearing things. I tried to contain my euphoria as she told me about her past lovers and how they used to get in water fights and fuck afterward with water dripping off their bodies and into their cunts. She said there was nothing better than bathing a soaking wet femme with hair dripping down a curved, soft back. I was delirious.
    We had been dating for only two weeks when she bought me a mouse pad decorated with big, fat water droplets. I couldn’t touch my mouse without envisioning us completely drenched. Several days later she left my apartment early for work while I was still sleeping. When I awoke there was a note on my pillow that said simply, “I need you wet.”
    The following Sunday I drew a bath.
    She was sitting on the couch reading the paper when I went into the bathroom, lit a candle, and turned on the water. I picked out a freesia-scented bubble bath and watched as it drizzled into the swirling water and started to foam. I placed a fresh bar of raspberry soap, a soft yellow bath sponge, and
a white cotton washcloth on the windowsill next to the tub. The glass had already fogged over. I slipped out of my jeans and sweatshirt and put on my peach silk robe, and gave the bathroom a once-over. The room was filled with the smell of soap and candles and steam.
    When I went out to the living room the paper was folded neatly next to her on the couch and she was sitting quietly with her arms crossed. She had been waiting.
    I sat down on the couch next to her. “I’m going to take a bath,” I said, trying to appear casual. “You can join me…” I paused, “or, if you like…you can bathe me.” I was awkwardly playing with the hem of my robe.
    She sighed deeply, unfolded her arms, and pressed her soft lips firmly against mine. The faint smell of coffee lingered on her mouth. “I’ll take the latter of those two options.” She kissed me once more and then