I love baths. I love to bathe in rivers and hot springs. Pools make me happy.
When I was a kid my mother called me a water baby. I now prefer to think of myself as a bathing aficionado. I am, in simplest point of fact, a bath snob. A river, crisp and loving, flowing against me, making my thighs tired, caressing my breasts with cooled fingers, fantastic. Sitting by a pool with my legs dragging in the warmth of the sun touched water, bliss. BUT a bath, a hot, steaming bath, perfect.
I love to lie back with the scents of lavendar and patcholli, sweetgrass and rose washing over me. The steam rolling off the surface of the water like a fog off a bay. I light candles, and turn off the normal lights. The beads of warm water on my legs and breasts soothes my soul. Trickles away the pain and hurt of the day.
I can fall asleep, or I can tease myself, and the end result is always utter bliss. The feeling of a completely relaxed body, like just being fucked silly, envelops me, and my heart rests. As I towel off, I feel able to face the day with just a bit more ease.
Gods bless the inventor of the hot bath.