The Tales of a Young Lad Showering

Once every three or four days I get a stinking urge to shower. And today was one of those days. I proceeded to undress and walk into the bathroom. There was nobody home so it gave me that usual eerie feeling of when you’re naked and alone. I’m sure most of you are familiar with that driving curiosity to test out the pain thresholds of your sexual desires, often times experimenting with objects of different sizes. Yeah, me neither. You creep. In any regard, it’s always weird though enticing to sit - butt-naked - on your expensive sofa, couch or kitchen table… pretending to sip some coffee or juice. Très exquisite.

I stood malnutritioned, pale and excessively hairy… in all the wrong areas. My Somalian ribs, Chicken legs and Molester mustache gave me the shudders. How could anyone love me?! The thought quickly vanished when I realized I was due up for a nice long warm shower, masturbation included. Almost giddy at the thought of punishing the tiles, I prepared to jump in. I adjusted the water gauge to the correct temperature and pressure. I took my now moist hands and patted my little soldiers; a shower ritual of mine.

I put one leg in and cringed. It’s too hot. The fucking water is too hot. I pull back. I look at the mirror as if it’s judging my every move. I shake my head, adjust the knob. I turn back at the make belief audience in the mirror and examine my thigh. God damn, it’s got to be the florescent lighting or something. Finally, I give up my pansyass inhibitions and get in. Lathering myself in the gluttonous joys of warm water. Those fucking Africans have no idea what they’re missing. Poor souls. In my high of joydom and happiness I remind myself I should donate more. I should volunteer or at least some sort of charitable work. I mean, I’m such a fortunate fool. I stop my irrational thoughts of genuine generosity when I realize they’ve put quite the damper on my little Johnson. I proceed to wet the little guy, close my eyes and go about my dirty little business.

Upon completion, I quickly wash the points of contact off. And scoop away the rest of the residue with my feet; sweeping all the evidence towards the drain. Sure I encourage my lady to swallow such incarnations. But for me to touch it in the shower with my already wet hands? GROSS.

I look at the colorful assortment of shower essentials which my girlfriend has so generously stocked. I quickly scan for the bottle with the word ’shampoo’. I find a tall, urine colored shampoo bottle which smells like Honey. Why do I let her buy this garbage for $15 a bottle? Because it smells so nice, asshole.The real question is why am I smelling my shampoo? I’m a queerbait. Delighted by the scent of my shampoo, I grab another bottle and do the same. I enjoy myself for a couple more minutes. I cannot procrastinate any longer. My fingers are already prune and I haven’t even started. I grab a bottle and begin with my beautiful set of curly black hair. Being a Man’s man, I quickly wash and rinse. Being a total flame on what-chya-ma-call-it, I decide to read the instructions on the back of the bottle to ensure proper usage. Don’t lie. You’ve done it too.

To my shrieking horror, I realized I had used BODY WASH on my fine beautiful hair. What’s a man to do? The inevitable question lay before me. Do I now wash my body with shampoo or do I, tip the balance of shampoo to body wash usage and, continue using the body wash? This question left me perplexed and divided. Fortunately, thanks for the advancement of modern laziness, I realized it was probably easier to just lather up my hands and work with the bottle which was already open.

My homosexuality reigns as I come to my next ever-important question. Do I use conditioner? Most men don’t even know what conditioner is, but I’m above that. I actually know the main chemical compound in most conditioners. (I read the back for the fun little photos and the ever-slight possibility of seeing the nude outline, or at least the breast of a woman.) However, the dilemma lay before me. It’s okay to use conditioner after shampooing but what about BODY WASH? My past had come back to haunt me. What if I was the first person ever to do something so stupid? What if this was never tested in the laboratories? What if the use of conditioner and body wash on the human hair caused instant baldness? What about itching and irritation? What if that’s how they create NAIR? This question left me terribly troubled and baffled but, fortunately, with several choices.

I could wash my hair all over again with shampoo and then proceed to use conditioner. I could skip out on conditioner just this once and disappoint my tennis trainer Julian or I could take the big risk and simply attempt to condition my hair AFTER it was washed with body wash.

And wouldn’t you know it. I’m a mother fucking rebel. Fuck Julian and his tennis balls. I’m a dangerous man. A man’s man. And I’m going to condition my hair, I protested with a large manly growl.

Adieu. Navid.