Honey, We're Going Down

In the movies, shower sex is always depicted as this exotic adventure between two ridiculously beautiful people -- hot, heavy, and passionate -- covered in droplets of water and thick, soapy bubbles. Without worrying about physical limitations, gravitational pull, and weight distribution.

In reality, it's probably the least sexiest thing you'll ever experience. No one is ever truly that flawless, graceful, or flexible. If you say you are, then I hate you and also you're a liar.

Real shower sex is slippery, uncomfortable, cramped, and often, the person not under the showerhead is freezing the whole time. Not to mention, if one person is larger, heavier, or slightly uncoordinated, trying to find the right position can be awkward...and dangerous.

Needless to say, I speak from experience.

Imagine this:

It's 1997 and my high school sweetheart and I finally, finally get together after me crushing hard on him for YEARS. We were best friends, but I'd been obsessing over him forever, and then one day he made his move. It only took him 3 years, but damn, was it worth the wait.

Once we finally do the deed, and smash our naughty bits together, we go at it like we invented sex. Of course, he's more shy and reserved, and I'm a brazen wild sexpot willing try to anything twice. So I have to ease him into doing new things.

After some begging and a whole lot of BJs, I eventually convince him to try shower sex. Our first time is at my house and it goes well, considering (the sex was good but the maneuvering was a bit difficult). See, I'm a big girl and he was, well, much thinner than I.

So there wasn't a whole lot of hardcore bangin' against the wall happening. There was NO WAY I was gonna have him try to lift my fat ass in the shower. Nope. I'm good with one position, thanks. So maybe there wasn't any variety, but damn did we go at it like experts, spatial issues aside.

While it wasn't the hot shower scenes that rated R movies make it seem like, neither of us were opposed to trying it again at some point.

A few weeks later, we take the plunge...literally.

This time, we do it at his house.

At the time, he lived with his mother in a mobile home on a farm. It was smaller than my house, but it felt like home in a way my house never did. And there was something about the smell of the farm and sound of the animals in the early morning hours that just felt right.

On that day, we'd woken up late. It was the summer and we had no school and no jobs. Life was sweet. We didn't have a care in the world. So our time was our own. We spent our days going to Borders and local music stores, and eating bad fast food while we drove around town.

I took a shower first and at some point, he came into the bathroom. One of us decided it was time for a freaky shower do-over. Why not, right? When he climbed in, I thought I'd surprise him with a sexy shower BJ. So I dropped to my knees.

Sounds dirty and incredibly hot, right?

Well, you're wrong. So, so wrong.

There is nothing sexy or comfortable at all about kneeling on a hard bathtub. Even for the guy (or girl) you love. But I endured it because I envisioned this raunchy move-from-the-shower-to-the-couch segue, where we would get so hot and heavy that we would have mind-blowing orgasms all over the house, while we were naked and wet and crazy for each other.

Yeah, not so much.

So I'm going to town and he's holding onto the shower rod, standing above me. I'm so deep into what I'm doing that I swear it feels like we're rocking the whole trailer. And I think to myself, "This is it. This is the orgasm that will seal our fate. We're gonna be together forever. He's never going to forget this!"

He's thrusting vigorously and I'm giving him all I've got. I know this is it. He's about to go supernova on me. I feel it, he's getting close, I just know it. It's so intense it feels like the earth is moving.

And I can hear his hot, manly groans. They're getting louder. Wait, is that him groaning? No, it doesn't sound like him. It's a deeper sound. A weird sort of growling rumble. And I can feel it too. Under my knees.

And just in that moment, right before he's about to get volcanic...

BAM! The bathtub falls through the floor. And so do I.

There he is, standing above me, holding onto the curtain rod, trying to get his footing. And I'm 3 feet beneath the freaking subfloor, on my knees, water still trickling down from the showerhead like a bad joke.

Miraculously, all our dangly bits are intact. I breathe a sigh of relief that I didn't bite off more than I could swallow, if you get my drift.

Somehow, we get our bearings and climb out of our sad, wet disaster of a sex scene. I'm laughing hysterically. He's freaking out.

"Holy shit, holy shit. My mother is going to kill me," he says. "What are we supposed to do?"

Geniuses that we are, we concoct the story that it was just me in the shower. That I fell, and that's what happened. I'm a victim! For sure, this will make it all okay. Right? Once we feel good about our terrible, horrible, no good, very bad lie, we go to McDonald's.

After all, what better way to celebrate a shit show than with a Happy Meal and a McFlurry?

Have you ever seen those serial killers who are so calm it's scary? That's how his mother acted. She was just so calm. Too calm. She let us tell her the whole fake sob story about me falling. And she nodded. And listened.

And then she said, "Okay, tell me what really happened." I was strong. I kept with the lie. But he caved. Just like his damn bathtub. A few days later, she got the estimate from the contractor.

And to this day, we call it the $1300 Blowjob Disaster. And we have no regrets!