A real couple shares how they balance pure romance with surreal situations.
We've got a love that’s like a cross between a rom-com, a period drama, and an old Western—we’re disarmingly clumsy, passionate, and overly dramatic.
“We’ve been married eight years, officially together 10, in love for 25, and have run the gamut on shower sex—barely living to tell the tales.”
We can be the couple that always has some body part touching or be the couple that sleeps in the same bed for only a few hours in the middle of the night. He’s a night owl and I’m an early bird. I move fast and he moves slow. He’s pretty serious and I’m a little on the wild side. But somehow we find each other somewhere right in the middle when it comes to almost everything—including our sex lives, where our chemistry just works.
We’ve been married eight years, officially together 10, in love for 25, and have run the gamut on shower sex—barely living to tell the tales.
Back in the days when we were untethered by mortgages, professions, pets, and kids, you could find us picking up and traveling off the beaten path every chance we got. We’d take motorcycle trips down the coast—and as sexy as that might sound, we’d inevitably run into some ridiculous scenario like fog so thick he’s literally pretending he can see while I wonder intermittently, “So, is this how it ends?”
“We’d balance pure romance with surreal situations almost too crazy to recount.”
But in the knick of time, I’d hear the voice of my mom chime in to say, “No, honey, you’re not done suffering yet.” And, strangely, my nerves would be calmed and we’d make it to wherever our next destination was, in one very lucky piece.
And then that old Western movie of ours would land us in the untamed mangroves and archipelagos of Panama on a wild adventure. We’d balance pure romance with surreal situations almost too crazy to recount. Like the time I was living in La Casa Azul, the exquisite open-aired home built by a dear friend. Resting on stilts at the edge of a dock at the isthmus of an island between the Bay of Saigon and the Caribbean Sea, he came to visit me, “for just a little over a week,” or so he had planned...
Well, that week turned into another and then another—funded by a high-stakes poker game he ended up in with some locals, during which he took the pot.
On that same trip, we ran into a snag in which a collection of cinema-worthy tales took place. Not the least of which was a shower sex scene so steamy to start and then so completely devoid of sexiness in the end.
I’ll sum it all up like this: after a dramatic day of him tracking down all of my electronics (laptop, camera, US phone, etc.) which had been stolen from thieves, in a foreign country, where he spoke very little of the native language, he returned victorious, like a tall, dark, and handsome hero from the movies. It was kind of amazing and, well, what came next was what you’d expect from any damsel in distress. But since this isn’t erotica, I’ll just say it was R-rated (or X, but a lady never tells).
But what followed really brought us down to reality, and, for one of us, that meant all the way down...to the shower floor.
Due to our brush with danger, his winnings, and romantic spirit, we had checked into a really nice resort, complete with robes, room service, restaurants, an infinity pool, and private shoreline. And because we were footloose, fancy-free and still very much childless, we could do whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted.
Which sometimes meant doing it in the shower after too many Dark and Stormy’s.
And it was a beautiful bathroom. The tile was meticulously laid, the sink was made of gorgeous hand-carved marble and the shower was palatial, complete with a bench. Since our genre du jour is certainly not porn (as in, we’re not even amateur b-actors), when things got a little too slippery, he slid all the way backward, onto the floor, and sort of slammed into the glass door. Subsequently, this particular escapade has gone down in our personal history as “showergate,” a story he will never, ever live down.
“As a result of our new normal, shower sex has become a little bit more of a scene out of a movie made with a handheld camera”
Nowadays, on vacations with our two tiny people in tow, we still end up in the shower together, but mostly because we need a safe place to hide and not get caught (water conservation, anyone?). And even when we’re at home, the shower seems to be our default go-to.
As a result of our new normal, shower sex has become a little bit more of a scene out of a movie made with a handheld camera: we’re usually trying to outrun something, everything is moving fast, the angles change quickly, and nothing really ends up on the cutting room floor. There’s just one take, and we’re rolling.
No, I won’t tie this up with a pretty little bow about how we wouldn’t change a thing—I mean, it’s true to some extent. Our lives are full of love and, of course, some heartache; our own brand of wins and losses, like all of us. Always straddling the beautiful and the wonderful under the harsh light of reality. But maybe, if there was one teeny tiny thing to tweak in our favor (besides a better lock on our bedroom and bathroom door), just slightly, we’d swap out a little bit of the slapstick for some pure, unadulterated, over-the-top (and airbrushed) romance.
But, until then, we’ll just shower on.