It’s Sunday morning, and we have a brunch date with family. I walk upstairs with my espresso, and I hear water—my boyfriend has beat me to the shower. I don’t mind; we have plenty of time.

I never know what to expect when I walk in on my boyfriend in the shower. Most days, it’s a utilitarian event. Some days he stands under the waterfall for an hour, letting the heat and steam unwind his body and mind while he solves the issues of the moment. Other days, he’s filled the shower with a variety of large toys that he inserts in his ass and then pushes, pulls, and manipulates until he’s found the particular sensation he’s looking for, be it to reduce daily frustration or pure pleasure. While I am a regular and enthusiastic partner when he feels this need, the shower is his place alone for this. Our shower is his oasis.

And so, espresso in hand, I open the bathroom door and take the three slow steps to the shower, not knowing what to expect. I smell the crisp apple scent of body wash mingled with the warm, steamy air and see none other than my boyfriend flinging his flaccid penis around the shower, making some sort of image on the steamy shower door.

“What on earth?” I think to myself.

He has finally taken notice of me and begins to explain that he’s been watching a TV show where a man’s occupation is creating art with his penis. Could he create in this way? He’s decided to try.

The surprise wears off, and I start to giggle. I cannot stop. He’s gyrating his hips, and now he’s mastered swinging his penis in a circle. My mind has created a soundtrack somewhere between what would be appropriate for a burlesque show and the circus.

My boyfriend is an engineer and a tinkerer. He’s inquisitive and curious. He enjoys failing because that means he can try again, and solving the problem is occasionally more fun than arriving at an answer.

Can he create art with his penis? He can say yes with confidence.

We are both laughing as he opens the shower door and pulls me into his oasis. We’re kissing good morning and making small talk about the upcoming day. His hands slide down from my hair to my waist to my buttocks. He’s gently kneading with his hands and chatting. There is a subtle change as his hands coordinate both raising and spreading my butt cheeks. His eyes refocus on mine like he’s just realized I’m there. All traces of laughter are gone now, and we are kissing with perceptibly different intent.

Sometimes we talk in advance about what kind of encounter we’re hoping for, but this morning, I only need intuition. His fingers are groping. When they find what they’re looking for, I’m already slick and relaxed in a way that comes only on days when my mind is stress-free and there is no to-do list lingering from the days before. His fingers start to massage and stretch with purpose. While we’re kissing, I know he’s calculating. Can I take his whole fist? His fist and his cock? Both his fists?

I am doing calculations of my own. Have I heard bedroom doors open or the heavy footfalls of our kids in the kitchen? Do I hear our dogs alerting the whole neighborhood that someone has the audacity to walk past our yard? Do we have time for this?

His hand slides into me and curls into a fist, and I decide we will make time for this. His hands have been in me often enough to know what I crave. Widening his fist just enough so it can’t be removed, he pushes in, then gently tugs. He rotates his hand, pushes up, and gently pushes down. He pushes his fist into me with more force and leans in to kiss my neck, but I know he’s checking to see if I’m enjoying this and if I want him. I am, and I do.

I can feel his cock against the small of my back. I know I can take it as well as his fist, but I let him decide. He loves watching his hand move in and out of me, and I could happily stay here and do this all day (some days, I do). He can slide his cock in and come when he’s ready.

He pushes in harder, with a force and rhythm that almost always makes me orgasm. I think he’s going to let me come, but instead, he slows his movements and starts inserting fingers from his other hand. He pushes, prods, and methodically moves his fingers all around me, opening me wider, until he finally slides his cock in next to his hand. With the volume of his hand and cock together, it takes no time for us both to come.

We kiss, giggle, and wash each other off. My awareness shifts, and once again, I can smell the crisp apple scent of body wash, but now the noises of the kids in the kitchen, dogs baying in the yard, and family obligations take over my consciousness.

Miraculously, we made it to brunch only ten minutes late. "Traffic,” I say to our family. They nod understandingly, and we smile our secret across the table as our morning begins to blend into our day.