Showering is something I tend to take quite seriously as it is often the first real task of the day. A lot can be decided by that morning shower and a lot can be accomplished by that morning shower. Of course, you’re not here to listen to a two-fisted man such as myself prattle on about life philosophies and mental attitudes. No, you’re the kind of person who wants to get right down to business and talk shop. Your inquiring mind wants to hear the work.

That’s what I like about you. And hell, I’m a working man, too, and I’m all too happy to share my craft.

It starts off, as all life I suppose, all things on this verdant planet, with water. Now, I have a mean skin that’s thick and tough like an old pair of leathers and I ain’t too abashed to say most of brawn is covered with a sparse and tasteful smattering of short, thick hair with, of course, a few key balds here and there that the ladyfolk don’t much mind. Haha, hey now, you almost caught me bragging, partner.

That’s what I like about you. I see that coy nod. I don’t mean to get off topic and cock-a-doodle-doo upon my conquests. I’ll get back to business.

I stand there in front of the shower stark nude, as Mother Nature, gentle Gaia, saw fit to bring me into this world, a lush planet that hardy men like me were meant to tame and bend, but never break. Hands on my heavy hip bones, I watch that water run, and sputter, waiting until the steam rises like so many geysers I’ve been so blessed to coax into blowing. The trick is to drive your boot heel just so in that right spot, and iffen you got that certain heft, you can get the brew to spew. Oh, sorry about that rhyme there. The spirit of nature can be a vexing muse for this hopeless romantic. I know your eyes must be rolling.

That’s what I like about you. No bullshit. No sir. You know well enough how to finagle a geyser. You were raised right, yes.

Once that water is good and boiling, I step right in back first. I always considered my wide back as a sort of meat shield, bearing the brunt of many of a stiff, cold winds, and crashing torrents. I’ve built this back from years and years of good ol’ fashioned doing. Pulling and carrying, that’s my way, and I know from catching even a faint whiff of your musk, that that’s your way too. And so, as the rivers flow to parts yet explored, so flows this scalding fluid like rapids down my muscled back like tributaries converging at the crack betwixt my boulderous glutes. My rear end clenches at the heat in a reactionary way that I’m not too ashamed to say I enjoy. I know you know the feeling.

That’s what I like about you. You never shy away from nature’s simple pleasures. Water does flow through the path of least resistance after all.

After a long meditative session of blank mindedness followed by some inner reflection and ending with task making, I’ll turn around and let that torrid blast soak my front side. I make sure to get my face and beard nice and wet, cupping my hands and playfully splashing all my nooks and crannies. The shower is a time for myself, so few are my moments of true disconnect from all other things in this world, and it’s only when I’m good and wetted down do I grab my lathering stone. I start at my ridged face, scrubbing in tight, hard circles and work my way beardside where those bristles gather that lather. Apologies again for the rhyme, but my heart is pouring out the words now. From there, it’s down my veiny neck and then along my burly chest. It’s the arms, particularly the unders, that get attention next I take careful care to scour the grime of yesterday from the creases of my vascular forearms. From there, haha, well you know the nether region needs extra attention.

That’s what I like about you. You know what a man needs to do to keep hygienic.

I spend a good minute, a good long, thorough minute lifting my hog out of the way, maneuvering around my heft, and scrubbing vigorously the weighty source of my manhood. Like steel wool, my pubic hair wards off my efforts, but only for so long. Humans will always prevail. We’re juggernauts in nature, you and me, and I very much doubt there’s any doing that can’t be done when we set our minds to it. The soapy runoff cleans what’s left of the lowers, as I’m unconcerned of manners that far down. I got legs like a plow horse and cleaning them to a spit shine would almost defeat the purpose. Your legs are very much the same. I can tell by the way you carry yourself.

That’s what I like about you. You step and stride with an unoft seen command and ponderosity. We’re dense folk, me and you. We’re the beef in these woods, these boreal hills, Cernuous’s domain. May he grant us the virility of a thousand Springs.

I don’t wash hair, either. Such a waste. My axe keeps it cropped and practical. No louse makes home on my skull. That, I can assure you. And as that water carries what’s left of the suds, I bellow deep and long, a baritone vibration carrying miles away from me. This call of the wild centers me: mind, body, and spirit. I turn that water off and air dry, just as nature intended, leaving the pores of my skin looking like fresh cracked mud after a flash flood. Hahaha, oh partner, I hope you’ll pardon me a third time. I suppose my odic feelings towards a hardy shower has once again cleverly tricked my tongue to rhyme.

That’s what I like about you, though. That’s what I truly and utterly like about you, friend. You understand what a good shower feels like, what a good shower means to a man like me. Ha, well, let’s just say I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s shower.