An intimate shower

Kent woke slowly, feeling the sun on his face. He was still outside on the lounge chair, his body feeling lighter after the short nap. He must have passed out after the incredible orgasm he had. A smile spread across his face as he stretched, feeling Julie’s muscles respond; Kent was still in her body, after all.

The entire day lay ahead of him.

Maybe he should explore. But first, he should check up on his own body.

He made his way back up to the attic, skin still glistening from the sticky lemonade and towel draped over one shoulder, Julie’s bikini clinging in all the right (and wrong) places. As he stepped into the dusty heat, a flicker of something familiar caught his eye—half-hidden beneath a collapsed towel and a stack of Christmas lights.

The doll.

Kent froze, then chuckled. “You again.”

It was still lying there—face tilted toward the ceiling, painted eyes staring through him, just like before. Kent nudged it with his foot. Nothing. He bent down, brushing the towel away completely, and picked the doll up in both hands.

"Round two?"

The moment his fingers wrapped around the fabric, something shifted in the room. A faint warmth sparked at the center of his palm, tingling through Julie’s nerves. Not quite the same as the first time, but there was something—some link, still active, still humming.

Kent looked down at the still form of his body nearby. “Let’s try this.”

With the doll in one hand, he waved the other toward his original body like a stage magician. “Rise and shine, handsome.”

At first, nothing happened. Then a twitch. A roll. A groggy shift of limbs and breath. His body blinked against the attic dust and sat up slowly, like a groggy teenager coming off a hangover.

It was weird.

Kent-as-Julie tilted his head. “Huh. You’re uglier than I remember.”

The clone blinked blearily. “And you’re meaner.”

Kent smiled, then gave a careless wave of his hand. “Get up. Time to be useful.”

The clone groaned but pushed himself up, limbs stiff and ****. “You really brought me back just to make me clean?”

Kent-as-Julie nodded, amused. “I’m giving you purpose.”

“Pretty sure this counts as self-****,” the clone muttered, grabbing the broom.

Kent’s eyes narrowed. “Straighten your back. You’re making me look bad.”

The clone scowled. “You are me.”

“And yet I’m somehow better.”

Its movements were stiff at first, clumsy too, but before long it found that natural rhythm. Broom in hand, it swept, then lifted some boxes, hauled a few too—the same work Kent had been meant to do all along, work he would have finished by now.

But life came along and gave him a nice surprise.

Kent leaned against the railing, arms folded under Julie’s soft chest, watching his own body grunt and curse under the weight of another box.

“Unbelievable,” the clone muttered. “You talk like her, you boss like her... you are her.”

Kent’s smirk widened. “No. I’m just better at being her than she ever was.”

There was the stubborn sweat on his brow, even a curse on his lips as a box crushed a foot. In Julie’s body, Kent tensed like he could feel his toe bruise, but the pain never came. Because it wasn’t him.

He was Julie.

In her body he walked away, stretching like he just got off scot-free. Time to make use of all his privilege. He also needed a shower to clean up the sticky mess he made.

Kent headed in the direction of her room, to the bathroom that was attached. It was bigger than Kent’s whole life. Mirrors reflected their approval, but Kent knows they were in on the secret. Not Julie. He grinned at his reflection, she grinned back, like she planned the whole thing.

Kent drops the bikini, and let it all fall and puddle at Julie’s feet. Her bare feet. He loved feeling so exposed in her body. It was powerful. That must have been how Julie always felt. He watched himself, her, them, reach into the shower. Turn the knob and the water streamed out—rushing, hissing, and wonderfully hot.

The steam filled the room faster than his panic had in the attic. He stepped in and let the first spray soak her, letting her hair and shoulders cling to nothing but beads of water. His arms and chest were slick, and the warm rush caught in his breath as it ran over new places and new nerves.

He leaned back into it and savored the way her skin came alive under his touch. Her touch. Her skin was slick, impossibly smooth. The showerhead streamed down, bounced off and around him, and ran between Julie’s legs. His knees buckled under its strength. Kent gasped. He reached for support; his hand brushed against her nipple, and he nearly lost his mind.

He steadied himself, hand against the tile, and let the shower work its magic. He ran the length of her torso with both hands and spread them across her breasts. He gave them the same attention she had given him—none at all—grabbing, tugging, working at them until Julie’s whole body was burning up from more than the hot water.

“Godddd…!” Kent heard her cry and knew it was him.

The vibrations rolled through her. They didn’t stop in one place. They ricocheted through his whole mind and Julie’s whole body. Kent cupped both breasts, leaned back, and felt her hair whip around. His eyes fluttered as the rush of water pushed him further and further.

This was nothing like he’d ever dreamed. This was everything.

He slid down the wall, settling on the shower seat in the shower. With the quick push of a button, the extra showerhead came to life as well. Kent moved it up over his shoulder, let the water run down his back, down his chest, swirling over every inch.

Each touch is electric, more intense than he remembered. Kent’s grip on the showerhead tightened, exploring the softness, the exquisite sensitivity of her skin. Julie’s nipples hardened at the touch of his fingers, and he pinched them until the heat radiated through every part of his being. He moved the spray closer, a flood between her legs. Hips jerked, instinctual, wanting.

He pushed at the boundaries of sensation, drove his touch deeper, faster, harder. Showers should feel like this: urgent, wet, pressing at the edges of the world. He braced himself, the orgasm building with the speed of light. The water pounded over him, and his hands were constantly moving, between her thighs, under her ass, across her breasts.

Her moans echoed, rising with the steam. A frantic gasping, not even sure if the words were her own, not even sure if he cared.

“Oh God oh God oh God,” Kent heard, or imagined, or wished.

It felt different than before. Everything felt different now. His thoughts shrank and swelled, disappeared into water and flesh and need.

The world was gone.

The bathroom was gone.

Julie was gone, and there was only Kent in Julie's body, climaxing, quaking, shaking so hard that she nearly came apart. The floor didn’t feel real beneath her feet. She didn’t feel real beneath his soul.

The shower pulsed, timed to the heartbeat of the universe, timed to the same clockwork lust that pulled at every part of him. His moans became frantic, echoed louder than they ever had. Every nerve was alive, every feeling amplified by the feminine flesh he wore.

“Ahhhhhhhhhh…”

Long and loud, wild and unruly. Kent basked in it, savored the pure and dizzy brilliance of another female orgasm.

Then his greedy spirit dove in for more. He moved the showerhead again, fumbling this time. One hand adjusted the angle; the other pulled a nipple taut. He angled it so the stream crashed against her clit, moving back and forth and rocking his whole damn world.

Kent moved his hips forward, seeking more. Her hair was plastered to her back; his new breasts were plastered to her chest. The water poured down on him, and the vibrations kept coming—each stronger, faster, better.

His hips moved against the water with increasing urgency. He was chasing it, he needed more, knew she could handle another one.

The current between her legs sent jolts through him, and his thoughts disintegrated in a torrent of heat. More touch, more pressure, more sensation. His hands were hungry, and he loved feeling them against Julie’s breasts. He pulled a nipple again, twisting it, turning it as another moan ripped out of him.

“F…fuck!”

The streaming jets of water pounded against her, pulsing against her clit, rushing into her hole. It was the perfect massage for her pussy, overstimulation making it sweeter, and slicker, perfect.

Kent felt more wet than he remembered being in his own body, wetter than he thought anyone could be.

He gave into it, let it devour him.

The universe stopped then spun, doubling back, greedy, insatiable. He rode it like a runaway train, humping and thrusting until it became too much to stand. “Fuck fuck fuuuuuuck,” was the final gasp before he collapsed, nearly losing his legs, nearly losing his mind. The noise echoed off tiles, through the neighborhood if he wasn’t careful. And who cared if he was?

Julie’s whole body shook as she came again.

Kent slumped against the tile, panting, and adjusted the water to a more generous temperature. His hands were unsteady on the knob. The whole bathroom was a sauna. He could barely see through the steam and his own bliss. Julie’s bliss.

It had been different. It had been nothing like what he thought he knew. Part of him had been sure he’d explode, but he hadn’t. Part of him had been sure it would be over quick, like outside. It wasn’t. He came down from it, feeling every sensation ripple through him as if it never wanted to leave.

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