Cielo Grabs a Shower

After a groan and a stretch, Cielo ties his towel as low around his waist as he can without being too indecent. He nudges his bedroom door open with his foot, keeping his towel up with one hand. He rubs his head feathers groggily as he notes none of his roommates are present in their apartments' living room.

It was a snug dorm apartment. Each had one entrance room which students usually used for lounging on a sofa, watching TV. On the opposite side from the door leading to the outer hallway was the open kitchenette area. On two adjacent sides were two windowed bedrooms each, each one scarcely large enough to hold a bunk bed, a dresser, and a desk. And, of course, there was the essential bathroom.

The bathrooms of the Angstrom dormitories were as claustrophobic as the bedrooms, but they managed to fit in the amenities of a toilet, sink, and standing shower, plus minimal amenities. Apart from active wear and tear, Angstrom wasted less money on pointless forward construction so that they could keep the facilities they already had in top working condition. The upperclassmen joked that one of the selling points of the university was the fact that hot water was available at all times of day, a crucial convenience for people whose schedules were not identical, but also a veritable boon for the sake of public health; Personal hygiene is the first step, after all.

Cielo shut the door, but didn't bother to lock it. He hung up his towel that he'd barely clung to his slim, blue form, and stepped into the shower, shutting the glass door behind him. He'd forgotten to actually turn the hot water on, and was met with an icy blast from the shower head. "Augh! Fuck!" His body slumped against the shower wall as he frantically twisted the knob for heat. "Well, that woke me up," he said to no one in particular, and he felt his heart pound in his chest from the exhilaration. He shivered, rubbing his dampened feathers, and waited for the shower to become nice and steamy, testing the temperature with his fingers every so often.

His morning wood had softened completely in fear of the frigid water. Pulling down the shower head, Cielo aimed the nozzle at his own blue backside, hoisting his tail feathers high. A wavering groan escaped him as he reached back with his free hand to rub the cleft of his own posterior. He spread one downy rump cheek aside in the expectation all that mysterious semen would wash out of him. He gave the nozzle a twist, setting the shower head to a thicker jet, and a deep chortle left him. He spritzed the back of his testicles and perineum in an up and down fashion, and lazily mustered himself back to washing properly.

An urgency in his bladder soon came underway, and he leaned his shoulders onto the cool tile wall. He spread his scaly bird feet and relieved himself, a golden stream splashing down to the floor where its spattering intermingled with the water. He aimed himself at the drain, and a satisfied sigh drooped him as he urinated. All that pressure seemed to expel itself right through his bladder and a smile crept along his beak. Playfully, he aimed his pecker at the shower wall, spraying it down with the yellow refuse of his pissing hose, and chuckled. "This is my shower, bitches. Heh heh." He almost wished he didn't taper off so soon. Taking a leak was just so relaxing.

When that nonsense was taken care of, and he'd sprayed the wall down, he lathered himself up with shampoo. He grimaced at the lightness of the bottle and the pressing need to purchase more, but for the time being, there'd be enough. He worked the lather into his scalp, up and down both upper arms, and around his shoulders. He reached his arms back as far as he could, attempting different angles to soap up behind himself. He gave himself no masseuse-like soothing with his fingers, instead just aiming to be thorough. He gave an exception to this to fondle his own balls with suds, murmuring as he tugged his downy blue orbs and lavished them with his palm. He didn't mean to be so infatuated with himself, even if he was alone, but sometimes they just felt so nice to touch. He could feel them swell through his fingers as he squeezed them tenderly. He started to trace his fingers down his own exposed, navy shaft, but changed his mind about masturbating.

He finished soaping and washing himself, rinsed off, and then took extra care to shimmy his own ass dry with his towel. He felt much cleaner. Much more ready to tackle that paper. But was he completely ready?