First a shower...

Climbing the back stairs to your apartment (a better term might be “safe house”), you think about what the best way to get information from Lee will be. Facilities like the one he lives in have to follow HIPAA, so they can sometimes be wary about people just showing up and asking questions, and the truth of the matter is that you haven’t seen the man in over thirty years, so there’s no way he’ll recognize you. You think you have an approach hammered out by the time you and Beth enter your living room.

“I don’t know about you, Big Brother, but I need a shower,” her eyes glint mischievously, “Care to join me?”

If this were a true new relationship you’d almost think things were moving too fast. This particular situation isn’t by any stretch normal though; you and Beth may have only now acted on your desire for each other, but for all practical purposes you’ve been together forever. It doesn’t even take you a minute to drop your pants and follow her as she steps out of your mom’s old sweats.

This is Beth’s first time in your bathroom. When you first rented this apartment it was a two bedroom; you were having none of that. While Mom had the bed as her one indulgence, in your mind the true center of any sybarite’s domain is the bathroom. To this end you’ve paid your landlord a rather large sum of money to remodel and combine the second bedroom with the lavatory to make a huge personal spa.

The toilet has a double nozzle bidet built in with all the bells and whistles (the wireless remote can even make bell and whistle noises). The bath itself is a corner tub with spa jets, and the shower is a masterpiece of masonry and plumbing.

With sliding glass doors that rise to the ceiling, mosaic tile covering ever surface including the built in bench and a whole host of different nozzles, it’s the size of a walk-in closet. The staggering number of possible combinations are so complicated that you had to have a couple waterproof tablets installed in the walls to control the various settings. On-demand hot water, and voice activated lighting and music complete the technological beauty of this often overlooked room. All this is complimented by brushed nickel fixtures and thick shaggy black bath rugs. If God exists, you’re pretty sure he’d be envious (If Satan exists, you’re pretty sure he copied the blueprints).

As Beth marvels at the tribute to hedonism, you key up a few settings on one of the tablets. Setting the water temperature to 100 degrees even, light setting, romantic, and the nozzles to a gentle cross spray about the equivalent of a medium strength rain storm. Beth whispers an almost inaudible “Holy shit.” as you glide up behind her and wrap your arm around her waist.

“Shall we, Little Sister?”