Bathing beauties

Helen Razer on why sex and bathing don’t mix.

Helen Razer on why sex and bathing don’t mix.

There are few perversions I do not enjoy and fewer still I have not tried. Just as I better enjoy any sport or hobby that demands accessories, so too am I enamoured of sex acts that demand an arena. If there’s equipment, uniforms or a threat of groin strain, I’m generally aroused.

However. There is an unqualified line I will draw beyond which no one might step: poo, kiddies or animals. Or, let it be said, the dreadful and profoundly unsexy music of Ani DiFranco.

Or in, or anywhere near, the bath.

Whosoever invented the idea of underwater sex needs a stern telling off. A cruel pornographer or urban myth maker was bored one day with his usual configurations and placed some fictitious couple in the bath.

Ouch. There is lubricant neither synthetic nor organic than can withstand the rasp of water. Much less soap.

Patently, I cannot speak for men. I am told, however, that many of them are pleased by intense friction. They are hardly, however, our concern in this forum and, for all we care, can continue to enjoy the earth’s most papery fuck.

Ladies, as you know, demand slicker surfaces. And these are impossible to maintain within a body of water. Seriously. Don’t even try it unless you’re keen on investigating new frontiers in chafing. Your sole sexual act when bathing should be, as every worldly girl knows, a good, old-fashioned humping of the faucet.

Don’t fuck in the bath.

Do, however, use toys of a more naive variety. Available at smug shops staffed by the skinny and patronised by the fatuous are the fabulous Bud Ducks. Please admire the punk rubber ducky.

Of course, the bath may be treated as connubial preamble. Who amongst us has not fondly tended a lissom brunette with a loofah and the words, “You need a good clean, you dirty girl”?

When I wish to butter up the Missus (read: daily) I pop a capful of Clarins Bath and Shower Concentrate in her tub. She’s mad for the cosmetics house and will at least afford me a sideways glance if I douse her in the floaty Relax or invigorating Tonic. The stuff ain’t cheap, but it is glorious, not overly girly, and seems to last for dozens and dozens of bubble baths.

Similarly, Jurlique Tranquil Bath Oil don’t come cheap. But it smells like the splendid crotch of Aphrodite and a lass just needs a couple of drops.

Oh. And ANYTHING by Jo Malone. I am a sucker for their chic English marketing and often surprisingly rugged scents. And ONCE we spent about as much as we might have on a bottle of Bordeaux with the Viktor & Rolf Flowerbomb Perfumed Bath Foam. Lovely.

Many of the great parfumiers offer fragrance “layering” for the bath. As we’re utterly corrupted bath whores at my joint, we’ve tried many of them and have discovered that your favourite scent does not always make the transition to tub. Angel, Prada and Stella all get the wrinkly thumbs up. Shockingly, one of my all-time knockout favourite scents, Allure by Chanel, does not.

So take care. With or without the guarantee of a clean body to worship, the bath can provide respite from the everyday. Share it with a close friend, luxuriate in its promise and then use the water on the garden.