I'd Rather Be Showering.

I’d Rather Be Showering.
By Beth Cortez-Neavel


I just left the shower

to say

I love my pussy.

And that

all I wanted to do was take




Cleanse my body.

My thoughts.

My soul.


all I did 

was stick my hand in the fast

hot jets,

draw it out again

and sigh with   intense    exasperation.



my insufferable muse,

decided that I would


right back to my room

and type how much I love

my hairy,

pink and


little centerpiece.

How sweet it is,

my unwrapped little box.

How I just   adore   my tight slippery cunt.

How I am ashamed that


I want to shave it bare,

So that

I look

all shivery


and smooth.

And that


I pretend it is a jungle

because I’m too tired to care

what little beasties

may be hiding in my folds.

And how



I tenderly trim it

as I think about the


the wetness

the safe dark


and the love that

pours out of it.


dear vagina:


how much

you inspire me.

How much

you get me into trouble.


I sit here in my towel

hunched over screen

writing about how much

I fucking love you.

And how much

I really


would rather be taking a shower.


0 thoughts on “I'd Rather Be Showering.

  1. “this gets (me) hot and bothered and wishing (I was) a woman”
    I feel like showering as well. This poem reminded me of the first time I met a bachelor. When I was twelve, a man moved onto my street who painted his own car and caught bees in open beer bottles. He had a glazed wooden board on his garage wall. Under the thick polyurethane was an image cut from a calendar. The image was of a bare breasted Thai woman washing herself under a waterfall. I came to his garage pretending to be interested in his car and his goofy friend who always seemed to have just been stung on his lip. Really it was to look at this image. Something about it brought me back to his garage. One day he saw me looking at the image. He took it down without stopping his discussion about carburetors versus fuel injectors. I never visited him again.
    Women should own more imagery like this. It would make them more appealing to twelve year old boys than cars. Imagine the world we would have. Junkyards full of cars that have no hope of ever being painted and sober friends with clear cases of cold-sore.
    Bring your worst, Chicagoan psychic.

  2. It may be a play…like such a dirty thing to have done and now she must shower…relishing others with her genders wanton naughty bits has left her like Pig-pen of the Peanuts…dirty and not denying it.

  3. It took a lot of guts to write something so personal and honest, and share with everyone. I always been a fan of Sharon Old’s poetry which is deep in erotic overtones. ..and i enjoyed reading this. thx. Sometimes one’s greatest source of happiness is oneself.

  4. No sarcasm. All love!
    The woman’s body (especially when YOU are the woman’s body) is beautiful, amazing, mysterious, OUT THERE, and messy-gross sometimes.
    But it’s like, awesome, dude.

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