I'd never seen a bidet in real life before. Bidets, to me, were like chocolates on pillows and room service bringing up champaign for two - part of a lush hotel experience that I had only encountered in movies. So when the Russian lover and I arrived at our B&B to find a bidet in the bathroom, I was thrilled. Not just because I had now joined the ranks of people who stayed in rooms with bidets, but because I could satisfy my curiosity about this foreign bit of plumbing.
I approach most thing in life with caution; slowly and deliberately. A water fountain for genitalia was no exception. A braver soul might have simply plunked her bottom down and turned the faucet, but I put the lid down on the toilet next to the bidet and sat down to look things over. It wasn't hard to figure out, so I reached over to turn the knob a bit. A gurgle of water emerged from the tap at the bottom of the basin, barely leaving the surface. Underwhelmed by this initial display, I did what any logical-minded woman would do. I tried the opposite extreme.
I turned the knob as far as it would go, and immediately a geyser of water six feet high shot out of the bowl, splashing the bathroom ceiling and spraying me with water. I squealed and shut the thing off, sputtering and wiping water from my face. The Russsian lover ran in to see what the hell was going on. I stopped laughing long enough to explain to him, at which point he just shook his head and walked out, muttering something about "Americans" and "women" and "crazy."
But I was pleased with the results of my experiment; at least I had learned the parameters of the water shower aimed at my vagina before I aimed it at my vagina.