I am aware of a tinkling of water playing in a neighbour's pond. I shift uncomfortably as it presses on me a reminder of the urgent state of my bladder. His fingers languidly caress my bare calf. Up, down, curling around on my silky skin. The feeling is delicious and would send twinges of pleasure pulsating round my tensing body, but I have noticed a patch where my razor missed and black stubble is sitting staring at me insolently. It is waiting for his sensitive finger tips to find their way, drawn inexorably towards a shock of bristle. I turn my leg, imperceptibly I hope, and my mind wills his not to venture too far south, but to consider a journey further north...
Poledat has appeared and all thoughts of journeys are deferred to a more propitious moment. My darling little cherub has been making mud patties in the bath and has brought one to show me with pride.
"Look mummy" she says in perfect French. "This is for you, to keep forever and ever because I love you so much and much and much."
I look at the mud patty dribbling through her fingers and down her last clean dress onto what used to be a cream carpet and reflect what a simply charming little angel she is, and how my days without her are a torment to be endured until she returns.
He, on the other hand, despite his sensual stroking and steamy barely supressed passion, was a mistake. I wonder how I could have brought him back from last night's rave. He gets up to leave, but turns at the door.
"I knew" he says enigmatically.
"Knew what?" I ask with foreboding.
"About your stubble" comes the damning reply, and the door slams behind his indignant back.
I vowed, that night, to lose my wax virginity.
Holy Makerel 3.....as I am short sighted that stubble business can lead you to a nervous breakdown....that is if there was a guy around top caresse my fantastiques cuisses....and I will also definitely have a breakdown too if your your lovely straight forward Sarah writing turns into a "petite anglaise" prose doseur...sounds like Barbara Cartland to me! Much prefer petite Sarah Hague!ReplyDelete
Thanks, Diane. It's so nice to have a blog following of at least 1 :)ReplyDelete
Phew! Pretty racy til you hit the bit about stubble.ReplyDelete
Makes me glad that only my chin has ever known the safety razor's steely caresses!
Oh Thug, you mean you don't shave your chest/underarms/pubes/legs/back...?ReplyDelete
You're obviously not a metroman!
Poor Thug..if he lives in Paris and is a tiny bit hype...keeping hair everywhere except his chin he's going to be sticking out like a raw thumb.....even on the tv ads the glorious male animals advertising this that and the other don't have ONE SINGLE LITTLE HAIR...banished from the attractively correct scene!ReplyDelete
I think Thug is probably thankful that he doesn't live Paris, then Diane. He's located in the more rugged Poland.ReplyDelete
God no. I had friend whose girlfriend used to wax his back for him but I'm sure there's more to life.ReplyDelete
I do use an aftershave now and again though, just as a little nod to metrosexuality! I once even had a go at shaving a break in the monobrow too...