Oh, My Pregnant Head

Snip. One knotted strand of curly brown hair glides swirling to the ground, swept slightly towards the wall by the low susurration of the fan set into the wall in the far corner of the room. Snip. Another clump rejoins its fallen brethren. The kinked, rough yet soft hair begins slowly to accumulate in the bathtub, clumping around the plughole almost entirely by serendipity.

A small shiver ripples through Ramona's body, quivering in the sparse extraneous flesh on her spare frame. Snip. Her sculptured breasts jiggle slightly, her thighs and the muscles of her lower belly clench. I look up, past the flushed breasts and her dark brown bullet nipples. Her eyelids are half-closed and her face is angled towards the ceiling so that I can see only a sliver of the muddy hazel of her irises. Her faintly olive lips are parted to reveal an equally narrow glimpse, this time of Colgate-perfect teeth and the pale pink tongue gripped lightly by them. She exhales one slow breath that isn't quite a moan.

In the treacly orange sunlight flowing into the bathroom through the open door, her rich brown hair seems to be aflame, and the sweet parabolae of her long eyelashes become illumined by stars. Snip.

I had removed the bulk of the hair now, and I ran my fingertips slowly over the bristly stubble remaining. The contrast between the rough friction of the remaining hair and the smooth perfection of Ramona's soft skin was wonderfully erotic.

"I'll have to use the razor now," I said, "if you really don't want me to use the wax."

"Urgh, no thanks," Ramona said slowly. "It hurts, and with these DIY kits your pussy ends up looking like a poorly plucked chicken."

We both laughed, and some of the erotic tension in the room, which I at least felt, dissipated. I briefly tried to think of a witticism that would use the rhyme of "plucked" and "fucked", but nothing occurred.

From the stereo in my bedroom we could faintly hear the sweet, sensual rhythms of Keren Ann's Nolita, and I wondered why I had chosen to play that CD. I reached behind me and felt around until my fingers closed on the thick tube of shaving gel. It was mine, a man's brand, but these days both sexes' hygiene products seem to be equally luxurious and feminine. Blame the metrosexuals if you want.

I hate shaving gel, and the small amount ejaculated into my hand looks like nothing so much as a small blue lump of bird shit. With my free hand, I take the hot flannel I've been soaking in the sink and press it over her pussy and let the heat open her pores and the moisture soften her brown hair. One of my hands is almost scalded; in the other cool blue gel slimes between my fingers like come.

I remove the flannel, and if I move it close enough to my face that I can smell the scent of Ramona's pussy, she doesn't notice. In the sunlight, her labia gleam, and I feel my mouth fill with saliva and the liquids in my genitals slowly boil.

I almost slap the hand containing the shaving gel against her skin. My hand has warmed the gel a little, but I still see goose pimples beading her flesh. Slowly I begin to smear the gel over her skin and gradually it somehow metamorphoses into foam. I begin above her pussy, tracing my fingers over the wide delta of short brown bristles. As my fingers, using both hands now, trail down, my palms overlap, hovering bare millimetres over her pussy as I descend into the valley of her thighs. The heat there instils a corresponding reaction in me, and though I strive to keep it hidden, if Ramona were to open her eyes, she would see the desire in mine.

The index finger of each of my hands accidentally slip in the cream, and spill over from her slick flesh to briefly and shallowly penetrate between her lower lips. Ramona gasps, and I apologise immediately.

She pauses for one eternal moment before thickly saying, "...it's okay."

The space between her legs has now narrowed so that I can only use one hand. I now apply the gel liberally, using wide slow hand motions that perhaps caress her pussy more than is strictly necessary. Though Ramona does not moan, neither does she complain, and I can hear the shortness of her breath, feel the moisture from her cunt. She leans in towards me, subtly, perhaps reluctantly, but undeniably.

The winter sun is descending swiftly now, and it traces a golden outline of her body so vivid that when I close my eyes, her silhouette is limned on their lids. Reluctantly, I cease the circular stroking of my hand. The razor has been sitting in the hot water I used for the flannel. It's a superstition of mine, but I think a hot razor cuts more smoothly. A physicist friend once told me that this would cause the metal to expand, and thus arguably make the blade duller by exaggerating any unevenness. He's probably right, and my idea is solely based on the old "hot knife through butter" thing, which really doesn't apply.

I use my fingers to keep Ramona's skin taut, not that I need to, and run the razor down in one slow, firm stroke along the flesh above her pussy. My left hand is spread about her cunt, and the right denudes her flesh. You should never use more than two strokes of the razor, as it will begin to irritate the skin, but the razor was so sharp, and the hair so soft, that one stroke swept away the foam and left only smooth, gleaming skin.

As I shaved her pussy, my strokes became shorter and more careful, and my grip on her flesh more intimate. As I shaved the skin to the left of her pussy, my hand rested on her lips, gently pressing them towards the right. Whether it was from the residue of the gel, or some arousal on her part, my hand slipped and my middle finger plunged deep inside her. This time, Ramona did moan. Immediately she blushed, and backed away, and as she moved off my finger, it grazed her clitoris, and she gasped again.

Neither of us said anything, and after a moment I finished shaving her.

"There," I said, unable to meet her eyes. "All done."

Almost involuntarily, Ramona tested her new shave, running her hand over her newly bald pussy. "It feels so soft," she said.

For one brief, yet endless, moment, we stood at a branching of possibilities. Down one time stream, or quantum state, or karmic branch, I leaned in and slowly spread her lips with my fingers and let my tongue plunge deep into her, to taste that intoxicating flavour I had glimpsed so briefly from the flannel. I could see it in my head like prophecy, see myself as I cupped her pussy in my hand like a flawless peach that I would devour entirely. I could see her most intimate juices shining as the golden sun struck my chin, as if I was literally feasting on some luscious fruit. I could almost feel her fingers tangling in my hair, pressing me into her as she gasped, then panted, then moaned and collapsed from the endless pleasure I longed to give her. Unfortunately for me, I existed in the world where I waited too long and then told her it had been no problem.

Awkwardly, we each left the room, both overly sensitive and overly polite, excusing ourselves over and over and being exaggeratedly courteous. Ramona went to her room, to dress for her big date; I went to mine, to quietly masturbate.

I was starving and parched, and my fingers were coated with the slowly drying juices from my orgasm, but I stayed in my room until I heard the main door of our flat open and then close. Then I washed my hands, and took a big belt of vodka straight from the bottle.

Ramona had asked me to shave her because she thought tonight was the night her boyfriend was going to finally propose and she wanted a surprise for their lovemaking after she accepted. I didn't think he was going to propose, largely because I knew he was going to, and exactly how he would do so. He'd called me to ask for my thoughts on the ideal proposal.

I finished the bottle over the course of the night, making it last over eight or so albums played real loud. I was pleasantly buzzing when Ramona got in around nine a.m.

"He proposed to me," Ramona exclaimed. "We're getting married!"

"That's great," I said. "Really great."

"You'll be my maid of honour, won't you?"

I smiled a wide smile, and felt alcohol fumes sting my eyes. My pussy seemed to throb, just looking at her in that beautiful dress. "Wouldn't have it any other way, babe."