Fuzzy

Not only is my brain still fuzzy from being ill, so is the rest of my body. Being stuck in bed all week saving my energy to have a shower doesn’t give me most energy wiggle room for the other bits of the work that goes into my usual femme self.

So while I’d never judge anyone else for choosing not to shave, I feel like I’m wearing the wrong skin when I don’t. I don’t feel cute or empowered by casting off the patriarchy’s shackles of not shaving. I just feel furry and un-femme.

And a month of being stuck in bed with not much more to do then watch my leg hair grow has made me realise just how much of my sexual energy is linked to the confidence I feel in my femme presentation. Having my hair *just* right, my legs and cunt smooth and my nails polished makes me feel sexual. It’s as much lubrication for flirting and feeling sexual as my actual cunt getting wet.

So I know I’m coming back to life sexually when I start to get the itch to shave smooth again. I always dither between where to start. Do I start from my ankles and work up to my cunt in order and anticipation? Or use a trimmer to reveal my cunt lips again after them feeling so covered up for weeks and then wet shave everything in one go until my skin is so smooth and sleek it almost squeaks?

Either way I know the feel of my skin sliding against the sheets at night starts to wake my brain up so my dreams get interesting again. It starts imagining being pressed against Sir’s chest hair as he fucks me or running my hands over those fine golden hairs on Princess’s thighs as she holds the Doxy against her clit. When those dreams start leading to orgasms in my sleep then it definitely bodes well for how my body will behaves during the day too.

It’s amazing how sharp a razor make you feel…

Fuzzy

Photo Finish

Those Friday nights that start early in the pub and end late in a blur and the grumbling start of a hangover are behind me. I prefer something quieter these days but quiet doesn’t mean boring in my world.

Not when your girlfriend texts you to tell you that she’s spending her Friday night shaving her cunt utterly smooth and sending me photographs of it getting wetter and ready to watch a video of me fucking an aubergine while playing with her wand.

Suddenly I’m not as interested to watch Coronation Street…

Photo Finish

Smooth Shaven

It slightly surprises me now that I was so resistant to shaving my cunt for my Master considering how much I’ve liked the feel of shaved skin over the years. But razors have always been a sign of me being in control not someone else.

When I was fifteen and had hair down to my waist and slightly egged on by my rebellious cousin, I shaved myself a fairly dramatic undercut with a Bic razor which I revelled in seeing if anyone at school would notice under my incredibly thick hair.

The fact they didn’t just encouraged me and over the next twenty odd years I’ve continued to wear my hair in variety of styles that have involved a pair of clippers. Just the thought of getting the back of my head shaved makes me shiver with delight in a non sexual ASMR way. Although there might be something less innocent to enjoying the deep rumbling vibrations of a pair of clippers on my hairline if I cared to delve deeper into my filthy mind.

But the real power with shaving came during an old job when I worked in the cosmetics industry. I ended up working in men’s grooming and the major men’s grooming issue is shaving so my boss taught me how to shave someone’s face.

Once I got past the sheer heart stopping terror that she was teaching me with a cut throat razor on many many packets of balloons and discovered that the person you are shaving actually prefers the relaxation of a safety razor, I absolutely loved it.

There was something incredibly powerful as a woman about teaching a man how to properly do something regarded as so manly. I’d literally be holding their face in my hand, brushing against them, exposing them in a myriad of ways and it was incredibly intimate without necessarily being overtly sexual.

Often it relaxed men into confiding all kinds to me, other times it made them flirt outrageously and sometimes they had to be gently coaxed not to panic and run away from me. All accompanied by the sound and feel of a razor on skin. I loved everything about it from subverting gender norms like k.d Lang and Cindy Crawford in the Nineties to actually giving useful skincare advice.

But I especially loved the power and dominance of the act. I worked a lot with city boys and investment bankers and the kind of men who are used to telling women (especially lower status ones) what to do and enjoying that sense of entitlement.

Those men act very very differently when you’ve got a razor pressed against the taut skin of their neck and that’s a dizzying sensation for twenty five year old who usually likes submission. Especially doing this in their workplace, not like the times I’d also wet shaved my boyfriend’s head several times.

So the idea of using a razor to submit rather than be in charge confused me when my Master gave me the order to shave my cunt. Maybe I’d have got my head round it quicker if he’d suggested doing it for me like this incredible piece on shaving your sub’s cunt

 

 

 

 

Smooth Shaven