15th September 2010
This morning he showed me this clip, saying it had made him think of us, of me. I watched it and it bought the memories flooding back.
I love shaving him, standing in the shower with him, the hot water cascading over my back as I rub the lather of soap over his face. The first time I was too tentative, making light stokes with the razor, worrying that I would cut him, but then he took my hand and guided me. The next few times I watched, and after a few days asked if I could do it again. This time I knew what I was doing.
You have to use your fingers to trace the hairs, feeling for the places you have missed, learning through touch which ways the hairs lay. Some grow downwards, some up and some in what even feel like swirls. My face is close to his, my eyes focused on his skin, but it is with my fingers that I really ‘see’ what I am doing.
I can feel his hands resting on my hips and I glance up into his eyes. He is watching me, looking into my face, studying me. Apparently I have an intense look of concentration about me. I love how the feel of his face changes as I work, from rough stubble to smoothness. Neither of us speaks; the only sound is that of the shower, flowing down over us.
The one part I still can’t get quite right is the bit of skin between his nose and top lip. Silently I hand the razor back to him and watch, learning, as he finishes the job I have started. Finally he runs his hands over the rest of his chin, checking to make sure I have done a good job. He smiles down at me and steps closer into me, pushing me further back under the shower so the water can reach his face and wash it clean of the last remnants of soap.
My mind is drifting now, I remember the times I have washed his hair, pouring the shampoo into my hand and working it into his hair with my fingers, massaging his scalp. His eyes close and he stands there, relaxed and with what appears to me to be a look of utter contentment upon his face. Gradually my hands slip down his neck and taking the soap I wash him all over, loving the feel of his wet soapy body under my hands.
There is something so erotic maybe even primitive about it all. Using me hands to tend to his body, washing and shaving him, exploring him in a way that is very different to what passes between us when we are bed. My touch is sensual and loving, I get to take my time and I get to nurture him for once. I love the gentle sigh that he gives as I caress him, the way he is so calm and relaxed, his demeanour showing me just how much he is enjoying my touch. I feel honoured to be allowed to touch him like this, the whole experience feels like a special treat to me, but then I guess that is just my submissive nature shining through.
I miss his touch on me but I also miss my touch on him and I really miss the showers. I watch him take a shower most days and I long for the time to come, when I will be able to draw aside the curtain and slip in next to him, taking the razor from his hand and shave him again.
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