all off my finger and slurp it around in my mouth like a gourmand. Most of the time it tastes good. Except once in a while when the slime has a sour aftertaste. I haven’t figured out what causes that yet, but I will.
The test has to be conducted every time I go to the bathroom because I often run into the dilemma—or unexpected pleasure—of spontaneous sex. Even in those situations I want to be up-to-date on my pussy’s slime production. Helen leaves nothing to chance. Only when I know exactly what’s going on with my beloved, precious slime can a man slurp it up with his tongue.
I’ve done the taste test and am happy. I’m ready to be looked at and tasted. The smegma has a bit of age to it, a truffle flavor, and that makes guys hot. Usually.
I climb the stairs. Not slowly, as if I do this all the time. No games. By walking up quickly, I show him how excited and curious I am. At the door he takes my hands in his and kisses me on the forehead. He leads me into the living room. It’s very warm. The radiator is boiling away. Someone could comfortably hang out naked here for a good, long time. It’s dark. The blinds are down. There’s just a little table lamp with a twenty-five-watt bulb. It illuminates a bowl of steaming water on the floor. Next to that is a folded washcloth and an old-fashioned men’s razor and a can of shaving cream. The entire couch is covered with big towels.
He quickly undresses me. The skirt is the only thing that gives him trouble—complicated clasp. Lifting it up isn’t good enough for him. It’s all got to go, the clothing. I help him. Then he lays me down at an angle on the couch. My head in the back corner, my butt on the front edge. I put a foot up on the arm to brace myself, so I’m lying there as if I’m at the gynecologist—Dr. Broekert position.
He undresses completely in front of me. I hadn’t expected that. I thought I’d get undressed and he’d stay clothed. All the better. His nipples are hard and he has a partial erection. He has a very thin cock with an acorn-like tip, and it dangles to the left. That is, to my left.
He has a loaf of bread tattooed on his chest. The shape is more like a round sourdough than a loaf of rye or multi-grain bread. Gradually my breathing calms down. I get used to unusual situations quickly. I fold my arms behind my head and watch him. He’s readying everything and seems pleased. Looks like there’s nothing for me to do except lie back. We’ll see.
He leaves the room and returns with a miner’s lamp on his head. I have to laugh and tell him he looks like a Cyclops. We’ve just been reading about them in school. He laughs, too.
He puts a pillow on the floor and kneels on it, saying he doesn’t want to get calluses on his knees. Then he dunks both hands into the hot water and rubs it onto my legs. Aha. He starts all the way down at my ankles, moving upward.
Then he sprays shaving cream into his hand and spreads it on my legs. He dunks the razor in the hot water and tracks it down the entire length of the leg. Where he’s run the blade, the foam is gone. He makes one straight line after another. Like a lawnmower. After each razor run, he shakes the blade clean in the water. Hairs and foam are swimming on the surface. Fairly quickly, both legs are naked. He says I should have my armpits done the same way. Crap. I was already looking forward to having my pussy shaved. If he’s even planning to do that.
He wets both pits with water and sprays in the shaving cream. He has a harder time under the arms because the hair is longer. He has to go over some of the same spots several times to get it all off. My armpits are also very deep, so he has to pull the skin tight in various directions in order to be able to shave across flat surfaces. He throws a circle of light on my skin with his miner’s light. When he gets close—to get a better view—the circle tightens and the light intensifies. When he pulls back, the lamp throws dim light on a wide area. The circle of light always illuminates the exact spot where he’s looking at any moment. And the intensity of the light tells how carefully he’s looking at the spot. I see the light fall frequently on my tits. More often on the right one, the one with the snake-tongue nipple. My face seems to hold little interest. Once everything is smooth, he ladles water from the bowl into my armpits to rinse away the shaving cream. Then he dries me off. And I dab myself with a towel, too. We smile at each other.
“And now,” I say, patting my hair-covered pussy.
“Hmm.”
He wets both hands and dampens the whole area. From my bellybutton down, left and right along my thighs, and then on down between my labia to my butthole and on to the top of my ass crack. He looks closely at the cauliflower. A shaving obstacle course. Then he sprays shaving cream on all the dampened areas. It tingles on the labia. Zhhhh. He massages the foam into the skin a little and reaches for his razor. He starts on the thighs. The pubic hair growing down my legs is shaved away. He puts the blade just below my bellybutton and stops. He leans back to get an overview of the area and a crease appears on his brow.
He says: “I like that the hair grows up that far. There I’m going to leave everything. I’ll take a little off the sides so we’ll have a long, dark stripe down to the split. Then from there all the way back, everything is coming off.” He doesn’t look me in the eyes, but talks instead to my pussy.
It answers: “Understood.”
On the sides he mows the lawn down to a stripe. He tapers the stripe right to the point where the tops of the lady-fingers rise. Now he’s on to the labia. Finally. Finally. He puts his head between my legs. That’s the best way he can light up my pussy with his lamp. It must look like a hairy lantern. Glowing red inside. He carefully shaves my lady-fingers. Then he has to spread them because he wants to work on the inside edges, too. Again and again he makes his way through all the crevices. Until there’s no foam to be seen anywhere. I want him to fuck me. Which he obviously will after the shaving. Have a little patience, Helen. He says I should spread my legs wider but bring my knees up closer to my body so he can get at my ass. He asks whether the bulges on my butt hurt.
“No, no, that’s just hemorrhoids that have worked their way out. If you’re gentle, I think you can shave right over them.”
There’s much less hair in back. He runs the razor up and down my butt crack a few times and once around the anus in a circle. Done. Once again I’m drizzled with what is now no longer hot water from the bowl. The shaving of my crack made my pussy produce a lot of slime. Now it mixes with the water and is dabbed dry by Kanell. But it oozes more immediately.
“Do you want to fuck me now?”
“No, you’re too young for me.”
Stay cool, Helen. Otherwise that nice feeling down below will disappear.
“Too bad. Do you mind if I fuck myself here then? Or do I have to wait until I get home to come?”
“Please go ahead. You are very welcome to do it here.”
“Give me the razor.”
I hold the blade end and shove the handle into my wet pussy. The handle’s not as cold as I expected. Kanell’s hands have warmed it up.
With rhythmic motions I let the handle glide in and out. It feels like the finger of a fourteen-year-old. Like Hansel’s finger of bone. I rub the handle hard between my labia, back and forth. Harder. It’s the same motion as cutting bread. Hard bread. Forward, back. Forward, back. Sawing. Sawing. Deeper.
Kanell watches me.
“Can you put the lamp on my head? I want to light myself up.”
He stretches the elastic headband around my head and adjusts the lamp so it’s exactly in the middle of my
