will shock you for sure if I tell you.’
Still that sparkle in his eyes. Still that self-assurance. I’m crumbling. Speaking via the mirror, having the ability to see yourself too, makes you so much more self-conscious. It is what makes customers run as you approach, or what can make them rush into a purchase if you can keep them there. And that same self-consciousness is drawing words out of me I might have felt able to subdue if we were talking face-on.
‘I think you have to tell me now,’ I say.
‘Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
‘I’ll consider myself warned.’
‘Well, OK. What I find irresistible is when she shaves herself. You know, down there. The question I wanted to ask is whether you have ever tried this?’
We can both see the shock go through me and the bloom deepen in my already pink cheeks. How I remain upright is anyone’s guess. I am so surprised I cannot tell you what I feel. In an instant he sent my belly flipping and my bloodstream fizzing. My knees sagged visibly. Most crucially, the biggest jolt of all came between my legs. The heat has flooded there. In my shock I turn to look at the real him and I jump again when I suddenly see how close we are. I stammer out a response but my mouth has no idea what my brain thinks it should say.
‘Wha–? I mean … you’re … I mean … what? No! I … no …’
Have I actually just answered his question? How has he made me do that?
‘You should,’ he says calmly, still with that slight smile and those eyes bright with amusement. ‘And if it doesn’t make you feel sexier than ever before then I will buy every mirror in this place. I’ll make you a deal, in fact: you do it and I promise I will come back tomorrow.’
We are about a foot apart, looking straight at each other, and he’s said this. My pulse has never rushed so fast.
‘Oh, right, sure, yeah.’ I say. I’m trying to sound sarcastic and look unabashed but my cheeks are aflame, my heart is pounding and the adrenalin is coursing through me, jellifying my legs. ‘And I suppose I’m just meant to hoick up my skirt and show you as you pass?’
‘No, no. You place that mirror in the window, this time tomorrow. If I see it I will know, and I will come in.’
That is the deal then, and I just stand aghast, cheeks still burning, bloodstream still fizzing. I have half a thought to ask him, ‘Then what?’ but I already know then what. His smile broadens once more, his eyes give another cheeky twinkle and then he is off with a little nod. If he was a Victorian no doubt he’d have tipped his hat like a gentleman. Except that a real gentleman wouldn’t slay me with such personal, out-there questions and he definitely wouldn’t leave me in this state. I have to shut the shop immediately, of course. I am trembling and mind-shot and itching in places that haven’t itched that badly in years.
I’m not going to do it, obviously. I perch on the edge of the corner bath with my legs wide open. I have propped a little mirror against the tiled wall opposite so I can clearly inspect my most private place. I’ve been here a while. I made my shower so hot it will be a while longer before I need a towel around me. My skin is still steaming. I have never examined myself this intently. I can’t remember feeling this brazen before. I have even used my fingers to pull the lips apart to see her in all her lewd glory. Any excuse to touch myself there. I am holding off from doing more, despite her calling; some silly subconscious notion about saving myself.
I imagine he is seeing what I see now, in all that close detail. I imagine that I have shaved as he asked. The thought of laying yourself so bare to someone – especially one whose name you don’t even know. Of feeling that confident and unabashed. Is it ruder to imagine his fingers splaying me apart or my own? The breath and the tingle on my exposed, so delicate skin. The faintest tongue-touch, no barrier at all between him and my most sensitive nerve-endings. It might seem such a run-of-the-mill thing for some women, but to lay yourself so gratuitously naked – I cannot think of a more blatant come-on. Just to do it means you are gagging for it.
Which is exactly what his deal is about and why it is so transparent. When he spoke about coming back he wasn’t remotely talking about buying mirrors. He was talking about a hot, totally premeditated, naughty fuck with someone you barely knew. No words needed, just a sign. Simply to do now as he suggested could make you hussy enough to go through with the whole thing. And he will be wondering if I will. He might be imagining me doing it, the razor taking off the foam to reveal the smoothest, palest, most vulnerable skin anywhere on my body. Right now he might very well be picturing my shaved cunt, and, as vulgar a thought as that could be, it is also a genuine turn-on.
Despite the bet he made me, he knows he will never be forced to buy all my stock. He knows I would have to admit he was right. I mean, how could you not feel sexier than ever before when not only were you as smooth and naked and inviting down there as you had ever been, but you were also advertising the fact deliberately as a way to lure a man to you? I’ve been up for a bit of hanky-panky in my time but I’ve never yet put a sign in a shop window to let some passer-by know that my freshly shaved vag needs a damn good seeing-to!
I feel more open now than I can remember. I feel genuinely sexy for the first time in ages. I feel attractive, and dirty – in a good way. I am hot and wet and I know that right now someone is thinking about me showing off to them, about licking me, about being inside me. His deal is so surreally simple I can hardly think of one good reason not to take him up on it. But I won’t. Something in me will prevent it. The foam and the razor will only get used on my legs. I will clip myself short down there, as I have done countless times before, just to give me a stronger taste of the fantasy. But tomorrow that mirror he so liked will still hang where it hangs now, and when the time comes I will be in the main room so that as he passes I won’t have to look at him.
I almost never bathe in the morning, especially if I’ve showered the night before. Today was an exception. Now I find myself sitting naked on the edge of the bath once more, legs wide open, the mirror still in place where I left it last night. The closely clipped hairs are now covered in shaving foam. The razor is poised in my hand. I can take the fantasy one step further without taking it all the way. That’s what I told myself last night when I couldn’t sleep for thinking about him. I need to feel the cool tingle in my lips as the blades expose me. I need to open myself up again. I need to feel the prickling thrill of my underwear against my bare crotch to remind me what a hussy I can be. I need to have the pulse-quickening excitement of pretending that I might go through with the whole thing, since a more sensual, more erotic moment will surely never come my way again.
It’s another hot bath so I’m glad to be naked for a while. I’ve left the water in to rinse the foam. Your average gal might not have steam-free mirrors but I’m an expert in the field so I most certainly do. I can see everything in this close, clear detail. I am holding off, I know it. Maybe it’s to savour the moment or maybe it’s because it seems like a personality change and not something to rush. But then anticipation takes over, the razor glides to leave a strip completely smooth, and there is no going back.
It is erotic. He is on my mind, secretly watching. The urge to play is strong. It is something not to be rushed so it feels like a tease. It gets me tingling, not just from the contact but from the implications of doing it. And the poses required to do the job properly make me feel like a stripper. Wide open, splayed, thrust forward or stuck out backwards at my own reflection. Totally smooth – a new, much naughtier me. The feel of it is so sensual, both when patted dry and afterwards, when the soothing cream has been applied. It is partially innocent but mostly overtly sexual.
I feel much more self-aware but in a good
