In which The Twisted Monk has more fun with a straight razor than should be entirely legal:

Making small circles with my shaving brush, a small moan escapes her lips as I follow the whisper thin trail of hair on her taught tummy and work my way down. Where the thick lather of my shaving soap ends and the desire begins is lost as I carefully spread her skin flt and begin with my blade.

In this moment, my focus is complete, inches from her sex, one hand resting on her body while the other holds my blade like a concert violinist would hold his bow. Fingers firm, locked on the handle less it slips from the steamy damp, consciously relaxing the rest of my arm so that my movements are fluid, prceise and free of any nervous energy. Here, shining blade mere millimeters from her clit, a nervous twitch or a moment’s hesitation could spell disaster. Here I am so close to her body, here all mystery is stripped away as I pull apart her folds in order to gently take those few wisps of hair from inside her.

Stroke by stroke the thick sweet smelling curls are replaced with pale, sensitive skin. She gasps as I run my sticky fingertips along the now bare crest of her pelvis to inspect my work.

“Almost done,” I tell her, “turn over please.”

“Why?” she asks nervously then eyes growing wide with fear as she realizes what is next.

“Just one small bit left.”

Knees tucked under her body, she bends and offers herself up to me once again. This time it is her ass, soft and round that is exposed to me. Once again, I have to smile and do a little dance of evil glee at the sheer beauty of the site.

Folks, it has been often observed, of late, that blogging in general and sex blogging in particular are going somewhat stale and moribund. And I could tick off a long list of arguments in support of those propositions. But they are not dead, and little gems like this — a few paragraphs of delicious descriptive prose that probably wouldn’t have ever surfaced but for the bloggy media — continue to make it all worthwhile for me.

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