The ritual.

The sun's still raging, the last dying rays beating against the windows, a final blast before settling down below the horizon…

But we're huddling under a blanket on the sofa like its midwinter, your legs tangled with mine. Your skin, cool against me.

I can't keep my hands still—when could I ever?—and when they slowly glide lower, my fingertips brush against something unexpected. A slight change in texture. A little friction. A little stubble.

You tilt your head, and give me a grin with those sweet, beautiful eyes.

“I could get lasered, you know.” you say, casually. “Wouldn't have to deal with this at all.”

I shake my head, slow and certain. “We don't have to do anything, my sweet… but if we're going to…”

I drag my thumb across your thigh.

“This is how I'd like to do it…”

A few minutes later we find ourselves upstairs, in the bedroom.

You lay gently on the bed, stripped down to a loose crop top—the summer heat may have gathered here, but anything short of the surface of the sun leaves some part of you a bit chilled. That's ok, baby… I admire the view with or without fabric…

Laid out next to you on a towel is a steaming bowl of hot water, a dish of vanilla scented shave soap, a silvertip badger brush…

And a straight razor.

You glance down, the teensiest bit of worry creasing your eyes. “I still can't believe you use that thing…”

I look back, a cocky grin just visible in the corners of my lips. “They say this is the best… and I only want the best for my baby.”

You roll your eyes a bit, but lay back. You know I'm careful… we've done this before.

You squirm just a tiny bit in anticipation as I lather up the brush. Then open your legs without hesitation when you sense I'm ready.

Softly, gently, reverently even, I spread the foamy lather across you. Despite my care, you let out a little giggle. “That always tickles a bit…”

“I'm sorry, baby…”

“It's ok… it's not a bad thing…”

The room is quiet again as I finish my work, then pick up the razor. Unfolding it, I trace my finger down the blade, testing it for sharpness. Satisfied, I move to start shaving you… but I catch your look.

“You sure you're ok?”

“Yeah, I'm just… never gonna get used to that thing.”

“We really don't have to do this, you know… like. Ever, if you didn't want…”

“No… I like it… but… you know. Just. Be careful!”

“Baby. C'mon. It's me. And it's you. I am always careful. But really… if you wanna back out…”

“No, babe. Go ahead… I just… won't look.”

“Ok. I'm starting now. Ok?”

“Ok.”

And working from outside toward the center, I softly pull the blade against your skin, taking utmost care to make sure the pressure, the motion is exactly right. And as I get to the delicate details, I take it slow, sloooooow. Gentle as can be, focused as focused can be, as if there were nothing else at all in the world but the soft skin I'm so carefully tending… I make sure not to miss a millimeter.

Dipping a cloth in the hot water, I clear away any last traces of the soap.

“There” I say. “Perfect.”

Then, setting the towel and bowls and razor aside, I scoot up the bed to find your eyes open again and on me.

And before leaning in to kiss you, I rub some coconut oil on my fingertips. And as my lips find yours, I gently rub the oil into the newly bared skin, a little shiver running through you as your skin cools.

You turn your body into the kiss before backing away just enough to look in my eyes again. “Thank y…”

But whatever else you were going to say is lost in your gasp as my fingers shift, suddenly assigned a new task…

Before you press your lips back into mine… hard… and let me taste your tongue.

Goodnight, beautiful.

God, I love you.

Yours.