Page 9 of Prosecco with My Professor
“It won’t be prickly?”
“It might be at first,” she muses. “But it depends how much hair you have. Also, hair can go a ways back, so keep an eye on that.”
“What, like…all the way?”
Jade shrugs. “My waxer does all of that.”
Someone going down on me wouldn’t be able to see that…would they? It’s not like I would ask for anythingback there.
“I don’t,” Tessa says. “And Luc doesn’t mind.”
The three of us sigh. Luc doesn’t mindanythingabout Tessa. I’m so glad she is with someone who appreciates her curves. It gives me hope that someone out there—aside from Bruce—will want to be with me despite my height and shape.
Well, I guess Santo doesn’t mind it. Hedidtake me home with him.
By the time my friends and I hang up, I’ve got a solid plan to trim everything tonight. I already have an electric waterproof razor, so I take it in the shower with me, turning the water as hot as it will go.
After washing my hair, the shower stall is full of steam, and I’m pleasantly relaxed from the heat. I squirt shaving cream onto my palm and lather up. The hair between my legs is coarse, so I run the electric razor against my skin in small strokes, rinsing frequently. It’s awkward, bending over to see myself, pulling my skin this way and that to do a thorough job.
One time, Jade took the four of us to an art museum that had an erotic art exhibit. At the entrance, taking up an entire wall, were plaster casts of vulvas. There must have been at least a hundred, and I remember being shocked at the range and diversity. I couldn’t help but think that some were more pretty than others, even though I know that society has trained me to look at women’s bodies from a male gaze.
With Bruce, we never talked about my body like that. I have no idea if he thought mine was pretty.
Do I? Does Santo?
The back is even more awkward, more feeling by hand than being able to see anything. I think I do a good job, though.
Satisfied, I turn the razor off and put it on the hanging rack. I pick the shower head out of the holder and point the stream between my legs, rubbing with my hands to make sure I get any loose hairs and shaving cream off.
I stroke my hand over my mound, from top to bottom. It’s not smooth like when I shave my legs and the skin is soft and hairless, but I think I like it.
I also like the way the warm water feels, and my stroking hands turn more purposeful.
Leaning against the wall, I let my fingers slip between my folds. I’ve never been one of those women who was into shower heads—there isn’t enough friction and pressure for me—but the combination of my hand and the warm water turns me on.
I pull up the memory of Santo on his knees in front of me from just a few nights ago.
I was so surprised, but the hot, wet kisses he left on my inner thigh made my stomach flip in a delicious way. Even thinking about it makes my stomach flip now. I run a finger up my inner lips and circle my clit, repeating the movement again and again. With my fingers wet, it almost feels like a tongue.
Soon I need more, so I take two fingers and press harder every time I circle my clit. My thighs tense, and my core tugs, urging me to press harder, circle faster, focus on that spot that needs attention, and I’m getting close…I let out a small moan.
On the other side of the wall, Oliver barks.
It startles me so badly that I drop the shower head, which goes crazy in the bottom of the shower stall. I catch it and put it up to the sounds of Eva shouting at her dog. “Oliver! Taci!”
Great, the neighbor Ijust methas now heard me masturbating. I turn off the shower.
Can this week get any worse?
5
Santo
It’s beena busy week since Emma ran out on me. Aside from Zola somehow escaping my apartment once, the new living arrangements are working out well. I’ve met my new neighbor, Eva, and her dog Oliver. Vincente has been over to see the place, and tonight we are out for night-before-the-first-day-of-program drinks.
Unlike last week, I am not inspired to take anyone home. Perhaps it is that we spent too much time talking about the upcoming year of teaching or that my mind is elsewhere with the move, but I didn’t encounter anyone that interested me. Even Vincente hasn’t let his eyes wander much. He’s married but still has opinions, and sometimes I think he’s more interested in my sex life than his own, which he calls “playing by the rules.”
But now, our conversation centers on the upcoming year. As one of the more senior faculty members of our university, I have a better chance of choosing my work. All of the faculty are busy as hell, but I get to pick my courses, and Vincente, a decade my junior, has less influence over what he works on.
