Shaving to perfection

Maybe it was your dry spell. It had almost been a year since you and your girlfriend broke up. She was, by any reckoning, a blond bombshell. More slender than sporty, but tanned and with naturally bleached blonde curly lockes. Here eyes were blue, and wide, but not vapid in the least. Rather contemplative, and sometimes cold and calculating. Stephanie. You missed her. The break up wasn't mutual. The first year out of college was exciting for the pair of you. But while she scored work at a high end law firm, you struggled to find similar work in your chosen career. At first you lived together. Then she started making more money, and wanted a nicer apartment closer to her work. You still dated, but slept together less and less, until, somewhere along the way, she assessed you as a false starter. Your aggressively average job sealed the deal, and she broke up with you shortly after.

You wanted to blame her. Accuse her for being a shallow bitch. Hell, you DID accuse her of being a shallow bitch, but deep down, you agreed with her. She was continuing to rise, while you were floundering.

You shook the painful nostalgia from your head. It didn't help that you'd fucked multiple times in the very shower you now sat on with one leg in the tub, one leg out.

The razor was already in your hand, and a searing thought jolted through your mind. What if Steph could see you now? Her ex shaving his leg, like a bitch, a sissy? Every judgement of hers confirmed. You could practically see her sneer. A lump formed in your throat as you tenderly held the razor. Then, promptly slathered the shaving cream on your legs. The stockings urged you on.

The first swipe was almost bewildering. You'd seen your messy light brown hair on your legs since you'd hit puberty, and suddenly there was nothing but smooth pale skin. A patch of sensitive flesh eager for the cozy warmth of a colorful cloth. You swallowed the lump in your throat and continued, delighting at the strange tickle of the sharp razor. To feel the cold edged steel glide across your legs was sensual in its own right. You couldn't help but feel delight at the sensation, and wondered if ladies felt the same way... So many seemed to regard shaving their legs as a hassle.

Your other leg soon followed, from toe to thigh, you perfectly prepared your flesh for the stockings. You wiped your legs with a towel, surprised at how coarse the terrycloth suddenly felt, then ran your hand along your skin. It glided with a tickling delight. Primed and eager, you found yourself gliding on the balls of your feet as you returned to your bed.

Then slowly, ever so slowly, you slid the colorful bands up your legs. The fantasy made real, vibrant stripes slipped up delicate porcelain legs. A gentle convulsion arched your foot, pointing your toe. This felt divine. They were tight, and soft, but felt strangely rough against your skin. You gave them a tug as they settled just above your knee, and regretted that they didn't rise any higher. Then you release the band. With a tight slap they hugged your lower thighs, giving the faintest hint of that bulge. You ran your hands along the divide between loose soft flesh and the tightly hugging fabric.

The second sock soon followed, but this time as you released the band, a buzz grabbed the base of your spine. Like cumming too hard. Hyperventilating, or waking from the deepest sleep. your every nerve ending tingled. It all felt impossible divine, and absurdly sensitive. You writhed on the bed, even the soft comforter feeling rough against your flesh, but slowly, slowly, the sensation faded, and in its place arose something new. Something unfamiliar. And something you'd never felt quite like this before. A lusty sensuality filled your chest with the next breath. A playful mischief brightened your dull disenfranchisement, and something more, something you couldn't quite place, that tickled your groin in a peculiar way.