I seem to have a propensity to create ingrowing hairs, I am not sure why, but this feels somehow shameful, as if it happens because of poor hygiene or something inherently wrong with me. Luckily I now have a partner who is totally unfazed by being asked to help me deal with this problem in such a tricky place.
This morning He sterilised the tweezers, arranged a lamp on the bed, the light directed to the area and held in place by my foot. As soon as I was exposed He set about relieving the pain I was experiencing with the application of His own, using the tweezers with precision to ease out the offending hair from the sensitive skin around it.
As I let out a yelp I glanced at His face. He was undisturbed by the cat that wanted to investigate what was happening, His gaze was soft, His concentration complete and His focus on the task totally undivided.
As I held in another gasp and breathed out slowly I was reminded of an afternoon in a hotel in West London, late afternoon sunlight slanting through the window.
My view in the mirror of myself.
Clamps on my nipples, tears coursing down my face as I protested how much it hurt. His grin as He pressed my hand to His trousered crotch and said ‘There see what you do to me when you endure this for me’.