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Joan leaves Neal Friday night, and Neal wakes up Joan.
They looked utterly bite-able.
I glanced up at him for permission to bite, which was a mistake and a mood-killer. Stupid girl, me.
As I hinted at earlier, the first thing one over noticed about DJ was his nose. It was totally impossible not to stare and even more obvious if you refrained. Despite my silly crush or bad case of the Mrs. Robinson's, whatever it was, when I got as close to his face as I was now, all it took was him bumping me with it once before I gave up on sex momentarily for a case of the giggles. Thoughts like, "Pinocchio! Proboscis! Look at the beak on that!" bubbled up from the depths of some long-buried junior high-ish immaturity. I wondered why this hit me now and not at the store, or the restaurant, or even in the kitchen with Tasha. Maybe because we were more relaxed now? At this rate, I was liable to across as an ungrateful, superficial little cunt.
"Whaaaa-What is it?" Glancing around somewhat warily, DJ was giving me a good view of his (extremely, K-2, can we say CARROT?) sharp profile which provoked another spasm of silent laughter.
"Nothing!" I managed between some very unladylike snorts. "God, I'm sorry!" The harder I tried not to laugh, the worse the giggles got.
"Oh, I know what your problem is." His eyebrows slanted down in the middle. "Go ahead. Stare. Get it out of your system. Even my mother does it when I haven't seen her for a while." He deliberately crossed his eyes at me. .
So, I did. I took in, at length, as it were, every inch of his pointy-noised, knock-kneed, almost frighteningly frail frame. His ass, though I couldn't see it in the water, was nearly non-existent; his ribs, collarbones, and vertebrae jutted painfully; his limbs resembled exclamation points. I wondered if it was some error of metabolism, and if this would happen to me. Even so--exposed, vulnerable at least in appearance, and nearly hairless--DJ was still cuter than hell. The rest of his face had a special quality about it that I couldn't put a finger on. Tasha thought it was his eyes. I thought it had more to do with his mouth and jaw line; maybe both.
DJ kept quiet while I gawked, but eventually his eyes started to take on a semi-evil glint. "Do you know what my philosophy about staring is? It's really bad manners; really rude."
I turned red. He was right.
"Do you know what I want from you, in exchange for your long, hard look?" he asked.
"No. What? You want to give a long, hard-"
"Wrong! I'm going to shave you. Bald." He lowered his gaze pointedly. "So, do you think that's a fair trade?"
I'd never been shaved all the way. I'm what you'd term, "neatly trimmed." I'd actually thought of shaving off the whole mess before, but had never had the motivation. Now here sat a free bikini-area stylist who thought he was getting even. Let him!
I pretended to need to be talked into it, though I did have a couple of real concerns. "What if you cut me? And how are you going to get rid of the hair? I'm sure it would clog the jets in this tub."
DJ was quick to answer. "I promise to be extra-careful. If not, I'll let you do the same to me. And I'll use a towel for now, for the hair. Just jump up on the edge... come on now, fair's fair."
A woman's razor appeared in DJ's hand.
"You have shaving cream?" I asked him in a fake Mexican accent.
"Uh-huh," and a miniature can of it that had definitely been in the cabinet earlier when Tasha and I inspected made its appearance.
"What else do you have up your sleeve?" I wondered aloud.
"It's not so much what's up my sleeve," DJ began. And didn't finish. He didn't have to.
I needed no further convincing.
"You were going to ask me anyway, weren't you? Now you've just got an excuse. Weren't you? You naughty little boy," I drawled in almost-Southern similar to DJ.
"Busted!" He grinned at me. "Now let me get to work. This might take a while."
"Hey! It's not that bad. Is it?" Bad, meaning hairy.
DJ winked at me.