The Man with a Beard

I finished the Sunday crossword and checked my watch. Darn, 30 seconds longer than last week, how very irritating. I started to flick through the rest of the newspaper, glancing at headlines and skimming through the text. One small article buried in the middle of the paper caught my attention.

When I went into the kitchen I found you peeling and scoring the brussel sprouts for tonight’s dinner. You were wearing a worn denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and a pair of faded jeans.

“Darling?” I started tentatively.

“Hmm” you replied in a distracted manner.

“Do you think I’m a boring, grumpy old man?”

You didn’t answer right away, but finished ministering to the vegetable in hand. Then you turned around, smiling.

“But of course you are sweetheart!”

Well that wasn’t exactly the response I had been hoping to hear.

“Well, shit. That makes me just another statistic then.”

“What’s brought this up all of a sudden?” You enquired.

“I just read this article in the paper, which says that 75% of men over the age of 50 are grumpy. Apparently they whine and complain about almost everything.”

“That seems like an accurate enough description to me. Very good research.”

“What about boring – am I boring as well?”

“Well, yes, I suppose you are actually.”

I couldn’t believe I was hearing this. How could I, the most intelligent, witty man in the city of Glasgow, possibly be boring? I stroked my bearded chin for reassurance.

You turned back to the sink and picked up the knife ready to go to work on the sprouts again.

I couldn’t let it rest there though. I needed to know.

“In what way am I boring exactly?” I did try to keep my voice neutral, but even I could hear the note of sarcasm creeping into the tone.

You considered for a moment, and then said: “Take sex for instance. When was the last time we were truly adventurous when we made love?”

My mind ran through our last few sexual encounters. They usually followed a similar pattern. We’d have dinner and a bottle of wine, and perhaps a couple of after-dinner drinks, then start to watch a television programme. I’d feel your hand rubbing the inside of my thigh, and you’d snuggle your head against my shoulder. I’d feel a slight stirring of life in my groin, and would rearrange myself a bit to get more comfortable.

Then I’d ask you, “Time for bed?”

And we’d drain the last of our drinks, and stand up. Usually I gave you a long kiss about then, indicating that I was feeling receptive, and we’d head up the stairs to the bedroom.

We’d both strip off and dive under the duvet quickly, then I’d kiss you for a while, check to see if you were good and wet, and then slip inside you and thrust contentedly until I climaxed.

I thought our sex life was pretty good.

“So what exactly would you want to do differently?” I asked, sitting down on a kitchen chair for support.

“Not sure really, do you have any ideas? I just think it could do with spicing up a bit.”

“O.K. No problem. Let’s spice it up then.” I racked my oversized brain to think of something spicy. Naturally I had read loads of articles on the subject. I am nothing, if not well read, after all.

“Should we have sex in a bubble bath then?”

“Nah, I don’t think so.” You giggled.

“Would you like me to massage you with chocolate sauce and then lick it all off?”

“Mmm, I wouldn’t mind.” You laughed, “as long as I get to have some too!”

“OK, well I’ve had an idea, now you come up with one.”

I saw you look me up and down, and wondered what on earth you were thinking. I was beginning to feel a bit self conscious, so I sucked my gut in as much as possible, to disguise any possible flabbiness there.

“All right, how about … I let you do whatever you want to me, and then I get to do whatever I want with you?”

That didn’t sound very complicated, in fact it might be rather titillating. So I agreed, and stood up ready to go back to the Sunday news.

“Hey, Aich, where do you think you’re going? Let’s do this right now.”

“Right now?” I hadn’t even had my second cup of coffee.

However, if it would make you happy, it wasn’t exactly a penance after all. So I dug around in the coffee and tea cupboard, and discovered we didn’t have any chocolate sauce. I’m naturally creative though. So I grabbed a tin of drinking chocolate and started mixing it up into a creamy paste. Meanwhile you had disappeared, to do -- I know not what.

We reconvened in the bedroom about ten minutes later, where I discovered you had been taking a shower. You had freshly shaved legs, and had left the Gillette foaming gel and your razor untidily on the side of the wash basin. However, I didn’t spend time getting upset, being the reasonable person that I always am. I noticed that the steam had made your curls especially tight, something I always found very appealing.

I threw back the duvet and fetched a large bath towel.

“OK, lie down I instructed.” And you complied very willingly.

I then anointed your breasts with my homemade chocolate syrup, being sure to give them an extra massage in the process. I was rewarded with quite a few “mmm’s” when I did this, and felt quite inspired by that. Next I drew a large chocolate heart on your stomach, and then extended the lower end of it right through the curls and ended it at the very tip of your labia.

By this time you were squirming with delight, and I scooped up some of the sticky mixture and put two fingers into your mouth. You sucked on them appreciatively, which I found to be a very sensuous feeling myself. Next I began to lick the chocolate from your left breast, and since I had been a bit generous with it there, I was forced to suck quite a lot of nipple to remove it all. You expressed unmistakable sounds of appreciation as I did this. I repeated the maneuver on the right side, smearing some around your lips every so often, so that you could lick it off.

And then, for my piéce de la résistance: the removal of the valentine’s heart. For this I decided to start at the left and right chambers and work my way downwards. By the time I had reached the tip, I knew you were about to go crazy with delight. You were positively squirming as my tongue inched its way into your already moist love tunnel. I spent extra time making sure I had licked up every last drop of chocolate, and I could taste the special ambrosia nectar of your own that you added to the recipe.

“Ymmm, delicious!”

When I came up for air, you were smiling happily, but my face was a big, sticky mess.

“Oh, Aich, that was simply divine. Except for you practically tickling me to death with your beard.”

I was about to go and have a wash before it was my turn, but you jumped up and said, “No, no, let me wash it off for you. Lie down, and don’t move, I’ll only be a minute.”

So I lay down, despite feeling rather itchy on the face as the chocolate goo began to set in my mustache. Anyway, you soon returned and told me to close my eyes. Which I did; full of anticipation, wondering what you had in store for me.

First you asked me to sit up for a moment, and before I knew what was happening, you had grabbed both my hands by the wrists and tied them together with a pair of tights. Then you gently pushed me back down on the bed again and tied a silk scarf around my eyes. After that you took my ankles and tied each one to the base of the wooden four-poster using a pair of panties for each side.

“What the hell?” I asked, feeling extremely vulnerable.

“Just wait and see.” You laughed. And I didn’t have to wait long, because without further ado you had started giving my penis slobbery kisses, which brought about an instant erection. Next you had me completely inside your mouth, and somehow because I was a prisoner and couldn’t see either, my senses seemed unusually heightened. You were gently kneading my balls with one hand as you steadily increased the rhythm.

“God, this is bliss.” I managed to murmur between gasps of ecstasy. It just didn’t last long enough though, and before I could stop myself I was ejaculating with huge spurts which surely must have been hitting the ceiling. You had deftly moved your mouth away at the crucial moment, and were directing my penis skywards and squeezing out every last drop with your fingers.

“Oh, darling, that was absolute heaven.” I crooned.

“But we’re not done yet, Aich.”

“I don’t have another drop in me.” I pleaded. “I’m as limp as a chipolata.”

“I’m just going to bathe you before I let you go.” You explained.

“Mmm, that sounds nice.” And I sank into the bed in a blanket of post coital joy, with a happy grin on my face. I heard you running hot water in the bathroom, and then returning to sit next to me.

You wrapped a hot, wet towel over my neck and chest. Next you took my face in your hands and gave me a lingering kiss on the lips, then you started to lather soap on my face. I was so deeply relaxed that it didn’t occur to me that the soap had a different fragrance from usual, I was just enjoying the moment.

I wasn’t really aware either, when I felt the first pass of the razor run down my cheek. Before I realised it, you had removed the beard from the entire right side of my face.

“What are you doing? My beard, you can’t be … no, please not my beard!”

“Sshh, it’s all right.” You murmured, and you gently ran your fingers over the exposed skin. It was unbelievably sensitive; after all I had been wearing my beard for almost twenty years.

“You’re not really doing this, tell me you’re not? This is just a bad dream!”

But it wasn’t a dream at all, and I didn’t dare wriggle in case you cut me as well in the process. You took every last hair from my top lip, my cheek and my chin on the right side of my face.

Then you undid the blindfold, and as I blinked in the light I saw you studying your work. You didn’t untie me right away, because next you washed my stomach and around my scrotum.

“You’re not going to …” I squealed in terror.

“No, it’s all right, don’t worry. I’m not going to give you a Brazilian wax job!”

“Thank the lord for that at least. I can’t believe you just did that. How could you? You know how I love my beard.

As you untied my ankles and massaged them a little, you said:

“I know how much you loved your beard, Aich. But did you know that all this time it has been giving me a chin rash, and well … it makes me sore in other places as well. You can always grow it back, you know.”

After you undid my hands I leapt from the bed and rushed to the bathroom to look in the mirror. It was worse than a bad dream, it was real. The right side of my face was completely hairless. With tears stinging my eyes, I took up the razor and the foam and finished off the job. I rinsed in cold water and patted my clean-shaven face gently dry.

Then I studied the result in the mirror, looking at it from all angles. Was it possible that I actually looked a teensy bit more youthful without the grey facial hair?

You came up behind me and put your arms around me, pressing your face against my back. Then you turned me around to face you and stroked my cheeks.

“Soft as a baby’s bottom.” You sighed, and kissed each cheek in turn. “Darn, Aich, you look fantastic. Honestly you do. You could pass for forty-two right now.”

I peered at the image in the mirror again. It didn’t seem like me looking back. Maybe I did look a bit younger though. Oh well, it was done now, and you were right of course, I could always grow it back.

“Will you try it, just for a couple of weeks?” You asked me.

“Yes, all right, but only for two weeks, that’s it.”

“You are such a wonderful and imaginative lover, you know Aich. Not the slightest bit boring either! Can we do this again some time?”

“Humph.” I grunted. “I’ll have to think about that for a while.”

“Now Aich, you mustn’t be grumpy any more. Remember, you don’t look anywhere near fifty yet!