Silent Weeks

She eventually turned off the clippers, set them aside, and then dusted the whiskers off of her hands and the front of my shirt.

I stood up straight, thinking we were done.

We were not done.

She guided me by both shoulders over to the toilet and sat me down onto the lowered lid.

I watched her set my can of shaving cream and my razor on the edge of the sink. I do believe that she is about to shave me, and even though I didn't show it, I was ecstatic. I was ready and waiting with my hands resting on my thighs.

She stood in front of me and pushed my hands off my thighs. Wait... what?

And then she pushed my knees together. Um....

And holy shit if she didn't straddle my legs and have a seat.

Do I need to even tell you that my heart started pounding? My eyes went straight to hers, to look for signals. Stoic, and her attention was on reaching for my hands, one at a time, so that's where I put my attention as well.

Simultaneously, she placed both of my palms flat onto the tops of her thighs.

Middle.

My fingers in a grabbing position.

Some of the tips just under the hem of her skirt.

That's about when I became hyper-aware of the very high probability that she was not wearing any panties, but I could not tell through the fabric of my own pants.

She held my hands firm, exerting a pulse of pressure, as if to fix them in place. She did nothing for a few seconds, so I looked to her face again. After a second of direct eye contact, she let go and looked away, reaching for the can of shaving cream.

I was definitely not going to suffer the awkward uncertainty of what to do with my hands, as I was apparently meant to not move them from their respective spots. At all.

Could she hear my heart?

Nevermind that. Could she feel my pulse in my fingers?

Okay, I can't just stare at her face the whole time. Staring at her... very close breasts was probably not a good idea either.

She smells pleasant. Don't sniff her. Watch her hands.

She sprayed foam into the palm of her right hand, and then set the can back on the rim of the sink. A wave went through me when she lifted my chin up. She covered both palms in foam, and then spread it carefully and deliberately over every appropriate area of my face and neck, seeming to take great care to not get any on my shirt.

I sat immobilized and entranced. Eyes closed and focusing on every delicate, muffled stroke. Although it did take some effort to resist the urge to move my hands.

Her hands left me a moment, but then I felt fingers on my forehead, and a razor against my lower neck. The blade moved at a careful speed, and each stroke was precise.

After a few strokes, both hands left me, and I heard the water turn on. I kept my eyes closed, but it was quite evident that she was rinsing the razor, and soon enough, it was back against my skin.

After some time, I heard the water cease, and then a wet cloth wiped off any remaining foam. No contact again. And then her bare palms held my cheeks.

An image of her kissing me flashed in my mind, and I almost gasped, but it was swept away by her simply feeling the results of her work. Perhaps checking for missed spots, but I didn't notice any.

Her hands left me again, and her legs moved as her weight lifted.

Disappointment.

I opened my eyes and lifted my hands from her thighs. She went about cleaning up, and I sat, forlorn. What a wonderful, tragic experience.

Only after she left the bathroom was I able to muster the will to stand up. I checked myself in the mirror to see that she had done a magnificent job, and did not nick me even once. Sometimes even I can't manage that.

I left the bathroom to find her. I didn't see her in the kitchen or living room, so I glanced into the bedroom, but no. It was getting late. Had she already left? I went to the window, to see her car still there, and I didn't see her outside.

The only place left inside the apartment was the closet, but why would she be in there? As I drew closer to the closet door, it opened and she walked out.

Wearing only one of my t-shirts.

And passed by me like it was no big deal.

I thought I would fall over for a second. And was she still presumedly without panties on? The shirt was long enough on her to keep me guessing.

The bed came with two pillows, but i always used the second one as a barrier between my head and the wooden headboard. She walked around to the empty side of the bed, took that pillow, and laid it out after pulling the covers aside.

I just watched in awe as she casually slipped into my bed and pulled the covers up. I was dumbfounded. What was I meant to do with this?

She'd just gone to bed... in my bed.

Quite frankly, I did suddenly start feeling tired. I don't know if it was the power of suggestion, or exhaustion from an almost entire day of heightened nerves, but it kicked in.

Should I sleep on the sofa? She left my pillow on the bed, so that was basically permission to sleep in my own bed.

She was laying on her side, facing the wall, with her eyes closed, so she was not exactly inviting me to have sex with her.

So, I guess we were going to share a bed, with no funny business.

Okay.

I can do that.

I turned off the lights in the living room and bathroom, after peeing, and went back to the bedroom. I sat on my side of the bed and began undressing as if it were just a normal night.

Should I wear shorts, even though I'm usually only in my boxer briefs? They were basically shorts already, so that seemed redundant, since there was no expectation that they would be seen.

I turned off the bedroom light and climbed into my side of the bed, taking care not to accidentally brush against her. I didn't want to give any impression that I was trying to cop a cheap feel.

I thought that I was going to end up not getting a wink of sleep, but I was apparently just exhausted enough to sleep fairly soundly.

Being wholly unused to sharing a bed with another person, I awakened a few times with her movements, but fell back asleep quickly enough.

And I quite intentionally avoided thinking about what might happen on Monday morning.

~

The alarm clock woke me, and I hated it. Fortunately, I did not have any classes that day, so I could stay in bed. I felt the bed move, and I froze, having only just remembered that behind me was a mostly nude, and very attractive, girl that wanted to share my bed.

Or was it a dream?

I definitely felt the bed move when I hadn't. I'm going to have to check, eventually. Might be rude not to, actually.

Just fucking turn over, man.

It was so weird. The morning sun lit up the room. It was weird, because I always kept the blinds closed. Because I hated the morning sun lighting up my room.

At some point, she had adjusted the blinds, and I just hadn't noticed, since it was dark outside. Gotta say, though. Was not hating it that morning.

She was facing me, with her head laying on her arm. Her eyes were looking right into mine, and she was legitimately smiling at me.

If I had been more awake, I don't know if I still would have done it, but I very gently reached over and brushed her hair back, like it was instinct.

"Hey."

No. Not me.

She said it.

Softly and sweetly.

Perfectly.

It was not even a decision that I made. I held the back of her head, leaned to bridge the space between us, and then kissed her.

Game over.