There's Nude, & Then There's Naked

(This is an entry in the Valentine's Day contest. Every character involved in sex acts in this story is at least 18 years old. The story is set in 2019, the most recent Valentine's Day before the deadline for this contest, and that was a Thursday. Please read and vote. Thanks.)

From Fred:

There are some things you just can't do while you're raising kids and everyone is pretty much stuck under one roof. If a sexy activity can't be confined in the master bedroom and kept quiet, it won't happen. My wife and I can mess around late at night, when the kids are asleep. We've tried out a few things then, and there can be misses as well as hits. (Me fingering her clit while we fuck? Hit. Her enjoying anything going up her ass? Miss.)

Role play has been limited to whispers, and we haven't gotten aroused from that (beyond being two willing lovers). My only upside to her use of sexy lingerie is that it declares to me that she's in the mood. The sight and touch of that stuff on her is no big deal for me, and I like her a whole lot better fully nude. She says she sometimes likes the feel of the lingerie, or the attitude, so, okay, I go along.

I guess we're better off than a lot of couples, because we're actively in love and not looking to stray. We care deeply about the kids. The biggest regret we have is that, if we'd waited a few years before becoming parents, we might have been able to sample some really wild action. As it is, we have no nearby grandparents with whom the kids could sleep over, and we limit babysitting costs to times when Rachel and I want a normal date night.

But this is Valentine's Day. We've never cared about that before, but lately we've been stressed, and hoping to cut loose. We're going to try something new that we should be able to do here at home, in private. We'll get rid of our pubic hair.

From Rachel:

Fred didn't write enough about how much better off we are. We're the same degree of sex-frisky, and we get turned on by a lot of the same things. I like visuals, more than most women supposedly do. We watch porn (with the sound turned off), and we're okay with lusting after the performers, and then settling for ourselves. I really get stoked by the sight of a hot male body, and while Fred's may not be world-class, it's pretty damn good. When the kids see Mommy hugging Daddy, it's all very nice and modest. I have to wait until we're in the bedroom to grab those nicely sculpted buns.

Fred mentioned that we're stressed. Well, who isn't? We both work (middle management, different companies). We have a mortgage, and make payments on two cars. We juggle a lot of scheduling, like who uses break time to get the kids to after-school care. Since the first of the year, one or the other of us has either put in longer hours or brought work home. Sometimes our late night fun time is short. Sometimes, if we work really late, we skip the fun.

We've planned Valentine's Day as a break from all that. We've done extra office work in advance, to make sure we'd have none tonight. We took the kids out last weekend to do things they like (sledding, skating, a movie), so they're not cabin-fevered and testy. Everything is set for us to do Val's Day our way. Sorry, florists and confectioners, we're not interested in what you sell. I'll take my husband and hot sex, thank you. (Well, okay, a little chocolate once in a while, but there's already enough in a kitchen cabinet, out of the kids' reach.)

What bugs me most, beyond even the stress, is how hard it is to keep myself near the hottie level. Childbirth, glorious miracle that it is, can run roughshod over a woman's body. I'm looking forward to our hair removal experiment as much as Fred is. I told him, though, that what he'll see won't be as alluring as what's in porn. The exercise bike has both of us in good shape, and I've kept the boob enlargement from breastfeeding and subsequent birth control. But along with my hairless loins, he's going to be seeing stretch marks. For which he bears responsibility.

I'm worried about pain preventing pleasure. Even if shaving doesn't hurt, our banging without the cushion of pubic hair might. We haven't decided yet if we'll limit ourselves to oral tonight, or try to go for more.

Mmmmmm. Writing about this is getting me, ahh, intrigued, I guess you'd say. Which may be setting us up for disappointment.

Fred's making dinner, with the kids 'helping,' so I have a chance to get back to family behavior with some slow deep breaths, a glass of water, and a stop to this writing.

From Fred:

Rachel is a total champ. She's being her usual Mom self, sweet and supportive, while getting the kids through homework. Whatever happens tonight, I'd better find a way to make her feel good. And then do a few of her chores tomorrow.

Dinner went well enough. Cora, in first grade, and Mark, in second, both made valentines at school, for classmates and also for us. Their teachers may have tried to distract from the day's romantic loading, because the cards state 'Happy Valentine's Day' rather than 'Be My Valentine,' and each kid's card is addressed to both Mom and Dad. These were art projects, with the emphasis on crayons, construction paper, and kid-useable scissors.

Rachel had picked up drugstore valentine cards, which we gave to the kids.

Cora and Mark are too savvy to settle for the message they got from school, that Valentine's Day is about being nice to everyone. Cora asked, "Daddy, where's your valentine for Mommy?"

Maybe flowers and candy would have provided some cover. I lied, "Mommy and I met for lunch today."

Smoothly Rachel followed, "It was such a nice surprise!"

Then I put on my Daddy's-making-a-joke face and said, "Sometimes grown-ups can't find their crayons."

This got the laugh I was hoping for, from both kids. Dinner proceeded without further incident.

Rachel and I intend to have That Talk with the kids, about how Mommy And Daddy Love Each Other In A Special Way, but we don't think they're old enough to understand it yet. Or maybe we're procrastinating. They've both seen pregnant women, and know in general what that's about, but not all the details. They may already be hearing things from their friends.

Even after we explain, we'd probably still have to keep quiet in the bedroom.

This is our first time posting to this site, so I'll describe my lovely wife for you. She's 5'9", curvy but sleek, with thick, dark brown hair, in a short shag to the top of her neck. Olive skin, round face, snub nose. Big eyes, lips, and teeth.

Tonight we'll remove hair from the same area, but sexual dimorphism works against equality in this case. Rachel has a clearly defined triangle of wispy brown hair that starts about four inches above her cleft, grows on her beautiful high mons veneris, to below her labia, but barely on her perineum. Her anus is completely bald. Once she shaves, she'll be an absolute porno goddess, stretch marks and all.

Me? While I'm writing this I'm in the master bathroom (where kids never go, it's accessible only from the master bedroom) working on phase one, scissoring what's most accessible. My body hair is such that there's growth starting as a narrow strip at the bottom of the navel, widening to the inside of the hips, continuing past cock and balls, surrounding the asshole, and extending down the inner thighs.

We've discussed this. Rachel says I can limit myself to the areas she'll be shaving, plus a little extra that she might explore. So, bald starting a couple-three inches above the penis, bald cock, bald balls, bald behind-the-balls, bald first couple-three inches of inner thighs.

What I've sliced off so far is more than the max growth of a chia pet. This should avert hopeless clogging of the razor. (I'm alternating between writing on the phone and hacking away. Hope it isn't confusing.)

Rachel's still with the kids, so I'll get the next phase done.

I have pretty tough, taut skin, so I can use the electric razor, above the prick and on the thighs.

This is getting almost everything.

The trimmer is taking care of the rest.

There was a slight burn in a couple places, but it faded in a few seconds.

Once I get dressed, I should be able to be Normal Dad again.

Even with a partial cut, the jewels are more obvious, and less...protected, I guess. A glance in the mirror surprised me, just now. This might be a bigger difference than I thought. There's nude, and then there's naked.

From Rachel:

I've set the phone for speech-to-text, to keep my hands free. I want to record this part in real time, murmuring in the closed bathroom. Here's another hope that this isn't confusing.

On the subject of 'equality,' my darling Alfredo, please pay attention:

I. Shave. My. Legs.

All. The. Time.

For. Many. Years.

Wispy or not, sometimes the hair resists.

I also tweeze between my eyebrows. Beauty is Hell.

When I shave my armpits, that hair pretty much gives up without a fight. Maybe it's wispier.

In fact, as a warmup for my razor use, I've already done the pits, and I'm now shaving my legs. Fred is cajoling our brood through the brushing of teeth that will eventually be absconded by the Tooth Fairy. He will then read them a story, so their Mom-interaction for the day should now be finished, and I can take my time with this.

We're going back and forth by leaving the phones in the bedroom, so we can read what the other person wrote. That's how I know about Fred's boo-hoo. Since he described me, I'll return the favor.

My hubby is 6'1" with a lean build. Muscles are noticeable (and wife-enjoyable) here and there, but not everywhere (nothing much on his back, but I can deal with that). He has great buns. I know, I already mentioned them, but I like thinking about those firm handfuls. Very useful for steering.

Fred has curly black hair and classic Roman features, including a nose that could split firewood. I think it looks fine.

My legs are done. Nice and smooth. No nicks.

I'm now spreading the legs. Sitting on the rim of the bathtub.

I've put a mirror on the floor. I can see everything I need to see.

Damn. I'm getting sooooo turned on.

Scissors first. I've done a little of this before, because of swimwear that turned out not to be a good idea. That had also involved some plucking. Eeuw.

I can snip to within about an eighth of an inch growth.

What's above the crotch is about half done, left side. The hair that's still there is visible, but the effect is peek-a-boo.

What'll it be like when he eats me out?

My pussy just dripped!

Can speech-to-text do anything with 'gasp!?'

After a couple deep breaths, I'm again using the scissors.

Above-the-cleft is now done. I've seen pornstar clips longer than this.

I'm carefully pulling up tufts from the outer labia, and snipping. This doesn't feel or look much different after the cut.

There, that's probably as much as I can do before the razor. Thank you, scissors, now please go far away.

I blot the whole pube zone with a warm wet washcloth.

Which I want to jam into my slit!

Now a squirt of gel to the fingertips, from there to The Great Down Below. It's chilly in contact with the skin. And I just shivered, because of that, or this whole weird activity.

Foam over the whole muff. My spreading fingers want to shove it where it will do no good.

Do the worst first, Rachel. Bottom to top.

A few strokes seemed to remove all the hair below the pussy. Mirror says so. Fingers say so too.

I want to rub out right now!

Deep breath. And another.

I spread the legs wider and use my free hand to stretch my mons on the right side. I can't make it a hard, flat surface. Gotta hope for the best.

Done in several strokes. No pain. I blot with the washcloth, look, and feel.

Nothing. Hairless, all the way into the folds.

Now the left side.

More strokes this time, but the same result.

My high mons and thick labia now work in my favor, as I tuck the clit inside to keep it out of the way.

Flattening the stretch-marked skin, I set the razor at the brink of the cleft and drag it upward.

No resistance. No pain.

Then to each side. Up from the brink.

It all feels smooth. And good.

Nothing left but an isolated patch.

I have an idea.

All I'll say about this is that I shaved a little more, and I'm embellishing the hair that's left.

I'm taking a picture with my phone.

And now as I shave away the last of it, I can say what I suspected after the first few strokes: This hair is easier to get rid of than the leg hair. This is like the armpit hair, it almost volunteers to exit. Lucky me!

Now I'm wiping off the foam, and the, um, embellishment, with the washcloth.

I'm getting up to look in the full-length mirror.

OMG!

And what a great camel toe!

I'm pulling out the clit and the inner labia.

WOW!

This may be the sluttiest I've ever looked, and felt!

Gently, without stimulating, much, I put lotion on the bare skin I've thrust out into the world.

Damnit, Fred, hurry up!

From Fred:

As I entered the bedroom, Rachel was sitting on the bed, wearing her loose green sweatsuit, watching porno on this room's incredibly secured, parental-controlled flatscreen. She was smiling, and seemed calm. She looked sidelong at me and said, "You're going to want to go speech-to-text."

"Okay," I said.

I reached for her phone, but she picked it up and said, "No, later." Her smile got bigger.

"Everything okay so far?" I asked.

She nodded, stifling a laugh.

I gave her a quick, lips-only kiss, shed my clothes, and took my phone into the bathroom.

I'm in speech-to-text. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, with the back half of my butt. There's a mirror on the floor. Good idea.

I've soaked the crotch and dried off the extra. Now, shave gel all over the groin.

I have to grab the jewels and haul them up out of the way, to get to the prostate zone. For a clean cut, I start from the middle and pull the razor to the side, then go side-to-middle. Thanks to the scissor work, it's short enough now to go bald in several strokes, with razor rinsing and more lathering.

I've got a big, loose ball sac that stiffens only partway when I'm erect. To get a good shaving surface I have to move each oyster out of the way at least an inch, then scrape the skin repeatedly, then move the ball elsewhere. Several times, I've relathered, and cut in different directions.

I think I'm now past the fear. I'm working quicker.

The door is opening. Only a crack.

I'm not looking. (Her voice, whispering.) Just want to know if I should call an old boyfriend.

"Patience, my love" (My voice, monotone.) "Romulus wasn't wolf-suckled in a day."

Have you caught on that I'm going crazy here?

"So am I, and I'm still using a blade."

Be really careful with my favorite toy.

"I can do fast, or I can do safe. Pick one."

Safe, of course. The fastest possible safe.

"I can describe what's happening, if that helps."

It definitely won't help. Do it anyway.

"Thanks to your sweet, alluring, desperate voice, the skin on my penis is now taut. This makes it easier to get at the clumps of hair where the base of the shaft meets the ball sac. After that's gone, there remain only the hairs on the bottom two inches of the prick itself."

How is it possible that I'm aroused and terrified at the same time?

"I never realized before how thick the seam is down the middle of the ball sac."

I want my tongue on that!

"Makes two of us. No bloodshed yet."

Nor from me. I was perfect.

"You always are. I'm now applying what should be the last squirt of shave gel."

My first squirt may be moments away.

"Anything on the monitors?"

Good time to change the subject.

(A pause.)

Cora is singing to herself, maybe 'Let It Go.' Quiet in Mark's room.

"Okay, one more load of gel. But just about there."

Is it cheating that, while I waited for you, I watched a fem-POV, and let the purple dildo make the first visit to my redecorated paradise?

"Did that hurt, or leave you sore?"

Noooooooooo!

"That's a helluva lot better than you calling an old boyfriend."

Water's running. Are you mopping down?

"Yep."

I'll get set.

I then ended speech-to-text. What follows is what I remember.

The door closed.

I dried off and tied the towel around my waist, well above the cut line.

I opened the door.

She stood a few feet back from the doorway. She had removed the sweats and tied the shirt around her waist.

I first noticed her breasts (well, duh). Lush, widely-spaced C-cups, now sagging a bit, but with hard nipples, framed by wide russet aureoles that puffed up.

Then I saw her staring eyes, the trembling of her parted lips.

At the same moment, we uncovered.

From Rachel:

His good soldier sprang to attention, and I could see just about everything. Even, yes, the seam on his ball sac.

There was no hair to catch my first drops, and they trickled to my thighs.

Then we were in each other's arms, lips clamped from passion and the need to be quiet. We had changed. We were the same. We were on fire and out of our minds. We were parents who listened to Mark returning to bed after getting a drink of water.

We lurched onto the bed, got on our sides, and sixty-nined. His mouth covered my mons, his tongue slid along my clit, and I started cumming. At least, It seemed like that's what happened, but it must have taken longer than that. As I spasmed, I sucked and licked frantically, fondling and stroking Fred's bald, brazen manhood, wishing I had two mouths.

Now for a calm note, from a later editing session. The ball sac is indeed very impressive, and what's inside got me pregnant instantly when we stopped using condoms. Fred's delivery system, however, is probably average. Very satisfying to a rampant vixen posing as a suburban wife, but hardly a porn-scale battering ram. When he's hard, though, he can stay that way a long time. Despite my fellating frenzy I knew that I wanted him that hard later, inside me, even as I wanted to subjugate this scary monstrosity with my wet, sucking mouth, and make the prick surrender its vital essence (to paraphrase Col. Jack Ripper in Dr. Strangelove).

I was about to say "You gonna cum?" when some combination of his tongue, his lips, a thumb, and a finger, gave me such a huge rush that I had to jerk away my head and chomp down on the bedspread. (G spot, maybe.) Somehow I came again, while the first orgasm still rippled through my deforested, defenseless arena. The quasi-thoughts flickering in my quasi-mind included "Why haven't we done this before?" and "Will we survive until morning?"

From Fred:

Both balls in her mouth, tongued all over, sac almost tied in knots. Then sloppy tongue starting behind the balls, rising along the sac seam, up the sperm duct, onto and around the convergence of the glans, wrapping around the head, poking into the urethra. Lips surrounding the head, expanding to travel downward, taking in the entire shaft, tongue moving in helical swirls.

She's blown me many, many times before. She's very good at it. She's learned so much about what she can do to me, and where and how to do it.

That night, she wrote a new book.

All while she writhed and grunted in response to my worship of her supreme feminine beauty. I've enjoyed kissing her mons since we first became lovers, but it was never better than now. Sliding my tongue along its smooth yielding length, pulling it up gently with my lips.

If anything, my brand new peaks of sensation had me so stunned that orgasm couldn't happen immediately. It was only when she seemed to have finished spasming, and murmured "Fuck my face, Baby," that the next time she sucked I was able to cut loose. I don't know how much, or for how long, because I was in some sort of hot out-of-body bliss, with a vague sense of clenching leg muscles.