A Matter Of Trust

She sits;
naked on the edge of the bed.
Waiting...
anticipating.

Checking my blade;
the straight razor glimmers in the lamplight,
reflecting rectangular around the walls.
I see my eyes in it's silver,
almost manic to me,
but steely calm to her.

And I begin.

I use a brush and soap;
covering her soft down with white lather.
Erotic imagery flashes before my eyes...
as I imagine unspoken acts.

But I shake them off,
and with a steady hand,
scrape away inch by erotic inch,
slowly removing her covering,
revealing soft supple skin.

As I clear I wipe,
massaging cream...
into the shaven newness.
Pubic bone smooth;
I move lower.

Looking at her;
I see the lust...
caused by breath,
and fingers,
and the danger of the blade.

Practiced swipes,
lips shorn smooth.
Cleaned...
dried...
but fresh moisture seeps;
traced with a finger,
then tasted...
always as good as the first time.

She disarms me and kneels;
face to loin,
delicate fingers peel my zipper down...
releasing me from my prison.
Only then, her intentions made clear.
And with manic eyes she says...

"Trust me."