Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
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   BetweenHerLegs says -

   This story, like all BetweenHerLegs stories, is a literary exploration
of sexual fantasy.  It it not intended to describe actual persons or
events, nor to condone or encourage any of these activities.  Likewise,
this and every other piece of erotica on this site should not be read by or
to minors, nor by or to anyone for whom these materials are illegal,
immoral, or ill-advised.

   Otherwise...  enjoy!

   Love and kisses,

   Jenny (ManyJennies@yahoo.com)

   *** *** *** *** *** "Daily Salvation"

   by BetweenHerLegs

   (C) Jenny Clark, 2008

   She runs her hands lightly along her gently curved calves, and around
her full, toned thighs.  Smiling weakly, she lifts her left arm and tickles
the underside of her flesh there.  Sikly smooth.  Expressionless, she lefts
her right arm and repeats the simple, teasing test.  Her armpits are the
only place she can tickle herself, but she does not giggle.  She only
remembers.

   Remembers gentle, careless caresses.  Touches more playful than
agressive, more exploratory than penetrative.  Almost childish.  But not
childish.  She remembers tickles, and flurries of little, sloppy kisses
that made her feel warm from the outside in.  Awkward, uncertain touches
tht made her feel warm from the inside out.  She remembers the innocent
delighted joy of girls.  She remembers the pure sweet exultation of women.
She remembers.

   She only remembers.

   Eyes screwed tightly shut in frustration, she runs her left hand under
the warm water and then rubs her womanhood, covering herself with the
faucet's tasteless juices.  Without even looking or checking, she knows
what must be done.  She grabs a can of chaving gel from the side of the
tub. Her grip is tight, angry.

   The top is already off the can.  She never replaces it.  That would only
frustrate her the next morning.  She squirts a little too much of the
melon-scented gel into the cupped palm of her outstretched left hand.  With
a sharp intake of breath, as if she were about to receive an injection or
take a bitter medicine, she smears the gel around the prickly foundation of
her bush, pressing it into her flesh.

   She opens her eyes and looks down to see it turning to a white foam, and
she bites her lip in anticipation.  Her eyes widen.  She bites harder and
draws blood from her lip.  She takes her razor into her right hand, scoots
and twists and props herself into position.  And then lowers the blade.

   The metal is cold.

   She gasps.

   And then slowly, gently, she strokes the cutting edge through the
protective foam.

   She struggles against the urge the throw her head back.  She watches
what she's doing carefully, through half-closed eyes.  But she's still
biting her lip.  She feels a trembling inside.  She squirms in her seat and
arches her back towards the razor.

   Each pass removes a layer of frothed gell and lifts up the hairs
underneath.  Removing the persistent return of her gentle brown forest. 
Taking away the nightly accumulation of hairs, and returning her to
pristine smoothness.

   Taking away away the years.

   And returning her to the time she always remembers.

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   Read more from Jenny about this story at:
   /~BetweenHerLegs/spoilers.html