(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.
