Freshly Shaved Legs Quotes

I accepted the edict I was in control of my body and didn't have to adhere to societal beauty standards. I happened to like the feeling of shaved legs under fresh sheets.

Now freshly showered and fragrant with crappy soaps - soaps they had to pay extra to obtain - Hope felt great. A buzz of curious well-being vibrated through her body as she burrowed under the wolf-emblazoned quilt against Anthony's warmth, her clean hair wetting the pillowcase, his hand absently massaging her thigh, releasing cascades of bliss through her body. Her legs, freshly shaved and moisturised, felt silken against the sheets. An erotic sense of health and vitality made her hot, made her want to dance, made her smile at Anthony, at everything.

Screw this. I do not have three fake boyfriends so that not even one of them can admire my freshly shaved legs.

with fresh arms and legs and newly shaved heads mobilized from republic capitals and small villages, from factory towns and collective farms, dressed in new uniforms and thrown into the foul cauldron of new battles.

After shaving and showering and throwing on fresh jeans and a white T-shirt, I left my trailer around 8:30 p.m. and headed towards the lake trail. The setting sun was a soft fiery red and the sky was streaked with purple gashes. The surface of the lake was perfect, pinkish-silver calm glass, and as I walked down to the edge of the lake I thought of Johnny’s comment about “our bench.” With the street lights sparkling uphill to my right, and the smooth lake surface on my left, and the brushed concrete trail under me, I felt like I was approaching an intersection point in the setting Johnny had created for Vermilion Lake. It took about ten minutes to see the bench in the distance and a person sitting there. As I got closer, I saw Johnny, but she looked different. She had come to the bench straight from a late meeting with Will New, and she was dressed in a formal dark-blue business suit with jacket and knee-length skirt. She was wearing a stark-white buttoned blouse and her bare legs were slipped into black high heels. Her red hair was up in an extremely formal looking bun without a strand free. I’d not seen her with glasses the night before and she looked very scholarly. She stood up as I approached, and said, “Hi Tom,” and gave me a gentle hug. As I held her for a second against my chest I could feel her soft breasts through the layers of her suit, and the scent of her hair was beautiful, and then she stepped back and said, “Please sit down. We’ve got a lot to discuss.” The whole scene felt very different from the previous night. And from this meeting onwards I wouldn’t quite know what to make of Johnny. She was about to become a character composed of incongruous pieces, sometimes strong, sometimes fragile—almost patient-like. It was as if she had fallen apart and some force was in the process of reassembling her as a beautiful mess.