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I feel the sharp pang of disappointment as I realize that my own psyche has left me stranded on the floor, bereft of the means and energy to scale the soaring walls of delight that I was so close to conquering moments ago. I weaken as the rush of passion ebbs and the soft focus of arousal fades, replaced by the harsh glare of the fluorescent bulb above me and the coarse rub of the nylon rug beneath me. Also, I sadly conclude that my pubic artwork has fallen short of the erotic masterpiece I was aiming for. I sit embarrassed and exposed in front of the mirror, the missed hairs suddenly more prominent and seeming to grow like grass in time-lapse while I watch. I am concerned about what he will think and say when he comes back from his trip. By then, sharp little twigs will be sprouting throughout my nether region and I will be scratching myself to relieve the constant accompanying itch. ?What were you thinking?? I chastise myself and scowl at the cloak that my clit has nervously slunk back into. ?Carpe diem indeed.? With a start, I stand and stride to my room where I quickly open multiple drawers of my dresser and pick out the components of an outfit that will suffice for the rest of the afternoon. I step into a pair of opaque blue panties and am reminded by the grating fabric that my depilatory maneuvers were inadequate to the task. I place my breasts into the cups of a front-clasping matching bra and quickly evaluate the ensemble before sitting on the bed to pull my blue jeans up my legs and past my knees. Standing up, I wriggle the jeans over my thighs and then jump a little to secure them around my hips at which time I close the dull gold buttons that run up the front seam and serve as the first line of defense to my sex. Quickly, I pull a gray sweatshirt stenciled with navy blue ?Grand Canyon? lettering over my head and wrench it down to my waist. I tug a pair of light wool socks over my feet and patter over to the hallway where my ten pairs of boots and sneakers lay randomly strewn across the floor of the closet. Pondering the sight, I reach down and rescue my favorite pale gray light hiking boots from the chaos, pull them on and lace them up. I grab my keys, strap on a waist purse, flick off the lights and walk out of the apartment. I listen for the reassuring click when I turn the two deadbolts after I close the door. I walk to the elevator, my Vibram soles padding silently on the thin mottled blue runner that stretches along the middle of the scratched parquet floor of the hallway. I press the ?down? button and notice as it goes from white to red and then back to white when the ?ping? announcing the cab?s arrival breaks the musty quiet bahis siteleri around me. Pausing for effect, the elevator doors finally glide open and I glance in and see three other people. I make a quick assessment as I step into the cab and mutter a soft, ?Hi?. Two men and a woman. The men are friends. Not boyfriends, I don?t think. Buddies. Perhaps roommates. They are clearly going out to enjoy the afternoon. One is cute; tall with sharp Grecian facial features and dark tightly curled hair. He shoots me a look, instantly surveys me and with an appreciative smile returns my greeting with a soundless whisper. The other man is less attractive. He is softer all over and has the look of a person who considers themself ordinary. He exudes a lack of self-confidence and does not even bother to regard me. Do they know her? It is hard to say because they aren?t talking amongst each other. But, if they don?t I bet they wish they did because she is stunning. Even my momentary glance is sufficient to see that she is beautiful: close-cropped blonde hair, high cheekbones, blue eyes, pouty lips and a killer body. She is a goddess and I hate her without knowing her. Yet, I am instantly attracted to her and though I have never been with a woman I feel an immediate and pleasantly familiar tingle in my breasts. I swiftly realize that she actually is of this world. She is going to the laundry and I dully remember that I too need to spend some quality time in that room, wrapped in its mesmerizing bubble of heat while I listen to the monotonous whir that pervades the space. The thought depresses me. I dutifully turn to face the door and raise my head to watch the numbers decline in time with the movement of the elevator. When we reach the ground floor I step out first and glance back and see the woman press the button to go to the basement as the two men step out after me. I hear one of them burst out in laughter and I wonder if there is something about me that has caused amusement. Am I trailing toilet paper from a shoe? Do I have a hole in my jeans? Does my ass look big? I pick up my pace and move away from the guffawing behind me. I walk past the doorman who has moved to open the door, step out onto the sidewalk and walk away. I turn back and, with relief, see the men striding in the opposite direction. Relaxing, I finally take in a deep breath and look up at the sky. Spring, with its mercurial temper, is here. The sun is fighting heavy clouds and the air is crisp yet heavy with moisture. I shiver. The day is undecided about its future and I know that I have risked being caught in a downpour if the grey marshmallows coalescing above the city begin canlı bahis siteleri to weep. Thankfully, it is just a few blocks to my destination. I skitter down the street past the familiar shops, weaving my way through the mass of people who are going about their business. I reach the shop and peer inside to see that there are no other patrons in the small public space. I open the door and hear the jingle announcing my arrival to the proprietor who is hidden in a back room. I venture in and my nostrils are assaulted by the smell of acetone that permeates the close quarters of the shop. ?Just a second.? an accented voice calls out. As she steps into the front area of the store, the owner looks me over and says ?I thought I put out ?closed? sign. I taking late lunch break.? I think to myself that she is from Eastern Europe or Russia but I am not sure. ?I?m so sorry.? I reply. ?I can come back later.? ?No, is okay. You stay. I turn sign now.? And she walks past me to the door and flips the worn cardboard sign from ?open? to ?closed? and, I notice, flips the lock on the door. It is my turn to look at her. She is an attractive woman who I think is about the same age as me and is blessed with silky shoulder-length black hair that shines as though it were recently burnished. Her look is exotic; piercing gray eyes centered in sockets that approach oval and wide cheekbones that seem to stretch her round face. She is tall and her broad chest enables her to transport the ample pair of breasts that bounce beneath her loose t-shirt when she walks. She is wearing a short skirt with sheer leggings that accentuate her firm and muscular thighs. She has the appearance of an athlete and carries herself with authority. ?So,? she says turning to look at me, ?How can I help you?? I feel myself blush as I point to the sign with her services and say ?I would like to get that.? ?Yes?? she questions. ?Is first time?? she continues and I nod my assent realizing the rush of blood to my cheeks has not faded. ?Come to back.? she says and sweeps her arm towards the room that lies hidden behind some floor length curtains. ?Look at book.? I follow her to the cramped space behind the curtains and sit in the chair that rests besides the elevated leather and towel covered board that I will soon find myself on. She hands me a photo album and then stands back against the wall and begins to prepare the materials that she will need for the procedure. I open the cover of the album and feel a trill of excitement run through my body. I do a quick flip through the pages astounded at the variety, the shapes, the sizes, the designs that stare back at me. I turn back to canlı bahis the first page as I feel myself moisten and realize my nipples have swelled. Pussies. I am looking at a book of pussies. Adorning each one is a work of art minimally comprised of shaven and sculpted pubic hair. The variety astounds me. Of course, there are the designs I had expected to see, the familiar patterns ubiquitous in porn movies or occasionally glimpsed in the public shower at the gym. With a hand covering my open mouth, I read the titles beneath the photos: landing strip, triangle, flame, departing sea, rated x. I turn the pages and see arrows, lightning bolts, diamonds, beards, moustaches, cityscapes, faces, initials, chevrons and jeweled labia beneath thin lines of hair. The assortment seems endless. I imagine myself sporting each design as I gaze at a photo. I am strutting into a room with just a t-shirt covering my jiggling breasts while my lithe legs draw attention to the small fluffy cone sprouting from the very top of my pussy. I am laying on my back looking down as a man?s tongue works its way along my thigh to the open pit that rests beneath the slim pointed arrow of closely cropped turf that points to my engorged button. I am lowering my totally naked twat onto the gleaming head of a massive erection that is swelling as my open lips begin to engulf it. I am trailing my fingers along the razor trimmed edge of an open half-moon that cloaks my mound as I squeeze the balls of a cock that I ride with my back to my lover. ?So, what will it be?? she asks interrupting the thoughts that have caused my breath to deepen and my senses to heighten. ?Do you see something you like?? ?There are so many to choose from,? I reply amazed. ?I thought I would just get everything taken off but now I?m not sure. Do you mind if I ask which one you have?? She looks at me with raised eyebrows and a smirk and I feel sure that I am about to get a sharp rebuke and a lecture that I should mind my own business. But, instead, she continues to stare me straight in the eye as she walks over to me and stops. She is practically on top of me. I turn the book around to let her point out the design she sports. ?See for yourself,? she says and lifts the front of her skirt with her hands. I almost drop the book of photos from the shock of her brazenness and I hear her give a snort of derision at my reaction. I struggle yet manage to maintain my composure and, realizing that she wears stockings and not leggings, stare at the manicured flesh that rests inches from my face, commanding my attention. As the jolt of surprise eases I am able to examine the display with an appreciative eye. Tipped by black nails that are flecked with gold her ten slender fingers are holding the hem of her skirt bunched like a curtain above a landscape of skin and hair as meticulously worked and cared for as the trimmed shrubs of a royal castle.