To Make You Feel Like a Woman

A short story
Written for Prose Workshop 1

The mirror is dirty and there is a crack in it. I wet my fingers and rub away some of the grime. Resting both hands on the sink I move my face close to the mirror, running my tongue over my teeth. I can taste the plaque.
Coughing comes from the bedroom. I inspect the hair on my face; tilting my head up and to one side, then the other. I run my fingers across the hairs, up and down along my jaw. As I squirt shaving cream into my hand, a voice calls from the bedroom.
“John…?”
I rub the cream between my hands, spread it over my chin, and pick up my razor. The blades are dull; I keep meaning to replace them. Every day it is harder to shave without cutting myself. Filling the bowl with warm water I dip the razor in, shake it, and begin shaving on the right side of my face.
I can see in the mirror that she is standing behind me now, wearing nothing but my t-shirt. She grabs her hair with both hands and runs them through it, pulling hard so that the black bunches up on top of her head. She looks to the ceiling, then back at me. The light in the hallway is not on, but the bathroom light is enough to show the bruise under her right eye. As she steps forward towards me I can see that it has turned yellow; the same colour as my tongue. She lifts her arms ever so slightly, as if going to put them around my waist, but she doesn’t.
“Go downstairs, and make yourself some coffee.” I say, shaving the spot under my nose. She does what I say and while she is gone I finish off. I am just padding my face dry when she comes back upstairs.
“Get in the bath.” I say.
She shakes her head. I step towards her.
“Sweetheart… get in the bath.”
“After my coffee, please. It’ll go…”
“Now.”
She just stands there. Reaching up I take the mug from her hand, and take a large mouthful. Putting it down on the sink I take her by both hands and pull her into the bathroom. I look at her face, everywhere but her eyes, and brush a stray lock of hair out of her face, behind her ear. It falls back down, so I tuck it back again.
“That’s better.” I whisper.

She sits down in the bath, flinching as her backside touches the cold acrylic, and then tucks my t-shirt under her. Taking the shower head I turn it on and let the water run warm, as I step into the bath. I look down at my girlfriend. She is hugging her knees, and watching the water run down the plughole.
“You ready?” I ask her.
“Go on…”
I squat down on my haunches, and move the shower head over her legs. She tenses, and lets out a gasp.
“Too hot?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
I am kneeling, between her legs, and my jeans slowly become wet as I keep moving the shower slowly up one leg then down the other, then back again. As I do I reach down and feel her legs.
“You do need a shave, don’t you?”
“Mmm hmm.”
When her legs are wet enough I cover them in shaving cream. I examine the can. On it are words like satin feel and sensuous and to make you feel like a woman. I sniff her legs, smelling the cream.
“It smells nice…” I say.
She looks up at me. “You always say that.”
I shrug, and put the can down. “Just stay there.”
Getting out of the bath I go to the toilet and relieve myself. Leaving the toilet seat up, I take my razor from the sink and get back in the bath.
She looks at the razor. “Mine’s in the…”
“I know.” I say.
I begin. The hairs on her legs are not too long, but the bluntness of my razor makes this more difficult than it should be. I watch the white cream disappear with every long, slow stroke. I am smiling, very deliberately. I rinse the cream from my razor, and return to shaving her leg. I am almost finished her left. She says something, but I don’t hear what it is.
“What was that?” I ask, without stopping. I press slightly harder with my razor.
“Nothing,” she replies. I have finished shaving her left leg now. I run my hand slowly up her leg, up the inside, starting at her ankles and stopping in between her thighs.
“You have beautiful legs…” I tell her.
Taking one leg gently I place it to the side, spreading her legs apart. As I begin to shave her right leg I look between them, staring.
“You need a shave there, too.” I tell her.
She shifts her left leg back, slowly. I stop shaving, and look at her for a moment, before placing it back out to the side.
It is then that she begins to cry. She stares downwards, her hair over her face. I continue, trying to ignore her tears.
“I wish you wouldn’t cry,” I say. “You know I hate it…”
“Then why…?” Her sobs get deeper and heavier, choking her words.
“Sweetheart… if you keep crying, and shaking like that…” I am still shaving her, going as slowly as I can.
“Please…” she cries. “Pl…”
Suddenly there is blood.
“Now look what you fucking made me do?”
The cut is deep. I drop the shower head, and it clatters into the bath, still running. The water shoots up into the air and down onto my girlfriend, soaking my t-shirt which clings to her breasts. Her right leg, half unshaven, is covered in a mixture of white and red; the colours slowly diluting and washing away.