I need to learn how to use a straight razor.

See, sometimes, my subconscious likes to pop up and punch me in the face with an image I hadn’t even realized was hot yet. Then, I dream, and the image won’t leave my brain for days.

About two or three days ago, I had one of those dreams. It had quite a few warm and fuzzies at the beginning, as it feature a lovely boy I know, but sadly haven’t gotten to see in a while. But this is me, and most of the dreams I remember either turn weird, or sexy. This one was a little bit of both.

The set up of the dream didn’t make much sense, but it was awesome. I was sharing a house with a ton of hot people, and one of them decided he wanted me to help him remove all his body hair.

Now, in real life, while I’m no expert, I’m fairly good at waxing. I’ve waxed my own face, I’ve waxed my sister’s back hair, and if you give me some wax, linen, and a tongue depressor, I’m pretty sure I can remove all the hair from your body. I’ve gotten waxed enough, watched enough people get waxed and hung out with enough aestheticians to have a good grasp of the basics.

But in my dream, instead of waxing this strapping young man, I chose to use a straight razor,

Oddly, all the ritual around straight razor shaving was gone. No honing the blade, stropping, lathering up the foam and applying it with one of those great little brushes…none of that. Very weird, because all those things appeal to me while awake.

But in my dream, I just pulled out an ivory handled straight razor, and started at his ankles, slow scraping the hair away. He reclining on a velvet fainting couch, so I had room to move him around, to maneuver him and get every hair I could find.

I slowly worked my way up, feet, calves, thighs…and then I started on his crotch. My brain fuzzed over most of this part, as I don’t really know the practicalities of shaving one’s balls (though I do love what shaving does to a man’s balls…guys, really, just once in your life, if you shave NOTHING else, shave your balls.) but I know at that point, when I had finished removing the hair around his cock and moved to his balls, was when I could see fear just begin creeping into his eyes. I suppose there isn’t much subtly when it comes to a razor to the balls.

After his balls were done, I had him turn onto his knees, spreading his ass cheeks with his face pressed into the divan, and I carefully shaved his ass, ever so slowly and ever so gently. When I was finished, he turned back over, and I straddled his thighs and the couch and started to work on his chest.

I was intent on my work, not looking at his face, but I could feel him trying to breath slowly, trying not to startle me or upset my hand. I was slow and precise, examining my work as I finished, running my fingers al over him to find any stray hairs.

I slid the blade over his collar bone, dipping into that lovely hollow, and all I remember thinking was that that hollow was the one I used to incise at the funeral home to reach the carrotid and jugular. I ran the blade over that hollow with one hand, and stroked his face with the other, bypassing his face and throat to start on his shoulder, upper arms, and the axillary area. Here again, I couldn’t help thinking of all the veins and arteries hidden away below the skin. I always loved the axillary artery – it was the one I could find fastest and work with the best.

As I worked my way down his arms, I became a little more playful, running the blade over the freshly bared skin, or putting just enough pressure on it to hitch his breath.

Finally, I scraped away the last bit of hair on his hand. I had my lovely young man sit up, and I knelt over him, straddling his thighs (look, it was a dream, so it worked, ok?) and I tilted his head back, exposing his throat to my razor. Oooh, this was by far my favourite part of the dream.

While I haven’t had the pleasure of actually shaving a man’s face, it seems both intimate and powerful at the same time. I’ve always been fascinated with men shaving. I used to follow Franklin in the bathroom and watch him shave in the morning, and I would just watch, fascinated.

In my dream, it was amazing. Watching the play of muscles under skin as the blade slid over his throat, half lidded eyes as I shaved his cheeks…oooh, it was very yummy. Very very yummy.

All I remember of the dream after that was tossing the blade away and kissing the boy, and it was sweet, wonderful and hot.

And, of course, that was when my phone rang. Stupid phone.

But good god, I have to do this. I need to learn to use a straight razor.