Above the Knee

**A Piece of Fiction I've created at Lesley. I welcome your comments and critiques..** 

Mama said, “Never Shave above the knee.”

She taught me to prop my foot up against the hot faucet. Smooth the cool foam down wet calves. Hold the razor gentle in the dominant hand. Start at the base of the leg just above the anklebone on the side of the leg. Start by gliding the razor gently up the leg above the anklebone. Rinse the razor well every two inches. Don’t press too lightly. Don’t press too hard. You will get cut. Start at the bottom after each uphill journey, and work back to the top. Run your hand up to check your work.

Mama said, “Never shave above the knee.”

I shaved above the knee because I wanted him to touch me there, to slide calloused palms up my legs. I wanted him to marvel at the silky firmness. Be completed to rise his hand towards the dripping wet there.

Mama said, “good girls don’t shave above the knee.”

He said if I shaved there he would duck his dark head between my tights—promised me sensations I’d never felt before. Promised he’d snake his tongue into virgin wetness.

Mamma said, “only sluts shave about the knee.”

I shave above the knee now to hide the fact I once did The hair there is no longer soft and pale like the hair on my forearm used to be when I was young. Mamma sees my legs in the summer time, when bathing suit bottoms replace pants and jeans. Dark stubble looks out of place in the summer time.

Mamma said, “Don’t lie, girl, you’ve been shaving above the knee.”

He inspects my work each morning, pulling me on the bed, running hands up damp calves and sticky thighs. The satisfied groan he makes deeps in his chest when he feels no hair pleases me. I shave to make him sound like that each morning.

Mamma said, “If you shave above the knee, you’re gonna get cut.”

I can’t shave above the knee now. The baby in my belly blocks my view. I ask my best friend to come over and do it for me. He doesn’t seem to notice. He leaves each day before I wake. He works long hours to provide for the baby we’re too young to have. He comes home late at night, curling around my enormous belly and sleeps.

Mamma said, “Girl, you better shave above that knee.”

He never used to shave for me. I’d lace my fingers through the thick, erotic tangles on his chest as I fell asleep. I ignored the devilish vines encircling his thorn, and cried out in pleasure-pain when he rubbed day’s old growth into my neck.

He comes home, later than usual. Curls up far from me. The baby has just fallen asleep. Tired. I turn towards him. Wanting. Needing. Lonely. My face meets bare chest. Smooth cheek settles into the crook of my neck. Strange perfume settling in his dark hair. Naked tears wet my pillow as I turn away.

Mamma said, “Girl, you shoulda never shaved above the knee.”