Ce qui sera, sera

Apartment booked : check.
Passports checked : check.
Flights booked : check.
Sunscreen bought: check.
Bags packed : check.
Pubes completely shaved : check.

Pubes completely shaved? You may well be thinking that seems quite out of character, Loyal Reader, and you’d be right for a couple of reasons.

I’m not usually a fan of completely shaved pubes: the aesthetic doesn’t quite work for me, and I far prefer waxing to shaving (unless I’m getting to shave a pussy, in which case I’m an A-Grade Ultra Fanboy!) So why have I completely shaved my pubes?

For the next two weeks we will be holidaying on the Northern Mediterranean coast. (Sadly some considerable distance from Cap d’Agbe. Oh well. We can but live in hope that one day …) [Ed: Who the hell does AM think would ever see that as a realistic possibility!?] The apartment my Wife chose has two bedrooms – one double, one twin – so it is inevitable that We will be sharing a bed for (as good as) only the second time in 9 months. I honestly don’t know if We can ever have sex again: I don’t know if I can ever even move back into Her bed on a full time basis – I wonder whether, after so long in separate bedrooms, it has all just got too difficult. However …

In preparation for last time We shared a bed, I contemplated how bald my bits should be. I opted for a fresh, neat, modest bikini wax. That weekend went badly. To the best of my knowledge, the state of my pubes was in no way a contributing factor, but it certainly wasn’t commented on … if even noticed. So this holiday, when my Wife has the opportunity to observe my irrepressible, daily morning-wood, every day for two weeks, it will be entirely sans fuzz.

There is a degree to which this is a bit of a bald protest. An exhibition of my frustration.

And the shaving is not insignificant either. Should We find some sort of reconciliation whilst on holiday, and should the unlikely happen and my balls end up in Her hands, I actively want Her to notice stubble. It underlines the point just a little more.

The irony, of course, is that for the first time in a very long time, the very same day I shaved all my pubes off, my Wife waxed Her legs. It’s not impossible it’s not the first time in a very long time, but it is rare that for Her to be in the house when I am not, and I have every confidence She wouldn’t pay someone else to do her legs. Why ironic?

The last time We visited Southern France was many years ago. We stayed with a friend, Celeste, at her family home. My most enduring memory is  of the day we all spent on the beach with two other of Celeste’s female friends. It is incidental that I hadn’t considered topless sunbathing was the norm in Frane at the time, and that I’d end up  accompanied by four women with their tits out, although my Girlfriend (now Wife) seemed decidedly reticent about taking Her bikini top off … though She did eventually. (I vividly remember Celeste had one of the loveliest pairs of boobs I have ever had the joy of seeing first hand.) The irony, however, lies not with mt Girlfriend’s bikin top, but rather Her bikini bottoms, as it was quite apparent to even the most fertive letcher, She was not in the habit of attending to Her bikini line.

So as we return to the Mediterranean beaches, it also seems appropriate I am paying homage to that moment in our history, in my own antithetical way.

In other holiday news …
A few weeks ago, the youngest member of the family announced to me that mummy bought an orange bra. Those weren’t the actual words, and the revelation wasn’t quite that blunt, but it still seemed immeasurably more out of character than my own genital baldness. These days my Wife only seems to wear modest, functional, black bras, a modest, functional, dark blue bra, and a modest, functional dark green bra. Orange seemed highly unlikely. I remembered hearing of the shopping trip that was being discussed, so I looked at the respective website – nothing sufficiently modest, functional, nor dark – and a couple of snoops into my Wife’s underwear draw offered no substantiating evidence. But our young herald’s story hadn’t faltered under gentle scrutiny, so with the up coming holiday, I do wonder whether there may be something I’m missing. Or maybe that’s just my relentless, self torturing optimism.

I don’t expect much from the holiday. Or not in respect of any of the above. But we shall see. If nothing else, it is my intention to be the most chilled about our usual stresses and frictions as I can possibly be. I don’t expect Our sharing of a bed to be the topic of any conversation, nor do I expect there to be anything to discuss … though I do expect to make absolutely no efforts to hide my completely shaved cock and balls from my Wife as often as possible.

6 Responses to “Ce qui sera, sera”

  1. I’m sorry that there’s been such a breakdown in your marriage relations and I hope that regardless of this you have a good holiday.

    • Oh don’t worry. It’s nothing new. When this blog started, over 6yrs and 750 posts ago, it was barely any better. The decline has been steady, but sooner or later We will hit rock bottom and my eternal naïeve optimism will finally have to pay off. Meanwhile the holiday, being twice as long as usual, will test our metle. But thanks.

  2. I wondered if the ‘bra’ could have been a bikini top? There seems to be a lot of orange in at the moment. It sounds like a difficult set of circumstances but hope that you have a good holiday regardless. I know from experience that it can be tricky to live with the not knowing when there is a distance between you. My situation was not one which could be resolved but I hope that yours is. 😊

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