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Which is when my legs start to itch.
With a growl, I wipe all the melted-looking hair from my legs and wash myself all over with a thoroughness an OCD sufferer would be proud of.
Soon, no sign of the cream remains.
I look down.
Things are angrily red, like I’m some animal in heat.
There goes feeling sexy.
Also, there’s a strange sensation on the side of my forehead.
More specifically, the right eyebrow region.
A burning sensation.
No. Can’t be.
Toweling off in a rush, I leap for the mirror.
Crap! There’s a glob of hair removal cream on my right eyebrow.
Did I scratch an itch there without realizing? Or did the cream splatter when I battled the fly?
Either way, I frantically wipe the cream off—and most of my eyebrow goes with it.
I wash my face thoroughly and make sure there’s no cream lurking somewhere else—like my scalp or my eyelashes.
Nope. Just lost the pubes, leg hair, and an eyebrow.
In the mirror, my remaining eyebrow makes my expression seem equal parts curious, suspicious, and skeptical despite the fact that I’m feeling none of those things, just shame.
Getting my makeup kit, I try drawing the eyebrow back.
The result is acceptable enough for a teleconference, but if I want to see people face to face, I might have to sacrifice the other eyebrow and draw both.
I’m too traumatized to test anything now, so I spend the rest of the day integrating the handwritten test cases into my electronic list, then expanding the document to accommodate all the diverse contents of the suitcase. I also make sure the resulting document will automatically back up to the cloud. The last thing I want is to go through the testing, only to lose the documentation thanks to a busted hard drive and have to start over again.
It’s happened to me once, and it was the worst feeling imaginable.
By the time I head to bed, the redness from the hair removal debacle has subsided, and as my head hits the pillow, I feel a stirring of excitement for the day ahead.
I never thought I’d have such concrete plans to play with myself or that I’d get paid for it, but here we are.
The thought of work brings to mind X-rated images featuring a certain someone’s intense blue eyes and stern mouth.
I fight the sudden urge to reach down and explore the newly bare skin near my clit. My orgasms belong to the project at the moment.
With a sigh, I hug my pillow and drift off to sleep.
Chapter Five
In the morning, I feed Monkey and check my work email as I eat an omelet.
“You better be good.” I jokingly frown at my guinea pig as I collect my work laptop, work phone, and the suitcase. “I’m about to spank the monkey.”
She looks at me with a blank expression.
