It's a just a spot.
A small spot, on the back of my neck.
The slight touch, like a warm hug or a quick moment of clear mind; to be lost in the feeling of it.
A tingling sensation of feeling.
She isn't terribly pretty, and has no idea or intentions. She lowers my head back, reclined and relaxed. A surge of water, and soapy fingers through my hair; a firm tousle with a towel, as if for a thorough finality of that aimless frivolity.
To the chair.
Her hands are skilled and carefully attentive. Not a thing out of place, that's the plan. Asking, making sure it's ok. With a plan of attack and a mutual understanding of what's to be done, we talk.
Meaningless awkward talk.
It's coming. I twitch at the anticipation of it's warm steel purpose.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
My neck is warm, and slightly tingling. Am I blushing? Better than blood flowing anywhere else, cause it only really is meant for the feeling of my nerves. Almost nothing else to read into it.
But, oh; that feeling!
I'm lost in the feeling of it.
...
"Hey! How does that look?"
She's asking. Where was I again?
It looks good.
"That'll be Fifteen, John*."
Great, thanks.
See you next month, I tell her.
I think I'm still blushing.