Over the course of the next eight or so weeks, we toned things down a bit: an odd thing to say about two people who had not even kissed yet, but we did a little less eye-gazing and face-touching.
We talked more about daily things, remembering that other people existed. We went some places, but not many, since we were both homebodies at heart.
Our lives were pretty "normal", but there were fantastic moments here and there.
Every Sunday morning, I stood in the shower, over a trash can, and used electric hair clippers to shave my head and face, leaving bristle as short as I could get it, and then usually razor shaved my face.
It did not take long for her to notice the pattern, and on one Saturday night, as I was sitting at the table finishing a snack, she walked up behind me, started pushing her fingertips across my scalp and cheeks.
She brushed against the grain far more often than not, and then she said, "I want to shave you."
It was a little fantasy come true. I had always wanted an attractive woman to lovingly shave my face, but shaving my head as well was a nice bonus.
Neither of us cared too much for clothes shopping, but one of her tee dresses got ripped, so she wanted to get a new one.
I was certainly happy to go with her, but the truly delightful surprise was when she said, "You choose one."
"Me?"
She moved in front of me and looked me in the eyes. "Yeah. We both like basically the same stuff. I figure I'm dressing for you anyway. It might as well be what you want to see me wearing."
That moment was essentially what began a later practice of both of us often deciding what the other would wear every weekend, and eventually, some games of dress up.
I chose a little cotton tee dress that flared out just a little around the hips. When she spun around, it did not fly up high enough to show anything off, but it was loose enough to sway when she walked. It came to slightly lower than the mid point of her upper thigh.
I just absolutely loved when she wore her badass leather boots with it, but it worked with all of her shoes.
One day she wore it with her flats, which she always took off when she was in the apartment.
We were both sitting on the couch watching something. I was in my usual spot on the left end, and that time she was on the right end, laying against the arm, with her bare feet in my lap.
I was mindlessly playing with her feet and toes, when she drew one leg up to let it be in a different position for a while.
I thought nothing of it, at first, but I happened to glance over, and I noticed that her panties were exposed.
A little smile formed on my face and I made repeated side glances so as to not be obvious that I was looking up her dress.
I became aroused, and without realizing it, I began lightly rubbing her heel against my bulge.
A smile creeped across her face, and then she turned her head to look at me. I looked up at her a moment, then again at the white material for a second, and then back up at her.
"I can see your panties," I said with just a hint of mischief.
Her raised knee bounced sideways by just the tiniest fraction of an inch; a twitch really, as a desire to spread her legs and show me more was quickly stifled on an unconscious level.
"I can tell," she said, then playfully pushed her heel gently against the side of my bulge.
Whatever we were watching had just ended, and she swung both feet over to stand up off the couch. I watched her hips and bare thighs as she passed in front of me, moving a bit more slowly than the normally walked.
She rounded my corner of the couch, and seemed to slow a bit further. I extended a finger, and lifted the hem of her dress.
I got only a tiny flash of her front, a lot of her upper thigh, and fair amount of her nicely round bottom, before she had moved beyond my reach, causing the material to fall back into place to hide everything again.
I faced the TV again, replaying the view in my mind, and adjusted my boner.
A few seconds later, I heard the water in the kitchen turn on. She had apparently decided to wash the dishes of the previous meal.
I stood up and walked around the couch to see her standing with bare feet flat on the linoleum, which was another tremendously sexy picture, though I would not have been able to explain why.
I came up behind her, placed my hands on her hips and touch my head to the back of hers. She continued as normal handling the dishes.
I slowly moved the tips of my fingers down over the material of the dress, stopping when I had made contact with skin. She was unfazed.
I began tracing upward, the material collecting against my fingers. She did not waver.
I continued up until I felt the material of the waistband of those little white cotton panties. I secured either side between my fingers and thumbs, and then started a slow glide downward.
She inhaled suddenly, but faintly. The clink of dishes paused briefly, then continued.
Along the way down, I could feel the weak tension of the crotch caught lightly in the creases where her thighs meet her groin.
She made a very quiet sound that told me that she instinctively wanted to spread her thighs to let it release, but that she was refraining from doing so in order to maintain her façade of stoicism.
The material stretched further, making me wonder if they were going to break free at all, but then they suddenly released, causing her to inhale a bit more sharply than before.
I drew them down as far as I could reach without removing my forehead from the back of her head. They were still hidden beneath her dress, but only barely.
I release the waistband and withdrew my hands, allowing the dress to fall back into place. I traced up her hips and along where the waistband had been, bringing deliberate attention to the fact that it was no longer there.
Though not visible, she was exposed.
