Author's Notes: Thanks to TPTB. And to you for clicking on this story;) Enjoy!
The Experiment
by Kristen Elizabeth
The scissors cut the long-grown hair; the razor scrapes the remnant fuzz. I stare at the forgotten boy I was. – John Updike
August 17, 1970
It should have been a fairly easy experiment. Apply shaving cream to affected area, and carefully remove excess hair with blade. Men did this every day. And he was fourteen years old now. It was time for him to do the same.
But Gil hadn't counted on the fact that the only shaving cream in the house was his mother's and smelled faintly of flowers. And that the only razors were also his mother's, dulled from use on her legs.
And he definitely hadn't anticipated how many uneven surfaces made up his face.
"Oww!" There was a prick of pain, and then a bright spot of blood appeared on his cheek, coloring the white foam.
He tried again on the other cheek with the same results.
Perhaps there was some mysterious technique. Gil didn't let himself think about his father very often, but right then he really could have used some guidance. He steeled himself and tried again.
"Son of a bitch!" A third cut dripped blood into the cleft of his chin.
There was a knock on the door. Three quick taps, followed by two spaced-out ones. His mother's signal. He was taking too long in the bathroom they shared.
He looked at his reflection in the mirror. Half of his face was covered in shaving cream, and he was trickling blood from three stinging scrapes on his skin. She knocked again; there wouldn't be a third warning. She would just come in, assuming the room was empty. Not for the first time, he wished for his own bathroom.
Gil opened the door to his mother's exasperated face. When she saw him, her eyes widened in surprise.
"Can I have some privacy?" he asked impatiently.
His mother's fingers began to fly. Gilbert Grissom, what are you doing?
"Nothing." He grabbed the door to close it again. "I'll be out soon."
She stopped the door with her foot. Why didn't you tell me you wanted to start shaving? He opened his mouth to speak, but she stopped him. Hands, please.
He rolled his eyes, but signed, It's my face.
And it's my razor that you're using to cut it up. His mother stepped into the bathroom. Did you at least use a fresh one? Without waiting for an answer, she knelt down and started looking through the bathroom cabinet.
While her back was turned, he looked at his face again. The bleeding had all but stopped. Maybe he'd even get a scar out of the deal. It just wasn't fair to have curls and girly cheeks. Like he didn't get beaten up enough for getting straight A's.
His mother straightened up, holding a fresh razor. Use this. It'll help.
She sat on the closed toilet lid and watched as her son fumbled with the razor to find the perfect angle of attack. Gil frowned when she put her hand to her mouth to hide a smile.
"Mom, you don't have to watch me," he said to her reflection in the mirror.
I just want to know what made you decide to do this.
His forehead crinkled with a frown. "You wouldn't understand."
She waited a second. "Is there a girl?" she asked out loud, her voice stilted and slow.
He nicked his neck. "Mom!!"
What's her name? his mother signed with a smile. Is it the pretty girl from the science fair? Lisa?
Clamping his hand over his fresh wound, Gil scowled. "Lisa doesn't like me."
Are you sure?
"Lisa likes someone else." He looked at his face. "He's in tenth grade."
She came up behind him. You know, she said with her hands. I bet whoever this boy is, he probably cut himself a lot when he was starting out, too. Your dad sure did.
Gil paused with the razor on his lip. "Really?"
His mother took his hand and guided the razor away. "On our first date, he cut himself so bad, he had to wear three band-aids."
"So, are you saying no one ever gets the hang of it?"
Still guiding him, she helped him move the blade down an untouched section of shaving cream, removing the light layer of peach fuzz. "You're a smart boy," she told him. "You can do anything."
There was still so much of his face left, and he was already bored. This experiment had definitely failed.
Mom, he signed. I think I'll just grow a beard.
Thirty-six years later, he re-visited the experiment with one very delicious variable…and found a whole new set of results.
Sara swirled the razor in the foamy water. "And we're done," she announced.
Grissom ran his hands down his smooth cheeks. "Should I wonder if you've had practice at this?"
"I've never shaved a face before." She wiped the blade on a clean towel. "But I have been shaving my legs for the past twenty something years. Your chin has nothing on my knees." She swung her leg over his and settled down onto his lap. "Although it is a very cute chin."
He looked up at the ceiling as she kissed it, lightly dipping her tongue into the crease. "And you have very cute knees."
Sara moved her lips up to his. "Anytime you feel like tackling them…" she said between kisses. "…be my guest. I sometimes wish I'd never started shaving."
"Why did you?" he asked.
"Oh…" She closed her eyes when he kissed her neck. "I'm sure it was for some boy." Sara leaned back when he started laughing. "What?"
Grissom shook his head. "Nothing. I just like finding out new things about you."
She stroked his cheek with her thumb. "I like that you trust me." Their gazes met and locked. "Thank you."
"You make me feel fourteen again. So thank you."
"I would have loved to have seen you at fourteen," Sara said with a smile. "I bet you were ador…" She stopped when she saw the arch of his eyebrow. "Handsome," she changed her mind. "Manly and handsome."
He pointed to a place on his cheek. "And I have the scars to prove it."
Sara obliged him, and kissed the unblemished spot. "I love a bad boy."
Fin