fifteen || leslie's hairy legs

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Lying on her back in Greg’s bed with her hands folded over her stomach, Leslie watched with satisfaction as the clock hands slowly ticked round, eking out every second of her lie-in. Greg was snoring. It was only seven. She could lounge in bed for at least another hour before she had to get up for something to eat, maybe a quick shower before work. She rubbed her calves together, the hairs prickling her skin: definitely a quick shower before work. Every now and then she alternated between wearing a skirt and trousers. The past few days had been trousers but they were now in the washing machine, sitting in a damp pile awaiting the move to the dryer. She only had the skirt she had worn the day before and her tights were in no shape to be worn again. She enjoyed the freedom that a skirt afforded her but she wasn’t keen on having to shave her legs on a Tuesday morning.

“It can wait,” she muttered to herself, rolling onto her side for an extra forty winks, snaking her arm around Greg’s warm body. He snorted, shuffling closer to her in his sleep.

She took fifty. Maybe even sixty. By the time her alarm broke through her sleep, the seventh time it had rung, she had all of fifteen minutes to get to her car. Factor in the run to her flat, where it was parked, she was very pressed for time indeed. Once she fully comprehended how stretched for time she was, rubbing her bleary eyes and finding her clothes, she looked down at her legs. “Shit,” she muttered, analysing her reflection in the mirror as she hoisted up her skirt. Staying at Greg’s on a weekday perhaps wasn’t the best idea, especially when she’d had no preparation. Yesterday’s clothes were passable for a second day, but her legs weren’t.

“You’re up?” Greg rolled over, his cheek lined from the pillowcase.

“It’s quarter past eight.”

Shit!” He scrambled out of bed, stark naked, and grabbed the first pair of boxers he laid eyes on, ignoring the convenient hole. Leslie followed, taking a pair for herself. Loose and surprisingly comfortable, she hoisted them up high.

“You don’t happen to have any tights, do you?” she asked as he pulled on a shirt.

“Tights? Why would I have tights?”

“I don’t know, in case Jas left any?”

Greg shook his head, fumbling to do up his cuffs before he stuck out his wrists to Leslie for her to fasten the buttons. “Jas never stays here. Just the kids.”


“Why do you need tights?”

“I haven’t shaved.” She stuck out one leg as she ran a brush through her hair.

“I kind of need to. I can’t exactly go in with foresty pins.”


“I work in a sexy shop. It’s all about embracing womanhood and sensuality and femininity and whatnot.”

“And women have hairy legs,” Greg said, sitting down to pull on his socks. “You could say that shaving is denying your true self.”

“Or it’s about looking good.” She gave him an odd look, rooting through the cupboard in his en-suite for deodorant. He shrugged.

“Who gives a flying fuck if you haven’t shaved? I think you look amazing.” At risk of wasting time, he stood and pulled her to him for a kiss. He bit her lip. “Very sexy.”

She laughed, allowing him one kiss before she put her hands on his chest and pushed him away. “I have to go.”


“My car’s at home. I’m going to be late.”

“I’ll take you in. Stay, just a few minutes.”

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