She's a vision of contrast, her body a landscape of smooth and hairy, pale and shadowed. The razor in her hand is her paintbrush, the foam her canvas. She starts at her ankles, the blade tickling her skin as she drags it upwards, revealing smooth, unblemished thighs. Her calves follow, the razor's edge gliding over her muscles. She leans back, letting the water lap at her belly as she shaves her armpits, the razor's edge catching the light, her nipples hardening in the cool air.