#kenneth carson

Ken had you laid out on the bed like you were the most precious thing in all of Barbieland and beyond. Since moving to the real world, he had discovered something he loved even more than 'beach' and horses: that was, going down on you. On this occasion, his hands— big and warm as ever— were hooked into the waistband of your pants, ready to pull them down in one dramatic flourish. He didn't care what you were wearing on top; in fact, he left you fully-clothed above the waist, and completely nude below, oftentimes. All he cared about was getting between your thighs and making you squirm for as long as he was allowed.

He was already whispering sweetly, trembling slightly as he wrestled your jeans from your legs and threw them over his shoulder. “I’m gonna worship you so good, baby.” He began to pull your panties down, expecting to see the usual sight of bush that he loved so much (being unable to grow pubic hair, himself, he was infatuated with yours), but was confused to find nothing but soft skin. He pulled your panties down further and further, thinking you'd perhaps just trimmed a little lower, or he'd misremembered how far down it started. Ken furrowed his brows, confused and frustrated that something was afoot, and yanked your panties all the way down to your ankles. He gasped in horror, hands flying to his mouth. His eyes remained wide, disbelieving, as he lowered his hands back down to your thighs. “Uhhh… babe?” His voice cracked. “Where is your lovely bush, please?” You propped yourself up on your elbows and blinked. “Huh?” He rubbed a thumb tentatively over the mound, as if the missing hair would magically reappear. “Your beautiful little bush, babe! It’s... it’s all naked!” You stared down, puzzled, then realised. “Oh,” you let out a small laugh. “Yeah, I shaved. I thought you’d like it. Y’know… kind of a summery situation?”

Ken sat back on his heels, looking absolutely devastated. “You… you shaved it?” he repeated back. “For... summer?” His eyes began to glisten, his lip wobbling, then he flopped face-forward onto the bed, crying softly. The smile fell off your face: he looked like he was going through the seven stages of grief really quickly. “Baby, nooo!” You cooed, sitting up quickly and closing your legs to prevent him from being reminded of the tragedy. "It's ok, Ken!" You rubbed soothing circles on his muscular back, still clad in his denim vest. “But— but I love your bush,” he cried out, a single tear rolling down his rosy cheek. “It was so… so you! Like a welcome mat, guarding the happiest place in the world! And now it’s just— gone.” He looked so genuinely heartbroken you almost felt bad for the smile that crept onto your face: you fought hard to suppress it, and half-succeeded, offering a sympathetic grimace. “Awww, Ken, c'mon,” you reached down, rolling him over (he limply allowed you) and cupping his face, thumbs wiping away his hot tears. “Baby, it’ll grow back! Give it a few weeks and—" "A few weeks!?" Ken wailed, alarmed. He began to sob dramatically, rolling over to bury his face in the covers again. "Maybe less!" You negotiated, rubbing his back with increasing rigour. "It'll be back and I'll never shave again, I promise!"