Jack helps her, keeping her hand steady with his own steady hand, only this way after years of painting and playing the guitar.
“Sweetie,” he whispers softly. “I’ve seen a lot more than your legs, r-remember…?” he only says this when he knows he has a firmer grip on it than she does, in case his words make her blush and uncertain.
Sure enough she lets out a squeak, her hand faltering a bit as her face brightens like a red Christmas light. She ducks her head so much, her hair is shielding her face from him. “W-Well yeah! I k-know that but..it was..different…?”
It was, wasn’t it? Her exposure to him had been purely passionate; a loving gesture of trust and offering. She was at her best, she guessed, at that moment. Hairy legs are women at their worst in her mind. Men always voiced how women with hairy legs were so gross after all.
“I don’t think it’s different.” Jack admits honestly as he pulls the machine away, lifting a hand to brush her hair out of her face gently. “Katelynn… every part of you is beautiful. I don’t care if you have hairy legs, hairy underarms, of anything like that…! You’re beautiful. One hundred percent.”
Jack Maple 