Bush or shaved?

The question hangs in the air like a dare. She stands at the edge of the frame, one hip tilted, fingers hooked in the waistband of cotton underwear, letting you decide where your eyes land first.

Both options present themselves across the gallery — full dark curls against pale skin, then the clean bare curve of someone else, smooth and deliberate, catching light differently, demanding a different kind of attention.

You scroll slowly. Your preference sharpens into something specific. The debate stops being abstract the moment you realize your answer is already written in exactly where you keep pausing.