Date: Sat, 31 Aug 2013 21:04:24 -0700
From: Alex P <alexp336@gmail.com>
Subject: A Closer Shave

Yes, I know, this isn't a new part of Jockboy Auction. Please don't
shout at me. Sometimes a story idea just comes along and you need to
jump on it; the good news is that writing this one seemingly broke my
dry spell, and I'm now almost all the way through a new part of
Jockboy Auction. That should be up soon(ish).

Huge thanks to Daniel and Andrew for their editing help on this one!

As ever, comments eagerly welcomed at alexp336@gmail.com. You can find
more smut at http://dirtyanon.tumblr.com/ which is also where I'll be
flagging up a new part of Jockboy when that's ready.

Enjoy!

A.

============

**** A Closer Shave ****


"I wouldn't let that fag anywhere near my junk." Darren sat back in
his chair, scratched under his cap expansively with both hands.

Tommy looked around nervously. Darren had a loud voice and there were
several people from the swim team around in the cafeteria. He had
begun to suspect that, much like Tommy himself, Darren was nervous
about starting up at college - new place, new people; in short all the
usual anxieties that nonetheless proved terrifying to various degrees
for each year's fresh intake - but his friend's habit of blustering
through one's nerves by playing the cocky idiot was very different
from his own tendency to try to blend into the background. The last
thing he needed was to be labeled homophobic too.

"It's not gay, dude" he tried to explain, for a third time. "It's swim
team stuff. It's just the way it is." He could see, from the
expression on Darren's face, that he still wasn't convinced.

To be truthful, Tommy wasn't entirely convinced either, but the
mortification at the first swim team meet had been so complete that
he'd do pretty much anything to avoid it again. One of the things he
was fast realizing he'd relied on considerably in high school was the
class bell, and without its regular punctuation, he had already lost a
sense of time on several occasions and had been late as a result.

One such incident had been the previous day: Tommy losing track of
time while in the library and only looking up at the clock to find he
had just minutes to make it across campus, get changed, and be
poolside for the first session of the semester. Breathless and red
faced, he'd thrown his stuff into the nearest empty locker, hopped
awkwardly into his suit, and dashed to join the loose crowd waiting
for the coach (who had himself, with irony Tommy probably should had
expected, been fifteen minutes late).

If he'd noticed the looks from the other guys, he'd put them down to
discretely checking out the new people on the team, trying to get an
early measure on who might stick things out and who would fall by the
wayside in the first couple of weeks. Tommy's own swim history had
involved being in the top few competitors from his high school club,
though the whole thing was taken a little less seriously than at
college.

Still, he'd been told he had enough talent - albeit raw - to carry him
over, and while he wasn't on a sports scholarship, there had been
mutterings of "making a name" for himself if he could figure the
balance between academic and swimming obligations.

Tommy had even dared to wonder whether, when one of the older guys
from the team pulled him aside at the end of practice, some of that
raw, name-making talent might already have been spotted. The truth was
altogether more cringe worthy.

"Dude, you need to do something about your stuff," the guy had told
him, half a grin just showing. Tommy frowned.

"Did I take someone else's locker?" He supposed that was all too
possible, given his hurry to get to practice.

The older guy frowned a little, shook his head. That tease of a smile
was still there. "Look, it's Tommy, right?" Tommy nodded. "Well, you
gotta, y'know, sort out what's going on around your junk, Tommy. I
mean, like, the hair and all."

Tommy involuntarily looked down. He could feel the hot flush already
spreading across his cheeks. Sure enough, there was a fair amount of
dark hair around his crotch, not all of it contained by the blue and
gold fabric of his high school Speedo. Not a ridiculous amount - he
was 18, not a gorilla - but, he suddenly began to realize, certainly a
lot more than he'd seen on any other guy that afternoon.

"I..." He wasn't sure what to say, desperately willing the blush to
fade, and fighting the urge to cover his groin with his hands.

Perhaps the obvious embarrassment was what made the guy take pity on
him. The smile seemed more genuine, at least, and he winked
conspiratorially. "Look, didn't you have to `fix' things down there at
your high school team?" Tommy shook his head. "Jeez, okay. Well, you
need to start trimming and maybe even shaving some of that stuff up,
okay? Nobody wants to see that when you're in competitions."

Trimming? Shaving? Tommy was mentally scratching his head at the
thought of the mechanics involved - do you use the same razor as for
your face? How on earth would you angle the mirror so you'd get a good
view? What if - heaven forbid - you cut yourself?

The confusion must've been just as evident as the embarrassment.
"Okay," the guy told him, "go talk to Andrews. He's our 'resident
expert' on this stuff, he can sort you out." He made the quote marks
around "resident expert" with his fingers.

"Andrews. Right." Tommy was down to single-word sentences.

"Andrews is a good guy, he'll sort you." He put a comradely hand on
Tommy's shoulder. "Part of being a dude, my friend. Don't stress it."

Tommy hadn't had to ask who Andrews was, at least. The 20 year old had
already been pointed out, as the guy to beat - or just aspire to - by
the assistant coach in the session before. Tall, blonde, and
grinningly confident by the pool, he took the compliment with
self-deprecating good humor.

He was also, Tommy had discovered, maybe the best-known gay guy on
campus. Out gay guy, at least. As schools went, it was a liberal one,
so supposedly Andrews - whose first name was something else, Tommy
assumed, but hadn't yet discovered it since everyone referred to
Andrews as, well, Andrews - hadn't had too tough a time of things
opening up about his orientation.

A quick, sharp wit helped, too, and the few guys who had thought it
advantageous to verbally bash him had swiftly lost all cred as they
discovered he could give it back just as readily as he could take it.
Meanwhile, Andrews had a cousin on the football team, and while the
two weren't especially close, it had been made quietly clear that
anyone messing on a more physical level with his gay relative would
have a not-inconsiderable amount of angry linebacker to contend with
too.

So, Tommy was really hoping that nobody around would overhear Darren's
idle teenage trash-talk and relay it to Andrews or any of his numerous
friends, since he could really do without getting into trouble in his
first week. Still cringing from the advice he'd been given, he'd
turned to Darren and told him the whole, awful story, only to have his
friend focus entirely on the fact that Andrews was gay.

Was that an issue? To Tommy, the pressing concern was more about
finding a time when Andrews was alone - God, imagine asking for help
with an audience! - and figuring out the best way to phrase the
matter. "My junk is hairy... help!" sprang to mind, but hardly seemed
appropriate.

Nonetheless, he was on a deadline - it was Friday, and the next swim
meet was Monday - which meant he needed to act fast. And, since
Andrews probably lived off-campus, that really meant acting today,
unless he wanted to spend all weekend worrying about finding some
opportunity on Monday. And he really, really didn't.

Glancing up at the clock, he realized he was meant - according to the
crumpled timetable in his pocket - to be in the library. Darren had
math (was the fear of being labeled a "geek" another reason for the
unnecessarily ramped-up attitude? Tommy wasn't sure) and so they split
up in the corridor.

For a quiet guy, the library was a good space, and Tommy was glad it
was near empty so he could distract himself with a physics textbook.
If Darren was quietly nervous about being branded a geek, then he'd
probably find Tommy waiting there already: he sure did love his
science.

By the time he looked up (a chapter ahead of the required reading the
new class had groaned about), he realized the population of the
library had changed around him while he'd been engrossed. Just about
everyone was a stranger, mind, though he thought he recognized a
couple of the girls talking quietly at a table across the room.

Then he saw, standing up from among the hushed whispers, Andrews -
grin still fixed to his face, eyes rolling at some final joke. The
older guy waved goodbye to the girls and walked across to a desk just
a couple away from where Tommy was sitting. A desk, it dawned on
Tommy, that Andrews had to himself in perfect privacy.

He stood up, winced at the screech of chair on wooden floor, and
picked his way through the other seats until he was standing in front
of the other guy, by now looking down at his own array of spread
books.

"Um..." Tommy started, tongue-tied a moment. "Um, Andrews?"

Andrews looked up at him, one finger still pressing lightly at the
point he was up to in his textbook. "Hey."

Tommy winced again, without being able to stop himself. "Um, Tommy. I
mean, I'm Tommy."

Andrews smiled, patiently. "Okay, Tommy, it's good to meet you." He
squinted a little. "Aren't you on the swim team?" Tommy nodded.

"Well, hopefully... I mean, my times in backstroke are pretty good,
and my turns are getting better, but I still have trouble with
butterfly and... oh, sorry." He petered out as it dawned on him that
he'd been rambling. Andrews still had that patient smile, though, he
noticed.

"So what can I do for you, Tommy from the swim team with the butterfly
he's still working on?"

Don't blush. Don't blush. For Gods' sakes, don't blush.

"Yeah, well, I kinda need some help, and someone told me you were the
best person to ask."

Andrews frowned a little, but then his face un-creased and he gave
that same self-deprecating grin Tommy had seen by the pool.

"Oh, right... Well, you shouldn't believe everything Coach Ableton
says, Tommy. If you need help with that butterfly stroke, he's the
best person to ask about it, not me."

Oh jeez, why did this have to be so awkward.

"Um... no, it's not really that," Tommy stuttered. He swallowed,
throat feeling tight. "It's more about something kinda, well,
personal. About... I dunno, trimming for competitions."

Andrews looked confused again. "Trimming for competitions...?" he echoed.

"Yeah, I mean..." Tommy choked out, "trimming your... I mean, down
around... around your... y'know, your suit and where... um..."

Dawning understanding. Andrews smile got broader and nodded a little.
"Ah, okay, keeping your junk tidy, right?"

Tommy nodded, relief at being understood butting up against the sheer,
near-physically-painful embarrassment of the topic.

"And someone told you to talk to me about that?"

Tommy nodded again. A wry edge crept into Andrews' expression.

"Of course they did. Well, I guess I'm your man. How can I help you,
butterfly-stroke Tommy?"

He gulped. Did he really have to spell it all out, in excruciating detail?

"I just... I mean I've never..." Andrews was being patient, but not
exactly jumping in and helping. Tommy gulped again, screwed up his
courage. "Could you, y'know, help me out... with the shaving and
stuff, I mean."

Andrews stared at him, motionless for a moment, then seemed to jerk
into life again. "Sure, no problem at all. When do you need to...?"

Tommy looked at the clock. Just another couple of hours left of the
day. Even knowing he would have Andrews' help, there was no way he
could put this off until after the weekend, no way!

"Well, I have physics next, but after?" He tried to look suitably desperate.

Andrews was apparently convinced. He glanced at his watch, then back
up at the younger boy. "Okay, that works I guess. Start the weekend as
you mean to go on, right?" He winked at Tommy. "How about I meet you
at the locker room in 90 minutes?"

Tommy let out a huge tension breath; it felt like he'd been holding it
in for hours. "Awesome! I mean, yes, thank you so much!"

The older guy waved the thanks away with a slightly self-conscious
gesture. "Don't worry about it; can't have our new team members
showing us up, can we."

Physics seemed to crawl, not helped by the fact that while Tommy had
experienced no problems grasping the first few chapters of the
textbook, it seemed his new classmates had not found the going so
smooth. After the fifth explanation of the same concept in rapid
succession, even the tutor seemed about ready to give up, and the
class ended with ten minutes on the clock still officially to run.

Tommy tried not to speed-walk to the locker room, but he certainly
hurried, going against the flow of people as the campus began to
empty. He arrived early, dropping his bag by the door and leaning
against the painted block wall to wait for Andrews.

Was it normal to be so nervous? Until this point, Tommy had been
focusing only on the potential for embarrassment should Andrews have
refused to help him out. Now, with that all arranged, he was thinking
for the first time about what, exactly, he and the older swimmer would
be doing.

It wasn't like he hadn't been seen naked before. Some of the kids on
his high school swim team had been shy, but Tommy had always taken a
"stare straight ahead and get on with your business" approach to
changing and such, and not given it much thought. In fact, until it
was brought up just the other day, he'd never really thought about how
his changing body might look when clad briefly in a swimsuit.

Now, though, it was likely to be subject to probably the closest
scrutiny since Tommy was born, and by someone who was effectively a
total stranger. Tommy wasn't so bothered by the fact that Andrews was
gay - though, he admitted to himself, there was a shiver of
uncertainty there too - but by the fact that the older guy might look
at his nakedness and, two years behind in development as it was, find
it something hilariously funny.

Tommy had seen Andrews by the pool, wearing nothing but the
university's team Speedo, and the older student hardly deviated from
the definition of "swimmer's physique." Lean torso with wide shoulders
tapering to a narrow waist; the creases of muscle across his stomach;
even, rich tan. Andrews was in top shape, and Tommy wasn't sure he
would ever match up, never mind before his first week of proper
training.

The anxieties grew as the time lagged on, not helped by the fact that
a small group of guys from Andrews' year had gathered across the
hallway and kept casting curious glances over at Tommy by the door.
Did he recognize any of them from the pool? Was he already the butt of
some overly hairy joke he'd carry with him all semester; God forbid,
all through his school career? Tommy felt his palms go damp,
considered picking up his bag and walking away both from his meeting
with Andrews and the swim team altogether.

Then, around the corner, came the man himself. Wide smile in place, as
usual. Andrews greeted the group of his peers enthusiastically,
slapping hands with some, hugging others; their raised voices weren't
quite loud enough for Tommy to figure out what exactly they were
discussing, but his growing paranoia left him almost convinced it had
him as the subject of ridicule.

Eventually, Andrews turned away from them, and walked over to where
Tommy stood blushing on his own.

"Tommy, my man, great to see you!" Even through his anxiety, Tommy
couldn't help but smile some at Andrews' positivity. He shook the
outstretched hand, remembering too late that his palms were wet.

"What you doing with the new guy, eh, Andrews?" The catcalls came loud
and ringing, and Tommy thought the redness of his cheeks would burst
into flame at any moment.

Andrews rolled his eyes at them, waved his hand at them as if swatting
away the suggestions. "Come on guys, me and Tommy here are going to
work on his butterfly stroke. You wish you could afford a trainer this
good."

Hoots of laughter, good-natured Tommy supposed, as Andrews pushed
through the locker room door and he followed through as quickly as he
thought seemingly, hoping at the burn of stares on his back was just
the stuff of his over-active imagination.

"So, let's get this sorted, yeah?" Andrews said, as the door swung
shut behind them. He opened his locker; took out a battered looking
black wash bag. "Do you have a razor?"

Tommy stared at him, feeling dumbly unprepared. Eventually he shook his head.

"Man, you really are green, aren't you?" Andrews shook his head in
mock-desperation, and then reached back into his locker. "Lucky for
you I have a spare; you can owe me sometime."

Tommy nodded, not quite trusting his voice all of a sudden.

"So, I'm guessing you'll need a trim and a closer fix-up, right?"
Andrews obviously took Tommy's silence as agreement, as he nodded to
himself and threw a bottle at the younger boy. "You carry this; I'll
bring the rest. Therapy room two should be unlocked, I'm guessing."

A row of small rooms - for post-injury massage, doctor's visits, and
such - ran across the far wall of the locker room, and Andrews headed
for the second door. Sure enough, the handle turned, revealing a
simple examination couch, some cupboards, a sink, and a tiny shower
cubicle in the corner.

"Perfect. Guess you're on the couch and I'm in the driving seat"
Andrews observed, dumping his bag on the counter. Tommy set the bottle
down carefully next to the bag, and then hopped up quietly onto the
edge of the bench, hands tightly gripping the edges down by his knees.
All of a sudden he felt young, very young, and Andrews comparatively
very grown up.

Andrews turned around, looked Tommy over.

"Hmm, you may need to rethink the outfit, dude. Going to be tough to
do this through your jeans and all."

Dumb, dumb, dumb! Tommy slid down off the fake leather cushion and
reached for the button fly of his jeans. Deep breath: snap open the
buttons, push the jeans down, remember you're still wearing shoes, try
to clumsily toe them off while simultaneously bunched up in your
trousers - all standard klutz stuff.

Finally, though, he managed to get free, standing in his socks,
boxers, and a hoodie.

"Should I, um... I mean, my suit, you think?" he stammered. Andrews nodded.

"Probably a good place to start. Check out the difficult task ahead!"

Tommy turned away, pulled his swimsuit out of his bag. Steeled himself
again; let his boxers drop down his thighs to pool around his socked
feet. He'd always felt a bit out of place in high school, his time in
the pool leaving regular boxers feeling too baggy and, in preference,
opting for tighter, more supportive boxer-briefs that hugged him more
like a Speedo. Now, he had found, he was like most of the college guys
he'd glanced around at changing for practice, the majority of them
favoring tighter underwear.

He stepped into his suit, pulled it up and adjusted himself in its
clinging, elastic confines. Once, back when he'd been thirteen or
fourteen maybe, he'd been a little apprehensive about the relatively
brief Speedos, but a few years of training a couple times a week had
left more pressing issues, like keeping up with coach's demands for
faster and faster laps without losing your lunch in the process.

Stepping back up onto the couch, he tried to steady his breathing as
Andrews ran the sink, seemingly trying to get some warm water out of
it. Eventually, though, he turned around, and Tommy steeled himself
for laughter or even just some good-natured ribbing.

Instead, though, Andrews just looked over Tommy's crotch, nodded a
little with his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and then looked up
to meet the younger guy's eyes.

"Yeah, I see what you mean." He scratched his nose. "Sometimes growing
up is a real pain, right? Man, sometimes I wish I could go back to
when I was fourteen and didn't have to shave or wax or do any of this
crap."

Tommy nodded. "I just didn't even think..." he started, and then
petered out. Andrews grinned, though.

"Just think, if it wasn't for being on the team, you might never have
realized until, well, you were getting undressed in a slightly more...
intimate situation." He winked. "Better in front of a load of dumb
guys by the pool than in someone's bedroom, right?"

There was that blush again. Tommy's experience of other peoples'
bedrooms had mainly been limited to playing Xbox there, though it
wasn't like he hadn't thought about it. A lot.

"Look, I know this might be uncomfortable, but you probably need to
take them off, okay?" Andrews told him. "We need to buzz that madness
down, right?"

Tommy nodded, sheepish and feeling more than a little foolish. Again,
he slipped off the couch and then pushed down his trunks, fighting the
urge to cover up his crotch with his hands. Instead, he pushed himself
back up to perch on the edge, fingers gripping tightly at the seat.

Andrews turned from the counter, holding what Tommy recognized as an
electric trimmer, probably intended for a beard or hair or something.
The older boy tested out the charge, flicking it on momentarily and
letting it buzz in his hand, then glanced down at his young subject's
groin.

"Okay, I'm just gonna use this to take away the bulk of it, yeah?" He
didn't wait for Tommy to reply, just flicked the trimmer back on and,
using the back of his left hand to nudge the boy's thighs slightly
further apart, swept the thrumming blades through the tufts.

Before long, scraps of tangled hair flecked Tommy's thighs and the
floor between his legs. Andrews' face had adopted a look of studied
concentration, as he tried to make sure the hair around the base of
Tommy's cock wasn't quite as short as what was around the tops of his
thighs.

For Tommy, though, there was a different issue to contend with;
namely, that the trimmer sent vibrations through his crotch that
simply couldn't be ignored. Andrews was doing his level best to make
the whole process as clinically surgical in feel as he could -
notwithstanding the fact that he had his face maybe a foot away from
Tommy's junk - but that junk itself was refusing to play along with
the act.

Instead, to his horror, he felt the beginning stirrings of an
erection. Uncontrollable at the best of times, but now wantonly
ignoring his attempts at mental distraction as it thickened and
stretched between his legs. Initially resting on his balls, it was now
lolling straight out; not a full hard-on, no, but certainly far from
flaccid.

Add to that the fact that the whole trimming process tickled terribly,
and Tommy was beginning to wish he'd stuck to a sensible, entirely
clothed sport instead of joining the swim team.

It was on the third wriggle that Tommy heard Andrews hiss under his
breath and mutter, "shit" between clenched teeth. He couldn't feel a
cut or gouts of blood rushing from his groin, so he risked a look
down.

"You move too much!" Andrews scolded, mock serious. "Now look what
you've made me do."

Tommy could see a jagged notch cut into his much-reduced patch of hair
above the root of his cock, where Andrews had jolted and trimmed out
much more than intended. It almost looked like a fat comma.

"Shit... I guess I'm just ticklish," Tommy conceded. Andrews rolled his eyes.

"Y'think?"

He put the trimmer down. Brushed his hands first on his jeans, then
brusquely down Tommy's thighs, sweeping the hair onto the floor. It
was a matter-of-fact gesture, yes, but it still sent a jolt down the
young swimmer's prick.

"I guess we were done with that anyway," Andrews mused. "Gonna have to
get in closer to finish the job."

He ran the tap again, then held out the bottle while the hot water
started to come through. "You want to do the honors, or shall I?"

Tommy put his hands out, cupped, and Andrews drizzled a palm full of
shaving oil into them. It was thick and smelled like cedar.

"Top tip, Tommy: foam is a bad idea," Andrews explained. "You can't
see what you're shaving, and that's bad news when it comes to the
stuff down there!"

The boy nodded with his hands still out, wondering what the next step
was exactly. Andrews rolled his eyes.

"Just rub it in, okay?"

It was cold at first, and felt sticky, but eventually the oil began to
warm to body temperature and smooth out, slicking through the
remaining hair around Tommy's groin and leaving it glistening and
matted. He pulled up on his t-shirt, trying to avoid getting oil on
the hem, but it kept slipping down again, and his oily hands weren't
exactly helping.

"Look, let me" Andrews said, quietly. He took hold of the shirt and
pulled it up, back over Tommy's head until it was bunched around his
upper arms and around the back of his neck. All of a sudden the boy
felt particularly exposed, the full expanse of his chest down, across
his lean, flat stomach, and his entire crotch on show.

There was no denying that Andrews was taking quick looks at him,
either; just casual little snatched glances that Tommy knew from the
locker room and communal showers. What seemed normal en-masse under a
row of hissing showerheads, however, suddenly felt a whole lot more
loaded when it was just him and the 20 year old.

Then there was the oil, and if Tommy had thought the buzz of the
trimmer was bad news for keeping a calm dick, then rubbing oil around
it was a step up in terms of potential embarrassment. He hadn't been
able to resist a quick, surreptitious stroke with one greasy fist down
his cock, and that had been enough to rouse it further.

Now, he was 90% on the way to a full-fledged erection, with nothing to
hide it from sight. Tommy bit his lip as Andrews turned around holding
the razor and saw the older youth look down at where his crotch was
jutting out obscenely.

"Okay." Andrews seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "I guess we
can't ignore the, um, 'elephant in the room', can we." Tommy shook his
head, minutely. "How about we just say that this isn't the first one
I've seen, and that you've nothing to be ashamed of, and just try to
work round it?"

Tommy nodded. How many dicks had Andrews seen? It wasn't the sort of
question you could normally ask, though this - almost completely
naked, oiled up and erect - was hardly normal circumstances.

"I'm gonna start around your thighs," Andrews told him. "You may need
to, well, hold things out of the way."

He got the message, quickly pushed his cock to one side with the palm
of his hand. Andrews placed a hand on his left thigh, spreading it
further open, and then gently positioned the head of the razor where
the skin of his inner thigh met the crease of his groin.

The stroke, when it came, was measured and even, gliding neatly
through the oily hairs and leaving bare flesh. Tommy stared down at
Andrews' handiwork, feeling his dick pulse against his fingers, as the
youth repositioned and scraped, repositioned and scraped, until the
area was done.

When Tommy took his hand away, he could feel the extra slickness of
pre-cum on his palm. The tip of his cock was glistening with it, balls
tightening. He quickly tried to push it over to the other side, as
Andrews moved to do the same around the other leg.

He jumped when Andrews ran his fingertips across the area, as he stood
up from his crouch. "Feels good, smooth as silk I guess. So, what do
you want to do about the rest? I mean, if it were me..."

Tommy waited a moment. "If it were you... what?" he finally asked.

Andrews shrugged. "Well, I'd do the rest, y'know. Underneath, that
sort of thing. Clean up the top so you don't get anything showing up
over the waist of your trunks."

That sounded... comprehensive. "I mean, how far down do you go?" Tommy
ventured. "Do you just, um, do it all?"

The swimmer chuckled. "Nah, not everything." He pulled down on the
waist of his jeans, tugging underwear with it, so that Tommy could
just see the sparse crop of hair above the root of his dick. "Wouldn't
want to get cold."

Tommy nodded, sagely, and then realized Andrews was joking.

"I guess you could, you know... do it." he finally said. Andrews
shrugged a reply.

"But you gotta realize, dude, this is gonna be a bit more, well,
hands-on. No other way, y'know?"

Shit. Oh shit. And yet, Tommy could hardly change his mind now, not
really, because that would just make him look at best like a wimp and,
at worst, like he doubted why Andrews might touch him. And that would
be a pretty shitty impression to give, seeing as how the guy had been
nothing but helpful.

He nodded, not quite trusting his voice.

Andrews knelt down again, cocked his head as he surveyed the offending
area. "I think we're just gonna start with your balls, okay man?
Trickiest bit, I say."

Tommy was about to say something in response when he felt Andrews hand
close around his scrotum. He just about stifled a gasp, choking it
into a hiss instead, but the touch of the older guy on his sensitive,
oiled-up parts was sending a storm of sensations up through his body.

Things only got worse - or more interesting - when Andrews started
pulling the sensitive skin taut and then carefully dragging the razor
across it. His brow furrowed in concentration, but Tommy was too busy
watching wide-eyed as his cock throbbed above Andrews' hands, a
swelling bead of pre-cum gathering at the tip.

"A... A... Andrews..." he managed, and the other boy looked up just in
time to see the juice trickle down Tommy's fat, swollen shaft and
across the back of his hand. "God, I'm so sorry!" Tommy spluttered,
mortified.

Andrews grinned. "Man, if I'd known I was going to get to know you
like this, dude, I would've felt like you had to buy me dinner first!"
He tugged, gently, on Tommy's balls, making his cock flop around
drunkenly. The boy gasped.

"Sorry, couldn't help myself" he confessed, watching as the red,
blood-bloated head of Tommy's prick pulsed, skin taut. "Like I said,
though, nothing to be ashamed of."

He carried on with his work, easing the head of the razor carefully
around Tommy's balls until they were scraped clean. As he let go, he
ran a fingertip up the curve of the teenager's shaft, feeling it tug
against his touch.

"Should we sort that mess out?" he asked, finally, trailing his
fingers through the hairs above Tommy's dick and poking at the notch
accidentally cut out. Tommy nodded.

Andrews paused for a moment, looking at the offending area with some
concentration. Then, "oh, fuck it," he mumbled half under his breath,
and reached out and wrapped his fingers around Tommy's cock.

The boy's hips jolted instantly off the bench, thighs clenching at the
unfamiliar and intimate sensation. Andrews pulled his shaft down, as
much as he could in its rigid state, and ran the oily fingers of his
other hand through the jagged bush of hair left above it.

"Oh god... I..." Tommy's voice was tense, his throat felt almost
closed up tight in a fist's grip, as the combined feelings of Andrews'
hand around his prick and his fingers slyly massaging oil into his
tender groin sent waves of pleasure radiating out through his body.

Eventually, hand still holding Tommy's cock down and forcing the boy
to thrust out his lower torso as he braced himself on his thrown back
hands, Andrews snatched up the razor and began to dredge the head of
it through the remaining hair. Tommy watched, mesmerized, as his
coffee colored skin gradually lost its fur, leaving him smooth and
tingling.

Again, that look of concentration on Andrews' face as he tidied up the
few stubborn hairs around the base of Tommy's thick, pulsing shaft,
before using a scrap of towel to wipe the youth down.

"There," he said, "a bit more extreme than I'd intended, but I think
you look pretty good."

Tommy looked down, to where his cock jutted out from its newly smooth
home, still wetly oiled as it reared through Andrews' fist.

"I look... bigger." he said, eventually. Andrews grinned.

"And there you discover the teenager's secret, dude; it looks bigger
when there's nothing to hide it."

Tommy felt himself blushing again, but he was smiling too.

"Did you? I mean, when you were my age?" he asked the swimmer. Andrews
shrugged, carefully flexed his fingers on Tommy's dick.

"Yeah, I guess. Now it just gets easier to keep it tidy, y'know?
Anyway, size isn't everything."

Tommy looked down, past his taut body into the folds of material in
Andrews' lap. Was he hard too? There were definitely shapes going on
in the older guy's jeans that caught his eyes and could well suggest
that Tommy wasn't the only one turned on in the room.

Then again,Tommy realized, wouldn't that be understandable? Andrews
was the openly gay one, after all, not to mention the guy with his
hand wrapped around another dude's cock.  His achingly hard, pretty
much throbbing cock.

He felt his hips twitch. Almost nothing, but he knew in that moment
that Andrews had felt it too; knew instantly that some part of Tommy's
body - probably the part that was busy drooling pre-cum down across
his fingers - wanted to hump and grind against his fist until he blew.

"You're eighteen, right?" Andrews asked. He sounded distracted, almost
casual. Eyes fixed where Tommy's shaft emerged from the casual ring of
his fingers. The boy nodded.

Then there was a hand on his balls, fingertips caressing the smooth,
freshly shorn skin as they tightened and drew up close to his body.
Andrews pulled down on his cock; fingers splayed each side as the skin
stretched tight and glossy with oil, swollen head almost angrily red.

The hand on his balls moved to caress his glans, then, working
slippery fingers around flesh as tight as a drum-skin. Tommy tried,
and failed, to suppress a shudder as Andrews worked over the tip of
his prick; sliding rough fingertips in the mix of shaving oil and the
boy's own natural lube, tracing around the flared ridge.

I shouldn't be doing this, this is totally gay, Tommy's brain was
screaming, but his body was screaming just as loudly - louder, perhaps
- to hump and grind and rub himself against any part of Andrews he was
touching, until he could finally get to that blessed relief.

"I know you want me to work your cock over, Tommy," Andrews said,
voice quiet. He formed a ring with his fingers, let it bump and glide
over the top inch or so of the shaft. "You want to cum so bad, don't
you."

He grunted in reply, threw an arm across his face and tasted the
saltiness of sweat as a combination of embarrassment and horniness
cranked up his body temperature almost as much as his libido. All the
time, Andrews kept teasing his dick, alternating between fisting its
length and squeezing around the head until Tommy thought he might
burst.

"Just think," Andrews continued. "When they see you in the showers,
when the other guys see your cock all smooth and shaved, they're going
to know who did it. Do you think they're going to guess that after I
finished, you practically fucked my hand?"

Tommy's teeth were clenched, body bowstring tight. He watched as
Andrews carefully licked the pad of his thumb - which must by now
taste of Tommy - and then rubbed it roughly across the curve of his
knob. The sharp sensations fired jolts through his hips.

"Andrews, I... I..." he stuttered, then hissed in surprise as the 20
year old slipped one greasy finger underneath his ass and, focusing
the attentions of the other around the most sensitive parts of his
cock, pushed a wet fingertip against his hole.

"So fuckin' tight" Andrews marveled, almost to himself, as Tommy rode
the feeling to its logical conclusion, his ass clamping down on the
half-finger Andrews managed to dig inside as three, four, five bolts
of heavy cream jolted from his dick and coated his chin and his chest.
The boy twitched and bucked, stomach clenching taut, 18 year old abs
creasing through the warm, brown skin.

"Oh... oh..." he panted, licking his lips and tasting the sharpness of
his juice while the rest of it oozed down his chin and slid wetly
across his stomach. Andrews let his finger slide out, allowed Tommy's
cock to loll heavily against his thigh.

"Good shot, kid." he smiled. Tommy was too breathless to reply;
instead slumped back as Andrews stood up.

The older swimmer wiped his hands on the towel and glanced over at the boy.

"Look, Tommy, just so you know. I'm not some jerk-off toy for horny,
fuck-starved straight boys. That was your free sample; if you're
expecting any more, you've got to turn up in the mood to pay."

He slid a hand down his jeans, rearranged himself, almost as if to
punctuate his point. The length of Andrews' cock was clear across his
hip.

"That means playing, not just sitting back and enjoying the ride." he continued.

Tommy nodded, not yet trusting his voice.

"Man, though, I could see us having some fun with those lips." Andrews
mused, tracing a fingertip across Tommy's mouth, and leaving a trail
of cum around it. Tommy could smell the strong, musky scent of his
arousal. He could guess what sort of fun Andrews had in mind.

Weirdly, though, the thought of it wasn't exactly a turn-off.

The older guy reached for a towel, tossed it over to the cum-slicked
boy. "Are you freaking out?" There was an edge to his tone, Tommy
thought, which hinted at a bad experience before, perhaps. He shook
his head.

"Not freaking out." he muttered, ineffectually scrubbing at his
stomach with the rough towel. Andrews' eyebrow raised, just a little.
Now it was Tommy's turn to roll his eyes. "Come on, I'm not a kid."

Andrews shook his head. That smile was back.

"No, you're not." He rested his chin in his hand, tapped his finger
against his lip as if deep in thought. Tommy couldn't help but notice
it was the same finger that had slid cum across his own mouth, just
moments before. "Hey, at least you're not gonna look like the beast
next time at training."

Tommy laughed. The towel wasn't cleaning so much as just smearing
cream across his torso, adding its share of lint along the way, and so
he gave up on it.

"Thanks. I mean, thanks for helping me... not just, I mean, with...
y'know..." He paused, shook his head. "You know what I mean."

Andrews nodded, winked. "Always important to get to know the junior
members of the team more closely," he said, mock-seriously. The
younger boy nodded, feigning the same seriousness.

"I hope you think about just how helpful you've been next time you see
me in my suit." He winked back, surprised a little at how forward he
was being.

"Oh, I will." Andrews glanced up at the clock, shook his head. "Cover
it up, Tommy. It's time we left - unless you want to be locked up in
here all night with me."

============

So there you go. Hope you enjoyed it; I quite like the character of
Andrews in this one, and I "sort of" based Tommy on a rather delicious
friend of mine, so I could see a second part perhaps arriving if the
response is favorable. As ever, all I ask is that you let me know what
you thought, so drop me a line at alexp336@gmail.com or find me at
http://dirtyanon.tumblr.com/

Oh, and donate to Nifty!