waxing adveutures

from bookofblue

IN MY FORMER neighborhood in Kingston, there were — in the Before Times — two places to get waxed. Both were nail salons owned and staffed entirely by Asian people. By waxed, I mean my ass, for smoothness and hygiene and because it feels good. I started at a place owned by a Korean couple, both appealing people though the female half, named Thalia, was beyond hot…bathing suit model type of woman with the very prettiest of faces.

Men don’t generally do this in a girly place. Usually it’s just women tidying up their snatch and surrounds. She agreed to wax me; this was during my manicure phase, where I would create designs or have my fingers and toes polished in 20 different shades. I was there quite a lot, so she was familiar with me. For the waxing bit I had to lay down on a kind of therapy table and spread my ass. She would apply hot paste, then paper, then strip it off. It was delightful and she knew it.

This was happening in a flimsy little room with walls off to the side that didn’t touch the ceiling, with the room outside populated by a diversity of neighbors, all of them women, getting their mani/pedis, along with her husband, and a diversity of slinky nail technicians peering out above blue surgical masks.

So while I could not yelp with pleasure very loud, Thalia could feel me breathe and knew what was happening. I would relax deeply and let the experience take me. Over time, we developed an intimacy through this, an understanding that was never spoken in words and I’m not sure what it was about.

I was aware what else happened in this room — that she had the duty and privilege of grooming to perfection the twats of many pretty young women. And then me…there existed all kinds of delightful tensions strung through the space between us….as she casually stripped the hair off of my ass.

It would have been a perfect ending of a session to express my pleasure gazing into her peaceful, elegant face; and maybe fill my mouth in her presence.

I knew this would not happen. But there are times when it’s the thought that counts. She was a double Pisces and I assumed she could read my aura. Wanting her exuded from my every chacra. There was no mockery, and that is what I loved about her. After leaving her little salon, my next stop was always a mirror in Blue Studio.

One day I went down to make an appointment and they were closed for a two-week vacation. So I walked around the corner to another nail salon, much less busy, its windows overrun with thriving jade trees. I stepped up to the little podium and he got up from his station, where he was working on an older woman client.

“Do you do waxing?”

He looked at me for a second, sizing me up. “Yes.”

“I’d like to make an appointment.”

We set it for that coming Friday morning. I did not know what to expect. I got there and he ushered me into a tiny back room, told me to undress and lay down, then went out front and locked up. He worked alone, so the ‘Back Soon’ sign faced the street during our sessions.

He came back and I had done as told; laying naked on a towel-covered portable massage table. He spread my ass cheeks with his fingers, and got busy. That first session we barely exchanged a word. He refused to wax my balls because he said my skin was too soft and sensitive. Besides that, he waxed my ass cheeks right down to the rim, and outward, and my inner thighs.

Then he said to dress and meet him outside. I put myself back together and went out to meet him; I made an appointment for two weeks later — at closing time on a Friday.

He was ushering out a client, a tidy little sniffer of a brunette. I went to the back and knew what to do; he found me laying naked on his table. He had me roll over on my back and open my legs, to access my inner thighs. With one strong hand, he pulled my cock and balls to one side and held my bits down with his wrist as he applied the hot wax to my skin. This gesture was not strictly necessary; he could have had me do it, or done it through a towel for the sake of etiquette.

But this was the etiquette. I understood his intent and his invitation.

I rolled over and the waxing proceeded, as I lay flat on my belly with his fingers pulling open my ass. He worked my cheeks down to my rim, only now I was free to grunt a little as he stripped off the paper. He wet a paper towel with baby oil and wiped my ass clean of wax residue, digging in a little deeper than he had to.

I sat up and could see his cock bulging through his shorts. I knew what I wanted to do. I say that knowing I could have done anything and had one idea in mind.

“Would you take that out?” I asked, a suitable request for my submissive role. He did, slipping his shorts and undies down. I squirted some baby oil into his hands.

“Please, show me.” He masturbated, timidly, gently, and then I looked into his eyes expectantly. That melted him and then emboldened him, and he pleasured himself more deeply. I told him how beautiful I thought he was, doing this in front of me, and then said: let me do it. His hands fell to his sides. I clasped his penis with one hand and his testicles with the other, and massaged him with my clasped fist.

We understood I would bring him off that way. I teased him, sitting naked on the table, edging him along a little until I announced I would soon be helping him orgasm — stating the obvious out loud is the essence and delight of hot talk. That’s all it took; I saw his face relax, and my hand on his balls slipped to the tip of his penis and with my other hand, I stroked his ejaculation into my hands.

I’m sure he had no idea what was going to happen. His breath touched sound, modestly, as he let himself throb his cum into my palm. I studied his face as this happened; he could barely look at me and then finally did, he gave in, as the last throbs of his orgasm pulsed through him. His release was abundant. I had a lot of his liquid to play with.

Then I squatted up on the table and masturbated myself with my fist full of his semen.

Alive, slippery and hormonal, and so so warm, this is what I love to masturbate with and so rarely have. Such transcendence must happen in the donor’s presence, adding a depth of pleasure. He was now learning against the wall, still at the trailing edge of his orgasm…with a stunned look on his face. I intended to expose myself fully to him, and just my intention felt so so so so good.

This was not going to be a long dramatic tease. With two hands I massaged his semen ino my cock, my balls and my newly shaved asshole. His expression turned to disbelief. I still had plenty of his cum in my palm. I clasped my penis with both hands, now masturbating in a way most exquisite than any other. I said out loud, to his face, “I’m going to drink my semen now.”

Thanks to this affirmation, I spun wildly into my momentless, suspended release, holding his gaze through every ripple and pulse and current and joy… From deep within my ripples of orgasmic ejaculation — catching my own seed in my hand where some of his was still pooled.

And then while still cumming and shaking, I raised my hand to my mouth and sucked in the mix of us, licked some more, and then opened my mouth to prove to him what I had really done…in utter boundless freedom.

Then I swallowed, looking at his eyes. And I licked my hand — both of my hands — again. Then, I turned toward the mirror on the wall next to us and studied who I had become. A squirmy kind of shame and disbelief washed over me and then away, and I found myself breathing deeply, almost panting, into his presence.

He slipped his shorts on and stepped out of the room, closing the door, leaving me naked with my reflection. I sat on the edge of the table with my knees pulled apart and watched as I licked my hand, tasting and further liquefying us both. I studied my face for a moment, and gave myself permission to relax deeply — with just the one word, said into my eyes,

— yes —

…and I again, now alone, intending to imbibe, I spent my passion and swallowed, this time, most privately.

When I was done, I slowly dressed, leaving my face smeared with my leftovers. I walked the front, said goodbye to Vincent and walked out into the neighborhood, dreaming down the sidewalk through the muggy air of people out for Friday evening.