The Shaver

John was an awesome boyfriend. He wasn't very handsome and he was thin but his arms were slender and muscular: I liked when he wrapped them around me and held me; it reminded me of my childhood dream of wanting to be held by Peter Pan. When we played Frisbee or lay in the grass together, he would hug me and rest one of his arms under my head, stroking my hair with his fingers. In those days, I did not allow him much to play with, but he would put his hand on my waist or tickle my flat tummy making me feel giddy and excited without the guilt I felt when I made out with other guys and they groped my breasts. It was my third year in college and I was still adamantly virgin, but I was enjoying my time with him greatly, and we had a lot of those exhilarating innocent erotic moments you really lose the taste for later in life. The one I am going to write about happened in his bathroom one Saturday when we came back from the beach.

Ohio doesn't have the greatest of beaches on any day, but we had managed to spend the good part of the morning tripping about in the sand, making a mud castle crested with algae turrets and flying John's kite. That's the thing about John – he is very childlike in his ways, which are really insidious and soon make you forget about grades and classes, and your summer job interview coming next week. At one point we cautiously tried to wade into the cold waters of Lake Erie but we found a semi-decomposed fish floating serenely on an oily patch. John said it's not a good idea for him to dip below his swimming trunks in this chemical stew, what with the ghastly reproductive effects of the mercury that was sloshing around. I said thanks a lot since I was shorter and had already succumbed my pristine uterus to the hazardous chowder. John laughed and caught me under the knees, and I thought he was going to hurl me into the water headfirst, but instead he brought me gently back on the shore and kissed me cradling my face with both hands. I clung to him tightly enjoying our otherwise "prohibited" bare skin contact, and shielding the sizeable bulge in the said swimming trunks from public viewing, because I know how embarrassing that must be for guys. We packed up and climbed in the car where we kissed again until I felt warm all over.

During our drive back the fine sand in my soles and inside my wet bikini bottom started to really irritate me so I asked John if I could take a shower when we went back to his house. He said sure, no problem, but I immediately knew from his tense face that he was trying to figure out if it was more than a shower that I wanted. I felt bad at first because I had approached the issue very innocently and naively, but then something about the tension that had settled between us took over me too. I secretly knew John adored me physically and that turned me on very much, even though I was not yet ready to admit it to myself. A few girls in my dorm who regularly slept with guys told me that was a very good sign because most men develop a permanent attraction to the girls they are consistently denied by. I was told slow-playing my trumps like that was a good strategy, which annoyed me quite a bit because I was not doing it on purpose. I didn't want John to be trapped by the feelings he had for me. But then, there was no way I was going to have sex with him or with anyone else to accommodate their inconvenience or bow to some social convention. I was quite firm on that.

I was also feeling quite firm in my bra and a little shaky in the knees when our car mounted the curb and we walked out and climbed the steps into John's house. It was a typical college student house with furniture falling to pieces and visible stains from puke and other stuff on the carpet. John kept his room and the bathroom quite clean for a guy and he handed me a neatly folded fluffy towel that he probably kept for guests just like me in his cupboard. I walked shyly into his bathroom and locked the door; then I quickly got out of my bra and bikini and felt instant relief when I rubbed my sandy heels against the worn and scratchy terracotta tiles. I sat on the toilet bowl half intending to pee but I was distracted by the strange feeling of being naked in the bathroom of my boyfriend, whom I had never so much as let near my bare breasts.

I tried to imagine what it must be to be a guy and crave my body, which was quite tiny even for a girl and a little freckled in unlikely places like the backside of my upper arms and on my knees. I could see myself in his shaving mirror, a petite and (what I sincerely hoped other people discerned) reasonably cute 20-year old. I grinned at the mirror with my head bent on one side, which is how I always pose for photographs. My eyes traveled down instinctively and I critically examined my two breasts, size 32B; not quite stunning but proportionally charitable to my overall size. I pressed them together, then let them hang, seeing how they touched just slightly in the middle when I set them free. The nipples were still very erect, but I attributed it to standing naked in John's cold bathroom.

Now my eyes traveled to the cupboard next to the mirror where John's shaving utensils lay. He had the green Gillette razor with the batteries and the same brand shaving cream, next to a Calvin Klein perfume he used instead of an aftershave. I reached out and felt the smoothness of the CK bottle and the rough texture of the Gillette razor handle. My fingertips now smelled like John's perfume and his shaving cream. I don't know if all girls are like that, but I find something relentlessly sexy about a man's shaving ritual. I like the thought of John shaving for me, making a scruffy noise when he presses the razor to his chin and wincing when he rubs aftershave into small cuts, which are the cost of being able to kiss me with a baby skin face. He had told me he used an electric shaver when he was in a hurry to go to class or when we did not see each other for a while, but he always shaved with the real thing before we went out. I felt the razor again, unable to draw myself away from this sharp and pretty object that facilitated our relationship in such a meaningful way. I took it out of its plastic casing and pressed the metal side of it against my chest to feel the cold touch. Inadvertently, the contact turned on the little switch in the handle and the whole thing started vibrating gently in my hand. This shook me to my senses and I flung the shaver back in its cradle a little embarrassed and fearful that John might be able to hear the noise from the outer room.

I strained myself to pee and flushed the toilet; then shopped around in the cupboard for a new bar of soap and some of John's spare shampoo and conditioner, which he had told me he wasn't using. There was a box of pink Durex condoms in one of the shelves, and I wondered if John had bought them. I had made myself perfectly clear when we had discussed the sex issue before, so I really hoped that they belonged to one of his roommates or that at least John had not purposefully intended for me to see them. The condom box was unopened and still had the wrappers around it, which, I decided, was a good thing from my perspective. Then I remembered that one girl had told me some guys used condoms to masturbate, so that they won't splash sticky cum around. Maybe John was one of those types? I dwelled on this thought a fraction too long, and my imagination conjured a gorgeous picture of John naked, very red in the face and holding to the same sink I was standing over with one hand. Shit, I realized, it was one of those rare times (they happened maybe once or twice a month) when I had gotten myself really aroused and wanted badly to touch myself, despite my self-imposed ban on self-touching. I had actually done it three or four times during my teen years, and with relative success, but I had told myself it must stop when I went to college, just to be on the safe side of things. My worst nightmare when I was a freshman was waking up in a place I did not know next to somebody I did not recognize. I had learned in the two or three years since then that waking up next to someone at all is actually quite hard to accomplish.

I tried to shut off all of that thought stream entirely and hopped in the shower before John had started wondering if something was wrong. The water was cold at first, which was nicely refreshing, but when the warm came on and I started soaping myself my randy moods struck again. I glided the bar of soap between my breasts and then under my legs, watching the water siphon out over my mound and hit my toes like a stream of clear pee. The temptation was now hard to resist so I looked around for some means of distraction. I saw John's own soap bar lying in the side nook of the bathtub, sporting a few of what I had no question in my mind were his pubic hairs. I grabbed that soap and rubbed myself with it feeling a sort of kinky erotic bliss. I knew I would be all wet down under though there was no way to tell in the shower, so I rubbed the soap hard against my outer lips and clit, a part of me, which on most days I would pretend did not exist. It felt very nice and I felt the clit swell just like my nipples. I twiddled with it a little with my eyes closed.

The warm bathwater had collected in the tub and was splashing over my ankles because I had not pulled the drain lever when I entered the shower. With my back against the wall I slid down to a sitting position on the floor of the tub, rubbing my clit quickly with one hand and squeezing my nipples with the other. It was so nice pleasuring myself in my boyfriend's tub that my Catholic sensitivity had given up on me and nothing felt sinful or base any longer.

When the soapy water rose to the level of my waist, I already tasted blood on my tongue from having bit my lip in order not to moan. The shower water was beating hard on the plastic curtains and stifling the splashy noises from my masturbation sufficiently, but I really wanted to cum now and my hands were getting tired and not quite getting me there. I had heard from a lot of girls that using an adjustable showerhead was the silver bullet when it came to a thrashing orgasm, but John's Spartan bathroom had nothing of the kind. I thought of just stopping and trying to get my naughty genie out through making out with John in his bedroom. That was a bad idea, I decided, because if he was as horny as I was no one quite knew what could happen, except something at least I would regret.

At that moment, I spotted John's Gillette shaver on the shelf across the room. The idea that struck me was so novel and kinky that I almost came immediately just from thinking about it. It might register to you as gross perhaps, but I knew just how much John liked my body and I was sure it would be a great surprise for him when I told him one day. I walked out of the shower stall, grasped the green and gray metal handle and detached the blade by pressing on the two clasps on the head. When I had just the handle I walked back into the stall, dripping soapy water on the tiles. I settled back inside. I sunk the handle under the bubbly surface. I prayed that the battery would last the abuse. I pressed the on button and the seagulls drawn on the shower curtain exploded in my head when the shaver touched my exposed clit underwater.

Later John told me that I had moaned loudly for about two and a half minutes. Of course, I confessed to him at once what I had done and we agreed to pursue the issue no further. We had one of those exhilarating big talks new couples have about their past sex experiences (before they actually do anything together). I learned about how John regularly jerked off thinking about me and how he felt guilty because of me being Catholic and prude. I told him that was fine and that I felt the same pressure he did. Amazingly, he still agreed that not having sex right away was the best strategy. We decided, however, to expand our physical relationship and for the first time I let him play with my boobs. After that we kissed for a long time and held each other until we fell asleep. The next morning was my first one waking up next to a guy, and John's boner between the sheets so amused me that I masturbated him and even tasted a blob of his cum. On mutual consensus, we decided I should brush my teeth and he should shave before we kissed some more.