The Toyboy Experiment

"What," I said, "my body hair?" I looked down my body. I'm not that hairy -- just a little dark hair on my chest and legs, plus of course my pubic hair.

"Skin on skin is much more sensual," he said. "I'd be happy to help."

I thought for a moment. I was already involved with John, for better or for worse, and even if we broke up before the end of the holiday, I figured that my chances of getting together with anyone else could hardly be hurt by my having a smooth Hollywood chest.

"Okay then," I said cheerfully. He took a can of shaving foam and lathered me all over from the neck down, except for my arms.

"Nobody minds arm fuzz," he said, grinning, "except drag queens."

Then we set to work, me shaving my own chest and belly and him shaving the sparse hairs on my back and buttocks, which made me giggle, and my legs. Then when those bits were done, he made me sit on the edge of the bath and he carefully shaved my genitals. When we were done, I felt incredibly cool and smooth as I stood before the mirror and shaved my own face; he sat naked on the edge of the bath watching me, in an intimate, domestic replay of the moment yesterday when he'd first approached me in the public shower.

"So you really liked the sex?" he said. I blushed and smiled.

"Yes," I admitted. "I loved it. I don't think I've ever been that aroused before. And when I came . . . oh god. I thought I was going to faint."

"Interesting," he said. "Most guys aren't that crazy about being on the receiving end. I've known a few who are, but you seem to really take to it."

"I adore it," I said simply. I rinsed my razor and splashed water on my face to wash off the remaining traces of foam.

"Maybe you'd like to help me with something," he said.

"Sure," I said, "what?"

"I've been wondering, he said, and then gave a rather embarrassed laugh, "it's a silly idea, maybe, but for a long time now I've been wondering if it's possible to train someone to be the perfect . . . um . . . receiver, shall we say, of, of . . . cock. That is, I was wondering if it's possible to take someone who likes it and train him to be supremely good at it. There are a lot of techniques I could show you that would afford the maximum pleasure both to you and to whoever's fucking you."

"To be honest," I admitted, heading for the shower, "I seriously doubt that after this holiday, I'm ever going to allow another guy to do to me what you do. I love it when you do it. I don't think I want anyone else to do it."

"That's a shame," he said as I turned on the water and got beneath it, "because I could make it so that you loved it when everyone did it. And that anyone who did it to you loved doing it."

I viewed him curiously, as I stood beneath the water streaming over my shaven, naked body, blinking it out of my eyes, washing myself off, wondering what exactly this man had in mind for me, wondering what exactly I was doing here, I who had always preferred going to bed with girls, preferred women's bodies with their sweet softness and curves and crevices and succulent mysteries to men's bodies with their force and angles and muscles.

I could make it so that you loved it when everyone did it, he'd said. And that anyone who did it to you loved doing it.

He was proposing to make into a completely different kind of sexual virtuoso to the one that I had always aspired to be. Instead of being a master of bringing a girl to orgasm at the exact moment that I myself was having one -- which is something that I'd never been terribly good at, to be honest -- he was suggesting that I become expert in controlling men's orgasms and my own in particular.

It would be a hell of a lifestyle change, I thought.

But after all, it wasn't as if I had to give up women. I just meant that if I ever again met a guy who I felt something for, I could be sure of being able to offer him a good time.

"How long would it take," I asked timidly, "and what would I have to do?"

"A few days," he said, "and you wouldn't have to do much beyond lie back and let me bugger you. A lot."

I laughed and reached for the shampoo.

"Okay," I said, blushing at the thought, but excited and nervous too. "Make me into your perfect toyboy."