What I Learned by Shaving Women Ch. 01

Author's Note:

A little over ten years ago, I took a chance and wrote a story for this site just for fun. Having read stories here for a year or so, I had the audacity to attempt one. My career was winding down, or so I thought at that time. Having written several training manuals for a major international chemical company, I, for some crazy reason, thought I had the skills to write erotic stories. Not that there's much difference, right?

The story below is a new version of my first one to be published here. Like many writers, I learned from feedback that I could improve it many ways. I wrote using very stilted dialogue that is not used in real conversation. Our American English language is one using common contractions like "I've" instead of "I have" for example. As a reader, I think it's much more enjoyable to read dialogue written the way people really speak the language. I also depended too much on a volunteer editor to catch grammar and punctuation errors that evaded both of us.

With that as background, I've done something rarely done on this or any other site. I'm re-writing this story and telling it again with new elaborations and scenes. To keep from confusing you, I've given it a new title. I'm not removing the original story from my contributions, just adding this one as a new series. That way, the hundreds of feedback comments readers took time to write will be preserved as they all applied to the original version.

Since many of you weren't around ten years ago, this story may be new to you. For those few who may remember it, I hope you enjoy it the way I should have written it originally.

Chapter 1

My name's Mark. Now that I'm 77, my decision to retire is easier than it would've been over the past few years. My eyesight and steadiness of hand have slipped away. I now feel comfortable relating the story of my interesting career and how it evolved.

My last customers have moved on to other people I trained. Hopefully, all my former clients will appreciate, and forgive, my relating this account of a very long, interesting life and the parts they played in it. All names used in this story are from my imagination. Only if you remember the event as I describe it, would you know your part in this narrative. Please forgive me if you recognize yourself and remember the event with less enthusiasm than me. As I promised, your privacy is critically important to me, and I'll never compromise it.

I'm a barber, or maybe I should say I was a barber. Like many GIs who returned from war, I had to learn new skills. There was little opportunity for a sniper in Los Angeles in the 1950's.

My older brother, David, owned a one-man barbershop not far from Hollywood. He was an excellent barber and built a solid business. No matter if you were a normal guy off the street or a major studio star, he gave everyone a great haircut. Today it would be called a "styling" I suppose, except the styles were much shorter then.

For many men in those days, a close shave was as important as a cut. The combination of oils, heat, shaving foam, facial massage and the sharpness of a straight razor in skilled hands gave a shave that lasted far longer than anything men could do at home.

David was proud of my military service and enjoyed relating war stories I lived to his many customers. These stories grew both in scope and drama over the years, of course.

1958

"Hey David, how's it going?" I said when entering his shop.

"Hey little brother. Going good, I suppose." He only glanced my way for a second before returning to his job.

There were three men sitting along the wall to the left, absorbed in conversation, waiting their turn in the chair.

"Mark! We've been hearing about you and all the great shots you made in Korea," one of them shouted.

"Believe me, with David's help, those shots are improving daily," I responded. Laughter filled the shop. "He has a way of making every story better."

"We know, we know, but the old boy gives a great cut and shave. We must talk about something while we wait. Have you found a job yet?"

"Not yet. It's tough with so many looking."

David said, "Mark, I've been thinking about hiring a trainee to help around here. You ever think about being a barber?"

I heard a snicker from somewhere along the left wall but wasn't sure who was being honest for a change.

"You want me to become a barber in your shop? Come on, man. You've never shown any interest in having an employee."

"Yeah, I know. But this business is at capacity. I have three to five guys waiting all the time. I just don't like to hold customers up like that."

From the left wall again: "David, you expect Mark to go from killing guys to using sharp instruments? Uh, I don't know about that."

"Exactly, Steve. Do you realize the nerves, steady hand and patience this guy has? That's exactly what great barbers need. Besides, you guys know as well as I do that I need to get off my feet and sit occasionally. With several of you here watching me, I can't stop at all during the day. I've been thinking a long time about training someone. Believe me, it'd be the best for us all."

I replied, "Okay David. When do we begin? At least I can help you and make a little money. I'd like to find a nice lady and will need a steady job to support her." There was another snicker or two from the left.

I didn't realize the impact of this decision until years later.

1961

David died on his way to work. A driver racing another had completely ignored the four-way stop sign and broadsided David's car. Killed instantly, according to the doctor, so at least he didn't suffer. But we did.

Many of his customers and their wives came to the funeral. They stopped to visit with David's wife, Wendy, and their two children. Many also came to our house to visit, often telling funny stories from his shop and how much they loved David. They asked what we needed or how they could help. Their big hugs and quiet words of encouragement meant the world to us. Tragic deaths like this were all too common before seat belts. We were well-practiced in consoling grieving families.

I re-opened the shop for business the following week and several guys came by each day. Although I wasn't as good at cutting hair as David, most of them came anyway. My ability to give a very close shave was what really saved me, and eventually my career as a barber.

The Gillette introduction of adjustable razors in the late 1950's was the beginning of the end to barbershop shaves - at least the kind men needed. It was only a matter of time before my skills at cutting hair (not so good) combined with the lower demand for close shaves. The business that David founded slowly died as more and more men found better barbers and no longer needed shaves from me.

Late one afternoon, as I was thinking about closing the shop early, a lady walked in with a gentleman. Ladies rarely came to this shop unless they're trying to raise money for some cause and wanted my contribution. This lady didn't look like she wanted to raise money.

She had raven hair, styled into a bouffant with flicked up ends just touching her shoulders. She was tall, 5'8" or so and was beautiful. Her makeup looked like it was done in one of the studios and she carried herself with confidence. I thought to myself that she had that Jackie Kennedy type of style. As she walked, the rapid click of her high heels on the tile floor told me that she was on a mission.

"Are you Mark?"

"Yes, may I help you?"

"My name is Shelley." She offered me her hand. It was delicate, soft and strong all at the same time. This was an unusual lady -- no wimp for sure.

"I'd like to have a private conversation with you." She looked directly into my eyes. She had my full attention. What could a lady of her obvious sophistication need to discuss with me?

Shelley didn't introduce the man, which I thought was a little odd. Since he didn't approach or offer his hand, I soon realized he was her bodyguard, not a husband or friend. Then I was really intrigued. I'd seen bodyguards with major screen stars and occasionally with some of David's very wealthy customers. They're always in the background and hardly ever came into the shop.

She turned toward him. "Jim, please wait outside for me. It'll be just a few minutes," she said. She turned to me as he left. Her hazel eyes were captivating.

"Mark, I've something very personal and somewhat embarrassing I want to ask you."

"Yes?"

"My friend has been here several times and the shaves you give him are the very best I've seen. His beard doesn't grow back for a couple of days and I can't feel any stubble, which is amazing. Would you consider shaving me?"

I stared at her, totally befuddled.

"What? Shave your face?"

"No. My genital area."

That almost knocked the breath out of me. I never saw it coming. Rarely would you hear a lady (especially like her) talking about shaving her genital area, at least not in the 1960's. That's a sight men occasionally bragged of seeing in a porn film. I'd never heard anyone talk about wives or girlfriends who shaved their pussies. Maybe it was happening, but no one talked about it. I'd never seen a bare one on an adult woman.

"Shelley, I've no experience with that. Sure, I shave guys' faces every day, but for areas like you mention, I've always thought women used hot wax or something like Nair for controlling hair growth."

"I know, Mark, but wax is very painful, and Nair is so messy, I thought a shave like you do would be much more comfortable for short term purposes. I realize I'm asking you for a personal favor that goes far beyond normal. I understand completely if you won't do it. I just can't do it myself as well as you could, and I really don't trust anyone else to do it. You see, I'd like to surprise my boyfriend on his 30th birthday next week."

I hesitated for what seemed like a minute but was probably only a few seconds.

"Shelley, I'm going to take a chance. I'm willing to try if you're sure about this." What I really thought was that I needed the work. It'd been slow in the shop. I also wanted to see this gorgeous woman's pussy. It's probably the easiest decision I'd ever made. It proved to be a "fork in the road" moment.

She responded, "Let's try it one time and see. From what my friend says, you're an expert with a razor. I want you to promise that you'll never tell anyone I was here. As you know, word gets around this town overnight if you ever betray my trust."

"Yes, I know, and you can trust me. When and where would you like me to do this?

"His birthday party is Friday night. Lots of people are coming and the decorators will be working at the house next week. I'd like to come here on Thursday night about 8pm."

"Here?" I asked.

"Yes, maybe you can set up a table or something behind a privacy curtain."

I glanced around the shop and immediately started problem-solving how to do that.

"Of course, let me put some thought to this and I'll be ready for you."

I stared as she departed. She looked as sexy from the back as from the front. Shelley was one knockout lady, even in a town full of them.

A hundred thoughts at a time raced through my brain. What did I just agree to? Where do I learn to do this? I don't know any man that's ever tried to shave a woman's pussy. I've seen several pussies; who hasn't? But how do you shave one? What happens if I nick her? Does her bodyguard kick my ass? Can I use my regular face oil on her sensitive areas? What about the foam and creams I always massage into a guy's face? How can I apply them to her pussy without massaging it in? Will she slap the shit out of me when I even try? Oh man, this isn't going to end well. I kept remembering what my sergeant often yelled, "Corporal, what the hell have you done now?"

The next few days, my brain worked overtime. Although several of the normal customers came in, my mind was on the task coming soon. Obviously, I needed a table she could lay on, and a strong light source so I could see all the details of her skin. Any little bump or blemish could cause a cut.

With men, I push up or down on their cheeks, jaws or chin to stretch and smooth the skin for the razor. That's the only way I know to avoid nicks and allow maximum closeness. With a woman's pussy, what do I hold? How will my straight razor fit around the sensitive folds and crevices? How do I shave those little hairs between the outer and inner labia? This was too much to think about, especially since I suffered from hard-ons every time. Why did I ever agree to this?

Thursday evening came quickly. Shelley was fifteen minutes late, but I expected that.

"Hi Mark, sorry I'm late. I appreciate you staying a couple of hours past your normal closing to help me."

"Hi Shelley, no problem. I've been thinking about this and I'm ready when you are. I suggest you slip off your dress and put on this gown? I'll lock the front door unless your associate would like to wait inside."

"You can lock it. He's waiting in the car and knows it may take a while. He's just a hired guard to make sure nothing happens to me. I'm not worried about you since I came to you based on your reputation."

"Good, just step into the restroom if you'd like to change. I'm just about ready."

"Mark, you're about to shave the most private parts of my body. Why should I bother to change in another room?" Her smile was captivating, and I felt like a fool. Somehow, that logic had completely escaped me.

"Of course, you're right. I'm sorry."

She unzipped the dress, unhooked the fastener behind her neck and slipped out of it in just a few seconds. Once she committed, I think her mind switched to a professional mode much like it would if she were going to a gynecologist. Since I don't see pussies like the doctors do, this was a major event for me. She hung the dress on a hanger I provided, and I took it to the coat rack.

I was expecting to see nylons and a garter belt, but she only wore panties. Her legs really were as tanned as they looked. I couldn't believe my eyes.

Her bra was made of lace, and it covered and supported very full breasts. I'm not an expert on breast size but they'd certainly be more than a handful. Her cleavage was what men dream about.

Shelley's lacy panties matched her bra. She slipped them off with no hesitation and put them in her purse. Her body showed no obvious fat, but she wasn't skinny. She had to be in her early to mid-30's but time had been very good to her. Everything was firm and fit.

My cock was beginning to react as I asked her to climb on the table and lie flat on her back. I didn't want her to see my unprofessional cock, which had its own mind.

I'd purchased a very soft pad and white sheets to make the table as comfortable as I could. But I didn't want to use any sort of stirrup to support her legs. I'd heard those were very uncomfortable to a woman. The plan was that she would open her legs to give me access as needed on each side. If she became concerned, her legs wouldn't be restrained, and she could close them quickly.

"Shelley, let me go through the process I'm planning to use to see if you've any better ideas. The first thing is to turn on a bright lamp that's on the stand over there. It will give me the proper light I need to protect your safety and avoid any nicks. As you can see, the standard lighting in here is not good, especially at night, so that's the reason for this extra light. I'll use new latex gloves, again for your protection.

Next, I'll remove the largest part of your hair with these electric clippers. I'll be very careful to not let the clipper touch you. I'll then use a hot towel applied directly to your genital area to soften the remaining hair. If it's too hot, just let me know and I'll quickly remove it.

Shelly responded, "That sounds fine. I've used hot towels before, and it shouldn't be problem. What comes after the heat treatment?"

"The next part is what I want us to discuss. Normally, with a man's shave, I'd apply some warm oil and then a shaving cream and massage it into the skin with my hands. Since this is my first time at this, are you comfortable in allowing me to do it? Or do you want to massage the oil and cream into the hairs?"

"Mark, I'm laying here with my genitals on display. I know you're a professional and won't take advantage of me. Please do what you need to do and let's get going."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll apply the oil and cream and then carefully shave the area as needed. Please know that I'll have to gently stretch the skin around your vulva to remove all the hair. To do that, I'll have to touch your labia majora and possibly the labia minora to stretch the skin. But I promise to do the least amount I can and not touch your most sensitive areas more than necessary."

I was proud of using the proper names for a woman's genital parts. It took two trips to the library to find a medical book showing them.

"Sounds good," she replied. "I'll let you know if I become uncomfortable, but I trust you." I noticed a slight smile on her lips. She may have been enjoying my discomfort.

"Good. Please lie back on the pillow while I pull the light into place."

"Mark, do you think you can also remove the hair around my anus."

I almost knocked the light over. Never once did I think about hair growing in the butt crack of a woman. Oh god, why did I agree to this? I could almost hear my sergeant again.

"Of course. I was planning to ask about that." I lied but did it convincingly.

"I think while you're working there, make me as hairless as you can," she said.

I asked, "While we're thinking ahead, would you like the hair above your Mons shaped into some pattern or removed totally?"

Without missing a beat, she said "How about trimming it to form a small, neat triangle with the bottom pointing to my clitoris."

Again, I swallowed hard and felt my cock jump. Sophisticated women didn't talk to men using those words in the 1960's, at least not in polite company. For me, this was a whole new world and I needed to grow into it. It was clear that Shelley had thought through this. Her decisions were both quick and final.

I carefully cleaned and disinfected the trimmer normally used on men's hair. As I did that, I said,"I must make sure everything I use is clean and bacteria free. This is the trimmer for initial hair removal."

The quiet hum of that trimmer began the next phase in my career.

Carefully trimming the longer hair from her pussy took only a couple of minutes and didn't require me to touch her. Taking a small new brush, I swept away the cut hair. I must have touched her clit with the bristles because she jumped.

I noticed the hair in her anal area and decided to not try that trimmer between her cheeks due to its size and shape. I also didn't think the trimmer's vibration to her ass would be appreciated. (Later, I learned this wasn't an issue. I'll tell you more later.)

I removed the hot towel from the steamer and carefully unfolded it with tongs to cool to the proper temperature. Normally, while I waited for this to happen, I'd be telling jokes or listening to an extravagant lie about something. With Shelley, I couldn't think of a thing to say. Being speechless was never a trait of mine before this. She was likewise quite with her eyes closed. After a couple of minutes, the towel felt right to me, and I folded it to fit between her legs.

As I gently laid it across her, she reacted with heavy breathing and little oohs. She quickly assured me it was fine, and that the warmth felt good. I asked her to raise her bottom a bit so I could wrap the towel under her. That was needed to soften the hair in her anal area. She did it without any hesitation.

After a few minutes, I removed the towel and poured warm oil into my gloved hands and began rubbing it on all the remaining hair. It was obvious she was getting aroused. Her body twitched a few times and her breathing pattern changed. Again, she never said a word, so I continued. The labia were swollen when I finished the oil rub. Her clit was peeking out from its hood and there was viscous fluid seeping from her vagina. I needed to be careful. I didn't want to embarrass her more than she already was.