"Listen up, everybody. This is a delicate subject I only talk about with graduating seniors. You need all your options for peak performance at Thursday's Mid-Valley League swim finals." Coach Richards hesitated before continuing. "Olympic swimmers shave their body hair to cut drag in the water. If you want to achieve your personal best times for your last competition at Poly High, you should consider it. Do your legs and torso. Leave the hair on your arms; it helps pull you through the water. If you make it to the Olympics, you'll shave your head, too, but not now. I recommend shaving tonight and using tomorrow's light workout to adjust to how it feels. Shave again Thursday morning before our team breakfast. I want to be clear this is completely voluntary. Good luck."
We'd finished our last full workout. After the speech, I showered, dressed, and headed to my car for the drive home. Carol, the pool manager, singled me out before I left. "You just got the talk, didn't you - - ah, - - Eric, isn't it?"
I stopped at the counter and slowly glanced both ways. "Yeah, I'm Eric. If you mean the shaving thing, then, yep, we got the talk. You've seen this before?"
"A few times. I finished my teaching degree three years ago and took this job part-time for stress relief, waiting for a teaching position. I realized I'd be an outstanding swim coach and a terrible high school teacher. I like being here when Coach Richards gives the talk. Watching a group of graduating varsity seniors reduced to frightened children is fun. They all think nothing of making their girlfriends shave their legs and armpits, but you'd think the world would end if it came to doing it themselves. I sensed you'd be okay with it. What do you think?"
I blushed before I could speak. "It's mixed. I like how different my face feels after I shave. Discovering how my legs and body might feel different is intriguing. It's a big job, though, and I sometimes nick my face. We'll see."
"Keep me posted." Carol waved bye.
My chaotic thoughts were distracting. I registered for the draft four months ago, but I'm a late bloomer and didn't need to shave daily. I wanted to do my best in the swim meet, but shaving my body was a big deal. If my dad were alive, he'd laugh it off and tell me to forget it. "Real men only shave their faces," he'd say. But two summers ago, he didn't survive a massive heart attack.
I made the U-turn in front of our house, a typical post-war bungalow my father bought a few years after the war. I set the parking brake and decided to ask Mom how to shave my legs and body. She's the emergency room nursing supervisor on the graveyard shift at Hollywood Hospital and is home most mornings by nine. She sleeps during the day and is usually awake before I'm home from swim workouts. We have the evening together for dinner, TV, or occasionally a play or musical at the Music Center downtown. Her shift starts at midnight.
I bounded up the walkway and opened the front door. Mom was watching TV in the living room.
"Hi, Eric," she called out when I opened the front door.
"Hi, Mom. Something's come up with swimming, and I don't know who else to ask."
"I'll do my best to help, Honey. Turn off the TV." She patted the empty couch next to her. "Tell me about it."
"Coach Richards told the seniors we'd get faster swim times if we shaved our legs and bodies. It's voluntary, but I'd like to try for my personal best at the swim finals. I can barely shave my face without a nick, and the rest of my body is much bigger. Do you have any pointers?"
"Oh, Honey. I've shaved hundreds of patients at the hospital and my legs thousands of times. Of course, I'll help. Let's do it right now. We can get this out of the way, have dinner, and relax. Put a swimsuit on so I can see how much to shave. We'll work in the bathroom; cleaning is easier."
"That's great, Mom. Thanks."
I shouldn't have agreed so quickly. Part of the swim team's fun was wearing nylon Speedos. At meets, I enjoyed the attention of female spectators watching us parade around practically nude. Our sheer swimsuits left almost nothing to the imagination.
My old Speedo suits at home were degraded from constant soaking in the pool's chlorine. They're stretched and saggy. I wasn't sure how well I'd stay put in the suit while Mom shaved me, but the thought ignited the exhibitionistic urge I knew well.
I closed my bedroom door and stripped off. Standing naked in front of my dresser, I thought of other times I stood before Mom's dresser when she was at work. I opened the drawer to carefully look at her things, especially her panties. Her underclothes were mysterious and exciting. There was something 'nasty' and forbidden about being naked in my mother's bedroom, holding a pair of her silken panties and pulling them around my crotch. I'd walk through our house to the back door and sometimes into the backyard.
Wearing Speedos felt like wearing my mother's panties, and I tingled with excitement when I opened my top drawer to choose an old swimsuit which I'd removed the modesty panel. I usually tuck my cock down, the taut fabric keeping me in place. This pair didn't have the restraining tightness. I hoped for the best, and everything felt under control.
My bedroom door is in the corner of the room and opens on one end of a short hallway. Mom's bedroom is at the other end of the hall, with the bathroom in between. I pulled my door open and saw Mom reaching for the bathroom doorknob.
"That was quick, Eric." Mom didn't allow a way out. "Let's get to work."
She wore a tan culotte and a white T-shirt. Her shoulder-length chestnut hair tumbled unrestrained. Like a dreamy mix of Ava Gardner and Natalie Wood, her beauty took me aback. She was only two inches shorter than my 6'1" height. I had significant second thoughts concerning this 'beauty treatment' for the swim meet.
She stepped into the small and functional bathroom, typical of this type of bungalow. The toilet was directly opposite the door. Along the right wall was a linen closet and a bathtub with a shower. A full-length counter on the left wall held double sinks with a full-length wall-mounted mirror above. There were five globe lights above the mirror.
She grabbed her safety razor from the shower and sat on the closed toilet seat lid to load a new blade. "Stand in front of me; I need a proper assessment." She used her emergency room voice. "You have some hair on your chest and sprouting from your waist. Hold your arms out. Yes, some underarm hair should come off, and quite a bit of hair on your legs must go. Face me; I'll start on your chest, stomach, and under your arms. Then turn around so I can get the back of your legs. A final turn, and we'll finish with the front."
It sounded straightforward. Mom soaked the washcloth in warm water and rubbed it over my chest and armpits. It felt great.
"Okay, Honey. Clasp your fingers together, then rest them on your head to get your arms out of the way."
I complied. Turning my head toward the mirror, I didn't watch directly but through the reflection. She sat straight and with an arched back. From my view, I saw her right side, emphasizing her prominent breasts, and she wasn't wearing a bra.
Nudity wasn't a big deal in our house. My parents slept nude and didn't bother wearing anything to go to the bathroom. I remember finding them in the kitchen once, after I was supposed to be asleep, getting a late-night snack to accompany watching Johnny Carson. They were naked; it was a surprise, but so what? We'd all go skinny dipping on the lake in the summer. We became more private when I hit puberty, and the casual nudity decreased and stopped.
Mom sprayed shaving cream on her hand and spread a thin layer on my chest and under my arms. She carefully worked under my left, then right arm, taking a stroke or two and cleaning it under the faucet. Her gaze focused on her work.
Next, she carefully removed the hair around my nipples. I noticed a change in the contour of her breasts. As she swiped the razor and cleaned me with the washcloth, her nipples poked against her shirt. She paused to squeeze the washcloth and splashed water onto her shirt. The white cloth stuck to her skin, becoming translucent. I could see the outline of her dark, puckering areolas and hardened nipples.
I hadn't seen breasts this close as an adult. It was exciting, but so far, my cock remained tucked into the bottom of my swimsuit. When Mom wetted my stomach and applied the shaving cream, I hardened. She pulled the razor from the waistband, with the grain of my hair, five or six strokes to clean that area. Then she gently tugged the waistband lower and completely cleared the exposed hair.
"Okay, Eric. Your chest's finished. Turn around so I can do the back of your legs."
Not a moment too soon. "How do you want me to stand?"
"Well, Honey. Put your feet further apart and turn a little to your right. Bend at your waist to stick your butt out so I can shave between your legs, and lean on the counter with your straight arms."
Following her instructions, I bent forward, and the fabric on the front of my swimsuit loosened. My hardening cock expanded, and the feeling of the underside and head of my cock sliding against the fabric induced a full erection.
Mom soaked the washcloth again and pulled the elastic leg bands of my swimsuit into the crack of my ass. Starting with my left leg, she pushed the wet, warm cloth directly onto the uppermost part of my inner thigh. She dragged it around my leg and to my ankle, filled her hand with shaving cream, and coated the moistened area. Razor in hand, she shaved in vertical strokes around my leg, then past my knee to my ankle. She did the same to my right leg.
Being handled like this felt so good. It wasn't explicitly sexual but had an erotic charge. I glanced to my right and saw my mom's firm breasts tantalizingly on display. She was sloppier, and more water splashed on her shirt.
I love my mom and enjoy being around her, but I'd never imagined an explicitly sexual fantasy with her. I was sure fondling or wearing her panties was the feel of the silk and the naughtiness of wearing a woman's clothes, not about getting into her pants. That's what I kept telling myself as she continued on the back of my legs, and my cock pushed against the waistband of my Speedos.
