Shaved, Not Stirred

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February 13th. It was raining old women and sticks outside, and I was sitting alone at the bar in one of those “brass and glass” places. Almost closing time. At least this chain had a decent rib eye. Just finished my steak and vegetables and was nursing a ginger ale. Saw her walk in, sit down a few seats away, and order a Shiraz.

She looked at me. Smiled and nodded. I returned the gesture.

She said, “Scotch?” and pointed toward my drink with her chin.

“Ginger ale.”

“Not a drinker?”

“Not so much.” Didn’t want to get into the fact that I had a problem with that sort of thing.

“My Dad was like that. Drank heavily for years. Then just quit.”

“Good for him,” I said, and smiled. She had just assumed (correctly) that I had some troubles with alcohol in my past. How did she know?

“How did you know?” I delivered this question fully expecting her to ask “how did she know what?” It was a test. Could she hang?

“Just a guess. You just confirmed it,” she said.

“Nick.” I smiled.

“Julie.” So did she.

Yes. She could hang. She looked somewhat like Téa Leoni, but with dark hair (a bit damp from the rain). 5′ 6″ with a sharp jaw line, high cheek bones, and smile lines. I guessed her weight at a buck-10. Buck-15, maybe. A few strands of black hair dangled errantly over her face. She swept them away periodically. Large hoop earrings. Crows feet were just beginning to form at the corners of her light blue eyes. No makeup, save for a bit of mascara. Maybe a bit of base and blush, but not too much. I guessed her age in the mid-40’s — same as me. Perfectly manicured eyebrows and a beautiful smile with straight white teeth. It was obvious she exercised regularly and took care of herself. She had great legs, good posture, and good skin. Her voice was a bit deeper and huskier than what I had expected. A smoker? Just in case, I double-checked her hands and Adam’s apple. She was all woman. And no, she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

She was wearing black cowboy boots and a light blue cotton dress. She had been wearing a black leather jacket and removed it now. I could see she wasn’t wearing a bra, and her tits were obviously fake.

She caught me looking and smiled. “You like?”

“I do,” I said as I raised my eyebrows. I felt my heart rate increase a bit, as well as the blood rushing to my cock. Pretty sure I was blushing.

She tilted her head back and laughed a deep sexy laugh. “I can tell. You’re blushing.” She giggled deeply in the back of her throat. She looked me directly in the eyes, smiled, and tilted her head just a bit. She glanced around (the bartender was presently absent). She pinched her nipples, made a little moan, and said, “They’re worth every penny. I still have sensitivity in my nipples.”

Her nipples were visible through the dress. Her face was flushed. She looked around again, then again pinched her nipples. Pulled on them a little bit. Twisted gently. Then pulled a little more. She did this a few times. Easily her nipples were poking out a half-inch from behind her dress. She closed her eyes and started breathing through her mouth. I could see her respiration quickening and a few beads of sweat on her forehead. She pulled and twisted a few more times, a little faster than before, almost tweaking them. Moving her fingers back and forth over them, as well. “I’ll be right back,” She said. “Watch my drink.”

She threw her purse over her shoulder, grabbed her coat and headed toward the bathroom. I noticed that she had strategically draped her coat over her arm and placed it against her chest. As she walked away, I could not see an underwear line under her dress on her perfect ass. Thong or otherwise.

So I sat there. Kind-of a stupid-ass grin on my face. Heart beating a little too fast. Cock hard in my jeans. I reached in my jeans and adjusted my cock so it was pointing up toward my belly. At least now it wasn’t so obvious that I had a hard-on. My cock throbbed against my lower belly, and I liked the direction this evening was headed. The friction of my jeans felt warm and comforting, and I was glad I wasn’t wearing underwear. I felt healthy and masculine and ready for whatever she had in mind.

The bartender came and went as he was closing-up for the night. Tomorrow night he’d be shellacked with Valentine’s Day dates. Tonight was a tomb. This was an isolated area of the restaurant and Julie and I were the only customers. There was a mindless sitcom muted on the TV above the bar. I was sifting through pointless emails on my phone when I heard her walk up behind me. She leaned against me and I could feel her hard nipples against my back. She reached around with her hand and traced the outline of my cock on the outside of my jeans. She squeezed gently.

“I just went to the bathroom and jacked-off,” she whispered into my ear. “I was thinking about you.”

I was speechless. This couldn’t be any more of a fantasy.

“Do you want to taste me?” she asked.

I nodded.

She moved her right hand up and gently put her middle Onwin finger in my mouth. I sucked and tasted her finger. My tongue swirled around her finger and she tasted sweet and musky. While still behind me, she put her lips on the side of my neck, and I could feel and hear her short breaths.

“I was thinking about going back to your place,” she said.

“I think that’s a capital idea,” I said. I threw 50 bucks on the bar for my meal and her drink and we headed out.


It had stopped raining as we walked across the dark parking lot to my truck. Everything smelled fresh and clean. “You want to follow me?” I asked.

“No. I’ll just ride with you. I’ll get my car later.” She pointed to a red Acura.

“What do you do?” I questioned as we were walking. I reached down and took her hand in mine. She returned the gesture and grasped it tightly.

“Does it matter? I have a decent job. Some days are better than others. It pays the bills, but it’s not my identity.”

“Good point,” I said. “It’s good to be reminded that we are not our jobs.”

“Exactly. You get it.”

We got to my truck and I opened the door for her. She slid in, then unlocked the door for me. Another test passed. Had she just sat there like an idiot, she would have failed the test.

I got in and cranked the truck. It roared to life, and strains of Charlie Parker, Miles Davis, and McCoy Tyner cooed from the speakers.

“Bebop jazz?” she asked.


“Please turn it up.” She smiled.

Could this be any more perfect? “No problem.”

“Is it OK if I smoke?” she asked.

“It’s completely OK, and thank you for asking.”

She lit up. Then I lit up. I put it in drive and we headed toward my place.

“I feel like I need to say this,” I said after a long pause. “I live alone in a shithole duplex. I’m very boring, and somewhat of an introvert. I don’t drink, and I don’t have a TV — by choice. My life revolves around providing for my daughter who lives with her Mother 800 miles away.”

“I really don’t care about any of that,” she said, matter-of-fact. “This is what I know: You are wired like me. You like sex. You jack-off a lot. You enjoy sensual pleasures. Like me, you are a visual person and we’re both attracted to each other. Neither of us is married. You don’t drink, and therefore don’t require pills to stay hard. Once you’ve had me, you probably won’t want me again. I’m OK with all that. I’m just looking for one night of pleasure, then I’m gone.”

“Are you for real?” I asked.

She tilted her head back and gave that deep throaty laugh again. “Yes. I’m just a girl. Attracted to a guy with a hard-on in good-fitting jeans and a turtle-neck sweater. You’re over 6 feet and your shoulders are wide. I like the stubble on your face, and the fact that you’ve got strong hands and smell great. You’re intelligent, and not afraid of the fact that I told you that I beat-off in the bathroom.”

“Well, you’re dead-on about all that,” I said. I was wondering how she knew all that about me. She was completely correct about all of it. Heck, maybe she was smarter and more observant than me. Which isn’t such a bad thing. Maybe she was testing me.

She tossed her cigarette out the window as Erykah Badu cycled into my Ipod. “Oooh. I LOVE her. (pause) Is it OK if I smoke a bowl?”

“You go right ahead. That’s not my thing. Too close to my substance abuse comfort zone border. I’m not gonna damn you for it, though,” I said.

“Thanks,” she smiled. “More for me.” She packed her bowl and went through her rituals of getting high. She started swaying gently left and right to the music as the smell of chronic permeated the truck.

“I just love Erykah Badu. She’s such a mean bitch.”

“Yes. I agree. A woman demanding equal treatment. Gotta respect her,” I said.

“Are you for real?” she cloyed.

I laughed out loud.


As we drove, her rhythmic left and right swaying to the music became almost hypnotic. We liked the same type of music. The “vibe,” the “groove,” the “pocket” of the song was more important than anything else.

I noticed that she periodically reached between her legs and under her dress.

I asked, “Whatcha doin’ down there?”

She said, “Just beating-off a little bit. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No. Not even a little bit.” I was pleasantly surprised to see again her lack of embarrassment regarding her body.

She leaned her seat back. She pulled up her dress and exposed a perfectly shaved pussy. “You like my pretty pussy?” she asked.

“Yes. Very much so.” The dash lights provided just enough illumination.

She put some spit on her fingers, then spread her legs and began massaging her clit. She said, “You like watching me jack-off? It makes me feel sexy to have someone watch me masturbate.”

“You’ve got the right audience,” I said. It sounded kinda cheesy in my head as I said it, but it was completely true.

I watched as she played with her clit. She would go slow, then faster, then Onwin giriş slide her middle finger in and out. Then she’d go back to rubbing her clit slowly again and repeat the process. She was enjoying her body, and I was enjoying watching.

“Is your cock hard?” she asked.


“Can I see it?”

I held the wheel with my left knee as I unbuttoned my jeans. They were Levi’s 501’s, so I just pulled them apart. Gotta love 501’s. My cock popped out and I gently stroked it. I was very hard and it was nice to release it from the restraints of my jeans.

She reached over with her left hand and gently squeezed my cock. She continued to masturbate with her right.

“That’s a perfect penis,” She said. “Not too big. Not to small. Just right.”

“Thank you. I think so, too.”

After a bit of her stroking both her and me, she asked, “Can I suck your cock?”

“Not right now. Let’s save that for later,” I said.

“OK.” She continued to play with her clit as we cycled into the music of Bill Evans. I put my hard cock back in my jeans.

She continued masturbating, more emphatically now. A minute later, she grit her teeth and said, “I gonna cum.”

“Cum, Baby,” I said.

She was vigorously rubbing her clit up and down. She grit her teeth, closed her eyes and growled from a low pitch to a higher pitch. She squirted a little bit on my seat as she came, her hips bucking just a bit.

She exhaled and fell in a slump. “Sorry about the squirt, Baby,” she said.

“No need to apologize. You just added to my spank bank. The cleanup is worth it.”

She smiled. I reached behind me for a blanket that I keep in the extended cab of my truck and covered her. She quickly fell asleep with a little smile on her face as I drove. She didn’t stir until we reached my house.


She woke as we pulled into the driveway of my rental. She yawned and said, “I gotta pee.”

Absolutely zero shame to this girl.

We both got out and I led the way to my door. I unlocked and opened it for her and caught a whiff of her fresh smell as she walked by. That smell may have been a hair or body spray product. Maybe deodorant. To this day, I still don’t know what that “freshness” was. But it liked it. It was feminine and it was comforting.

She walked in like she owned the place. Glanced around, found the bathroom, walked in, and closed the door.

I wasn’t quite sure what to do. I walked over to my laptop and hit the space bar. Pandora fired up through the external speakers with Keith Jarret banging out changes for Miles.

I looked around to ensure there wasn’t anything “out of sorts” — dirty underwear and socks lying about, dirty dishes, basically anything I’d be embarrassed about. There wasn’t. In addition, I checked to make sure I didn’t have any bills or financial records that could be easily accessible. As perfect as this woman appeared, I didn’t want to take any chances. Therefore, I took a quick second to password protect the screen saver on my laptop. One can never be too vigilant. I don’t have anything to hide, but providing a complete stranger full-access to all my personal information is just plain stupid.

She came out of the bathroom. “Your turn,” she said. “Go take a shower and clean all your parts.”

“I just showered a few hours ago.”

“This is not negotiable. It’ll take 10 minutes.”

Have to pick your battles. “Um… OK. I have juice, almond milk, and bottled water in the fridge. There are tea bags above the sink. Make yourself at home.”

She smiled. “Go. And don’t beat off.” She pointed to the bathroom.

So she was a clean freak. And really, what’s so bad about that?

“Yes ma’am.” I saluted, made the requisite USMC about-face, and headed to my bathroom grinning like an idiot.

While I was in the bathroom “cleaning my parts,” she knocked and entered with a big empty cooking pot. She was completely naked.

“Hi guy,” She said, as she held the pot under the warm water. I could see her scanning me, top to bottom, paying particular attention to my penis. “That’s a perfect penis,” she said again.

“You already said that,” I said.

“Sometimes things need to be said more than once. Merely to know they’re appreciated.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Whatcha doin’ with that big pot?”

“Filling it with warm water, Silly.”

I grabbed the pot from her. I could tell it was getting somewhat heavy.

She grabbed my razor from the shower rack and said “Be right back.”

She left and was back in 5 seconds. She grabbed the pot of warm water from me. “Finish up, then meet me in the bedroom.”

I did. Quickly.


After cleaning my “parts,” I wrapped a towel around my mid-section and walked to my bedroom.

She had taken all the sheets off my bed. She was laying on her back, head and upper body on a pile of pillows. Legs open and slowly massaging her clit as I walked in. She got up and said, “Lay down right here.”

I did. I could still feel the warmth of her body on the plastic mattress cover.

“Do you have any girl toys?”

I pointed to the dresser. “Top drawer.”

Her ass was almost heart-shaped as she bent over to reach in the dresser. Between her legs, I could see her perfectly shaved vagina.

“Yay!” she said as she triumphantly held up a blue vibrator. She turned it on, then back off. “That will do just perfect. Lotion and towels?”

“In the bathroom.”

She headed that direction, and I could hear her finding the things she needed, as well as washing the vibrator. Clean freak. In addition I heard her put something in the microwave for about 15 seconds. The lotion, I assumed.

She came back into the bedroom, sat on the bed and said, “I’m going to shave you.”

“Well, then,” I said. Not real sure what else to say.

“Lift your ass a little,” she said.

I did and she pulled off the towel. I was immensely hard, and it was hard for me to keep my hands off my cock. It was throbbing, moving itself up and down. I had zero control over this. With the back of her fingers, she gently rubbed my cock, my balls, and my inner thighs. It felt wonderful. Sensuous.

“I can see your boys are tight up against you. Don’t come yet, Baby. I need you to stay hard. What strategies do you use for edging?”

“I’ve tried them all — perineum pressure, testes tug, squeezing just below the head. The only thing that seems to work is just merely stop stimulating. But I know my body pretty well, and I know when to stop. I’ll let you know.”

“That sounds good,” she said. “I like the manscaping, too.”

“Thanks.” I always kept myself trimmed-up. When I cut the hair on my head every week, I also trim-up down below. I don’t get crazy with it, just put on the 1/8″ guard and zip through it. As much as I beat off (usually at least once a day), it seems more hygienic. Maybe I’m a bit of a clean freak, too.

She stopped touching me and put her hands under my thighs. She lifted gently indicating she wanted me to raise my thighs. I did. She got in a sitting position with her legs under mine. Her feet near my hips, similar to the spider position. I grabbed her feet, (bright red toenails, freshly pedicured) and gently started kneading her instep.

“I’ll give you an hour to quit doing that,” Julie said.

I smiled.

She grabbed the vibrator and turned it on. She laid it flat on the bed and leaned to the side a bit. She slid the vibrator toward her pussy, then slowly leaned back down on it.

She made a sensual pleasure noise (MMMmmmm) and said, “Wish every task could be as enjoyable as this.”

The vibrator wasn’t inside her. She was just merely sitting on it while it was flat on the bed. Periodically, she would lean back or forward, left or right. She was putting it where it felt good on her clit. It was incredibly enjoyable to watch.

“Now we get to work,” she said. “I may have to stop and cum every now and then, but I won’t be shaving you when that happens.”

“I appreciate that,” I chuckled. “I’m kinda freaked out about having a stranger operating a razor near my genitals.”

“Don’t worry, Baby. I’ve done this before.”

That made me feel a little bit better, anyway.

She put some lotion in her hands, then rubbed it on my cock and balls. The lotion was warm, and her touch was very light. I hate aggressive touches in bed. It takes away from the sensuality of things.

“Here we go!” she said. “Grab some lotion, and beat off, but just on the head of your penis. Do it gently, so you don’t move too much. Do it slowly so you don’t cum.”

I did. And sparingly so. I knew I was close to the edge, regardless of the woman with the razor near my cock.

She dipped the razor in the warm water, then gently started shaving down the shaft of my cock. “Gotta get those little hairs on the shaft,” she said.

She appeared to be concentrating, and would stop to clean the razor in the warm water after every stroke. Every now and again, she’d make a pleasure noise, and I noticed we both were sweating. She had turned the heat up while I was in the shower. When she leaned forward, her nipples would brush against my legs. She moved her torso back and forth to stimulate her nipples, then cock her hips back and forth to adjust her clit over the vibrator while making little moans. She made the best pleasure noises.

She had made only 5 or 6 passes with the razor when she stopped and closed her eyes. “I’m gonna cum again.”

She did, making the same low to high growl. Her jaw was clenched as her hips shook and her head bobbed uncontrollably. She had dropped the razor and was holding on to my knees tightly.

I had to stop touching myself or I would cum. It’s the ultimate pleasure for me to see a woman orgasm. Maybe I’m a bit of a voyeur, but, for me, seeing a woman make it home is the pinnacle of sexual experiences.

Most all women smile after they cum. She did, too. She picked up the razor, dipped it in the water, and continued shaving me while smiling.

She stopped to move the vibrator. Probably an over-stimulation thing. She said, “Lift your ass a little.”

I did.

She turned the vibrator around and started to move it toward my ass.

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