Baker Beach copyright 1999
Any of you who have read any of my other stories know that they're usually named after my, uh, "victims," like "Rob gets razed," or "Dom gets done," or, most recently, "Travis." Well, I ran out of appropriate verbs-how many ways are there to say, "shaved? This story is just called "Baker Beach," since that's where it happened.
For those of you who aren't familiar with Baker Beach, let me describe it to you. It sits at the base of the cliffs which make up both sides of the Golden Gate into which flows the waters of San Francisco, just to the west (that is, the ocean side) of the Golden Gate Bridge. Baker Beach is a strip of sand at least half a mile long, but never more than a hundred feet deep. One end is the family beach, easily accessible from a paved parking lot. The other end, closer to the Golden Gate Bridge, and separated from the family beach by several piles of rocks, which are difficult to pass over or around at high tide, is clothing-optional. The clothing-optional beach is accessible by climbing down the cliffs on several steep paths. The clothing-optional beach is also the "family" beach, so to speak.
At the base of the cliffs are piles of stone (most of which used to be part of the cliffs). Behind them are nooks and crannies of sand. The largest of these have been smoothed out, the smaller stones cleared, driftwood set in place to hold in the sand-what else do gays do when they move into some place new but redecorate?
For some reason the sun frequently shines on Baker Beach (and the other pocket beaches along that coast) while it's foggy in the rest of SF. The sunny was shining on January 2nd, the day this happened...
My current boyfriend and I got to Baker Beach around noon. We claimed our nook for the day by laying out a blanket, unpacking soda, food, suntan lotion, and books, then got undressed. When I took off my clothes I was COMPLETELY nude, since I'd shaved myself from the neck down just that morning. Actually, it was more of a trim, since I keep the important parts of my body shaved all of the time.
After a while of sunning ourselves, and eating lunch, I decided to wander up the beach, to check out the sights and to see what mischief I might get myself into. I snapped on a fanny pack, slipped a bottle of water into the holder at the side, put on my shades, kissed my boyfriend "good bye" and headed off.
I caught the eyes of a few guys (and the occasional girl) who are probably not used to seeing a totally smooth body. Nobody caught MY eye until I waded around a pile of rocks and saw the top half of a cute dude eyeing me from between two boulders. At first glance, he looked to be only around twelve years old, jail bait. Then I looked again-and he was well worth a second glance, or a third, and noticed he had sideburns and a light fu manchu moustache curling around his lips and down almost to the tip of his chin. His hair was light brown and bushy, sort of like Paul of the old Beatles (make that YOUNG Beatles). I LOVE guys with hair like that.
A wave slightly higher than the rest crashed onto shore, giving me an excuse to move closer to the rocks behind which stood my target. I stood there for a moment or two, watching the waves three-quarters on, and watching HIM out of the corner of my eye. I noticed that he was checking out my shaved chest and crotch. He rubbed his chest a couple of times, when he thought I wasn't looking. He even appeared to be plucking at a few hairs between his tits. That gave me the opening I was looking for, so I took it...
"I can take care of that, you know," I offered conversationally.
"Take care of what?" he asked, almost guiltily.
"That bit of hair," I replied. "May I?" I asked, as I started walking around the rock which still protected my quarry.
The guy looked confused, then said, "Um, sure." I don't think he knew what he was agreeing to.
I almost sprung a woody as I stepped around the rock and saw HIM completely. He was tall, maybe six-foot-two, and thin. He WAS young, maybe twenty-two or three (I'm only thirty, but to me twenty-two looks young). And he was VERY thin, he couldn't have weighed over one forty, despite being so tall.
As I surmised, he was almost hairless, a small patch of light brown hair between his tits, a small bit around his belly, and a brief treasure trail leading down to an oversized cock, which peered out from a surprising large forest of pubic hair. His cock was amazing; even soft it had to be seven inches long. I didn't know if he was a "show-er" or a "grower"; if he was a grower then he'd be hung like a horse. The mop of hair completed the picture of an adorable-looking young man.
I moved closer, and he stepped back, further into his lair. I unzipped my fanny pack and reached in for a disposable razor. I was a Boy Scout-I'm always prepared.
"You carry razors WITH you?" he exclaimed.
"Yes," I said. "I never know when I'll run into someone who missed a spot shaving." I plucked at his sparse chest hairs. Moving my hand lower, I pulled at a couple of hairs surround his belly and added, "Or two."
I took a step forward and said, "Now hold still." With that I put my left arm behind him, and against his back, holding him firmly. I held the razor in my right hand. With quick, sure strokes I ran the razor between his tits, removing a patch of hair which I could easily have covered with the palm of one hand.
His mouth opened wide in surprise as I stood back to admire my work. I looked down and noticed his cock was twitching a little, which I took to be a good sign.
"Ready for me to do the rest?" I asked, as though it was perfectly normal for a complete stranger to walk up to you on a nude beach and start removing the hair which it had taken all of your life to grow. "Now, get down on your hands and knees on that blanket," I ordered. To this day I'll never know why, but without another word, the guy turned and got down on his hands and knees, as commanded.
As I knelt behind him, ready to shave what little hair ran along his ass crack, I asked, "Are you alone?"
The guy said, looking back at me over his shoulder, "Actually, my boyfriend's having stomach problems. We probably shouldn't have come to the beach, but it was such a nice day. He went off to the bathroom. Maybe you passed him on the way here? He was wearing an orange Princeton shirt."
I remembered seeing the guy, shortly after I left my own picnic site, thinking that it would be fun to spend some time with him. Judging from where we now were, and the distance back to the parking lot and restrooms, and the usual line there, that I had a good twenty minutes or more to finish up what I had planned. "Well, won't HE be surprised when he gets back," I remarked cheerfully. "Now rest yourself on your elbows."
I got down on my own knees and rested on hand on the guy's lower back. "Spread your knees a little." He did. Maybe he was a natural boy. Maybe I'm a natural master. "That bears thinking about," I thought.
I ran the razor blade down one side of the guy's ass crack, and he sort of shuddered. I felt some movement beneath where my hand was, and suspected my guy was getting turned on. Another few strokes and that side was done. I started working on the other side. I used my free hand to hold the guy's crack open (and a very fuckable crack it was, I might add), working my way lower and lower, trying to get as much of his perineum as I could from that side.
I run a finger along the guy's crack, making sure I hadn't missed any hairs. I could almost feel his lips parting, inviting me to explore further. Reluctantly I did not pursue the opportunity; I had work to do! I slapped the guy's butt and said, "Turn over onto your back." The guy hesitated, so I slapped again, "Hurry up. I haven't got all day. There are other customers waiting."
That cracked us both up. It also relaxed the guy enough that he rolled over onto his back. The reason for his hesitation was as I suspected, the remains of a hard-on were just leaving him. I almost drooled on him as I learned that he WAS a grower!
Quickly, before he could change his mind, I got started. With a few deft strokes I removed the hair surround the guy's navel. The guy had no hair to speak of on his chest, other than the bit between his tits, which was already gone. The guy laughed and wiggled a bit as I worked, then apologized for being so ticklish. I told him I'd try to be careful, and pressed more firmly rather than with light, tickling strokes. Soon his belly was devoid of its scant covering.
I turned the razor, and with three quick strokes, the guy's treasure trail was gone. I then sat back to consider; the guy's bush was so thick I wouldn't be able to do it with just a razor, fun as that is. The guy looked at me, as if to say, "What's the story? Why'd you stop?"
I set the razor down and reached into my fanny pack. I pulled out a pair of electric clippers. That nearly blew the guy's mind. Well, if I'm going to call myself a barber, I should certainly have the tools of the trade!
I turned the razor on, and ran it along the top edge of the guy's pubes. That set him off; his cock was visibly growing before my eyes. I tried to ignore it, but it's kind of hard to ignore a baseball bat, especially when it threatens to poke out your eye! Well, not really, it just seemed that way; the thing had to be eleven inches long.
"Eleven and a half," the guy said. I guess he was used to people wondering. "My brother's is almost thirteen, but he's two years older." God if this kid was still growing! I had to admit is was one of the nicer cocks I had seen in a while, perfectly cylindrical, not too fat, maybe an inch and a quarter in diameter, nicely colored skin, cut-the way I like them-with a large but not oversized head. A real mouthful-or asshole-ful, if you're into that sort of thing.
I took hold of the guy's cock midway down the shaft, the better to hold it out of the way as I ran the clippers along the skin at its base, trying to clear off as much hair as I could before I got to work with the hand razor. I took the guy's balls in my hand and ran the clippers over them. His balls were surprising small, or maybe they just looked small in comparison to the club which protected them.
Having gotten as much as I could with the clippers, I shook them off. I then took out a small brush and cleaned off the few hairs which were still sticking to them. I stuck the clippers back into my pack, and picked up the razor.
I started scraping the razor along the skin which had just been covered thickly with hair. I soon had the are above the guy's cock completely smooth. I moved a little, and started scraping the razor down both sides of the guys cock (well, actually I scraped it down the sides one at a time--English is SUCH a difficult language.)
I took a grip higher up on the guy's cock, above the hairline (a couple of inches of cock STILL poked out of my fist!) I ran the razor down all sides of the guy's cock, shaving the few hairs my clippers hadn't gotten. What a pretty sight! They cock before me could have been the model for your standard, long dildo.
"Almost done," I thought, as I attacked the guy's balls with my razor. Well, THAT didn't come out right! I took these most delicate balls of pleasure in one hand and started shaving. For having such a thick pubic bush, the guy's balls were notably NOT hairy.
I pulled down his balls, which brought a whimper of pleasure from my "victim." "Maybe he WOULD" like me to attack his balls," I thought. "Too bad this isn't the place, and I don't have time nor the proper equipment." I have lots of things in my fanny pack, but don't usually expect to do a CBT scene on a nude beach!
I scraped at the taut skin in my hand. When that part of the skin was smooth, I changed my grip, grasping the guy's ball sac just below his cock. That gave me a firm surface on which to shave the guy's balls, which I did. I ran my finger over the guy's sac, to see if I'd missed any spots. That brought another cry of pleasure from the guy beneath me. Maybe he just had sensitive balls. I ran the razor in a couple of places, not that they really needed it; I'm just a perfectionist when it comes to shaving.
I ran my fingers over the guy's smooth belly, then touched up a few spots. I'd already checked the guy's cock with my fingers. It was smooth; I'd done a good job in the first pass.
I blew off the razor, then put it into my fanny pack clean. I wouldn't use that razor again-you should NEVER use a razor on two people. In fact, when I got home I'd take off the clipper head and wash and boil it for a while-I don't take chances with any of my toys.
I reached into my pack and took out yet another brush. This one I used to brush off the clipping's from the guy's crotch. The tickle of the bristles set the guy off again, so after but a few passes, I considered myself done. I put the brush away in my fanny pack and zipped it up. The only tools I NOW planned to use on the guy's cock and balls I did NOT keep in my pack!
I took hold of the guy's cock again. I leaned forward on my knees. I guess the guy thought I was going to suck him off; he seemed to brace himself for my attack on the tip of his cock. I surprised him, though. I used his cock for balance and bent forward to suck his balls into my waiting mouth.
Either the guy was sensitive, or was turned on by my shaving him, or my tongue was as magical as I'd been told it was. I scarcely had time to run my tongue over and around and between the guy's balls a couple of times before I felt them tighten up in my mouth.
I pointed the guy's cock away from me. Good thing I did, as a volcano of sperm shot from the end of his cock. I guess it built up velocity as it swam up that long pipe; the first spurt shot over the guy's shoulder and onto the towel. The second one shot almost as far, leaving a few drops of cream across his shoulder and down almost level with his left tit. Two more spurts made a dotted trail back close to the guy's belly, which is where the end of the guy's cock lined up with.
I kept licking until the guy started writhing beneath me. At last he put a hand on my shoulder to push me away. He lay there gasping, trying to catch his breath. I sat back, watching him, smiling. Then I frowned--I had forgotten my camera back at my picnic site. Darn!
At last the guy seemed to be back in control. He started to sit up, then looked around. Finally he picked up his buddy's towel and started wiping off his shoulder and chest. He saw me watching him, then just grinned. "He'll never know," the guy said.
Deciding he was clean, the guy folded up his friend's towel again, and lay back down. In the meantime I started to get up. I opened up my fanny pack and reached in to get out a card and a pen. The card had only my first name and phone number, and a small red and white-striped barber pole. On the back I scribbled, "Baker Beach." I handed it to the guy, who took a glance at it, then tucked it into his bag.
I started backing up. "Um, thanks for the, um, shave," they guy said.
"Thank you!" I exclaimed. "Give me a call when you're ready to be shaved again. I do house calls, too." With that I turned and left the guy's hideaway.
I proceeded back down the beach, mindless of my cock, which I'd just noticed was only starting to soften from the tumescent state it reached-like it always does-when I'd started shaving the guy's crotch.
I hadn't gone more than a hundred feet when I saw a knockout walking toward me. This guy was shirtless, but with tight runner's trunks covering massive thighs. I always wondered who actually bought that stuff from International Male! Well, that guy looked better than any IM model I'D ever seen! The guy obviously worked on his upper body as well, even hanging at his side I could appreciate his muscular arms, biceps cut. A perfectly sculpted vee-shaped chest, and two quarter-sized dark tits completely this god-sprung-to-life. Just a sparse brushing of hair covered his upper chest, and a trail of darker hairs disappeared from his navel into the top of his shorts.
Evidently my cock liked what it saw, also. It quickly sprang to life and guided my way as an arrow as I walked towards the guy. Now, I'm in pretty good shape myself, but not like this god-boy. Evidently it was good enough, though, because he actually talked to me. "You like what you see?" he said.
"I like!" I said. "I like very much! If I wasn't in a hurry, I'd be happy to show you HOW much I like what I see." I reached into my fanny pack, trying not to look like a fool as I frantically searched for another card. I HAD to get back to my boyfriend, but couldn't pass up the opportunity. Who knows? Maybe he would actually call ME! And maybe I'd win the lottery, as well!
I finally found a card and handed it to him. At least he hadn't said, "Forget it" and wandered off. He looked at my card and said, "Jason?" That's me. He reached out a hand and said, "I'm Damian. I kind of like what I can see, also. Not that you leave much to the imagination!" We laughed at that as I took his hand to shake it. If anything, I got even harder as I shook Damian's hand. I swear, I'll never wash that hand again! Well, maybe after I've touched OTHER parts of Damian's body.
Damian said, "Thanks for the card. I just MIGHT give you a card. See you."
I mumbled my goodbye, then headed down the beach. Then I turned back for one last look at Damian. He'd pulled out a tee shirt that had been tucked into the back of his running shorts. I caught just a glimpse of an orange tiger as he slipped the Princeton shirt over his head. "Well," I thought as headed back to my towel. "I wonder if they'll compare notes?"
They did. Damian's boyfriend, who I learned was named Paul, called me when he was ready to be shaved again. When I was done with him, I shaved Damian. Then they shaved me. But that's a story for another day...