5 O'clock Shadow by Eric Larsson

It’s a warm afternoon, and we’ve been sitting around in shorts sipping beer and remembering that weekend at the beach with your family. After a couple of beers, our conversation goes back to all of that teasing you did. Of course, you knew perfectly well that nothing was going to happen there, with your uncle, mother, husband and everyone else around.

I never forgot how you teased me about your tanline, and especially the way you teased me about your bikini shave. It startles me when you look down into the front of your shorts and challenge me: “You think I was just teasing?” Your sly grin tells me that you aren’t done teasing yet.

But I can tease too: “Well, when you start to develop a 5 o’clock shadow, I guess we’ll find out.” I nearly choke on my beer when you unzip your shorts and show me the barely visible traces of hair showing above the waistband of your very low-cut panties. Your look tells me to put up or shut up.

I take another sip of beer, buying time and trying to think what to say, while you look straight into my eyes. You got me. All I can do is wink, as if that carries some kind of meaning. But it must have, because I watch you wiggle out of your shorts and let them drop to the floor, and just as quickly your top comes off over your head. Now I see you standing there in your white bra and panties, with your 5 o’clock shadow showing here and there. I’ll take you up on that challenge, so you go round up the supplies for shaving: razor, shaving cream, towel and a basin of warm water. We lay it all out on the carpet and sit down next to each other. You slide a strap off your shoulder and raise your arm. I need to feel the hair . . . gently, don’t want to cause any irritation. Yep, needs work.

I dab on some warm water, some of which runs down the front of your bra, making it turn virtually transparent. Something in my own shorts responds. You lie back while I gently massage the shaving cream over the area. Then I start stroking the razor, very lightly, very slowly, very gently. Over and over, to remove every trace of hair. Somehow my other hand ends up covering the wet spot on the bra. I can feel a firm nipple pressing against my palm, so I give it a brief, gentle squeeze.

Your other strap comes off your shoulder, and now both of your arms are raised above your head. With eyes closed, you feel me do the same thing all over again. Then our hands are together above your head. Yours stay there while mine run slowly down your arms.

Caressing your skin lightly down across your wrists, your arms, your elbows, lower and lower, across the smooth, freshly shaved areas, then down a little further. Then I slowly move my hands toward one another across the front of your bra, until I am covering both of your nicely shaped, small breasts. I can feel the nipples, hard and wanting to feel the touch of my lips.

You reach down and release the front clasp on the bra, and spread it open for that long awaited close look at your breasts. No tan line. I wonder how that happened? But this is so much better than a momentary glimpse on the river. I can take the time to look, and feel, and tease, and taste.

You lay spread on the floor, eyes closed, feeling the touch of unfamiliar lips on your breasts, tongue teasing your nipples to a wonderful hardness. You close your hands into tight fists and force them to stay above your head.

It isn't easy, because you have to fight off the impulse to reach down and press my face harder against yourself. But you are afraid of what that might lead to, though a part of you doesn't care! You swallow hard and control your impulse, enjoying the sensation and the sense of the forbidden.

I can feel your chest rising and falling quickly and I imagine that I can feel your rapid heartbeat, and I know you are vulnerable. With my hands and mouth caressing, tasting, feeling your breasts, one of my legs finds its way between yours. I can feel you raise your hips and press yourself against my leg, and I can feel the moist warmth there. I lift myself slowly and kiss your parted lips, and in an instant I can feel the passion. Looking into your eyes, I can see the pent up desire, the wild, irrational, irresponsible, overwhelming need.

The unfinished job will never get done if I keep looking into those eyes, so I back off, slowly running fingers down your neck, across your collar bone and over your breasts. They keep going, and I see a quiet smile on your lips as your eyes close. Fingers pass lightly over soft skin until they touch delicate fabric, then they move along the edge of the fabric, feeling their way around the waistband until they reach the sides, where there is almost no fabric at all. Fingers cross the thin band of fabric and begin tracing along the lower edge now. Down to where there is a faint trace of fine hair. Fingers now trace up and down both sides of the fabric, feeling where the hairs have begun to show. It isn't all that is beginning to show. There is a damp spot visible where I know I haven't spilled any water. I can't resist placing my hand over it and pressing and squeezing softly, enjoying the reaction it causes.

As I run my fingers back up to the sides of the bikini panties, you raise your hips. The delicate fabric slides easily down your legs. I enjoy the feel of your legs as I slip the panties off, and then you are lying there, fully exposed. To a man, there is no greater view on earth than the sight of a woman when she is conspicuously ready for sex. And this view is better than most! The tiny patch of hair that was left in the last bikini shave has been trimmed short, and the legs are slightly spread. Everything shows. I can see you squirm as you feel my eyes exploring every detail. And somehow I know you are loving it.

You are breathing hard, and that isn't the only thing that's hard. At this moment, we both are ready to fall together in a steaming heap. But first, I have to finish what I started. I hate unfinished projects.

I run my hand over the bare skin, the fine stubble, the patch of short hair and the moist pink softness that is pushing itself forward, demanding to be seen and touched. I run my fingers between the pink folds, and they come away wet, a wetness that I have to taste. Then I dab the warm water over the area, temporarily rinsing away some of the heat. I begin massaging the shaving cream onto the stubble, but I end up putting it in the closely trimmed hair as well. Then I start stroking with the razor. Some parts are smooth and easy. It doesn't take much time to shave the areas that would be outside your tan line (if you had one). But the shaven area goes well beyond the invisible tan line. So I continue shaving, all across the flat area where there is the faint line of a surgical scar. Smooth, gentle strokes. Ever so lightly, to be sure there won't be a rash tomorrow. Starting at the top and slowly working down.

The short hair starts to fall away before the razor, and as it does you feel an increasing sense of nakedness. And excitement! More than you've felt before, and not just because of the shaving, but because it is a virtual stranger who is doing it! You feel your heart pounding, and you feel like you're going to explode.

The most difficult area is at the top of the valley. I have to spread the skin flat in order to get to all of the hair. Down, down, down, pressing the delicate pink folds to the side in order to shave the rounded outer mounds of soft skin. My own heart is racing, and I can see your breasts rise and fall quickly.

I run my fingers over every millimeter of the area (millimeters because there are more of them than inches), checking for any remaining trace of hair. Finding none, I rinse you off with warm water, then pat you dry, leaving the towel covering the finished project. Your eyes are still closed, anticipating, but not knowing what is next. You feel lips touch yours, and you draw a sharp breath. Your hands, still clenched into fists, stay above your head; and you feel the towel slowly drawn away. So you are left spread eagled on the floor, more naked than you've been since you were 10 years old, enjoying the appreciative gaze of someone you barely know, but who now knows more about you than almost anyone else on earth.

I take a deep breath and a long look. You appear as a strange mixture of woman and girl, spread wide open, with every hair below the neck freshly shaved from your body. You're breathing hard, and you feel involuntary contractions in the area so recently uncovered. You feel my lips on yours, and you struggle to keep your hands above your head, because you know what will happen if you make one move to encourage me. And yet you know, you can feel that the sight of you is all the encouragement I need. Even if you couldn't feel the bulge in my shorts pressed against your leg, you would know. But you do feel the bulge and press your leg harder against it, and you feel the instant reaction.

My lips leave yours and pass lightly across your ear, and I whisper that I want to feel your breasts against my bare chest. All I hear in return is a deep sigh, which I interpret to be agreement. I raise up and pull my shirt over my head. My tan is darker than yours. Bending down, I touch my lips to yours. I feel them part, and I feel your heavy breathing. While the kiss continues, I lower my chest against you and feel the warm hardness of your nipples pressing against me. I rotate my hips forward to press myself harder against your leg, and I feel you press back. I feel your free leg start to move, and I feel your foot tracing a line up my leg.

You tilt you head back as I move my lips from your ear down along your neck to your collar bone. I feel you move beneath me, and suddenly I am between your legs; and I can feel you tracing lines up and down my legs with both of your feet, and I am very aware that something wet and hot is rubbing against the bare skin above my shorts. With every movement of your legs up and down against mine, I can feel your body inch upward against mine, so in a moment my lips are at your breasts, teasing and tasting. Now my hands find your breasts and squeeze and caress them, while you leg movements bring you higher and higher, until I can feel the wetness against my chest. I feel you pressing it hard against me, and even as my tongue finds your navel, I know that far better things lie below. There is no question what you want. I can feel you thrusting your hips, impatient for the touch of my lips. You are lifting your hips, trying to force yourself up to my mouth, and it is a moment worth savoring.

Rolling slightly, first to one side, then to the other, I move my arms from above your legs to below them, and now you are spread wide open in front of my face. I notice the sweet smell of passion, and I can see the hot wetness as you open before me. My heart is thundering, and I know that yours is too. I kiss the insides of your thigh, high up, teasing you and tantalizing you.

I let you feel my breath on the swollen, wet pink softness that is not an inch from my lips. I run my fingers down your invisible tan lines to where they almost come together next to the cavern that is yawning open before me. My fingers are wet and slide smoothly as I move them up through the deep folds toward the small, hard nub at the top. I run my fingers up along side your clit, without touching, but nonetheless causing it to swell; and by pressing gently at its base I cause it to be fully exposed. I touch with my tongue, and I feel an instant contraction in your hips. I touch again, then run my tongue down deep between the glistening pink folds, toward the cavern, then back up, tracing a circle around your clit. And I feel another contraction, this time stronger. I feel your hands, unable to stay out of the action any longer, holding my head, pressing me further in, guiding me. I hear you breathing is short gasps, and I feel your pelvis start to twitch. I run my tongue as far as I can inside you, then again, and again; then I run it back up through the warm softness. I close my lips around your clit, and when I start to suck on it, I can feel the explosion inside you.

You are twitching and thrashing beneath me, and I can hear you making sounds that are something between a moan and a scream. I become aware of a wet warmth all around my mouth and my face; and your thrusting hips cover me with sweet tasting syrup. Your breathing turns heavier and slower, and gradually the contractions taper off, and you lie there briefly exhausted--and you've hardly done a thing all afternoon! I roll onto my back next to you and find the damp towel next to the shaving supplies. Even as I use the towel to dry my face, I can feel your hands now exploring my body. Or more to the point, unfastening my shorts and looking for the zipper. I'm ready for this. Almost past ready, I think, wondering how long I can hold it back.

I feel myself on the verge of coming. Then I feel you slowly draw the zipper down, and slip your hand into my underwear, which I know have a damp spot in the front. A touch, a feel, as if getting the lay of the land. I raise my hips and slide the shorts and underwear off, and as quickly as they are gone, I feel both of your hands and in an instant your mouth close around me. I am startled and thrilled. I can't quite catch my breath. Involuntarily, I arch up under you, driving deep into your mouth.

Things could come to a quick end right now, so in order to prolong the moment, I pull your face up to kiss the lips that are still warm with the slippery fluid from where they had been. I imagine (or is it just imagination) that I can feel your heart flutter. Your brain is not functioning any longer. The absurdity, the impossibility of what is happening can't penetrate the foggy euphoria at experiencing feelings that you thought you no longer could feel because it had been so long since you had. And, too, in a sense the feeling is all new in its own right, simply because of the sheer audaciousness of the afternoon's unfinished activities! Never did you, a young wife and new mother, envision yourself the object--and the source--of such passion. Just thinking of it actually does make your heart flutter.

And for an instant, you consider stopping right here. You almost do, knowing that everything about this is all wrong. You know you can finish me off in a matter of seconds, and that would be that. Yet it feels so good! And it has been so long! You return my kiss, this time with deeper passion. Feeling my hands again stroking your breasts, you start to feel yourself warm up. Again. I shift my weight and start to move, but you push me down onto my back, laying yourself half on top of me, where I can fondle your breast while we kiss. The nipple is hard again. I love the way it feels, and I like the way you react when I gently squeeze.

You're doing some squeezing yourself, and I can feel myself yielding to one of those involuntary spasms that shoots through a man when properly stimulated. And your hand is doing some serious stimulating. I can see that you kind of enjoy having this kind of power, and I am enjoying it myself. As you can see. Both by what is in your hand and by my heavy breathing.

My free hand works its way past yours and again locates your warm wet spot, and it is very obvious that you're getting into this. You can feel me massaging your clit, not gently like before, but aggressively. No teasing anymore, just full-bore stimulation. You shift slightly so my hand that has been pinned beneath you can reach between your legs, and you feel a finger go inside you; then two fingers together cause you to feel the urgent need for more, more, more.

It's now or never. You swing your leg over me, move to a kneeling position and guide me into yourself. I can hear you gasp at the pleasure as you lower yourself until you are sitting flush against me. I can barely move, but I can rotate my hips, pressing myself tighter against you. I'm already as far in as I can go. And then you rotate your hips, and surprisingly drive me in just a little bit deeper. It is a delicious feeling, and we both have it. I can reach your breasts with both hands as you start a gentle rocking motion. I'm watching you, rocking, eyes closed, breathing faster and faster, rocking faster and faster.

Then you've pulled my hands from your breasts, and pushed them to the floor, where you have them pinned. There's no more rocking now. You are moving rapidly up and down in a near-frenzy, raising yourself until I am clear out, just barely touching you, then you slam back down, completely lost in the feel of repeated, repeated, repeated penetration. I can feel it about to end. The explosion is building, and I'm past the point of no return, and still you are thrusting yourself up and down. I feel myself all the way out, and an instant later all the way in. I tear my hands loose from yours and grab you by the hips and pull you down in one last thrust as you feel the liquid heat flood inside you. That sets off your own spasms, and now we're both wracked by contractions, finally collapsing together in a victory kiss. I don't need to ask if it was good for you.

But I guess I can ask if reading about it was good for you. Sure has been fun writing it. Except that now I'm so horny I don't know what to do with myself. (No actually, it would be a pure shame to waste all this horniness on myself!) Help, what do I do? Want to see my vasectomy scars?

Comments: Eric Larsson