Mid-Valley League Swim Finals

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It’s been an eventful first six months of the year. Four months ago, the big February 9, Sylmar-San Fernando earthquake almost shook our house in North Hollywood off its foundation. Two months ago, I registered for the draft on my 18th birthday. Two days from now, Thursday, the Mid-Valley League swimming finals happen at Birmingham High. Friday, the day after, I will graduate from Poly High.

“OK, everybody, this is a delicate subject that I only talk about with seniors. Your final swim meet for Poly is Thursday, the day after tomorrow, and you need all the options to perform your best, but I want to emphasize this is strictly voluntary.” Coach Richards hesitated a bit before continuing, “Olympic swimmers shave off their body hair to cut drag in the water. You’re not yet Olympic swimmers, but if you want to try to achieve your personal best before you leave Poly, you should think about it. For our purposes, that means your legs and torso. Leave the hair on your arms; it helps pull you through the water. If you ever go to the Olympics, you’ll probably shave your head too, but we’re not there. I recommend shaving tonight to get used to the feeling during tomorrow’s light-workout. Then touch up again Thursday morning, before our team breakfast. We won’t talk about this again, or mention it to anyone else on the team. I want to be very clear that it’s completely optional. Good luck.”

The boys swim team trained at a pool in Studio City on Ventura Blvd. We’d just finished our last afternoon workout, and after the speech, we all showered, dressed, and walked to our cars for the drive home. Carol, the pool manager, singled me out before I left and asked, “You got the talk just now, didn’t you – – ah, – – Eric, isn’t it?”

I stopped at the counter, slowly glanced both ways, and replied, “Yeah, I’m Eric. If you mean the shaving thing, then, yep, we just got the talk. You’ve seen this a few times before?”

“A few. I finished my Phys Ed degree three years ago and took this job, part-time, for stress relief during my first-year teaching at Hollywood High. It turned out I was a much better coach than a teacher.” Carol continued, “I make a point of being here when Coach Richards gives the talk because it’s funny watching a group of guys reduced to frightened children. They all think nothing of making their girlfriends shave their legs and armpits, but when it comes to doing it to themselves, it’s an entirely different matter. I sensed you wouldn’t be upset at the possibility of shaving more than just your face, that’s why I asked you. So, what do you think?”

I blushed before I could speak, “I’m a bit confused. My face feels different after I shave, and during the coach’s talk, I thought my legs and body might feel different the same way as my face after shaving. It’s a big job, though, and I still nick my face sometimes. We’ll see.”

“Keep me posted.” Carol then waved bye.

My thoughts were chaotic as I drove home. I was slower in maturing and didn’t need to shave every day yet, let alone think about shaving my body. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to do my best in the swim meet, but shaving my body seemed like a big deal. I’m sure if my dad were alive, he would laugh it off and tell me to forget it. Real men only shave their faces, if that. Two summers ago, though, he had a massive heart attack.

I made the U-turn to park in front of our house. It’s a typical post-war bungalow my father bought right after the war. A few years later, he met my mom at a ‘Tall Club’ social event in Glendale (he was 6’3,” and mom is 5’11”). He looked a little like Rock Hudson (at least to me), and she like a dreamy mix of Ava Gardner and Natalie Wood (objectively, to everyone). I set the parking brake on my mom’s ’56 Pontiac and knew I had no other choice than ask her how to shave my legs and body.

My mom is a nursing supervisor on the graveyard shift at Kaiser hospital in Hollywood. Everyone calls her Kay; I call her Mom. She gets home most days about 9:00 AM, except Fridays for staff meetings, and sleeps during the day. I’m usually home from swim workouts by the time she wakes up. We have the evening together for dinner and TV or occasionally a play or musical at the Music Center downtown. She goes into work for the start of her shift at midnight.

It was a shock to both of us when dad died, but our close relationship helped to keep us afloat. We kept on doing what we always had, and it cushioned the pain of grieving. It also gave me freedom during the nights when she was at work, and no one was around to watch.

I bounded up the walkway and opened the front door. Mom was already awake and watching TV in the living room.

“Hi Eric,” she greeted me after I closed the door and walked to the center of our small living room.

“Hi, Mom. Something’s just come up with swimming, and I don’t know who else to ask but you.”

“I’ll do my best to help, Honey,” she said. “Turn off the TV; we’ll talk.”

I sat on the couch beside her and began, “Coach Richards told the seniors that we might Escort bayan achieve faster swim times if we shaved our legs and bodies. It’s voluntary, but something to consider if we want to try for a personal best to end our swim careers at Poly. I’d like to try it, but can barely shave my face without a nick and don’t have any idea about the rest of my body. Do you have any pointers to make it easier?”

“Oh, Honey, I’ve shaved hundreds of patients at the hospital and my legs thousands of times. Of course, I can help. Let’s do it right now. I’ve got to get to work early tonight. We can get this out of the way, have dinner, and not worry about deadlines. Put a swimsuit on so I can see how much I need to shave. We’ll do it in the bathroom; it’s easier to clean up.”

“Thanks, that’s great, Mom.”

I headed to my bedroom to change and realized that the old speedo suits I have at home had degraded elastic bands at the legs and waist from constant soaking in the pool’s chlorine. They are stretched and saggy. I wasn’t sure how well I’d stay put in the suit while Mom shaved me. I thought that might be exciting, too.

Part of the fun of the swim team was wearing the nylon speedos. At meets, I enjoyed the attention of female spectators when they watched us parade around, practically nude. Our sheer swimsuits had a double layer of fabric in the front, a modesty panel, to hide the intimate details of your cock, but otherwise left nothing to the imagination.

I closed my bedroom door and quickly stripped off. Standing naked in front of the dresser, I remembered times I’d stood the same in front of Mom’s dresser while she was at work. Like most boys, I think, I found my mother’s underclothes mysterious and exciting. Some nights, while she was at work, I would carefully look through her dresser at the bras, hose, girdles, and especially panties. They feel so smooth and delicate compared to the jockey briefs I had to wear. Just rubbing them against my skin was thrilling. There is something ‘nasty’ and forbidden about walking naked into my mother’s bedroom, opening her panty drawer, taking a pair of panties, stepping into and pulling them up around my crotch. In these silken panties, I walked alone through our house to the back door and sometimes out into the back yard, where I hoped our neighbor’s daughter, often home from college, would see me. Wearing speedos was close to the feeling of wearing my mother’s silky panties.

I finally opened the top drawer. My chest tingled with excitement as I chose an old, loose swimsuit that I’d cut out the modesty panel. I pulled the swimsuit up and didn’t know what to do with my cock. Usually, I tuck it straight down, pushing my balls a bit out of the way, and the tension of the taut fabric keeps everything in place. This pair didn’t have the restraining tightness, and all I could do was pull them up and point my cock down. I was a little nervous, but everything seemed under control.

My bedroom door is in the corner of the room and opens directly to one end of a short hallway. At the other end of the hall is Mom’s bedroom and the bathroom in-between. The living room is a step outside my door, directly to the right. I pulled my door open as Mom reached for the bathroom doorknob.

She wore something I think is called a culotte, a shorts-dress combination kind of thing, and a T-shirt. Her slightly longer than shoulder length brown hair tumbled down unrestrained, and she wasn’t wearing her bra. I was taken aback at how beautiful and naturally sexy she looked. I had significant second thoughts about going through with this ‘beauty treatment’ for the swim meet.

“It’s good you’re ready so quickly,” Mom didn’t allow a way out. “Let’s get to work.”

She opened the door, and I awaited further instruction. The bathroom is typical of this type of bungalow, small and functional. The toilet is directly opposite and facing the door. Along the right wall are the bathtub with shower and a small linen closet. On the left wall is a full-length counter holding double sinks with a full length, wall-mounted mirror above. There are five or six globe lights above the mirror and a single globe in the center of the ceiling.

She reached into the shower, picked up her safety razor and a washcloth, turned to the counter, opened a drawer, retrieved a package of new safety blades, and loaded one into the razor. Next, she picked up a can of shaving cream from the drawer, turned on the hot water tap, and sat on the already closed toilet seat lid.

“Stand here in front of me so I can make a proper assessment,” she commanded in her stern, emergency room voice. “You have some hair on your chest and sprouting up from your waist. Hold your arms out. Yes, there’s some underarm hair that should come off and quite a bit of hair on your legs that must go. Face me; I’ll start on your chest, then under your arms and your stomach. Then you’ll turn around to get the back of your legs and finish up with the front.”

It sounded straight forward. Mom sat on the toilet lid, Bayan escort soaked the washcloth in warm water while I stood in front of her with my arms held out from my sides. She then rubbed it over my chest and up into my armpits. It felt great.

“OK, Honey, clasp your fingers together, then rest them on top of your head so I can reach everything.” I complied.

I tilted and turned my head up and toward the mirror. I didn’t look at her while she worked, but at her reflection in the mirror. It was more exciting, anyway. She sat straight up with an arched back that, from my side view, profiled her right side completely, emphasizing her prominent, jutting, unencumbered breasts. Her attention focused on wetting down my upper body.

Nudity wasn’t that big a deal growing up. My parents slept nude most of the time and didn’t bother about putting on something at night just to go to the bathroom. I remember catching them a few times in the kitchen after I was supposed to be asleep, getting a late-night snack to accompany watching Johnny Carson while in bed. They were naked, it was a surprise, but they didn’t make any big deal about it. We’d all go skinny dipping when alone out on a lake in the summer. When I got older, though, around when I hit puberty, we all became more private. The causal nudity decreased and eventually stopped.

When she finished wetting down my chest, Mom sprayed shaving cream on her hand and spread a thin layer on my chest and under my arms. I kept my head firmly tilted up, but my eyes glanced down to my left while she held the razor under the flowing, warm water. She carefully used the razor under my left armpit and then my right, taking a stroke or two, and cleaned it under the faucet. I noticed her gaze strictly limited to the areas where she was working.

When she finished with my armpits, she moved on to my chest, carefully removing the hair around my nipples. I noticed a change in the contour of her breasts. Initially, they had a smooth silhouette against the T-shirt. As she swiped the razor and cleaned with the washcloth, I noticed that her nipples raised and poked against her T-shirt. She paused to squeeze the washcloth clean and splashed water out of the sink and onto the right front of her shirt. Now the white cloth of the T-shirt stuck to her skin, becoming almost translucent. The outline of her dark, puckering areola with the hardened nipple in its center was visible.

I’m still a virgin and haven’t seen breasts close-up before. It was exciting and mesmerizing. At first, my cock was its usual, soft self, cradled at the bottom of my swimsuit. When Mom wetted my stomach and began applying the shaving cream, I felt my cock hardening. It started pushing down then out. She pulled the razor up from the waistband, with the grain of my hair, five or six strokes to clean that area and then with her left hand gently pulled down on the waistband to get just a little bit lower to clear the exposed hair. I stared at her hardening nipples, showing through her shirt.

“OK Eric, I think your chest’s finished, turn around so I can do the back of your legs.” She said, rinsing off the washcloth and razor.

“How should I stand now?” I asked as I turned away from her and towards the mirror, not a moment too soon.

“Well, Honey, put your feet further apart, turn a little to your right, bend at your waist, and lean on the counter with your arms straight.”

I faced away from her, my feet about 18 inches apart, and bent at the waist, making my butt stick out. I supported my upper body with my hands on the counter. At least my cock didn’t point in her face. I was bent over, and the fabric loosened, giving my cock more room to expand.

Mom soaked the washcloth again and started with my left leg, pushing the wet, warm cloth directly onto the uppermost part of my inner thigh. She dragged it around my leg and down to my ankle, filled her hand with shaving cream, and coated the just moistened area. She pulled the elastic leg band of my swimsuit up into the crack of my ass. Razor in hand, she shaved in vertical strokes around my leg then down past my knee to my ankle. She did the same to my right leg.

It felt terrific being taken care of that way. It wasn’t explicitly sexual but had an erotic effect. The loose fabric of my swimsuit left my budding erection unrestricted. Facing the mirror, I could see it grow. I glanced to my right and saw my mom full-frontal, both of her firm breasts tantalizingly on display. She seemed a bit sloppier, and more water splashed on her shirt.

I love my mom and enjoy being around her, but I’ve never imagined an explicitly sexual fantasy with her. I was sure that fondling and wearing her panties was literally about feeling the silk and the naughtiness of wearing a woman’s clothes, not figuratively about getting into her pants. That’s what I kept telling myself as she continued on the back of my legs, and my cock filled the front my speedos.

She was about to finish, and I would have to turn around and face whatever Escort embarrassment, humiliation or punishment would befall me. I couldn’t hide my aroused state, but the exhibitionist in me believed that I might get away with it by pretending it didn’t happen. I thought that when parading in the back yard, I didn’t know anyone was home, purely accidental. When Mom finished the final stroke and soaked the washcloth to rinse my leg, I saw in the mirror that I could pretend no such thing. My fully erect cock pushed up to the waistband of the swimsuit. With the modesty panel gone, all the details of the veins on the underside of my cock were visible. To top it off, an expanding spot of pre-cum ooze darkened the fabric near the tip of my cock.

“OK, Eric, I’m done with the back, turn around so I can finish the front. Keep your hands out of the way like before.” Mom quietly said as I stood straight up and thought my life about to end.

I slowly turned around, placed my hands back on my head, and glanced to the left in the mirror. I braced for something, anything to happen besides what did happen: nothing. I knew she saw my cock; she held her gaze on it a second before looking down at my legs and saying, “Spread your legs again so I can get in between to shave.”

I spread my legs as before and looked in the mirror to see Mom’s nipples harder than before. She reached between my legs, pushed my balls up with the back of her left hand, to move them out of the way of moistening the front of my legs. After filling her hand with shaving cream, she pressed my balls aside again to smear it over my legs. Finally, she pushed my balls out of the way of the razor, dragging it across my skin to complete the shave.

I almost came. The first time Mom pressed her hand against my balls, my face flushed from the excitement, my elevated heartbeat pumped my cock with each beat. The second time she pressed into my balls, I started breathing heavily and felt weak in my knees. I thought I’d have to call it off to sit down and recover. I noticed Mom’s chest and neck flushed a blotchy red, and her breathing deepened. It seemed that Mom was getting excited, and it encouraged me to show her how hard I could get. Instead of feeling weakened when she pressed my balls the third time, I flattened my stomach, clenched my ass, and deliberately tried to make myself as hard as possible. I saw my cock pushing the fabric of my suit out from my waist. Mom’s breathing increased, but she kept on with her shaving. Done with the top of my thighs, she moved her hand away and finished down my leg with the razor.

After a final clean up with the washcloth, she stood up, rubbed her hand over my chest, took my hands from on top my head and wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug while whispering, “You’ll be the smoothest and fastest young man in the pool.”

She broke the hug, eased me back to arm’s length, looked slowly down and then up my body, grabbed my shoulders, and turned me around toward the bathroom door. With a soft pat on my ass said, “Let’s get dressed and go to dinner before I have to go to work.”

My head was spinning as I walked to my bedroom. In one swoop, I untied my swimsuit, pulled them off, and turned to sit on my bed. Visions of Mom’s breasts filled my head as I fell back on my bed. I could still feel her hands rubbing shaving cream on my legs. I reached for my now unrestrained cock and erupted in a half dozen spurts after barely squeezing its base. Cum shot over the top of my head. When I finally relaxed, my upper body and much of the bedspread had a coating of sticky fluid.

I drifted off for a couple of minutes but was jolted back by a knock on the door. ‘Oh, god,’ I thought, ‘Please don’t come in and see me like this!’

“Honey, are you ready yet?” Mom asked through the still-closed door. “Let’s get going. I’m hungry.”

“Just a minute.” I weakly sat up, picked up the T-shirt I’d just thrown to the floor, and wiped myself as clean as possible. The cum already soaked through the bedspread, and I couldn’t do anything about that.

When I pulled up my pants, I noticed the delightful feeling of the fabric against my now complete denuded skin. It felt great, exciting. Every step created a new rush of sensation around my legs and recreated the vivid image of Mom shaving my legs. I felt a bit guilty for feeling so good. Each step created an erotic sensation that only increased when I put on a clean, short-sleeved shirt. I had to shake my head to focus and put my shoes on.

I walked to the front room, where mom waited on the love seat. “What took so long, Honey?”

I knew I blushed by the increase in temperature I felt. I fumbled for words, “I got wrapped up in the feeling of my pants against my legs and lost track of time.”

I opened the front door and stood back to let her leave first. She started to go outside, but stopped and looked quizzically at my hair, “There’s something in your hair, Eric.”

She reached up to rub off what I realized was a stray glob of cum I missed in my haste to clean up. She ran her fingers over it, held them close to her face to look and started to ask, “What is – – -.” She stopped mid-question, smiled, and looked in my eyes and said, “Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing.” She held her hand closer and breathed in.

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