Page 29 of Very Unlikely
The thought makes me smile, which gives the beautician the wrong idea. He returns my grin but in a sadistic he’s-about-to-dismember-me way before he attempts to drape my cock across my right thigh with a pair of tongs I swear Summer’s dad used to grill the steaks three weeks ago. They’re oddly out of place.
“It always hangs to the left,” I say, unashamed but super eager to get a cooking utensil away from my junk.
If he brings out a knife to make things more manageable, I’m outta here!
The unease swirling in my stomach is switched for conceitedness when he peers out the door we just walked through before shouting at the top of his lungs, “We’re going to need more wax!” I wink at Summer as if to say,of course, he’ll need more wax, but before an ounce of the cockiness beaming out of me reaches her, it gets sideswiped from the beautician adding, “Big black hairs from asshole to breakfast. Thick enough to plait.” He returns his eyes to me. They’re not the slightest bit impressed. “This is why we should inspect all clients before agreeing to an appointment.” His accent is extra thick while spitting out, “I’m going to be hereallnight fixing this.”
With my mouth not cooperating with my shocked brain, Summer jumps to my defense. “Surely, it isn’t that bad. That amount of hair is perfectly normal for a grown man. Right?”
“Why don’t you tell me since you’re thesupposedexpert here.” After wrenching my gonads and dick to the side like they’re not attached to my groin, he yanks up the stirrups doing nothing for my modesty, before thrusting his hand at the skin between my balls and now puckered hole. “Does that look like a normal amount of growth to you?”
When Summer half murmurs half groans, I almost fall off the waxing chair trying to take in the image she’s viewing. I look like a dog endeavoring to lick his balls with a collar of shame around his neck, but I don’t care. Surely, it isn’t as bad as the beautician is making out, or someone would have mentioned a thick runway of pubic hair by now. My asshole is a no-go zone, but that hasn’t stopped the occasional hookup attempting to slip a finger down the ‘supposed’ hair-coated slope.
With my endeavor to bend like a pretzel failing, I scoot my ass across the beautician’s bed like I have worms. There’s a full-length mirror at the far end of the bed. It will tell me just how disastrous my grooming routine has become since I started taking advice from a woman who thinks underarm hair will soon become fashionable.
My brow rises higher than my heart rate when I take in the image no one has seen since an ER doctor checked I didn’t pop a poo valve after the biggest shit of my life when I was six. I was so convinced I had torn something, I made my mother take me to the hospital.
My asshole was perfectly fine, both back then and now. There’s no massive landing strip of unruly black hairs from my ball sack to my butthole. It’s as neatly contained as the side of my groin I favor when removing condensation off baseballs.
My body stops replicating a bomb dive in the buff when Summer’s chuckles shift from a subtle giggle to a full-on boisterous laugh. She chuckles so hard, it only takes my fried brain two seconds to click on to the fact I’m being played, but in case I’m not getting the picture, Summer chuckles out, “That’s what you get for being mean.” Once she’s controlled her laughter which takes a good two to three minutes, she nudges her head to the door. “Now skedaddle so I can finish delivering Chewbacca’s baby in peace.”
After yanking on my pants even faster than I removed them, I spin around to face Summer. Even being played doesn’t alter the facts. I don’t want bigfoot manhandling her lady bits. The way he tossed around my cock exposed he doesn’t know how to be gentle.
Before I can voice my concerns, Summer informs, “Dustin isn’t a beautician.” She takes a second to drink in my shock about her shiftiness. “His girlfriend, Harmony, is.”
With perfect timing, Harmony enters the room. Her outfit is more befitting of a wax beautician, and she doesn’t have Dustin’s giant groping hands.
She’ll be a perfect reminder to Summer about how much I hate being played.
“So, if you don’t mind…”
Summer’s second head nudge finalizes her reply on her behalf.
She’s giving me my marching orders.
I have news for her.
“But that’s not what we agreed upon, Cocoa.” I step closer to her, loving that the bobbing of her throat is as manic now as it was when I stripped out of my trunks. “We agreed that if you get waxed, I’ll get waxed.”
My grin doubles when Dustin clicks on to what I’m saying even faster than Summer. His girl is about to manhandle my junk, and I plan to smile like a sadist the entire time she does. It serves both Summer and him right for playing me like they did.
“You said it yourself, Lennox,” Summer murmurs, suddenly clueing in. “You don’t need waxing.”
“I know,” I reply, my head bobbing like a bobble-headed toy. “But a promise is a promise.”
With a wink as immoral as the jealousy flaring through her eyes, I once again yank my shorts to my ankles then slip onto the waxing bed in preparation for an act of revenge that may end up hurting me more than the people I’m seeking vengeance on.
11
Summer
Imouth my apologies to a couple enjoying a picnic on a warm summer’s evening when Lennox shakes his junk in front of their faces. With the night young, and Harmony ordering us to avoid all types of water sports for a minimum of ten hours, we switched our daily nighttime swim for a stroll along the foreshore.
It would be a blissfully serene time if Lennox would stop thrusting his obvious bulge into people’s faces. I’m experiencing the same baby-smooth feeling he’s obsessed with, however, I keep the knowledge of my smooth nether regions to myself. I don’t continuously seek assurance that the sleek feeling isn’t from silky undergarments rubbing my private parts.
“People are going to think you have crabs,” I warn when Lennox’s eccentric hip thrusts gain him more than worried glances.
A handful of scantily clad women are eyeing him like he’s the dessert they failed to order at dinner because they don’t want to get fat. TheirLennox-please-fuck-mestare fills me with the same unwarranted jealousy I was bombarded with when Lennox went through with his agreement to get waxed.
