I stroked my cock again and reached down to palm my balls.
Shit.
First things first, I had other priorities before taking care of my hard-on. I dug through my duffle, coming up empty. Jenna said I could help myself to anything I needed, but something felt taboo about opening her bathroom cabinets. Like I was about to find out all of her secrets.
Phoebe jumped up to the side of the tub and looked at me. More like silently judging me.Yeah. I agree, kitten.I’d text her.
Me: Do you have a pack of disposable razors or something?
Jenna: Maybe. Check underneath my bathroom sink.
Me: Thanks. Are you sure?
Jenna: Yeah, my dildos are in another drawer.
Me: Damn, Dr. Cutie.
Jenna: Only kidding. Or am I? ;-) But seriously, help yourself if you find something that works.
I pocketed my phone and opened the bottom cabinets, searching through the mismatched bottles, and picking up a bottle of cherry-flavored lube.
Gah, it smelled like a month-old lollipop left in a hot car.
It still might be fun to play with, though. Maybe I should accidentally leave it on the bathroom counter.Nah.I didn’t need a bottle of lube to suggest what I wanted. I’d wait until Jenna got home, meet her at the door, pull her to me, and own her body right there in the foyer. Complicated or not, feeling her last night was just an appetizer, and I was ready for the main fucking course.
Setting the lube toward the front of the cabinet, I pushed aside more random bottles until I found a tube of hair removal cream. I picked it up and pulled off random instructions stuck to the bottom.
The tube said it removed hair on and around the bikini zone. I glanced down at my dick. There was no way my junk would fit in a bikini, but the same idea worked here. Take a shower, apply, wait, remove. Dark or coarse hair might need to be left on for five extra minutes. Peeling off my briefs, I figured I’d do ten extra minutes just to be sure.
The shower did the trick, clearing my head enough to focus on my balls. Or rather, how Jenna would react to my manscaped perfection. I wiped off the mirror and dropped my towel, glancing at Phoebe, who was sitting on the toilet, staring. I shook my head and picked up the tube, squeezing some on my fingers. It felt like a mix between lotion and shaving cream. I lifted my dick with one hand and spread it over my balls with the other.
When my balls were coated in the white stuff, I set a timer on my phone and finished drying off. A minute or two in, my balls got a little warmer and tingled, but nothing was going on down there other than me looking like I had white old-man nuts. I grabbed my razor, shaved my neck, and trimmed my beard. When the timer had two minutes left, I said fuck it and jumped back in the shower.
It felt like someone had dipped my berries in hot sauce, so I grabbed the closest bottle on the nearest shelf and furiously washed off the cream, turning the water as cold as I could stomach it.
I prided myself on having a high pain tolerance. Hell, I super-glued a cut on my leg closed last year when I fell off the roof. But nothing, nothing compared to the pain that was shooting through my body. I shut off the water and grabbed a towel, walking bowlegged to the kitchen. The only thing that mattered was cooling my junk.
Thank fuck Jenna wasn’t here. I opened the freezer and found a bag of frozen peas. Grabbing them and going back to my room, I sat on the edge of my bed and glanced down to see the damage. My balls were smooth as the day I was born, and I’d be impressed if they weren’t an angry shade of red. I threw the frozen peas beside me and gently sat down on them, hissing out a breath as the cold shrunk gave me blessed relief.
Never again.
What the hell was I thinking, smoothing that shit all over the most sensitive part of my body? The next time I jerked off, tiny icicles and snowflakes would be the only things coming out. I’d rather pluck out my nut hair one at a time than ever do that again. I laid back on the bed, not bothering to get dressed, and closed my eyes, glad the pain was turning into nothing but a dull roar.
I woke up to the front door opening and Jenna calling my name. Phoebe was lying on my chest, and she lifted her head, annoyed with the interruption. The peas had thawed, and I tossed the bag beside me and shifted my legs. I was in that weird head-space when you’re not sure if you’d been asleep for five minutes or five hours.
“Hey, Mark. I got a new plant for Phoebe that she might not barf up and thought we could go out for BBQ.”
She knocked on the door, and I grabbed a pair of athletic shorts from the end of the bed and pulled them on.
“Come in,” I said, rubbing a hand down my face.
“Oh, shit. What happened? You look like death warmed over.”
“I made a bad decision earlier.” I motioned to the peas, then laid back on the pillows, patting the space beside me and throwing an arm over my eyes.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean you looked bad. You could never look bad. Not with your eyes and body and elbows. You look worn out. I was kind of hoping you, um, wouldn’t be. Not you know for any particular reason other than, you know, Friday. But I wouldn’t assume you wanted to do that again. Unless you did, and then woo-hoo for me—and you too, because I would rock your world.”
“My elbows?” I cracked open one eye.
