Dad left us a year ago. I had to move back home and transfer to our community college. I tried to get a job, but Mom insisted that I focus on my studies. But she had to get a job. Nothing paid enough to support us. We were headed down the tubes. Then Mom discovered something called waxing. Normally, that doesn’t pay well either, but as a former self-employed beautician she knew some things. She told me women will pay good money for waxing, and that there’s a developing trend in which men want to be hairless, too. I was skeptical, and not a little weirded out by the whole idea.
Fast forward a couple of years, and Mom was doing so well in her waxing business that I was able to attend a proper university and continue my studies. I’ll be a software engineer. But this is about what happened when she first decided to start her new business.
“Karl,” she told me, “I’ve never done any waxing. I have to learn how, and practice.” When she first announced that, I had no idea what was coming down the pike.
She found a waxing school a hundred miles away and got the training. Now it was time for the practice.
“Karl, I need to practice waxing,” she said at dinner one evening.
“OK,” I answered, having no idea she was intending to practice on me.
When she made it clear she meant me, I suddenly, and for the first time in my life, wished I wasn’t an only child.
I wanted to object. I mean, this was way weird. But I knew she was right. We’d be needing the money, and she did have to practice. Who else could she practice on? Actually, she had several female friends that she did use, but she needed me too.
The first session wasn’t horrible, although way too personal. The first time, it was my leg hair. My own mother was paying way too close attention to my legs as she applied the warm wax, then pulled it painfully off. It didn’t really sting that much. I suppose it helps that I’m still young enough that I didn’t have very much leg hair. More like a bit of leg fuzz.
The next day, she wanted to do my chest. I felt vulnerable with her working on me like that. Oddly, about 3/4 of the way through, I started to get an erection in my shorts. I don’t think she noticed. I certainly hoped she didn’t notice. Again, there was not much hair up there, not much sting. After that session, she seemed quite pleased with herself. I was happy for her, but couldn’t wait until she could go to work – real work – and quit practicing on me. Furthermore, I was a bit embarrassed to have no hair on my legs or chest. Oh, I know some guys are doing that, but I was now making sure to wear long pants all the time, and not go shirtless anywhere.
Two days later, she wanted to work on my underarms. I was sort of OK with that, having become used to her practice sessions. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been. That totally fucking stung! I swore to myself never again will I have my underarms waxed.
Two days after that, she wanted to do my butt. I refused. That would be way wrong. The wrongest part would be the pain. The underarm experience taught me something! No, the worst part, is that my mother would be seeing my junk. It would be inevitable if she was doing my butt. She hadn’t seen me naked since I was maybe 5 years old. Come to think of it, it could be even worse than that. When she did my chest, I started to get an erection. What if that happened while she was waxing my ass? I couldn’t even think of it.
She insisted. She begged. I relented.
So that evening found me on her massage table, naked from the waist down. Then she asked me to remove my shirt, so she wouldn’t get any wax, powder or oil on it. So, there I was, totally naked in front of my own mother. I expressed how embarrassed I was. By the way, have you ever thought about the word em-bare-assed? She shot back that she diapered me as a child. I said, “This is different,” and it certainly was!
Embarrassing though it was, I put up with her procedure, and found my skinny ass hairless after a half-hour. Oddly, it didn’t sting hardly at all. I guess underarms are just way sensitive. No, I didn’t get an erection, thank God. However, after it was over, I retreated to my room, and couldn’t stop running my hands over my ass, then my chest, and my legs. This new hairless state was actually quite sexy. Of course I jerked off and came hard. I was thinking it would be pretty cool to have a hairless cock and balls too, but of course that wouldn’t happen. I mean, my mother wouldn’t be that crazy, right?
Wrong! Again she insisted, and I relented. She explained something I didn’t expect: Evidently, there are a lot of guys in the world who will pay good money for genital waxing. They especially like that. Some even do their genitals only, leaving hair everywhere else.
Again, the evening found me totally naked on my mother’s massage table. I was fighting an erection right from the beginning. I believe the thought of jerking off afterward with a totally hairless genital region, just like when I was 12 and first discovered masturbation, was making me quite horny. But, I couldn’t, absolutely couldn’t get hard in front of my mother. I was very concerned about that, because I knew it was a possibility. In my mind, I was already making up excuses, what to say, if I should get partially erect during this procedure.
The time had come. There I was naked on her table, and she had her wax and stuff all ready. The first thing she did was pick up my penis with her thumb and first finger to move it around a bit, and assess the situation. With her other hand, she gently grabbed a pinch of scrotum, maneuvering it this way and that to check out the situation.
I’ll bet you can guess what happened. I became erect instantly. And red in the face. I wanted to run out of the room. All the excuses I had thought to say flew out of my head. I actually felt like crying, something I hadn’t done since I found out my dad had left us. I braved up, but still couldn’t utter a word of apology.
My mother simply smiled. I didn’t like the look of that. It was sort of conspiratorial or something. Then she simply said, “Don’t worry son, it’s inevitable.”
Well, she did her practice. She waxed my scrotum, and by God, that did feel awfully nice. Having the warm wax spread on, and having someone touch you there. Man oh man! You’ve got to experience it to believe it. The pulling off of the wax isn’t quite so great. It does sting, but not all that much. I did stay erect the whole time, and it started to normalize. It became sort of OK.
A few times, she didn’t get things quite right. She kind of scraped my scrotum with her fingernails a couple of times. She pulled the skin too much when trying to catch the edges of the wax. One time she kind of squished a ball which hurt momentarily. I winced each time, and she kept apologizing. This was why she was practicing after all – to learn how to do it right.
Then she waxed the area of my very lower stomach just above my cock. Yup, that stung! Next came the penis itself. That didn’t sting hardly at all, and I have to tell you, it felt very, very nice to have someone manipulating my hard penis like that. Even if it was my mother. Maybe even, and I hate to say it, perhaps it was even grander because it was my mother.
As she was finishing up, I started to get that ‘going to cum’ feeling. I yelled, “Wait, let go!” She was a little slow to react, but let go just in the nick of time. Even though she let go, the ‘gonna cum’ feeling not only remained, it built up. Then, squirt, squirt, squirt, I came, right there, with my mother staring right at my cock. There was absolutely nothing I could do about it.
The moment she saw what was happening, she reached out, wrapped one hand around my cock, and stroked me to a spectacular finish. I guess she knew from my father or something, that a guy’s ejaculation doesn’t feel right unless it is properly stimulated to completion. I didn’t know that at the time, and later questioned her about that. She explained that men don’t like what she called ‘ruined orgasms,’ so, even though I was her son, she had to finish me off.
She wiped up the sperm, which made me squirm quite a bit. You know how it is to get touched after you cum. Then, with a pair of tweezers, she pulled out a few remaining hairs, and we were done.
I, still red-faced I’m sure, apologized profusely. She apologized back saying she hadn’t realized I had been that close. She said from what she had read, men get erections quite often with waxing. That’s part of the appeal, and so she was hoping I would, and then glad I did. But she hadn’t expected the ejaculation.
Nothing more happened for about a month. By then, she had started her business, and it was not going gangbusters, but there was a pretty good indication she’d earn a living from it in time. One night, around the dinner table, she asked me if my crotch hair was growing back in. I mean, she just came right out and asked. That, in itself is weird, if you think about it. Who asks their own son about his crotch hair at dinner? Anyway, I said, yes, it was starting to grow out again.
She asked whether I’d like another treatment. I was like, “Hell Yes, Mom!” She told me that the men she had worked on all wanted happy endings, and she was doing that so she’d have frequent repeat customers, and also hoping they’d tell their friends to build her business.
My own mother asked me whether I’d like a happy ending.
What could I say? “Yes!”