Diary of a Hustler

an excerpt



The lather is sensuously warm, then actually hot, as Thane slathers it along the length and breadth of my asscrack. Almost immediately, the chemical concoction that heats the suds from within stops doing what it does, and the tiny bubbles immediately cool, probably seeming overly chill because of the heat that preceded.

Thane sits on the side of the bed and strops the straight razor, first this way, then that. He smiles as he does so. If he waits for me to say something, maybe beg that he be damned careful, he's destined to be disappointed. I figure I'm a viable enough commodity, having gotten this far, that Glen didn't send someone to do the job who's incompetent. "Spend any more time sharpening that blade, and I'll be too old for Glen's boy-loving clientele, before you get even my asscrack shaved," I say finally.

"You wouldn't want razor burns, along the crack of your buns, would you?"

"I'm more worried about asshair stubble," I say. "I have visions of someday walking around looking like I've porcupine quills lining my asscrack, all of which will spear chair cushions every time I sit down."

"Before it gets that far, you'll be looking way too old for this particular aspect of the job," he says, "and we'll no longer see any need for slicing off all your silky anal locks."

He runs the blunt edge of the razor along my crack to remove excess cream. That run of cold steel is sexier than hell, even though I can't see it.

I rest my chin within the triangle formed by my joined thumbs and forefingers, my palms flat against the bedspread beneath my head.

"I'm going to begin serious stuff, now," Thane says. "Don't jiggle. Nothing spoils a boy-lover's illusion of having himself a genuine little boy than a razor cut where it definitely shouldn't be."

"Will this tickle?"

"Don't laugh if it does. Don't even giggle. Better to bite your tongue."

"Sounds easier said than done."

"Tell me to pause, if and when, and I will. How's that?"

"It's all one helluva bother, isn't it?"

"Look at every one of your shaved hairs as soon to be converted into cold cash. It's not as if your ass hair is good for anything else, except maybe for capturing dingleberries."

"And the bush around my pecker?"

"Aesthetic value only, pure and simple. Something for those of us who like to see a bit of hair around any cock."

"You think God didn't have something else in mind besides looks-good?"

"We're all products of a slow evolutionary system that'll eventually catch up to reality. One day soon, there won't be any of us with any hair whatsoever, seeing as how we no longer need it for protection against the elements."

"And, how, I wonder, will you look bald?" I say. "I suspect not nearly as handsome."

"You think I'm handsome, do you?"

"Jesus, please tell me you're not fishing for compliments!"

"Just curious as to your particular likes and dislikes."

"Everyone, I suppose is attractive to someone. You, I suppose, are attractive to more people than not."

"How about to you, though?"

"I suspect I'm no more attracted to you than you are to me," I say as diplomatically as possible. Actually, I continue to think him good-looking, but I remain determined not to flatter his ego by telling him so, especially since, no matter what he's said to insinuate I may be the exception, it's obvious his preferences lie elsewhere than with boy-looking anomalies like I am.

"I'm more and more curious as to just why I find you more and more attractive each time I see you," he says.

"Really?" Even I recognize my own attempt to confirm a compliment. I try to cover my ass by adding, "Forget I said that."

"I think we've both said more than enough," Thane says. "At least for now. We've both a job to do, and you can't do yours until I do mine."

He turns the blade, sharp-side down, at an angle, and my asscrack feels the really dangerous edge of the razor for the very first time. It's more a whisper than a touch and is over almost before it begins, claimed residue (soap-captured asshair) removed and wiped to a corner of the towel immediately beneath my belly.

Thane's right hand successfully continues with another touchdown of razor blade to asscrack, while the fingers of his other hand maneuver the width and depth of my anal crease for each additional swipe of the blade.

I can't recall anything done to me, and I've had plenty done to me, that's quite as uniquely thrilling. Without Thane touching even one fingertip to my winked pucker, there are all sorts of pleasurable sensations suddenly set loose by the mere swish of cool steel along the inner slide ways of my buttockā€™s curves. Not just surface pleasure, either. I'm talking deep-down stuff, all of the way from point of contact, along the crack of my ass, to the very pit of my belly. Aphrodisiacal as hell, too: my cock really rock-hard beneath my belly.

"I'll have this baby-ass of yours completely clean of baby fuzz in just a few more swipes," Thane promises. "It's not as if I'm shaving pelt from a beaver, is it? I probably could use a pair of tweezers to do the same and cause you hardly any additional trauma."

"I think I prefer straight razor." I've known guys turned on by pain. Hell, even I can get a charge out of pinched nipples, or squeezed nuts, when I'm about to cream my load. But asshair removal, one by one, by tweezers, I think not, thank-you very much.

"There," he says, apparently done with his labors over my rear end.

I've enjoyed myself immensely, and I'm sorry it hasn't taken longer.

"Just a quick wipe of your kiddy asscrack to clean it of the stray severed butthair and excess suds...." He has a spare towel from somewhere, probably from his flight bag. He's none too gentle, using it along my asscrack much like a cowboy rubs down his horse after a hearty ride. "A bit of astringent..."

"Ouch!" The wet swab suddenly drawn along the crack of my ass is very much like one of those alcohol-based, prepackaged hand-wipes used at picnics.

"Don't be a baby," Thane chides, "even if you look like one."

I smell talcum powder before I feel its sprinkle on my buttocks. Thane's palm sensuously spreads the fragrant powder along the total length and curvature of my just-shaved asscrack.

He slaps my ass in finale of that phase of my shave-down. "Time to roll to your back, kiddy," he says. "Job's only half done, although the part done is pretty well-done, from my present point of view."