“Hi, Becky. Finally, a warm, beautiful day.” I raised my foot on the balancing rail mounted along two walls of the dance studio and stretched my leg.

“Hiya, Eric. Yeah, hopefully, spring’s here for good.” I noticed the sheer bra under her leotard, but it didn’t hide her nipples. She was always to my right at this end of the barre when ballet class started.

“If I remember right, you’re a nurse.” I stretched the other leg.

“Yeah, your memory’s good. Need advice? Are you sick?” Both feet on the floor, I turned toward her. She was a tall, slim redhead, maybe three inches shorter than me, and I’d guess in her early 30s.

“No emergencies. I’m on the swim team, and the coach suggested we shave our bodies before the next meet. It’s supposed to reduce drag or something, and maybe lower our lap times.” While I talked, I slid my hands down my thighs and turned to slide them over my ass cheeks and the back of my hamstrings. “I don’t have a clue and thought a nurse could provide professional guidance.”

Her eyes followed my hands gliding over my legs. “I’ve prepped a lot of people for surgery, not to mention shaving my own legs. Let’s talk after class.”

“Thanks so much.” I touched the back of her wrist and turned to the barre. “That’s wonderful.”

“Listen, class, let’s get to work. Face the barre. Battement tendu.” Ms. Jones, ballet mistress extraordinaire, briskly called the class to attention.

I was nearing the end of my second year at West Val Community College in the San Fernando Valley, and would transfer all my coursework to Northridge State in the Fall. I’d had two years of active-duty Air Force right out of high school, then Nixon resigned, the Vietnam War wound down, and they needed to reduce the force. I accepted the offer to return to civilian life and transferred into the Air National Guard unit at Van Nuys Airport, and enrolled at West Val.

The hour-and-a-half ballet class flew by in a tightly disciplined routine of training and choreography. I’d stumbled into ballet my second semester. The GI Bill paid a stipend to attend school, and I needed something to fill out my semester-hour requirements. Beginning ballet fit my schedule, and spending an hour-and-a-half twice a week in a room full of semi-naked women had its benefits. It also provided a safe venue to indulge my exhibitionistic tendencies.

When I started ballet, I wore the full male ballet outfit: a dance belt (a thin, thong-style supporter) with a full, under-crotch leotard, all covered by dance tights. A month into class, after everyone was comfortable with my presence, I politely asked Ms. Jones if I could wear a T-shirt instead of the leotard, and she agreed.

It was standard to ‘dress’ straight up, meaning my testicles were cradled in the pouch of the dance belt with my penis straight up, pressed against the dance belt. I was practically naked without the leotard.

I loved feeling the mounting sexual excitement as I did the barre and floor work. The fabric would move and press against the underside of my cock. I’d often fill out, if not get fully hard. Dance was hard work, and there wasn’t always blood left over for the fun stuff.

My classmates assumed I was gay, and I did nothing to dissuade them. I chatted casually with everyone about little tidbits of fashion I’d learned, or girl talk about classmates’ boyfriends. I never asked anyone out for coffee or a date, and I refused any such requests.

At six-foot-one, I was the tallest male and always ended up on the left end. I knew more about Becky because she’s the tallest woman in class, and we arranged ourselves at the barre by height. Last semester, the next in line was Susan, and the semester before, Elizabeth.

When class was over, most dancers changed in the adjacent locker room, but on Tuesdays and Thursdays, it’s my last class of the day, and I dressed over the tights to shower at home. I picked up my 501s but was still holding them when Becky stopped by.

“Hey. I was thinking it would be easier if you came by and I showed you how to shave rather than trying to tell you. Do you have time?” She tried not to look but couldn’t help glancing below my t-shirt.

“Sure. This is my last class today, and I was headed home. It sounds great for me, but it’s a lot of work for you. Don’t you have anything better to do?” I ran my free hand over my chin and jaw. “I can shave, at least my face.”

“My last class too. I work graveyard at Kaiser and take time to decompress and get dinner before bed. I have a roommate, and I hope you won’t mind her.”

I put my hand on her forearm. “I won’t mind, but what about your boyfriend?” I had no idea if she had a boyfriend; I was investigating.

She blushed but recovered quickly. “He’s on day shift this week, but we could always say you’re Jennifer’s friend if you’re worried he might be the jealous type and come home early.”

“I’m teasing, Becky, you know I’m harmless. I don’t have a car, though. Are you far?”

“The Bella Vista apartments, off De Soto, but don’t be silly, I’ll drive.”

“That’s kind of you, but it’s only at the west end of campus. I need to see my chemistry teacher for a couple of minutes first. Besides, walking clears my head.” The chem instructor is openly gay, and I hoped Becky would draw erroneous conclusions.

She smiled. “It’ll give me time to tell Jennifer we’re having company and get ready. Apartment 4232.”

“Super. Building four, second floor, apartment 32. I’ll see you in half an hour.”

Her apartment was perfectly located halfway between the West Val main campus and Kaiser Hospital. It was only a mile from campus, but everyone drives in LA, except me. Walking slowly, I still arrived five minutes early.

In three semesters of dance, this was the first time I had visited a fellow classmate’s home. Becky opened the door. “Record time. Any problems finding me?” She motioned me in.

“Not at all. I take the bus and walk a lot. I’m familiar with the area.” I walked past as Becky closed the door. “You must be Jennifer.” I held my backpack in my right hand and, with my left, reached out to clasp her hand as delicately as possible. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Jennifer stood backlit by the midday sun through the window behind her. She was a little shorter and curvier than Becky, but she didn’t need to shop at Lane Bryant. Her straight black hair covered her ample breasts, clearly visible through her yellow daisy print linen sun dress.

I saw Jennifer’s jet-black bush through the dress, too, and the quick glimpse ignited a rush of blood and lust directly to my crotch. I looked back at Becky as she moved toward the living room. “I wasn’t thinking earlier. I have my dance things on under my jeans. My swimming gear is at home. Thanks for the offer, though. Another time when I’m appropriately attired.”

“Nonsense, Eric. If I’m not mistaken, you’re not interested in raping us, are you? Your dance belt covers enough. Don’t you think, Jennifer?” Jennifer smiled and nodded yes.

“All I’m saying is I don’t want to offend. I have no interest in forcing myself on you, and the dance belt would hold things in place.” I was practiced at this kind of misdirection and didn’t blush. Besides, I didn’t want sex; I got off showing off.

Turning the corner to the living room, I saw their elaborate preparations. The coffee table was pushed across the room against the TV, with half a dozen of the new pink Lady BIC razors and a can of Edge shaving gel on top. A six-or-so-foot square piece of plastic painter’s sheeting covered the carpet.

“Whoa. Are you serial killers, escaped from Spawn Ranch? It’s not far from here.” I grinned.

“He’s on to us, Jennifer.” Becky brought her hands to her face in mock shock. “We’ll have to go on the run after we hack him to pieces with our Lady BICs.”

I put my backpack on the floor at the end of the couch and sat on the armrest to remove my shoes. “How are the disposable razors? I still use a safety razor.”

Jennifer replied. “We’ve used them for a couple of months. They’re very good and convenient. You’ll see. We get them free at the hospital, too.”

“You’re also a nurse at Kaiser?” She nodded while I crossed my arms, grabbed the hem of my shirt, pulled it over my head, and dropped it on the backpack.

Unbuttoning my 501s, I looked back and forth between Becky and Jennifer. Their shared glances and excited intimate touches led me to believe they weren’t on a mission to convert me away from the evils of a homosexual lifestyle. I could pretend for as long as they needed to feel comfortable telling me what was up.

My jeans easily slid to the floor over my tights, and I kicked them over to my backpack. Squeezing my thumbs between the tights’ waistband and the dance belt, I bent forward and pushed the tights down.

Getting out of a pair of Capezio tights while standing could be tricky. It was a delicate balancing act to roll the waistband below my knees and stand on one leg, then the other, taking the tights off my feet. I turned my naked backside to the women and added the tights to the pile on the backpack.

The movement jostled my package against the belt’s loose, unrestrained fabric, and I was fully extended when I turned around to ask, “What’s next?” I stood straight, arms at my side, with my butt muscles clenched, essentially wearing only a smile.

They stood by the coffee table at the edge of the plastic sheet, staring at the front of my dance belt. Becky was closest and reached out to grasp my bicep. “Stand on the plastic with your legs apart, and we’ll get to work. Oh, and put your hands on your head.”

I did as instructed and watched them prepare. Towels, washcloths, a couple of wooden milking-style stools, and bowls of warm water were retrieved from various rooms. Jennifer was excited by all the activity and accidentally exposed her ass and pussy while moving around.

Jennifer sat to my left, and Becky to my right. “Okay, all set. Here we go.” Becky’s face and neck were flushed, and she looked directly in my eyes for a moment.

Becky picked a soaked washcloth from the bowl between my legs. Water dripped from the cloth as she raised it to my right upper thigh and gingerly stroked between my legs to my toes, then up in front, alternating down and up until she wiped it over my butt cheek. She handed it to Jennifer, who dipped it in the bowl and repeated the process on my left leg.

Becky squirted a stream of Edge gel from beneath my balls the length of my leg. Moistening her hand in the warm water, she gently massaged the gel into foam on the inside and front of my leg. Her well-practiced ministrations felt heavenly on my legs and produced the rigidity my cock previously lacked. I started visibly pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat.

If I couldn’t delay the proceedings, I’d shoot my load before they finished lathering me. Jennifer finished soaking my left leg, and Becky reached for the Edge to finish lathering my right leg. The only way I could think of to delay was to have an honest talk. “Becky, wait a minute.”

She raised her head to meet my eyes. “I don’t think you have a boyfriend.” She shook her head no. “You’re not trying to seduce me to the straight side, or just have an Afternoon Delight,” I looked to Jennifer and back to Becky, “at least with me.”

She visibly sagged but maintained eye contact. “I’m sorry, Eric. You’re right about both.” She reached out to Jennifer and held her hand. “Yes, we’re a couple and brought you here under false pretenses. You can clean up in the shower. I hope this won’t affect ballet class; I enjoy dancing with you.”

This was a first for me. I’m usually the one making things up to expose myself. “If it’s okay with you, maybe we could talk. I don’t have to be anywhere for a few hours, and I do need my body shaved.”

Becky looked hopeful. “Yeah, sure. It’s always fun talking with you.”

I turned to look behind me for the coffee table and cleared a space to sit. I placed a towel before I sat because of the shaving cream. The pulsing stopped, but the tenting was obviously enchanting my audience. I moved slowly to luxuriate in their gaze, sitting on the edge of the table.

“First, I want to assure you that in spite of this,” I pressed my hand against my cock, “I don’t want to fuck. I enjoy being in my body and feeling alive to sexual energy. Also, you both do a wonderful leg massage.”

I leaned back to rest on my outstretched arms and let my legs splay open. “You’ve obviously gone to some effort here.” I waved my hand across the room. “What were you hoping for? And don’t say it was easier to show me rather than tell me how to shave.”

Becky perked up. “We wanted to see a guy come in person, watch him masturbate.”

“Wow. I’ve never seen that on any of my lesbian friends’ bingo cards. Please, tell me more?

Becky regained her confidence. “We have a TV producer friend in Studio City who has one of those new VCR machines that she sometimes uses for work. She has porno tapes, gay porno tapes. You gotta know the San Fernando Valley is porn central.”

I raised my eyebrows noncommittally.

“Well, it is. Anyway.” She looked directly at my cock again. “I’d never want one of those things in any part of my body, at least attached to a man.” She looked at Jennifer. “We do have dildos, and they’re fun, but we control them.”

She realized her digression and looked back at me. “Watching tapes of well-muscled men having sex with each other is exciting. Our favorite parts are when they orgasm and splash their cum on each other’s bodies and writhe around, smearing it all over themselves and tasting it.” She had gotten worked up and needed time to relax.

“Look. I squirt when I have a big orgasm, but I honestly can’t tell what it is. Maybe it’s a big gush of lubrication fluid mixed with a dash of pee, I don’t know. It’s not any different from going down on each other, only wetter. Our friends who’ve had male cum say it’s different in feel, smell, and taste, like eating caviar. It’s the external culmination of orgasm. We want to find out for ourselves. Without putting one of those in our bodies.” She looked back at my cock.

I deliberately squeezed my perineum to wiggle my cock before I spoke. “I don’t mean to be flippant, but why not directly ask someone, without all the subterfuge?”

“Duh, you’d think it would be easy, but guys are a real pain in the ass. They want to fuck, and wouldn’t consider jerking off without the sex. Everyone’s different and all, but the few gay guys we know don’t get excited being around women. They’ll talk with us, but nothing sexual. We were thinking of taking out an ad in the Free Press when I noticed you in ballet class.”

Pretenses within pretenses. I had an image to maintain. “This is my third semester of dance, and I’m pretty sure all the other men I’ve met in class are gay. Why would you think I’d be different?”

She looked back at my cock. “Let’s just say I noticed the varying length of your bird-perch there,” pointing her chin toward my dick. “You always got bigger when you danced with women. Other guys in class shrank. To be fair, once you get hard, you stay hard around everyone, so I wasn’t certain. Maybe you’re so dedicated you’re sexually excited only by dance itself.”

“Well, you have your answer, and good luck with your search.” I giggled and waggled my dick again.

“Except, we’re not dancing now,” She smiled while staring at my crotch, “and you’re hard.”

“You’re an astute observer, and have found your man. I give you my word, I’ll follow your directions exactly, no funny stuff from me. There are a couple of housekeeping issues first. I do need to shave my body and can do it myself. But if your offer was genuine, it would be, let’s say, satisfying if you continued.”

Becky opened up. “I tried to think of a way to get you here, you know, ask you out or something. I noticed you had lots of offers for coffee or whatever, and you always declined. I didn’t want to be on that list. When you mentioned shaving earlier, it all came together. I love feeling completely in control of a man while prepping him for surgery. I’m getting tingly thinking about it.” Becky looked to Jennifer. “Luckily, we both had the afternoon off and hoped we could improvise something.”

“Great. The next issue is messier. I won’t last through a full-body shaving session, but if I understand you correctly, I may have solutions to both our problems.”

We spent the next few minutes talking, washing off the shaving cream, and rearranging things for the first big splat. Jennifer got a couple of flat bed sheets to cover the plastic and the couch. Becky brought pillows to scatter around. When Becky was happy, I pulled my dance belt off, Jennifer pulled her dress over her head, and Becky shimmied out of her sweatpants and T-shirt.

Becky and Jennifer sat side by side on the edge of the couch. I felt a tinge of guilt standing in front and above them, but the geometry wouldn’t work any other way. “Are you both ready?”

They vigorously nodded their heads. They wanted my full show. I love pulling on my balls when I come, and I reached under my cock with my right hand, trying to grasp my dangling balls in the palm of my hand. But with all the excitement, my balls weren’t dangling so freely, and I had to pinch my scrotum and stretch it out. Becky and Jennifer found all this fascinating, closely watching and whispering to each other. Their excitement increased mine.

I tightened the circle of my right thumb and forefinger around the top part of my ball sack where it met the base of my cock. I was right on the verge and could have easily come by pulling it, but I needed to aim. I circled my shaft with my left thumb and forefinger below the glans. Wanting to prolong the anticipation, I started with only those two fingers.

I leaked precum since getting naked, and a continuous thread oozed to the floor. Jennifer made a bold move by touching the tip of my cock and sucking on her finger. Becky raised the ante by holding two fingers under the tip and letting it accumulate. Watching Becky put her fingers in her mouth and look into my eyes sent me over the edge.

I slid my fingers to the base of my cock and squeezed, tightening the skin of my shaft into a translucent sheen. I felt the first jet escape and land above Becky’s right breast; a two-inch-long glob of sticky cum began dripping over her tit. I aimed to the right and hit Jennifer’s left nipple directly, with an upward trajectory toward her left shoulder.

Alternating back to Becky, my swinging motion carried the stream from her left breast, across her chest, with a late splash under her chin and on her lips. Jennifer saw this and, closing her eyes, told me, “Cover my face, on my face.”

I maintained enough control to swing back to Jennifer’s face with a big splat on her right cheek and between her eyes to her forehead. The next spurt hit over her nose and across her open mouth.

I completely lost it when Becky saw this and turned to kiss Jennifer, rubbing against her chest. They ended lengthwise on the couch, kissing and squirming against each other. I spurted over Becky’s hair and back. Jennifer had embraced Becky and felt the last dribble on her arm. She scooped what she could and brought it between them.

They said they wouldn’t mind an audience, so I sat on a pillow on the coffee table and watched. I half expected them to move into a sixty-nine, but they kept kissing and squirming for another ten minutes. Becky eventually slid over and wedged herself between Jennifer and the back of the couch, resting her head on Jennifer’s shoulder. They both mouthed, ‘Thank you.’

“I have to pee. The bathroom’s off the hall?” I pointed toward the hallway.

Becky smiled and said, “Second door on the left.”

I got up. “Don’t worry, I’m tidy and always sit.”

When I returned, they were both sitting on the couch, and still nude.

“Jennifer wondered if you might want a full body shave, including the parts underneath your swimsuit?” Becky looked mischievous and determined.