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Thursday, 16 June 2011

Close shaves 2 – where did I put that soothing balm?

CAREFUL DEAR READERS...THIS ONE IS A LITTLE NAUGHTY – skip over if you don't want to know

The last story looked at a mix up where my mother thought I was using certain aid for my sexual awakening. She thought I was going to give Little Logan a little bath in shaving foam. I wasn't, but later in my life I came to understand that you really should be careful what you put down there.

I was a late bloomer with the fairer sex. Oh I knew the mechanics and was aware of what to do. But it was all theory and no practice. University sort of helped me along the path. I never 'did the deed' in those hallowed halls of learning, but I came close. Too close...

Me and an unnamed lass got drunk and flirty one night. Who she was is never got that far for either of us to be embarrassed. It did get far enough that we were both naked, making out, having fun...and she asks me to pass her the lube to aid...her helping me out at the time.

I scramble on the bed side table in the dark where she says the tube was and pass her it. She applies it to her hands and Little Logan and gets to work.

It was nice...nice and warm...nice and...very warm...nice and ...should it be that hot?..I thought the lube reduced the friction....ow
ow ow ow ow
That's burning!

I jump of the bed screaming and run to the bathroom.

Now one vital missing bit of information was the lady in question was something of a sports nut.
And she had Deep Heat on her bed side table as well

I spent the next 30 mins with my bits in the sink, the tap running over it, with the lady dying of laughter.

We never went any further than that....

Close shaves

Have you ever been unjustly blamed for something? Been caught at the wrong time in the wrong place? It’s not often better to admit to the crime you are accused of than to tell the truth, but in this case it was. It just saved on all the awkward questions.
As mentioned in previous blogs, I spent a large portion of my formative years...well the weekends the Billing Aquadrome caravan park. Caravans are – by there nature – a small affair compared to your average home. I am talking about UK caravans here – not the palatial trailers you see in US tv shows and films. They are liveable in, but hardly something for families. People tend to get on top of each other. There is very little privacy. Its why you often see kids running around the parks for as long as possible doing the mast banal things. ANYTHING to get out of those four fibreglass walls.

Things were worse when you needed to be private...for whatever reason. For the start of this story...that reason was going toilet. Now, in our family we are not shy. When young and at home, people walk in when you are on the loo or in the is not an issue. Thing is, I had eaten something before hand..something spicy...and it was not agreeing with me.

I was embarrassed at the noises and smells I would make, so I waited till my parents had nipped out and dashed for the loo. The loo was a small room, just enough space for one person, behind the living room, by the kitchen. It had one of those chemical toilets...the ones you LOVED to empty at the end of the weekend with the blue stuff which stained EVERYTHING. Ahh the joys of camping....

So I sat down and let loose...never up to that point had I evacuated so much and so quick and made so much smell. And dear lord did it sting. I had to stop every few moments to just get my breath back from the pain. After 15 minutes of noise and smells I was done...but the pain continued.

I gingerly cleaned myself, stinging all the time. This was my first 'ring of fire'. I just sat there...wishing the pain would ease.

Then I saw my dad's shaving kit.
It had shaving foam.
Shaving foam for sensitive skin.
With 'soothing balm' in it.
Now THAT may ease my pain.
In my defence I was young...and a little naïve....
I stood carefully in the cramped space...pants round my ankles, leant forward for the foam and squeezed some out into my hand.

It was at this moment that my mother opens the toilet door.
I had not heard her come back into the caravan and me being quiet waiting for the pain to ease meant she did not know I was in the loo.

She was greeted with the sight of her son, pants round his ankles, a pile of shaving foam in his hand.
She puts a hand over her mouth, says 'Sorry' and quickly closes the door again.

I clean my hand and slowly leave the toilet. The pain in my ass forgotten for now.
My mother sits me at the kitchen table and says the following, or something close.
“We all have these urges my dear, its perfectly natural and nothing to be ashamed of. I am just sorry I burst in on you like that. Please do not be ashamed. Just find somewhere a little more private next time. OK son?”

I did not have the heart to tell her I was planning to use the foam on my bum...that MAY have made things worse in her mind. To this day she still thinks she caught me...enjoying myself.