I had just turned 18 when I was diagnosed with a hernia. I was admitted to the hospital to have it surgically repaired. Part of the pre-operative procedure was to remove all the hair from the incision site, apparently in those days that meant not just a close trim with an electric shaver but a baby-smooth shaving with a hand-held safety razor. Of course, I was blissfully unaware of all this until the procedure actually took place.

The evening before the surgery, I was lying in bed in my hospital room reading when a male nurse entered the room with his cart and told me he was there to prep me for the surgery. I don’t think I even knew exactly what that meant. But I soon found out. Drawing the curtain closed around us, he helped me out of my pajamas. I found myself lying there naked as the day I was born. I’m not sure if I would have been more or less embarrassed if it had been a female nurse, because at that age I’d never really been naked in front of an adult stranger of either sex.

Adding to my embarrassment was the diminutive size of my penis. In those days, it probably topped out at about 3 1/2″ hard and maybe an inch and a half in a flaccid state. On top of that, it is quite slender. Even today, it is maybe only an inch longer and still very thin. Back then, it could probably be described as quite dainty in appearance. In addition, my testicles, rather than being plump and full-bodied, were more like a couple of M&M peanuts. Naturally, my scrotum doesn’t need to be very large to enclose my “peanuts”. But there I was, lying naked in front of quite a masculine-looking male nurse.

Anyone familiar with male anatomy knows that when a guy is scared, nervous, or cold, his package shrinks up even more. I’m sure I was probably all three. My scrotum tightened up, and my testicles drew up almost inside of me, if in fact they didn’t disappear completely. My little penis drew back until just its tiny pink head was showing. It became what an older lady friend of mine would later describe as a “button cock”. Apparently, because it would remind her of a button on a coat. But that’s another story.

The nurse attempted to put me at ease by making small talk as he set out his equipment. The equipment, as I recall, included a wash cloth or two, a towel, a small pair of scissors, a couple of safety razors, some shaving lotion, and a basin of water. He explained that I would be prepped for surgery by being shaved from just below my belly button to just above my knees, and that it wouldn’t hurt a bit. Looking back on it now, that seems like a rather extensive area to clear for an incision that would be made on my pubic mound. But I guess that was standard procedure at the time.

He began by applying some shaving lotion to the area between my navel and pubic mound, all the while continuing to chat and ask questions about school, sports, and girls. The third topic was one I had virtually no knowledge of. I don’t have a lot of body hair even today, and back then had considerably less, I’m sure. At best, I had a little blond peach fuzz on my tummy, and that soon disappeared under the skilled strokes of his razor.

Running his fingertips over my smooth lower tummy, he announced that we were “all set” in that region. He then moved on to the front of my upper leg area, apparently saving the critical and most challenging area for last. Again, he applied a generous amount of shaving lotion and began to denude my legs of what little manly hair had sprouted there over the last couple of years. When he was finished, I had silky smooth thighs that any young woman would probably have been proud of.

My apprehension and nervousness had been increasing as the nurse cleared the border regions of hair and moved closer to the key target area. Picking up the scissors, he began to snip away at the blond curls that covered my pubic mound. Meanwhile, my penis continued to withdraw like a nervous little turtle back into its shell, and my scrotum was so tight you’d think it was empty. Soon, there was nothing but stubble left on my mound and a few stray blond hairs. I knew they wouldn’t be there long.

And they weren’t.

Setting the scissors down, the nurse explained that he would be removing the hair from the area “underneath” first. This, of course, meant my tight little ball sack, which was only sparsely populated with fine golden hair to begin with. He began by applying some shaving lotion with his fingers to my near totally scrunched up scrotum.

The nurse told me I would need to try to relax a little so he could do his job. He told me he knew I was nervous, but he promised not to hurt me. He gently massaged my wrinkled little sack with his fingertips as he applied the shaving lotion. That did the trick for me. My scrotum began to relax, and soon my testicles dropped back down into it.

The nurse praised me as he saw my pouch begin to expand and felt my little balls as they came back into view again. I admit that for the first time during the procedure, I began to feel some sexual stirrings rather than just apprehension. I’ll also admit that I was embarrassed by those feelings. I had heard the expression “to have someone by the balls”. What I didn’t know was that it could feel good.

As you can imagine, in the process of shaving my scrotum, his touch became quite intimate. The warm later and his strong yet gentle hands felt quite wonderful. I felt so exposed and vulnerable but yet trusting of him. The razor sliding over my slick little balls was a totally new and, I admit, very pleasant sensation. During the procedure, he grasped my penis in his fingertips and stretched it first to one side, then the other, as he shaved down one side of my scrotum and penis and up the other.

I felt myself begin to grow in his hand, as I’m sure my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. I think sensing my embarrassment, he attempted to put me at ease by praising me for “making his job easier” by stretching the skin-tight. I was soon fully erect, my hard little penis having responded to his skillful touch.

As he continued to grasp my penis by the head, my breath began to quicken, and my heart pounded faster. I, of course, had stroked myself to climax on many occasions, so the sensation of what was happening was not unknown to me. I’m sure I began to squirm. At this point, I’m not sure if I tried to pull away from his touch or if I actually began to “hump” his hand.

What I do know is that I lost control and began to squirt hot semen into his hand and on my stomach. I don’t know if he intentionally made me cum or if it was just a result of being a horny teenager who couldn’t maintain control. He was kind enough, though, to allow me to cum until I was completely drained. I remember feeling so ashamed as I lay there naked and panting, having lost control as the result of a man’s touch.

He was very cool about it, though. He calmly took a wash cloth and cleaned me up, actually milking the last few drops out with his thumb and forefinger as my penis shrank back to its normal diminutive size. I apologized to him, but he told me there was nothing to be sorry for, that it was a very natural reaction and a sign that I was a normal, healthy young man.

He finished the job by returning to my pubic mound, lathering it and scraping it as smooth as a newborn’s, even cradling my cock and balls in his hand to protect them as he completed his task. At that point, I would have let him do about anything. I appreciated his kindness and even today remember the first time I came for someone.

 

The End.

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