John had just come off a minor surgery — it was just an hour procedure and then he’d been sent home. What he’d not anticipated was having to lose the beard. Well, fuck. That was a bad surprise. And it was going to have to stay gone for quite awhile — the doctor was clear, a bit of bristle was fine, the full-on beard, no way.
The surgical prep nurse had done a decent job of trimming his facial hair, but how was Erin going to feel about it? The person he saw looking back in the mirror was not the same guy she was accustomed to and had fallen in love with. Would she feel the same way about him with this new look? John was worried. And it wasn’t just his looks that were radically different; it was also how his face felt. She loved the beard: on her neck, on her breasts and on her tummy as he worked his way down to her pussy. How was his usual foreplay going to work without it, John wondered. Maybe he should wait a couple of weeks to see her, like after the beard had grown in? Ah… not a possibility. It’s just that with the beard, John was the king of everything. Without it… he wasn’t sure who or what he was.
John came back to the house, tired from the anesthetic and upset. Time for a nap, then he’d have to sort this out. He drew the curtains in his bedroom, then buried himself under a pile of quilts and fell into a deep sleep.
Out for most of the afternoon, John woke just as the sun was starting to set. Damn, he was groggy. But he’d had some really hot dreams and now had a massive woody. And while he was sleeping, Erin had texted ten times: “Feeling like I need to see you this evening. Haven’t stopped thinking of you since our ride on the train. U available?” Oh yeah, he was available. Hell, yeah. Perhaps she’d like to come over to his house rather than going out to eat. He’d make her dinner and get the fireplace stoked up. “I’m down for that,” she replied, so they settled on 7:30 p.m. John would make sushi rolls and miso soup, and he had mango and chocolate mochi ice cream in the freezer for post-dinner. On many occasions, the two of them enjoyed feeding this cold confection to one another — and there was nothing she liked more than John’s mochi-chilled mouth warming up on her clit.
John had just a couple of hours to get things ready. He started by jumping into the shower, and scrubbing himself from head to toe with Dr. Bronner’s eucalyptus soap, which made his whole body tingle. In the steamy bathroom, he then buffed his back, chest, and legs with a thick towel and buttered himself up with generous dollops of Nivea Creme, working a few dabs of it into his now close-to-hairless face. It had a gentle scent Erin loved and felt luxuriously soothing going on. Then, John thought to work a bit of it onto his balls and dick. He closed his eyes and imagined Erin’s feathery fingertips doing their magic down there. “Nothing like a well-oiled machine,” he thought, as he vigorously massaged the lotion into his growing erection. He stopped just short of release, however, as he really needed to leave his spunk for Erin — she craved it, or so she said. Erin had quite the sexual appetite, and John wanted nothing more than to satiate her that evening.
Back in his bedroom, John stood in front of the full-length mirror considering the possibilities. It was time to own this new look and he damn well better do it quickly, as he had less than an hour before Erin would show up. What exactly was needed to bring it all together? That was the question. Most of John’s wardrobe had been selected to offset the thick, angular white beard he’d always sported, his clothes stylish and handsome, but a tad conservative, even with his favorite artsy colors considered. This new look, stubbly and more revealing of his mouth and facial expressions, didn’t fit the old aesthetic. It begged for a more casual, edgy feel. John chuckled out loud — message received: the beard, now gone, had been hugely dated. As was his wardrobe. It was time to freshen up everything. So, he cranked up some good music, something contrary to his usual romantic schlock — Mack Wilds’ “Own It.” He was feeling it, hugely.
Time to improvise. John got to thinking — which celeb or character might he imitate? He looked once more in the mirror, then he had it! Mike Ehrmantraut from Breaking Bad — Erin’s favorite character of all time. John was confident he could pull this off, maybe even emulate Mike’s persona a tad. A bit of role-playing would be fun, right?
John googled “Mike Ehrmantraut” and up came a ton of pics. The desired look was clear and easily achieved with a black button-down shirt and some classic straight-leg Levis. John had both right in his closet. And since no one would be leaving his lair that evening, he donned his favorite Reef flip flops, this even though it was the dead of winter. Sexy, super casual, and easy to undress. Shirt untucked, no belt.
Next task: create a bit of ambience around the house, anything to detract from this shocking new look of his. Erin was going to need some time to ease into the new John. Though he wasn’t looking to trick her, John imagined weaving in as many kisses and warm caresses as possible so as to soften the blow of the disappearance of the much-loved beard. John really needed Erin to be cool with all of it — if she got weirded out, he was pretty sure his equipment would not perform. Hers, either, for that matter. All of this worry left John feeling a tad short on self-confidence.
Fortunately, Hector, John’s cleaning guy, had only yesterday freshened up the entire house and put new linens on the bed, so there was that. Every room was immaculate and smelled fabulous, as he’d spritzed all the pillows and throw blankets with Acqua di Giò — Erin’s favorite fragrance. But there was a chill in the air — and something had to be done about that, or no clothes would be coming off. John preemptively turned the heat up to 72° and got a fire blazing in the hearth. He then set to putting out pillar candles here and there, turning lights down wherever he went. The final touch — he laid out a plush sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace under which he put a sleeping pad, and on top of which he made an inviting configuration of pillows. A down quilt was neatly folded nearby. He could imagine Erin in all her glory, right there, clothes carelessly tossed to the side.
On to the kitchen he went, where he’d stockpiled all the components for sushi. John set to steaming the rice, and got the rice vinegar warmed up in a sauce pan. He then took to slicing up cukes, avocados, scallions, ahi tuna, and crab. Sushi rolls were John’s specialty, and he’d won Erin over more than once with them. Not only yummy, sushi was light — the perfect prelude to an evening of hot sex.
What else needed doing? Nothing really. John had previously set out a huge bouquet of flowers in the living room — white narcissus with golden coronas, another Erin favorite. John was confident all of this would fly, his appearance, the ambience, the food — he was excited to see Erin’s reaction.
Erin appeared in John’s kitchen at exactly 7:30 p.m., having quietly let herself in, looking amazing, as usual. Truth be told, she’d been sitting in her car, in front of his house, for a good fifteen minutes prior — she was that amped up to see him. And she’d done every fussy thing to look beautiful for a smoking hot evening, including donning an impossibly soft black knit dress that ended mid-thigh. Revealed were the long, shapely legs that always caught John’s eye, bare from her spicy red toenails to that mysteriously dark space under the bottom edge of her skirt. John knew from months of experience that there were probably no undies. And Erin’s nearly nude feet were strapped into seasonally inappropriate sandals, which were clearly intended only to get her to the front door.
Erin’s cheeks and décolletage were crimson with sexual flush as she’d been anticipating seeing John for hours, and now there he was, in the middle of his kitchen — surrounded by food, gently illuminated by candlelight. His sleek black shirt, the fitted jeans, the silvery bristle of his hair, the look on his face — she was swooning. Fuck! He was sexier than ever. How could this be? She didn’t know what it was, but she was drawn in, and in two seconds, it was all hands on deck, his in particular. He grabbed her ass and pulled her in, busting his jeans with a major erection and they hadn’t even kissed yet. The outline of his hard dick pressed into her mons pubis.
Then Erin pulled his face in toward hers for the kiss, and that’s when she felt it. Thick, sharp, bristly stubble. It was rough. Very. She worked her hands down his neck and then to his chin and upper lip. More of the same. “Fuck me,” was all she could mutter as she checked him out through half-closed eyes, then rubbed her tender cheeks and chin all over his face. Oh, it hurt and so good — this was hot. And all the more so because she hadn’t expected it. Who was this creature that smelled like her man, but was so very different? Even the music he was playing, what had he gotten to?
For what seemed an hour, the two of them ever-so-lightly ground pelvises in the kitchen to Prince’s “Dirty Mind” album, stopping periodically to down a bit of saké and a few pieces of sushi. A trip back in time to their 20’s — 1980. Shit.
Then Erin stepped back and really looked at the man she was dancing with. Oh yeah, him. It was John alright, but in the fog of lust he resembled a 20ish version of the bearded dude she’d fallen in love with. Could they please keep doing this for a while, this temporal journey? John watched her face and reaction to him, and he, too, was transported back to a time when he could keep it up for days. Any lack of confidence he’d felt earlier discreetly melted away. This was going to be a good night, perhaps the best ever.
Enough with the fucking sushi. No mochi needed. The only appetite either had now was for sex, and Erin was not putting out until they’d danced themselves into a heavy sweat. She craved John’s earthy pheromonal smell and the taste of salty sweat on his neck. Her blousy expression said it all; this was the only dessert she wanted. John grabbed her hand, easing her out of the kitchen, doing rhythmic bum thrusts with his crazy boy ass as they made their way down the stairs. As they progressed, they locked gazes, pupils dilated from the dopamine rush, muscle memory only guiding them as they made their way to the living room. Erin undid her hair clip and tossed it to the side, then shook her hair out. She ran fingers through it, fluffing it out to frame her face, then twirling it seductively behind her ears, all the while licking a thick layer of saliva across her lips. In his mind, John felt her soft locks tickling his tummy, as impossibly wet lips enveloped his penis, Erin’s tongue gently clucking in syncopation on his glans.
As they entered the room, John shoved the coffee table out of the way, clearing the floor for dancing. Briefly, they disengaged while John connected his phone to speakers and cranked up his Prince set. Then they danced wildly for what seemed an hour, both in their own worlds, though sometimes bringing the other into their space, all the while simultaneously buried in Prince’s hypnotic rhythmic tracks.
Somewhere along the line, Erin peeled off her black dress and threw it over her head to who-knows-where, drawing John’s attention away from his own dancing to her hard grinding mons pubic and bouncing breasts. Obeying hand motions to come in closer, John made his way, and once within reach, Erin grabbed his shirt, nearly catching him off balance from the surprise of it. He was now on full alert as Erin furiously unbuttoned his shirt, three buttons down, impatiently ripping it wide open — she could no longer wait, having worked herself into a sexual frenzy.
Then it was off with his jeans, which she followed to the floor after unzipping and shoving them down. Once his pants were at his ankles, and his woman in position on her knees, her mouth at head level (the head of his penis, that is), liftoff was achieved. John carefully stepped out of his jeans and kicked them to the side, gently holding Erin’s bobbing head in place so as not to disrupt her workup on his dick. His rocket was now beyond gravity and reaching escape velocity — he was on his way to heaven.
Erin was not far behind in the arousal department. John had switched from holding her head to tweaking both nipples with his big, calloused hands, pulling her breasts up slightly as he did so. His tightly rolling her nipples in his fingertips was so intense she had to bury her nose in his fragrant groin, his erection pressing hard into the side of her face. John then pulled her upright until both of their abdomens and chests were in full contact, his ridiculous furriness setting off every electrical circuit on her velvety soft breasts.
In this position they danced for a good long while, alternately grazing chests and groins until they could stand it no longer. John pulled Erin down to the sheepskin rug where she presented herself to him on all fours, down on her elbows, ass high in the air, at which point he hesitated not one second in giving it to her. All of it. It was a mess, a huge one and they slept in it for hours, until the fire burned down, at which point they retired to John’s bedroom and he finished his business — eating out his smelly, wet woman with his newly bristly mouth, while grinding his prickly chin into her vulva until her thighs shook uncontrollably. The beard would stay gone.
Chris Andrews -- Whew . . . With Erin's response . . . Which hospital can I go to for the same surgery?
Whew!