for a manscape
and this is what you get,” the model fretted. “There is no sense of
service anymore. Everyone is just out for a fast buck.”
Leslie nodded. “Well, I manscape, too.
Sometimes I do it myself and sometimes I go to the salon. And it
looks nothing like this .” He narrowed his
eyes as he snipped stray hairs. “Is this one of your pre-show
customs then, Bernsen?”
The model gave him a sly look from under
perfectly manicured eyebrows. “Custom? No, my plum, I just think
you are too adorable and I like your hands on my body.”
Leslie blushed pink in pleasure. He finished
up and stood back to admire his handiwork. In truth, he thought
that there was little difference, but he’d tried to make Bernsen
happy.
The model looked down and inspected his
groin. “Looks better. Thank you, my sweetheart.” He patted Leslie’s
head and turned and disappeared into the throng that milled
around.
Leslie chuckled. “I love the whole BJ thing.
I wonder if he gets much action with that design. Do you think he
just drops his pants and pushes his crotch out at someone and he
gets an instant blow job?”
Taylor flapped a hand. “I’m still in shock
finding out how much he paid for the damn shave. I’d have done it
for him at half the price. The shave, not the BJ. Although…” He
leered and Leslie pursed his lips.
“You, my friend, are a complete tart.” He
grinned. “That makes two of us. I still wouldn’t have paid that
much though for a treatment.”
Just then, Camilla, one of the models
currently standing around, waiting to be dressed, gave a loud
unladylike snort. She put her thumbs in her barely there, canary
yellow thong and pulled them down. “Huh. What do you think this is?’ She indicated her crotch and
stared at him.
Leslie wasn’t really sure what she was asking
or pointing to. There was so much bronzed and pink-lipped flesh on
display he felt a little nauseous.
“Uhmm, a vagina?” he proffered weakly.
The model gave him a withering glance.
“Darling, you are definitely so gay if you
think a woman’s vagina is on the outside of her body.”
Leslie’s face heated up at the sniggers
around him—Taylor’s the loudest. “I know where a woman’s vagina
is,” he said haughtily. “But honestly, I wasn’t sure what you were
pointing to.” He swallowed. “It was rather open to interpretation,
really.”
Taylor’s chuckles grew louder and Leslie
turned to glare at his amused friend. Bruce had joined them and was
watching the proceedings with laughter on his face.
Camilla’s hand waved at her crotch. “This, my
clueless friend, is a three hundred-pound
wax job. We all pay a lot to look as good as we do. So I don’t
think your Bic razor job comes close.” She sniffed and stalked off
as Leslie watched her, open-mouthed.
“Bitch,” he sniffed. “I don’t use a Bic.”
Taylor exploded in laughter, his face pink.
Despite himself, a smile tugged at Leslie’s lips. “Bastards,” he
said affably at Taylor. “If you were forced to stare at women’s
bits, I’d bet you’d sing a different tune.” He cast a glance at
Bruce. “Except you, old man, because everyone knows you love the ladies…”
Bruce guffawed. “Working around this lot of
divas is enough to put you off ’em for life,” he snorted. “But I do
admit this job has its perks.”
* * *
An hour later Leslie was sitting in a small
storage cupboard, surrounded by various old props, clothing, towels
and smelly laundry. He’d had enough of everyone, so he’d slunk away
to check his emails and texts for the first time that day. His
overriding hope was that Oliver had responded to his cute monkey
card. Leslie had known it was a long shot but he lived forever in
hope. He made himself comfortable on a pile of old towels,
stretched his legs out before him and heaved a sigh of relief as he
pulled out his smartphone. No one would think to look for him in
here.
He wrinkled his nose in distaste at the reek
in the room.
and this is what you get,” the model fretted. “There is no sense of
service anymore. Everyone is just out for a fast buck.”
Leslie nodded. “Well, I manscape, too.
Sometimes I do it myself and sometimes I go to the salon. And it
looks nothing like this .” He narrowed his
eyes as he snipped stray hairs. “Is this one of your pre-show
customs then, Bernsen?”
The model gave him a sly look from under
perfectly manicured eyebrows. “Custom? No, my plum, I just think
you are too adorable and I like your hands on my body.”
Leslie blushed pink in pleasure. He finished
up and stood back to admire his handiwork. In truth, he thought
that there was little difference, but he’d tried to make Bernsen
happy.
The model looked down and inspected his
groin. “Looks better. Thank you, my sweetheart.” He patted Leslie’s
head and turned and disappeared into the throng that milled
around.
Leslie chuckled. “I love the whole BJ thing.
I wonder if he gets much action with that design. Do you think he
just drops his pants and pushes his crotch out at someone and he
gets an instant blow job?”
Taylor flapped a hand. “I’m still in shock
finding out how much he paid for the damn shave. I’d have done it
for him at half the price. The shave, not the BJ. Although…” He
leered and Leslie pursed his lips.
“You, my friend, are a complete tart.” He
grinned. “That makes two of us. I still wouldn’t have paid that
much though for a treatment.”
Just then, Camilla, one of the models
currently standing around, waiting to be dressed, gave a loud
unladylike snort. She put her thumbs in her barely there, canary
yellow thong and pulled them down. “Huh. What do you think this is?’ She indicated her crotch and
stared at him.
Leslie wasn’t really sure what she was asking
or pointing to. There was so much bronzed and pink-lipped flesh on
display he felt a little nauseous.
“Uhmm, a vagina?” he proffered weakly.
The model gave him a withering glance.
“Darling, you are definitely so gay if you
think a woman’s vagina is on the outside of her body.”
Leslie’s face heated up at the sniggers
around him—Taylor’s the loudest. “I know where a woman’s vagina
is,” he said haughtily. “But honestly, I wasn’t sure what you were
pointing to.” He swallowed. “It was rather open to interpretation,
really.”
Taylor’s chuckles grew louder and Leslie
turned to glare at his amused friend. Bruce had joined them and was
watching the proceedings with laughter on his face.
Camilla’s hand waved at her crotch. “This, my
clueless friend, is a three hundred-pound
wax job. We all pay a lot to look as good as we do. So I don’t
think your Bic razor job comes close.” She sniffed and stalked off
as Leslie watched her, open-mouthed.
“Bitch,” he sniffed. “I don’t use a Bic.”
Taylor exploded in laughter, his face pink.
Despite himself, a smile tugged at Leslie’s lips. “Bastards,” he
said affably at Taylor. “If you were forced to stare at women’s
bits, I’d bet you’d sing a different tune.” He cast a glance at
Bruce. “Except you, old man, because everyone knows you love the ladies…”
Bruce guffawed. “Working around this lot of
divas is enough to put you off ’em for life,” he snorted. “But I do
admit this job has its perks.”
* * *
An hour later Leslie was sitting in a small
storage cupboard, surrounded by various old props, clothing, towels
and smelly laundry. He’d had enough of everyone, so he’d slunk away
to check his emails and texts for the first time that day. His
overriding hope was that Oliver had responded to his cute monkey
card. Leslie had known it was a long shot but he lived forever in
hope. He made himself comfortable on a pile of old towels,
stretched his legs out before him and heaved a sigh of relief as he
pulled out his smartphone. No one would think to look for him in
here.
He wrinkled his nose in distaste at the reek
in the room.
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