Wanted, Hairy Bodies

Author's notes. Pay no attention to the category, there just wasn't anyone that got close and then I thought, Hmmm, "Coming Out" in an abstract way that was an approximation of what was going on. I hope you'll find this amusing, that was my purpose.

It was time to change jobs so I was just looking to see what the Sunday paper had to offer in the way of opportunities. Once you got past the over blown text, there wasn't much, although if you just needed a job, they were there to be had. And then, smashed between two ads for car salesman there was this:

wanted hair body  And an eight hundred number. I guess they really wanted you to be interested as I had to get a magnifying glass to read, “wanted, hairy body”. Well, I had that. Not Sasquatch furry but a good coat from my head to my toes, I definitely qualified if what you seriously wanted was a hairy body.

Now you know and I know that an ad like that has cow bells of warnings. Who wants hairy bodies? How do I know that they even want human hairy bodies? Perhaps sheep, or goats or whatever and there was nothing about living or dead, animal, vegetable or mineral. The the three words and the telephone number. So I dialed.

A neutral, sexless voice answered, inquired as to which ad I was responding and, suddenly embarrassed, gagged out that it was the one about hairy bodies. There was a dismissive, “Thank You, one moment please.” I was transferred. A man who identified himself as “Mark” (but who knew? This could easily have been some sort of ruse to find, well, people who had an unnatural interest in hair or a form of sales pitch.) However, “Mark” said that, for now, he would prefer not to have my name or any identifying information but if I would answer some questions about the hair on my body, he could evaluate what-or if-the next step was. I'm still not really buying this. How much could that ad have cost? And it's to hook up with a referral service that passes on the calls. How do I know that, right as we're speaking, he's sitting somewhere not wearing anything below his waist and having a long, pleasant stroke?; Not all phone sex concerns itself with cocks and balls. (I had a part time job as a phone sex “therapist”-got pretty good at it, too.) I don't know that couldn't be true because it might have been.

However, the questions as they started, leaned more to the informational than the sexual. He asked if I had some time as this could take an hour, also, did I have a magnifying glass (I did, that’s how I found his ad.) the sort that sometimes comes on knives. I calmed down, a little. In an almost professorial way, he started with questions about the texture and placement of my hair. Using the microscope he asked me to estimate the number of follicles in a square inch on various places on my body. My shaving habits. What sort of shampoo did I use? Had I ever had a skin disease? Acne as a kid? Etc. He was good at his job and hand flew me through the technical stuff as a good teacher would. Always friendly but never anything approaching intimate, I was relaxed, found it interesting. Even when we got to my crotch, he maintained a professional interest level although some of the things I was asked could have been read another way if you wanted to. Did hair grow on my penis as well as my testicles? If so, how far up the shaft? Had I ever shaved any part of my pubic area? If so, how recently? At the end of the questions we reached my ass-no pun intended-he asked if I would have any problem removing my underwear and answering a few final questions about growth patterns there?

It seemed unnecessary to tell him that however he was reacting, all this self-examination had had an arousing effect on me and I was already without underwear. However, to not betray my already perhaps too existent involvement with the questions, I said I would have no problem and picked up, and dropped, shoes and pants and let “Mark” assume I was sliding out of my skivvies. The questions were, as they all had been, rational, non-sexual, informational and direct. Estimate the coverage on my hips, could I sense a whirl pattern? Had my hair ever inhibited my sexual habits? Had I ever shaved that area? Used depilatory? Clippered it? And then we were done.

From “Mark”, “You've been really great, I know this isn't easy, may have been occasionally embarrassing but I work for X chemical company and we're interested in getting further into men's grooming products. Typically, men spend more on their hair and we want to find out what we can do, what we can offer to attract  buyers. What I'd like to do is offer you a visit to our plant, have some interviews, some examinations and then we'll talk about the next step, employment”.

I knew the company, knew they had a good reputation and also knew that they had an extensive line of lady's hair care products so what he was talking about made sense. I had no trouble giving him my name and address and we worked out a time that was convenient for me to fly in for the “interview”. Actually, I could have made the late plane that day as I was, currently, what might be called “casually employed”. I was filling in for a buddy as a part time bartender at night, two afternoons a week found me as a play ground monitor, doing phone wake up service...and made a deal with my apartment complex to forgo paying rent in exchange for being their property maintenance man. Mainly mowing the lawns. That had proved a “hairy” problem as some of the women in the complex had complained when I'd mowed in s  horts and no shirt. It was discrimination, of a sort, but I understood it and found some old pants and got a shirt from the leasing corporation that marked me as an employee, not just some guy out airing his pelt. It was time to find a “real” job and who better to employ me than a respected company who seemed to want what I had immediately available; I left the following Monday.

Mark-it was his real name-met the plane, drove me to a hotel, not a motel, near their offices-it was explained that the actual manufacturing plant was further out, down town being too expensive, and too hazardous, for a chemical plant, even one making dish soap and lipsticks. I had a good room and he explained that if I wanted room service or meals in their restaurant to just sign the tab and include a generous tip; He said he'd been a waiter when he was in college and knew how tips were appreciated. The only thing I could not do was drink as if they needed to take samples, either tissue or blood, they didn't want alcohol in my system to possibly confuse the tests. Fine with me although I told him I'd had a couple beers  on the plane. No problem. He asked if I needed anything and said he'd pick me up downstairs around nine the following morning and to dress casually, shorts and a T if I wanted to.

The next morning in white cargo shorts, jock, a T-shirt stressing my loyalty to the Kansas City Royals and some well cleaned sneakers as well as socks, I was collected and we drove a few miles to their headquarters. I felt like a fool going into an office building dressed for tennis or touch football but no one seemed to notice. On the fifteenth floor Mark steered me to a suite of offices that were reached through French doors that had Research and Development on them. Past people, most of whom acknowledged him and into a spacious office/examining room and was introduced to a Dr. Pye. The good doctor believed in physical culture and although he could have been any age from forty to eighty he also could have been on the cover of either Men's Health or L'homme Vogue. I would have no problem in working with him, even if he proved to be only eye candy; He made Mark look like a waif from a Christmas showing of “Oliver Twist”.

“So, might as well get used to it, strip and jump up on the table, all the way, no socks no underwear just you and your outer coating.” And then he smiled. Was there a miniature sun in the room? I almost instinctively wanted to put on shades. He was shaking his head. “....fucking perfect, Mark, I congratulate you. This fills out the fifth follicle type, right age, right look, you've done it again. So if you want to go back to your office, I'll call when Alex and I need you.” Mark smiled, we shook hands-I had the feeling we wouldn't see much of each other in the future-and as he left the Dr. turned his attention back to my now nude body. “So you won't feel uncomfortable...” and he removed his lab coat revealing only a pair of sneakers. The big difference between us was that there wasn't a speck of hair on him, even his eyelashes were gone, whether intentionally or not I couldn't say. His scalp didn't look shaved but then, no part of him did. Either he was the greatest hand with a razor, this was his natural condition or some new product they’d tried had worked too well.

“Now comes the boring part, sample collection but first....” he rustled in a drawer in the table “....I need some signatures. Releases, waivers, your granting us permission to study you in depth. In return, of course, we guarantee that no harm will come to you, and, if it does, we'll be responsible, insurance, the usual shit.....Okay, now, here are some employment forms as I can tell we don't need any time to make a decision, you're just what we want.”

Employment? That had an interesting ring. Employment=job and job was something I needed. ( I mentally re-evaluated how good looking Mark was.) However, it seemed only proper to ask a few questions...

“I'm impressed but....”

“How long, how much, perks, benefits, insurance, that kind of thing? Well, we provide housing-a fairly pleasant one bedroom apartment with all the bells and whistles. Last time I looked there's wall mounted television that could double as a drive in theatre...swimming pool” he laughed, “just don’t clog the filter. You should be comfortable, if you're not, tell me. You're to be considered  my assistant and you'll work with me, some of the other guys on my staff. It would help if you were gay and I'm not asking....”

“I am.”

“Good. So am I, so is Mark and when you want a sexual encounter, you call him.(My appreciation of Mark went up some more.) Again, and this may sound overly protective, we don't want you coming into contact with anything we can't identify both the substance and the source.  Salary is twelve thousand a month and you'll be on a year's contract. This is research but if you save your money, you can walk away with a good chunk of change. Forgot, you're also supplied a car and a weekly gas allowance. And what else...Oh, your clothes. I specify what you'll wear and provide it. It's all cotton but, again, we want to trace any foreign particles. You'll hate this but... you must record every thing you eat or drink, even water and keep an approximation of your evacuations, both urine and fecal materials. Questions?”

I knew I should have some, it's an article of faith that before one says “yes” to accepting a job, you asked a few questions, exhibited an interest in the company, what your job might entail, basics like that but I had none. Couldn't think of any. Okay, I was nude in an office I'd only just seen for the first time with a doctor, not wearing more than I was, also gay, who had absolutely no hair on his body offering me a job because I was a hairy guy. I'd been told who to call if I wanted a quick fuck, offered a car, gas, clothes and a home...and I had no questions. “Nope, none. Now what?”

“Just sign where I've indicated....” I did. “....and we'll get started. First thing is to divide your body into relevant areas of study.....”And that's what he did. On a sheaf of papers he noted almost everything on my surface always carefully collecting how ever many hairs-with follicles-he needed. They were placed in small, closed packages and attached to the paper that coordinated my body. “This one hurts” he said as he plucked out an eyelash. The process was interrupted only by lunch. And that was interesting. We both had the same meal, while although it was attractively presented it was clearly a meal that a dietitian  had designed with no help from anyone at any of the food channels. You could tell that somewhere someone knew to the last BTU just how many calories, their source and relativity to whatever else was on the plate might be. To be fair, it tasted alright but it had no future as drive in food. Doc talked about it as we ate. He apologized for the blandness of it and the lack of much color. It was all natural, no chemicals, no seasonings, no “special sauces” no anything to pep it up. It didn't taste bad, it just didn't taste.  And I noticed that my water glass had markings to indicate how much water I'd drunk. There was also the suspicion that whatever I didn't eat would be measured and adding to the material they were collecting about me.

Next on the agenda was, surprisingly, a visit to the gym. He went everyday and I was expected to join him and work out as well. The corporation had their own and, what else?, everything that happened there was monitored. At various intervals we’d pause and examples of sweat infused fur would be taken-as a joke I asked him if, after all the samples were taken over a period of time, I had no hair? Never ask scientists flippant questions, I was told the research would be halted until the hair grew back. Oh.

Pye was in great shape and, if I did just what he did, I, too, could be scouted for Men’s Health...or a porn site that dealt in hair fetishes. We spent a good hour, it was timed, then showered-why could I not escape the feeling that the water that went down the drain was caught and examined; Enhancing that thought was the fact that we showered together but in a two man arrangement where each of us had our own spigot and drain. The good Doctor apologized for my not being allowed shampoo or body soap but, for now, all foreign substances had to be kept from my hair-eventually when all the assessments were concluded, I’d be allowed to soap up. Not to worry, he pointed out, the water we used was filtered and I would be clean if not in the usual way. Okay, I wasn’t involved with soap and shampoo; In fact given my hairy state, it was almost a relief to not have to shampoo all of me; To get really clean I’d have to use almost a half bottle of men’s body wash then rinsing it thoroughly could use up all the hot water in my apartment, a problem I felt we wouldn’t face here.

Post workout, Pye sprung one on me that, after I thought about it, made sense but at first hearing was a bit of a shocker; He wanted me to lay on a flat table and jerk off to see where in my pelt my sperm went, what the concentration was and, only I could answer this one, did I usually produce approximately the same volume? With that, I made an attempt to get it up and hard but, with the Doctor and a camera, it wasn’t as easy as at home with my laptop and some porn. He was sympathetic. Understood perfectly. Would help since his participation did not effect the ‘spray pattern’. His assistance consisted of giving me a really fine external prostate massage not to mention a very soft handed stroking of my cock including some interesting manipulations with a finger of my piss slit.

I was ready to go rather more quickly than I’d expected and, as he worked on, in jest, I offered to assist him. If he every needed me. His answer, as soon as they finished me, he could suck him off was succinct but not what I expected. As I lay there an overhead light displayed a division on my body making it easier to note what went were. My actual activity was actually quite pleasant, maybe the appreciative audience helped. It took about eight minutes until I splattered...but almost two hours until each wriggler, or group of them, had been tracked down, noted and their area made into a chart.

Once that was done, Pye sat in a comfortable chair, put me on the floor, then told me to blow him, swallowing was optional. Well, I had offered, just not quite this much but, hell, fine looking man, excellent equipment and, as is sometimes said in job advertisements, ‘chance for advancement’.  Conveniently I was already naked so the only thing left was to park my butt on the floor then find a good way to begin.

“Play with my nuts...you know how to find the prostate from the perineum?”

That I did seemed to please him plus it told me where to start, with my index finger pressing on his smooth flesh just behind his balls. He must have been pleased with my ability to search and seize as he relaxed a bit more, his cock started to harden and, before I made a circle with my fingers to stop them, his nut sack started to draw up. Why not? Opened wide, said ‘Ah’ and stuffed the ultra smooth flesh of his scrotum into my mouth. Again, he seemed to be pleased, for that, so was I; If you’ve had too much hair in your mouth from doing this sort of activity-for obvious, tho varying, reasons no one ever did it to me-the china smoothness was a treat. He got harder to the point that I could tell I’d need to change venues or he’d start and finish without me.

One interesting thing, I’d never seen a penis so completely circumcised; On most men there’s at least a small amount of flesh left that covers the corona of the head but not Dr. Pye, in fact, it looked as if his skin flowed from his lower abdomen right down the shaft as if no flesh had ever been removed. Different but in no way distracting, rather the opposite; I could get the whole cock without finding my lips or teeth restrained as there was a wave of skin to be dealt with. Got it all, to the bottom, in one gulp. (If he wondered if I could deep throat, he had his answer.)

Nice cock, one with the slight upturn that makes it perfect for fucking, good length and, a personal favorite of mine, visible veins that made it look like a really cut body builder who had lost so much body fat that the structure beneath was easily seen. Also, I was finding, he had a deft touch in how much expansion to the girth there was. Conveniently, he didn’t ‘blow up’ until my jaw was parked where it needed to be and then he allowed his shaft to gradual enhance itself. In the past giving a guy a suck job wasn’t always something I particularly liked-mainly due to my hair, they’d refuse reciprocity. If there was an up side, some of my partners said it was erotic and exotic to see me work myself over to full blow out, rather like watching white lava explode from a forest of fur. I had no expectations here; Dr. Pye, if he even wanted to drink from my beast like instrument would, no doubt, have had to examine his spit, not the contents, how much got into my hair….kinda takes the fun and spontaneity out of it, doesn’t it.

I liked the Doc, really tried hard to please and, I could tell, he was enjoying it, his moans and moving about told me that. But the big sendoff was as he got closer to ejaculation; Some guys have their abs bounce a little, some guys just suddenly come but Dr. Pye….his approaching storm was led by a sort of verbal overture, followed my every muscle in his chest bouncing on to his abdomen then, with one final enlargement of his cock, the tide came in. More like a tidal surge; Either he hadn’t drained the reservoir in some little while or his private sperm manufacturing plant was doing a helluva job in volume creation.

Of course I swallowed it, every particle. Sadly, given his diet, it was as tasteless as the lunch we’d eaten but, I guess, mass makes up for gourmet pleasures. If he wondered about swallowing, another question answered. But...in these happy moments just after sex..I had a question.

“Are you naturally hairless, some new product here do that….?”

“Worst case of Alopecia they ever saw. When I first started losing my hair, wasn’t on my head, it was down where you are, the pubic region. Didn’t think about it, I was a fairly hairy guy, but then it started up toward my chest, treasure trail gone, pecs denuded...I wondered if I was working out too much but...that didn’t seem logical. Only when I was having a routine physical did my doctor comment on it, sent me to a dermatologist and that’s when it was diagnosed. Less than six months...well, you can see the end product.”

I really felt sorry for the guy, it’s one thing to keep yourself shaved or whatever, a guy I sucked for cash was a body builder and one of his ongoing complaints was the everlasting need to keep his body hairless but...this was different.

“’Course, you wouldn’t be here, and by the way, that was a spectacular suck, never had better, that’s how I got interested in hair. The company, weirdly, is looking for a depilatory for guys that really kills the root stem but, to do that, we’ve had to hire guys who are hairy to see why they are, kind of reverse psychology, find out what makes them hairy then find what stops hair growth.” He smiled at me. “You make it worth doing, couple of the men we’ve had...jeez...didn’t last a month, were bored, wanted more action than Mark or I could or would supply but now...Alex, you’re here, the answer to what we want. Oh, and when Mark takes you home, he loves hairy men...just for now about all he can do is give you a whale of a hand job, I’ve already done the splatter chart on sperm, so let him lay you out, stand you up, tie you down, whatever and apply his well trained hand.”

Wondered if Mark wanted a part time place to hang out? Swimming pool? Me?

We finished off the day by having me swap out my clothes for the all cotton, all white garments I was required to wear. Mercifully, someone had put some thought into them and they looked more like I was going to play at Wimbledon than some dumpy shirt and droopy shorts. Actually, since doc put a size too small on my chest, I looked, if not hot, then not bad.

Mark showed up, said he’d drive me home, asked how “I’d done”? Pye told him I got a A + in cocksucking-hadn’t thought that would be discussed-but it was information that seemed to please him to the point that he gave me a very friendly swat on my butt and left his hand there, briefly.

Mark did come in, did go for a swim-just by chance he had a suit with him-we hit local take out place-easier to gauge what I ate that way-home, ate dinner then he suggested that since Pye had already finished finding where the jizz is, he be allowed to do some information gathering himself. Fine, I felt he would be good at this and since he’d been nominated as my go to guy for sex, well, here he was and he was offering sex.

Two hours later I was laying on my bed having been brilliantly jerked, edged, given a pause then repeat; I felt Mark should smoke after sex. Given the hour, and his desire to sleep with a furry guy, what could I say? Promises were made for the morning and, not wishing to seem inhospitable, I made sure he had a comfortable spot on the bed. He rolled me over and started a great stroking, mainly on my butt, however he did give excellent attention to my chest. Lights out and he cuddled up to me the way a child would with a large stuffed animal. Just as a surprise, I blew him-he liked it.

Were I a man who thinks things might be done to accommodate the wants and needs of others, I could be led to think that the examination of my butt, and the interior, was done so that “others” might have access to it. Ditto my cock. And, since they’re connected, the Perineum. One Friday I had Mark on pubes, Pye on glutes and me hung from the ceiling to give everyone better access. Indeed, a slight tiff developed between the two gentleman; Pye, politely, told Mark it was fine to ‘occasionally’ go home with me, see that everything was ship shape, but he needn’t do that every fucking day including spending the weekends. Ever one to try and calmly solve a situation, I simply suggested that they were both welcome, separately and jointly. I did have two sides, as they knew, and the bed, a King Size would hold three, even allow some leftover space for fun and games unless all were too tired for either fun or games. (The day we played horsey and I was curried is memorable. Since I’d arrived I’d not been allowed to shave anything save a small portion of my face-Pye had neatly trimmed in a beard and moustache-so there was plenty to do not to mention the moments that one felt the other hadn’t done a good job so redid it.)

For one reason or another Dr. Pye told me to come an hour late, he had a meeting and I wouldn’t be needed. Also, the previous evening, no one ‘bunked’ in. Opening the door t the lab I immediately saw why: Mark was strung up covered in something while Pye stood by him, maliciously smiling, holding a sort of squeegee in one hand. I was told that Mark had “volunteered” to try a new formula  for depilatory for men. Specifically men who endured the taunts of others about their Grizzly Bear Backs.  I don’t think he’d planned on the roping not to mention that far more than his back, which was almost fur free as I well knew, had been covered.

Pye was more than cordial to me, hoping that I’d take an interest in what might happen next. Slightly horrified, I genuinely liked Mark and saw this as just what it was, Pye’s revenge for our friendship. Nothing I could do….just then. Moments later water was poured over Mark’s frame, the squeegees were applied and, as Pye must have known, his hair did  come off. All of it. Head included. Mark was then let down, told to shower and report back, naked, for an examination when he was through.

That left the two of us. Silence. I just looked at him which...properly...suggested to him that I wasn’t pleased. I have little doubt he thought, or wouldn’t have bothered to think, I, too, had some powers of revenge and the main one, that which I then played, was to be my lack of cooperation. Nothing in my contract forced me to continue with him, it was for a year, all the goodies he’d thrown at me as blandishment stayed in place but I….did not have to participate, just show up, hang around then go home at quitting time. But let his hands on me-not to mention  my mouth on him which I knew he liked-nope.

He blanched, to the degree that he could, suddenly was stricken with precisely what I was saying, I could stop  his beloved research cold, they could get themselves, if they could, another ‘subject’ and they’d be back at square one. You cannot be around as long as I had been without knowing some facts and the one I now mentioned was that, as is customary with research, there were some deadlines on his project. I was the lynch pin and he was too far along to try and hustle another body. Clearly, and he panicked, he had to find something, beyond a simple apology, to induce me to stay, get him back in my good graces, keep the project humming along. But what?

Just as I had become used to, indeed almost proud of my furriness, after his shock of losing his hair, he, too, was proud of his stark, hairless skin. Obviously I couldn’t make him grow it back as penance just as he could not threaten to shave me completely-that would also end the project. There was, of course, a third party, Mark, so I suggested to the Doctor that we wait and see what Mark might say. Oh, and a question, how long would it take Mark to at least regrow a semblance of what had been removed. He stumbled, muttered, it was a new formula, never tried, he couldn’t know….BUT he almost yelled, he knew it would grow back, absolutely, the formula wasn’t made for permanent removal, just long enough so that it wouldn’t have to be applied as those currently on the market. He promised. I was relieved mainly because I had feared it wouldn’t grow back.

With Mark, not happy, and me, not happy, and Dr. Pye scared shitless, what I suggested was that my cooperation would escalate as Mark’s hair grew back. Simple, when I could see even a hint, an immature strand, a bit of color, we’d do something necessary to his project. Simple. That was the deal and, what else, ?, he took it. Telling Mark to get dressed, I asked for, and got, a vacation, while hair grew, but during which I agreed to continue living as I had to keep the information flowing and accurate. Oh, Mark would be bunking in with me and my invitation to Pye was, temporarily, withdrawn. Never burn bridges.

You may have heard some people say that their hair grows fast? Whether from an anatomical stance that’s true, Mark did produce some fur reasonably quickly, where it was growing back gave his legs the look of five o’clock shadow. Pye pointed this out and, to be gracious, I resumed. However, I knew that there was some fence mending to be done and, a few weeks after I’d started participating again, and Mark was a bit more covered, I sat the two of them down for a sort of “Come to Furry Jesus Meeting”. It wasn’t a pitch, it was simple face, they liked each other, had  probably had something of a relationship before I showed up and the current status quo was making all of us uncomfortable.  I could see they were on the verge of agreeing,   but neither one would entirely cave; No problem, I had what in corporate terms is called a bonding exercise. I ordered, did not ask, that they get  up on the examining table, they were both nude, put cocks to mouth and remember what good friends they’d been while doing an old fashioned 69.

It was easy to see this wasn’t their first time for, after the shooting was over, they moved around until they were sharing the cum with each other then went to an old fashioned making out. Feeling my good deed was done, I turned down the lights, got in my car, went home and threw together a family favorite in canapes, Chutney, Cream Cheese and Crisp bacon on Water Wafers-I was expecting guests.

Perhaps an hour later two men showed up at my door covered with stupid smiles, the sort that made one think they’d just toilet papered the Principle’s home. As their arms were around each other I let them in, set them down, gave each of them a glass of wine, handed round the very good snack and made them promise to never, ever do something dumb like that again. With a mouth full of chutney, they both nodded and, later, as a command performance, I surrendered my bed for a time while the took turns fucking each other-I jerked off. Several times.

Several months later Pye announced that he thought he had the formula and it was time to try it, on small places, on other men; I was being saved for the grand finale. As I gathered, in a board meeting I’d be introduced as I am, furry-with a modesty pouch (posing strap) for the look of the thing-then, in a few hours, they would reassemble to see what Pye had accomplished, how much of my hairiness was no longer and I approximated the hair an average man my age would have.

The tests started and did seem to be successful. The guys in the office were our test subjects and, depending on their fur growth and where, some wives must have been quite surprised when their newly hairless chested or legs or...whatever showed up. To the degree that was possible, everything seemed to check out. Our labs and those of Food And Drugs declared the ingredients safe fore use on humans in wide scale testing which meant it was now me….

Funny, isn’t it, how we become accustomed to the way we are, whether we really like it, after years of it being part of us, contemplating the removal can lead to a sort of separation anxiety. Pye spoke of when he found he was going for all over nude and there was nothing he could do about it, that’s when, as with me, he had a certain sadness for what was going away. Oh Well, couldn’t be helped. Pye and Mark spent some little time calculating what to remove that would make the biggest impact. The final verdict? One side would be untouched by the other side would be peeled down to what most guys already sported; Hair on their chest, nice bush at their cock and balls, light furring on arms and legs, clean back...it was time for the unveiling.

I’ve done a lot of things that, in retrospect might be called ‘exhibitionism’ but this went waaaay  beyond that. My ‘modesty pouch’ even including the string that supported it could have been made from a cocktail napkin. Dr. Pye was on the stand showing the group the ‘problem areas’ notably my ass and back. Rather like the Great and Powerful Oz, he promised to return me, if not to Kansas, then to a state such I’d never seen. He said that a luncheon was prepared and we’d reassemble in two hours.

Even before the meeting, Pye and Mark had painted the fluid on me, it just wasn’t visible. Had we not started, the two hours would have seemed much longer if you were waiting for results.

Elsewhere, the two of them shed there clothes, takes little time to whip off a modesty pouch, and plunged into a shower that could have doubled for Niagara in the low season. Water poured over me while Mark and Pye vigorously worked to get the hair off we’d planned on removing. One thing, and I could see by the fur flushing, it was coming off and there was no pain involved. Dried and looking in a full length mirror, I was stunned. They’d go it just right!!! Good masculine shag on my chest that disappeared into a treasure trail that led you to my crotch. The cock was clean, the balls were furry. My back was hairless as was all but a slight furring on my ass. Legs and arms had what one might call an appropriate amount, he’d left the well sculpted beard and moustache, I wondered where I’d gone. One thing came back, my modesty pouch.

Over that was a new wardrobe, there’d been discussion about this, Pye wanted something casual but Mark said, lets do business suit...whatever it was, I would have to take it off. And, frankly, I think Mark had the better idea; In the suit I was completely covered, except for the well trimmed facial hair, and then piece by piece, it all came off. Mark was there to assist me as layer after layer was removed  until….just me and my pouch.

There were audible gasps. The skin that had been cleaned, did not look as if there was a suggestion of vanished hair, looked like every guy. One last thing, Pye rolled on a  basin, a barbers’ chair and a barber.  Clean shaven, he moved on to my pile of  brown hair and proceeded to give me that masculine cut, a Marine High and Tight. Given almost a year working out with Pye, it was the perfect cut. What they saw was...one stud, just enough hair, just enough smile and, if they read the pouch, just enough fur on his cock and balls.

Enormous applause, Pye was carried around the room, I heard talk of how much this would make. As the sound diminished, Mark got my everyday clothes, looked at me, smiled, and said, “All that fucking fur, I never got to fuck you….”

“Nope, you haven’t. I’m still an employee for two or three more weeks, why don’t we go back to my place and we each collect some corporate benefits...”

For those who may find the description of the development of a product somewhat over the top, while the gaydom might not exist, or maybe it does, what I’ve written is a shortened version of what might take corporations years to concoct. Then they start all over about naming and packaging. For those who wish to be amused, as I hope you were here, find a copy of Tracy Kidder’s “Where the Suckers Moon” about launching an ad campaign for a car. If I haven’t persuaded you to the internal corporate  machinations, he will.

PJ