Teaching My (Frat) Brother To Shave... His Balls

Everyone is 18.

Chapter 1: Trial and Error

I don’t know how it came up exactly. Maybe it was the summer boredom, or maybe it was just the kind of weird trust that happens when you’re frat brothers, close in age, and stuck sharing a bathroom all your life. But somehow, my younger frat brother Taylor ended up asking me how to shave his balls.

I blinked at him.

“Seriously?”

He shrugged. “I tried once and nicked myself. Never again. You seem… like you figured it out.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’ve ‘figured it out’?”

Taylor gave me a look. “Dude, you seriously think no one notices when you do your casual naked stroll from the shower to your room? You act like it’s just a blur, but I’ve seen the whole frictionless glide. You've been shaved clean for months.”

I put my face in my palm, but I couldn’t help but grin. "You definitely watch me too much if you notice that."

It was the dumbest compliment I’d ever gotten, but somehow flattering. I nodded toward the shower, and spoke with a deep voice to maintain masculinity, thinly veiling the boundaries of my insecurities. “Alright. I’ll show you. No weirdness, just technique.”

He looked unsure for a second, then said, “Alright, and you're not allowed to make it weird.”

Then he turned around and slipped out of his boxers, standing there like it was just another day at the gym. I purposely avoided looking. I opened my drawer in the bathroom and grabbed what we needed: clean razor, new blade, warm water, unscented gel. 

I walked him through it like a coach: “You want the steam to soften everything first. Don’t do it dry. Always pull the skin tight, short strokes, no pressure. And go slow. If it feels like it’s tugging, you need more gel.”

He followed along, a bit nervous but determined. He started with the gel, trying to lather evenly, but after a few unsure swipes with the razor, he paused.

"I think I’m doing it wrong," he muttered.

"You missed a spot already. You’re going at it sideways. You’ve got to angle it more… here." I put my hand on his, and helped him stretch his scrotum flat. I saw his other hand squeeze his shaft, out of nerves or what, I don't know.

He looked up at me, eyes wide. "Can you just… do it? Like, just this once? I don’t want to screw it up again."

I hesitated. It was definitely strange, but he looked genuinely unsure of himself, and honestly, I respected that he trusted me. "Alright, just hold still and don’t tense up. And no sudden movements, or I swear you’re on your own."

He stood frozen like a statue while I worked carefully, guiding the blade slowly over the tricky spots. It was methodical, clinical even, and kind of hilarious in its own right.

At some point, I noticed he was starting to get a little blood flow—not fully hard, but enough to make things shift.  The head of his dick was sticking out of his hand, failing to hide it. The head was big, bigger than I had expected. Bigger than mine. I paused, not sure whether to ignore it or say something.

Taylor looked down and groaned. “Dude, I swear, it’s not like that.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” he said, covering his face. “It’s just... you’re touching it, and it’s warm, and my brain’s fine but my junk is stupid.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “Well, tell it to behave. This isn’t a spa day.”

He snorted. “If I go full salute, you’re allowed to slap me.”

“That’s Brotherhood Code,” I said. “No unsolicited boners during tag-team grooming.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

“And you’re halfway to needing some tissues.”

We both burst out laughing, which somehow made everything more ridiculous and a little more okay.

Then he gave me a little smack on my ass, like a 'good game' slap, and I flicked him with the towel in return.

"You’re lucky I didn’t go harder," I said, aiming a fake punch.

"You kidding? That would’ve finished the job," he said, grinning way too confidently. His erection now stood proudly in the air, like the more we avoided talking about it, the larger it got. It was now the biggest dick I'd ever seen.

"Jesus, calm down, Taylor," I said, laughing as I moved around him to rinse the razor. "This isn’t your OnlyFans debut."

He struck a mock pose and flexed again. "Maybe it should be. I’m smooth, symmetrical, and slightly tingly."

I wiped my hands on the towel and raised an eyebrow. “By the way, is there a third brother we don’t know about hiding between your legs?”

Taylor smirked. “What can I say? Some of us got the deluxe genetics.”

“Oh please,” I said. “If yours is deluxe, mine's vintage European. Understated, elegant. Yours just looks like it’s trying to pick a fight.”

“You sound like someone who’s never had to special order underwear,” he fired back, grinning.  I rolled my eyes, and kept shaving his fucking balls. What the fuck am I doing?

I shook my head. “Alright, Donkey Kong, let’s just get you cleaned up before you start giving me a helicopter ride.”

“Thanks,” he muttered. “By the way can we never talk about this again?”

“Deal,” I said, trying not to laugh. “But for the record, this is the weirdest bonding moment we’ve ever had.”

There was something oddly wholesome about it. Like, this was one of those rites of passage no one ever really teaches you, and I was the only one who could.

He laughed and did a little flex before turning to the mirror, like he was checking out his gains. He flexed his dick too, making it bounce in the mirror. This was getting out of hand.

"Dude," I muttered, trying to keep it casual, "your big dick is freaking me out."

Taylor snorted, clearly proud. "What, were you expecting it to be shy? You've seen yours, right? It's not like you're swinging a lightsaber."

I shook my head. “You’re unbearable.”

“Jealous?” he grinned.

I didn’t answer. Maybe a little. But mostly, I was just impressed.

—[]—

I added more shaving gel, and his member somehow got even harder, like a steel rocket, angry and pointing at my face. It was impossible to ignore, standing at full attention, thick and veiny. I couldn’t help but comment again. “Jesus, Taylor, is that thing on steroids or what?”

He laughed nervously, but he wasn’t holding it properly out of my way anymore. “Dude, I’m trying, but it’s kind of… in the way.”

“Here,” I said, reaching out and taking hold of it for him. My hand was slick with gel, and the warmth of his cock against my palm was… weird. He turned bright red, finally falling silent and losing his usual snark.

I kept shaving, trying to focus on the task at hand, but then it happened. Without warning, he throbbed and jizzed, squirting onto my face. I froze, stunned, as he grabbed his cock and aimed it at the floor, stammering apologies.

“Shit, man, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—I don’t know what happened!”

I wiped my face with the towel, still in shock. “It’s… fine. Whatever the fuck that was.”

He looked mortified but then asked hesitantly, “Can you… still finish? Please?”

I sighed, reluctantly agreeing. I held his cock to the side, it had gotten slightly less hard after the shock ejaculation, and I was finding it somewhat manageable to get the nooks and crannies of the male organs. 

But, of course, his cock got hard again after a couple minutes. This time, with the smell of jizz on my body, and several minutes of being confused and mesmerized by a cock that simply shouldn’t be as large as it was, something shifted in me. Before I knew it, my hand was moving, slick with shaving gel, gripping his shaft firmly. He looked at me, a mix of confusion, terror, and pure pleasure on his face. He sucked in a breath as I started to stroke him, slow at first, then building a rhythm.

“Dude,” he muttered, his voice shaky, “what… what are you doing?”

I didn’t answer. My brain was somewhere between this is so wrong and why does this feel so good? His cock was warm and firm in my hand, and the way he was looking at me, like he didn’t know whether to stop me or beg for more, only made it harder to pull away.

The look on his face settled into a confused pleasure, his hips twitching involuntarily, letting me know he wanted me to continue. “Fuck,” he whispered, his hands gripping the edge of the sink behind him for support.

I kept going, my strokes becoming more deliberate, more confident. His cock throbbed in my hand, and I could feel him getting closer to another climax. His breathing turned ragged and caught in his throat, and he bit his lip as his face tensed up, trying to hold back. But then he looked at me again like he had gotten an idea.

“Don’t stop,” he said quietly.

My hand moved faster, my grip tightening just enough to make him gasp, focusing on the sensitive tip of his cock, the big, red knob that unlocked his pleasure. His body tensed, and I knew he was close. He grabbed my shoulder tightly, his fingers digging into my skin, and I stopped. Something in me wanted to see how he would react, what he would do if I denied him what my hand was promising him.

For a moment, we just stood there, both of us breathing hard, neither of us saying a word. 

—[]—

He grabbed my head suddenly, his hands firm but not rough, and before I could process what was happening, he pushed his cock into my mouth. I didn’t resist. I looked up at his eyes, which had suddenly become serious, and my lips parted instinctively. I felt the warmth of him against my tongue, then I tasted the juice coming out of him. I moved forward, trying to swallow him, to take his superior meat into me, to get even closer than we had become today.

His half-shaved balls slapped against my chin as he thrust deeper, the sensation strange as he stretched my throat. I could feel the tension in his body, the way his hips moved with both urgency and hesitation. My throat tightened around him,  and I heard him make noises as I gagged, his fingers tugging at my hair like they were a handle for him to control me.

“Fuck,” he muttered as if he were getting a relief he had needed for a long time. His thrusts became more intense, more insistent, and I could tell he was close. My jaw started to ache, and the noises coming out of my throat were bizarre, but I didn’t pull away. Instead, I focused on the rhythm, the way his cock filled my mouth, the way his abs tensed with every movement, telling me he was happy. It was overwhelming, but the intimacy was overwhelming, like this was a line we’d crossed together, and there was no going back.

He came without warning, his release spilling into my mouth. I hadn’t even thought about the cum, and I swallowed instinctively, the taste bitter but familiar, not entirely unpleasant. I had smelled my own cum my entire life, and his tasted like I expected, just with a different consistency. It gripped the walls of my throat, like I had eaten a strange candy. He pulled back slowly, his cock popping out of my mouth, and for a moment, we just stared at each other, both of us breathing hard. His face was flushed, his eyes wide with shock, but also gratitude.

He was breathless when he pulled away, trying to lighten the mood with a joke. “Guess I owe you one now, huh?”

I wiped my mouth, still processing what had just happened. “Yeah, you definitely owe me one.”

I reached for his naked hip, brought him closer to me, and went back to shaving him. He just complied wordlessly, jutting his hips at me, letting his dong flop around, obviously nothing to be ashamed about anymore. Somehow, focusing on the job at hand felt like the right way to process what we had done. 

We finished without injury, and I was proud of my handiwork at the end of it. 

“Smooth as an egg,” he declared, lifting one brow.

After some jokes and lightening the mood, we couldn’t stop laughing as we cleaned up. It was all ridiculous, kind of gross, and totally unforgettable.

I tossed him a towel. “Welcome to manhood, I guess.”

Later that night, we played video games like nothing had changed. 

“Thanks for the help today,” he said.

“No worries. It was funny,” I said, and he chuckled.

I didn’t look at him, but a question came to me. “So… I have to ask, was that your first blowjob?”

“Yeah,” he said, “but I’ve had sex, technically.”

“Really?” I asked, a bit shocked, “Normally you go in the other order.”

“Yeah, but at my friends’ poker nights we always fuck the guy who’s out first.”

“Jesus fucking christ,” I said, “I didn’t need to know that.” Although, my head was swimming, picturing Taylor and his friends fucking some poor guy.

“Wait,” I said, “so have you ever lost?”

“Yup,” he said without blinking, eyes still fixed on the screen. I got a nerves boner from the weirdness of the thought.

He added some more details. “But I’m good, I normally win. Jimmy loses the most.”

“Isn’t that a bit gay??” I insisted, wondering what the fuck his life was.

“Nah, we put on porn. It’s just a way to get off.”

“You guys are fucking animals.”

We left it at that, with my awkward boner, playing a game I couldn’t focus on anymore, picturing myself joining their poker game…

—[]—

The next morning, I caught him admiring himself in the mirror, his cute little ass wiggling at me like it was saying good morning, his large dong dangling between his legs, properly groomed. He looked at me through the mirror and gave me a thumbs up.

Honestly? I felt proud. Not just because he got through it without bleeding, but because it reminded me how much I cared about the kid. We’d grown up fighting, teasing, and pranking each other, but sometimes it took a quiet, ridiculous moment like that to remember we’d always have each other’s backs… and balls.

“Hey,” he said to me, standing naked in my doorway with a smirk, “maybe I could return the favor and help you shave your ass next time. Show you how I like it.” He winked at me.

I looked at him confused, scared of how that made my stomach sink. “What the fuck?”