After a night out at University (many moons ago) a particularly boisterous and troublesome (in a good way) housemate declared he wanted to have his arse shaved. We had a good stock of duty free at home, a new set of (shared) hair clippers, and the pub was closing so off we went.
He ended up laying over a chair in the front room, trousers down and arse in the air with one lad holding his cheeks apart and another attacking his bung hole with the clippers we’d all be using for the next 6 months, his very attractive girlfriend was watching intently and giving directions.
Apparently she rode him senseless for weeks because of that, the downside was that when it all started growing back the itching was unbearable. The memory of that night still makes me a little queasy.