Little Diane

As I approached my 50th birthday, after a painful and extended mourning period after the unexpected death of my wife, I stumbled into a relationship that turned into a pleasant experience.

**********

She wasn't my type...

That was my initial reaction to the woman that had joined our firm, and it certainly wasn't because she wasn't attractive. Indeed, the petite blonde was a little doll, and when I found out that not only wasn't she in her late 20's or early 30's like I had assumed, but in fact was a couple of months older than I was, it threw me for a loop.

As time passed, I did notice the signs that Diane was a little older than I originally guessed; the faint lines around her eyes and neck were the most obvious, but regardless, Diane Mulligan did not look like she had just turned 50, and once I got her clothes off my opinion stayed the same.

In fact, not only did she look much less than 50, naked she looked even younger than my originally guess of 30. If you had an imagination, it would not be difficult to convince yourself that she was a hell of a lot younger.

I assume that was what her previous boyfriend had thought, since to Diane's horror he had turned out to be a pedophile. I didn't look at her that way, but when I first saw her naked it was quite a shock.

Diane's breasts were tiny buds with diminutive pink nipples that weren't much larger than my own. As far as my primary areas of lust were concerned, her body was practically hairless. Her 'bush' was only a faint wisp if hair that grew around her labia, no hair grew on her legs at all, and next to none grew under her arms as well.

"I feel so... hairy," Diane would end up telling me a couple of months after I had convinced her not to shave.

"I find you adorable," I told her as we relaxed in bed after another torrid lovemaking session, and after my index finger stroked the sparse patch of about a dozen or so blonde hairs, my tongue flattened the little seedlings against the pristine and ghostly white skin of her armpit.

It had been a fun time watching the evolution of the peach fuzz into the inch long hairs that she seemed to think constituted her extreme hirsute state. I credited her attitude to the negative image that became attached to women's body hair over the last decade on so, something that had made women go into a frenzy in an effort to make them appear as prepubescent as possible, or at least that was my take on it.

My passion for armpit hair on women had not really abated from the days of my youth, but it had become less important to me as time went on. My attraction for women's armpits in general remained strong, and the sight of a woman's raised arm never failed to draw a response from me.

Whether smooth as a baby's bottom, graced with a soft peach fuzz or coated with a dense stubble, I still found women's underarms an erotic and fascinating area. They didn't necessarily HAVE to be hairy, and in the 21st century they very rarely were, Ani Di Franco and Julia Roberts notwithstanding.

That day on the bench out in our company's courtyard was the first time that I had been blessed with a view of the little lady's armpit. She was wearing a sleeveless dress, and I was immediately struck at the beauty of her arms.

Despite being so slender, Diane's arms were wonderfully toned, with her biceps hinting at a slight muscularity under what was an almost invisible down. The term muscularity is a bit of a misnomer, as her arms were so tiny that I was able to circle her bicep with my thumb and forefinger.

That was something that I had done a moment earlier, when I commented on how petite she was and had boldly slipped my fingers around her upper arm. She giggled at that, probably happy that I had used to term petite instead of tiny or skinny, neither of which she cared for.

Diane was not skinny, she was just very petite. Standing at 5' on her tiptoes, and weighing 98 pounds (just like the weaklings in the old Charles Atlas ads, she proudly noted one day), she was sensitive about her body and had real issues about her boyish build.

So when Diane put her arm over the back of the bench, my heart skipped a beat as I was curious what I would find when I looked under her arm. Usually a good judge of what a woman's armpits would look like before seeing them, while I knew they would be shaved because women in the year 2000 would not wear sleeveless clothes if they didn't shave, I was hoping to see some faint evidence of what would be there if she didn't.

Instead, the deep pocket under her reed thin arm was as smooth as could be, with no trace of any stubble or peach fuzz. Since I had spent my entire adult life examining women's armpits closely and had excellent vision, I was fairly certain that Diane was a natural smoothie. It happens that way sometimes, after all, I was pretty close to being one myself.

Even hairless, I found Diane's underarms beautiful. Combined with her sculpted arms, the creamy white hollow of her armpits formed a stunning combination that gave me an erection and forced me to speak.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you have very attractive arms," I told her, adding, "but your armpits are extraordinary."

"They are?" Diane giggled, lifting her arm and looking over at what I found breathtaking. "I'm glad I shaved."

"I'm sorry you did," I said softly.

"Oh, you wouldn't say that if you saw me this morning," Diane quipped.

Actually, I would have loved to have seen her that morning. Waking up and seeing Diane would have been a treat. Hell, I would have even shaved her armpits for her too, if she wanted.

"I'm surprised, because I've never seen a woman with underarms as smooth as yours," I continued.

"Well, I can get as furry as anybody else," Diane giggled.

"I think a little fur adds a bit of character to a woman's armpit," I suggested, waiting to get told how weird I was. "Feels nice against the tongue too."

"Ooh," Diane said, shivering as she lowered her arm. "Sounds ticklish."

"Not if it's done right," I explained. "Using the flat of the tongue and applying enough pressure not only diminishes the tickle factor, but it provides a great deal of stimulation to an open-minded female."

Diane smiled a grim smile, not exactly sure what kind of a weirdo she was spending her lunch hour with I assume, but she didn't run. That was always a good sign.

"Didn't mean to freak you out," I said.

"You didn't," Diane said.

"Look at your arms," I said, nodding down at the down with was standing up straight and the goose bumped coated skin beneath it. "And I only talked about licking your underarms. I didn't actually do it."

Yet, I thought. Not yet, but if I didn't scare her away I suspected that I might enjoy that very experience someday.

"You sound like an expert on the subject," Diane said, giving her arms a quick rub and leaving her hands on her lap.

"I guess I am," I admitted. "I don't think I've ever been with a woman where I haven't done it. I would no longer avoid a woman's armpits than I would her lips."

"Well, this is a new one on me," Diane said finally as we prepared to go back to work. "Every time you think you've heard it all..."

"Hope you aren't grossed out."

"No."

"Good. How about if we go out to dinner this weekend?" I asked, and when Diane hesitated I added that I guaranteed that I would not lick her armpits in the restaurant.

"Promise?" Diane asked.

"Promise," I assured her, not adding that once we were out of the restaurant all bets were off.

*****

What she wore surprised me...

Diane was wearing a cute summer dress when I picked her up at her place, a bright lime green number that not only showed off her shapely legs, but because it was sleeveless showcased her gorgeous arms and shoulders as well.

Sleeveless. When I first saw her I thought to myself that if that wasn't a signal, what was? Of course, it might have been a concession to the warm June evening more than a way to tell me that she hadn't been scared off by my bold conversation.

Diane was a wonderful dinner companion, and outside of the workplace we were both more relaxed. When I asked Diane if there was anything she wanted to do after dinner, she told me that she would like to go dancing.

I'm no dancer, so it was a tribute to how much I liked Diane that I agreed to it, and so we ended up at a nightspot at the local racino where we hit the dance floor and proceeded to shake our booties, or so Diane said. Actually, Diane did most of the shaking, while I shuffled around like the majority of the other males there.

Maybe just to tease me, but whatever the reason, Diane spent much of the time dancing with her arms raised high, and seeing those tiny hollows become shiny with sweat gave me an instant hard-on.

While I'm not a sweat fanatic, I find the fresh sweat of a woman to be rather appealing so watching Diane perspire did not offend me in the least but instead only added to her appeal.

Our middle-aged bodies started to betray us after a while, so we retired to a corner table, where Diane proceeded to rest her arm on top of the cushioned back of the curved seat.

"You're doing that intentionally, aren't you?" I suggested after Diane saw me gazing at her underarm. "Flaunting your beauty like that."

"Hey, I don't have much else to use to get your attention, so I figured I'd better use what I have."

"You have my attention regardless," I assured her.

"I'm surprised you haven't said anything yet," Diane said.

"About what?" I said, breaking out of my armpit-induced trance.

"Never mind," Diane said, and after we danced one more dance she hinted that she had had enough.

"I haven't done that in quite a while," Diane said as we went out to my car. "My body can't take it anymore."

"Well, at least you looked good out there while we lasted," I assured her. "Care to get a cup of coffee or something?"

"How about a drink at my place?" Diane suggested.

*****

The apartment that...

Diane lived in was like the woman herself, cute and tiny. After cracking open a bottle of wine we went to her living room and sat on the couch. The lime green dress rode up on Diane's thighs just enough for me to enjoy her shapely legs, and as we made ourselves comfortable, Diane put her elbow on the back of the couch.

"What was it that I didn't say?" I asked her, enjoying the view of her exposed armpit.

Their was a ring of sweat on the armhole of her dress, caused by our frantic dancing, but the aroma that drifted from her armpit was quite pleasant, a vanilla-ish scent that made me want to taste it.

"I was expecting you to say something about my hairy armpits," Diane said, pouting playfully as she raised her arm high for me.

Maybe it was the wine, but Diane was acting a lot different that she did at work, and I found her to be a real hoot.

"Hairy?" I asked, looking at her underarm closely.

It took until then for me to spot it. Practically invisible, Diane had a what could only be called peach fuzz nestled in the center of her armpit.

"Ever since that day on the bench, I haven't shaved," Diane said proudly.

"I see," I said. "It's probably because it's so blonde that I didn't notice before."

"I've been keeping my arms down at work so nobody could see," Diane explained, and started to lower her arm, but I stopped her.

"All for me," I said. "You're so sweet. May I?"

"Omigod," Diane said, my grip on her bicep firmly keeping her arm raised. "I'm all sweaty."

"I like sweaty," I said while bringing my fingers up to her underarm. "And before you say it, you definitely smell nice."

The flesh of her armpit was moist, and the tiny hairs were so sparse and short that when the backs of my fingers stroked it the feeling was almost imperceptible.

Diane giggled and squirmed when my fingers slid up and down her armpit, but she let me stroke the peach fuzz several times, gradually getting used to my touch.

"Are you going to let it grow?" I said.

"I dunno," Diane said softly.

"It's up to you," I said, "but I think if you did you'd be surprised how hot you would look. This feels nice - what I'm doing, doesn't it?"

"Can't believe I'm saying this, but it does feel kinda nice," Diane admitted.

"Bet you've never had a first date like this before," I suggested, and before she knew what was happening I was leaning forward and bringing my tongue up from the armhole of her dress right up to her bicep.

Diane gasped as my tongue slid through her armpit, the sweet and salty skin soft and smooth except for that little cluster of hairs - seedlings almost. They didn't have the bristly feel of stubble, but against my tongue I could almost count them as I licked.

Peeking up at Diane, I could see her eyes were glazed so I continued to nibble away. After a time, I let my hand drift over to her breast, because I didn't want her to think that I didn't find them attractive as well, but I was quickly rebuffed.

"Please don't, Tony," Diane asked.

It took several dates for me to finally get Diane's clothes off of her, although she was more than happy for me to do anything I wanted to her armpits, so I did. I would nibble and suck on those little pockets as we made out, and she was so glad that she didn't have to get naked that she let me.

In the end, the reason Diane had resisted letting me see her naked was because she was very embarrassed about the size of her breasts. She was flat-chested and was ashamed of her body. I thought she looked great, although it did take a little getting used to at first.

She was like a miniature version of my old health teacher Ms. Couse, and being able to get a woman's entire breast in my mouth was a nice experience. I didn't care that her tiny buds didn't come close to filling my palms, and I found that once she saw how much I enjoyed her breasts, she became more comfortable with her own body.

As for my fondness for women with abundant pubic hair, the faint wisp of hair that grew around the lips of her sex was hardly enough to call a bush, yet I found myself enamored by the downy fluff just like I had the luxuriant bushes of previous lovers.

When we finally made love, it was another different experience. The petite Diane had equally small orifices. Her mouth didn't open wide enough for my cock to fit in, so what she gave me was lick jobs, and her pussy was so tight that it felt like I was trying to stick an apple through a keyhole.

Diane said that it was because I was so large, but I'm not. My cock is just about the normal 6", and while it is rather thick, I'm not all that unusual. Regardless, insertion and penetration was a bit of a problem.

Strangely enough, one night Diane had suggested we do something a bit different, and while it wasn't something I was all that much into, I agreed to at least try it. I couldn't imagine how tough it would be to have anal sex with her, if squeezing into her pussy was that tough.

As it turned out, getting my cock into her anus proved to be easier that anywhere else. Furthermore, Diane loved it, so who was I to complain? Once I squeezed into her anus, she became almost feral in her lust, snarling and cursing like a sailor while taking all I could give her.

In time Diane seemed to grow more and more fond of my armpit play. She even let me get off in her armpit a couple of times, rubbing my dick into the little patch of hairs until I came, just like I had done with my first girlfriend three decades earlier. It was more satisfying visually than physically, just as it had been before, and the sight of the petite blonde intensely rubbing the head of my cock into her armpit would make me cum almost instantly.

In the end, Diane was transferred to another city, and that pretty much ended us, but she was a great woman who I enjoyed being with. The last time we spoke, she had that she had gone back to shaving her underarms.

"I had to go to the doctor, and I couldn't let her see me all hairy like that," Diane told me.

"Seventeen armpit hairs does not constitute hairy," I informed her.

"17? How did you come up with that number?"

"One morning you were asleep and I was bored so I counted them," I said. "That was your right armpit. Didn't count the other one."

"Tony, you are something else," Diane said.

"I've heard that before."

"I miss you," she added. "Just thought you might like to know that."

Same here, Diane.

*****

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