You Have Amazing ArmpitsbyMadabouthair©
It might have been the Boone's Farm...
that loosened my tongue that afternoon, but whatever the reason, those were the first words I said to the young woman who was working at the concession stand at the local ball park, which was hosting an concert for the first time.
Along with my friends, we had shared a couple of bottles of the cheap wine in the woods behind the field before filing in for the show. I was only there because it was a beautiful sunny July day and I had nothing else to do. Thin Lizzy was the headliner, but the band opening for them was pretty bad, which is how I ended up behind the stands, staring at the girl working at the popcorn machine.
She was a cute girl, about 5'4" and maybe 125 pounds or so. She had chestnut hair that went down to her shoulders, and was wearing a long sleeveless sundress that had a colorful Aztec design on it. To my delight, she also had a delightful habit of raising her hand to shrug her hair back behind her shoulder, and it was this quirk that kept me loitering around the popcorn girl long after my purchase.
Between scooping popcorn into boxes and brushing her hair back, I was afforded a nearly continuous display of the most breathtaking armpits I had even been privileged to witness, and since that area of the female body had been an obsession of mine during most of my 21 years, I had seen plenty of them.
Her arms were beautifully shaped with a hint of muscularity at each bending of the limb, but her armpits were what got my attention. They were as smooth as a baby's butt, without so much of a trace of evidence that a hair had ever grown there.
I had usually preferred women who let their armpit hair grow, but found woman's underarms sexy regardless, and this girl's were works of art. Her underarms were nicely rounded hollows that were shades paler than the beige tone of her outer arm, and as she worked the thin glaze of perspiration that formed made her armpits sparkle.
"Butter," I said on my second trip to the stand, and as I watched the girl raise her arm to pump the dispenser, I clarified my comment.
"You have amazing armpits," I said while leaning towards the girl so that no one else could hear. "They're like butter."
"Oh," the girl said, hardly blinking at the comment. "Thanks."
"I'll bet you hear that all the time," I replied with a smile that I hoped was as charming as I meant it to be.
"Not really," she shrugged, handing me the box and pulling her hair back over her shoulder once again, making me weak in the knees. "Actually, the guy that runs the concessions made me shave them this morning. He said that I would gross out customers otherwise."
"Not me," I assured her. "He's a jerk."
"He's my father," the girl responded.
"That's okay," she said as she enjoyed my embarrassment. "He is sometimes."
"Sorry anyway," I said. "Do you have a name that's as beautiful as your armpits?"
"It's Maureen," she informed me.
"I'm Tony," I said as I prepared to have my heart broken. "And I would love to go out with you sometime."
"You want to find out if my armpits are as buttery as they look?" Maureen said with a laugh, and said it loud enough so that the other people crowded around the stand could hear it, but if her intention was to embarrass me it didn't work.
"Basically," I said. "We can take it from there afterward."
She didn't break my heart...
Instead, she agreed to meet me after she helped her father close the stand. It was just getting dark when she strolled out of the gate, and we walked a couple of blocks down the street to a fish fry stand.
There wasn't an awkward moment or any breaks in the conversation. Maureen was so smart and so funny that I practically forgot about what had initially attracted me to her. I was hooked from the beginning, and for whatever reason, Maureen felt the same way about me.
That immediate attraction was what had us in my bed a couple of hours later, where we made love. I realized it as we rolled around in the waves we made in the water-bed - this wasn't sex, this was much different. It was love. Maureen would say later that she had known it too.
"No way I would have ever ended up in bed with anybody on the first date," Maureen confessed much later. "You were different," and I was familiar with hearing that, but she meant it in a good way.
So it wasn't until after we had both cum, and after Maureen's reaction to her orgasm drew a pounding on the wall from my neighbor, that I found myself beside Maureen, propped on my elbow with my face scant inches away from what had initially attracted me.
"Ooh!" Maureen said as she body writhed in response to my tongue as it took a leisurely journey through her armpit, the sound of her breath being sucked back through her teeth adding to the experience. "Bet it's not buttery anymore."
"Wanna bet?" I asked, and while her underarm was sweaty and had a faint aroma of popcorn, it was delicious to me.
"So will you still do that when I'm all hairy again?" Maureen asked.
"I doubt whether you get all that hairy," I said, tracing the diamond shaped pattern of shadow that was barely detectable with my tongue. "I think all girls think they're hairier than they really are. It's a Madison Avenue thing to sell you stuff."
"You're going to find out," Maureen warned me. "I don't plan on shaving again."
Maureen found out that I was a man of my word. We were a couple from that day forward, and I smothered her little gardens with love and affection every chance I got. As I had predicted, Maureen's underarms were not as hairy as she saw them to be.
Indeed, the wisps of golden brown hair that adorned her armpits didn't end up to be much more than what little I had myself, but that didn't matter to me anyway. I was head over heels in love. With the woman - the whole woman.
Maureen was also a woman of her word. She never did shave her armpits again after that day. I shaved them once for her, on the eve of our wedding day. Her mother and father were throwing fits about her showing up in her beautiful wedding gown with hairy armpits.
"The pictures!" her mother had warned. "Years from now you'll have a wedding album that you'll be ashamed of - throwing your bouquet and waving - and there it will be. All for this hippie stuff."
It wasn't a hippie thing. We were hardly dead-heads or anything like that. Maureen was just a free-spirit and didn't enjoy shaving, preferring to keep her natural beauty. The hair on her legs was practically non-existent, so she didn't bother with any of that.
I thought that the main reason she had refused to shave was because of me, and when I pressed her about it that night up in her bedroom, she admitted that was a big part of her defiance.
"You love it so much," Maureen said, her eyes welling up from the stress and drama. "And besides, it's me. It's the way I want to look."
"Hey, remember the first day we met?" I reminded her. "I liked you smooth like that too. You getting upset and getting your parents pissed off isn't worth it. It will grow back."
"You do it then," Maureen said.
So I did. Armed with a disposable razor and a little bowl of water, I knelt beside her bed and ran my fingers through the swirl of brown hairs, pulling on them gently while shaking the can of shaving cream.
"See you again in about - what was it? Three months or so?" I asked, trying to recall back a couple of years when Maureen had started to let it grow back in.
"That was with you doing a lot of licking and nibbling though," Maureen said wistfully, shivering when I rubbed a little lather under her arm. "That means you'll have to do that again?"
"It will be my pleasure," I said.
"Mine too," Maureen sighed. "That first night, when you licked my armpit I thought you were weird, but now..."
Maureen had confessed that she had, much to her surprise, not been revolted by my actions but was actually turned on my it. It was partly body image-related, she opined. Once she got over the stigma of it, she found the affection I lavished on her armpits exhilarating.
That night I made a big production out of what could have been done with a couple of swipes of the razor, treating the gentle hollows as the works of art I considered them to be. Afterward, we made love right there, something we would never have done ordinarily, but we were so turned on by the shaving that we couldn't help ourselves.
Afterward, we went downstairs and Maureen showed her parents that she had bowed to their wishes, and while she always did regret doing it, it seemed to make her parents thrilled and the wedding went on without a hitch.
Like I mentioned earlier...
Maureen never did shave her underarms, and I never stopped lavishing my affection on them, right up until the day she died, killed by a drunk driver on her way home from work one night.
We had a magnificent marriage, and while it might have been triggered by my "fetish", in the end that was such a small part of our relationship that it almost seems trivial.
It's been a tough time since then. I realize that I'll never love anybody again like I loved Maureen, but after a few years of mourning I've managed to begin seeing women again.
Now, as back then, I am up-front about what I like, admitting almost from the start that I have a thing for armpits. Naturally, this doesn't always work out well, but at least they know and can take it from there.
Compared to some other fetishes I've heard of, I think mine is pretty harmless and once women get over the initial shock of somebody who thinks their underarms are sexy, most enjoy the affection I give their armpits.
The purpose of this story wasn't the bring the reader down, but it was more of a tribute to a woman that I still worship and adore. I was a lucky man to find Maureen, and I think that she loved me as much as I loved her.
Thank you for reading