Having just discovered this site, I was ecstatic to find several writers who share my affection for female body hair. My infatuation goes back a long way, and I hope that you enjoy my recollections of some of the wonderful ladies who were kind enough to share their beauty with me.
Please note - if you find the subject of female body hair offensive, you will not enjoy this story.
I was young, dumb and full of cum, like most other 18 year old boys. At that time, although I was old enough to smoke, drink and get drafted, I was still a boy in the most important sense, as I was a virgin.
How did a guy stay a virgin back in that era, when "free love" was the catch phrase and it seemed like everybody was having sex on a daily basis?
Being grossly overweight was my reason, and it wasn't until I lost almost 150 pounds during my senior year in high school that I started thinking seriously about girls, or more accurately thought about actually having sex with them.
I had thought about girls all during high school. Being fat didn't hinder my eyesight, nor did it stop me from masturbating virtually non-stop while thinking about them, but my visualizations were dampened by the fact that the only intimate female body parts I had ever seen were in magazines. Girls were not in the habit of showing their tits and pussies to guys like me, so I was left out in the cold.
Their armpits, though - that was something else. I think it started when a friend of mine told me that you could tell if a girl had a really hairy pussy by looking at their arms. If they had a lot of hair on their forearms, that translated to a hairy pussy.
Not having seen any variety of pussy, and thinking that his theory made sense since he had actually seen a live one, I bought into the concept and took it a step further, becoming a kind of armpit aficionado. During that rather brief window of opportunity when the weather allowed girls to wear sleeveless blouses and bathing suits, I was constantly on alert, waiting for the chance to see an upraised arm and the secrets that lurked beneath it.
Each girl's underarms, be they smooth, stubble-filled or hairy, had their own special charm for me. Donna Gavin sat in front of me in English, and often wore sleeveless tops. Donna would have her elbows on the desk, and during one of Mr. Wright's monotonous orations her thumbs would stray to her opposite armpits and she would actually rub her thumbs in her own pits.
How I wished that I could have done that, I would always think, fascinated by the thought. Donna might not have even realized she was doing it, but I sure did. Her armpits always appeared smooth, but I was always curious about whether she was feeling just a trace of stubble or five o'clock shadow as her thumb slid up and down the hollow.
Denise Hermann's armpits were always in a state of delicious disarray; never smooth or completely hairy, but always filled with a golden brown stubble of varying length depending on the day. I found myself sitting on the bus in the prime position to see her as she got on in the morning, always grabbing the metal pole as she climbed the steps and giving me a perfect way to start the day. My visual cup of coffee, so to speak.
Carol Reid was one of the "Natural" girls, always having unshaven armpits and openly flaunting it. She was a feminist from the start of the word, and apparently a lesbian as I later learned, but that didn't faze me. I would watch spellbound whenever she would lift her arm and show off the long, light brown hair that grew in a thin row in the center of her deep armpits.
There were 26 girls in my class of 1969, and by the time I had reached the last month of my senior year I had been able to check out the armpits of all but one of them. I knew the ones that were either rabid shavers or naturally hairless, the ones that shaved at various times, and the five brave ladies that kept themselves natural.
This was the beginning of the "hippie" movement, and I suspect that you would be hard pressed to find that high a percentage of natural women in school today, so I consider myself fortunate.
There was something about the girls that let their armpit hair grow that really excited me. Whether it was the fact that I didn't have any of my own, or the way the hair symbolized rebellion, I don't know.
All I know is that I loved all girls armpits, but loved the unshaven ones most of all, and it took me until the last week of school for me to discover the girl who was the the most hairy one. Ironically, it happened to be the one girl who I had never been able to check out, since she never wore sleeveless blouses.
Becky Sue Sheller was her name, ans she was a very quiet girl, always keeping to herself and usually just saying hello at best. She wasn't what you would call attractive by most standards. Becky Sue had a face that bordered on homely and a pear shaped body with small tits. That was all fine by me because I wasn't all that much of a breast man. It was pits, not tits, that I was infatuated with, and I still recall that day I saw Becky Sue's armpits for the first time.
She was wearing a pink sleeveless blouse with a sweatshirt tied around her waist, along with the requisite bell bottom jeans, and as I followed her around the schoolyard hoping for a glimpse of her armpits, which would make my inventory of the senior class complete, she gave me all I could have asked for.
When she undid the sweatshirt and pulled it up over her head to put it on, I realized that my friend's hair growth theory was not perfect, because while Becky Sue had only a dusting of dark brown hair on her forearms, her armpits were something else.
My view was not only unobstructed, it was also prolonged when Becky Sue had a bit of a problem getting the sweatshirt on, leaving her arms raised high and exposing the hairiest armpits I had ever seen on a person of either sex.
The hair was long, dense and covered her entire armpit, exploding like a feather duster from the sunken hollow as she lifted her slender arm. This was so incredible and unexpected that I damn near fell on my face as I tripped on the sidewalk while staring at her.
Unfortunately, Becky Sue had a boyfriend. Didn't they all? After that day every time I saw her I would be reminded of that moment and tried to imagine what it would be like to be her boyfriend. Did he like her armpits? Did she let him touch her armpits when they made out? What would it be like to kiss them? Did he ever kiss them? Run his tongue through the dense jungle? Did she leave them hairy because he asked her to? Would a girl actually do that if a guy asked her?
All of these questions were a mystery to me, because I had never had a girlfriend, but I resolved to change all of that, which is how I lost all of that weight. With that as an incentive, it was easier than I thought, and I only wished that I had done it years earlier.
As it turned out, that very same Becky Sue would be responsible for my first sexual experience, but it would not involve her, but instead involve her older sister, who up until that hot July day had been a virtual stranger to me.
Carol was Becky Sue's sister, and was a couple of years older than me so I didn't really know her except by sight. She had gone off to college and so it wasn't her that I went to see when I followed the gang over to their house that afternoon.
It was a common practice for all of us to take advantage of parents being away by having a party at that particular house. We were a pretty tame group, making sure that we kept things under control and didn't trash the place. Just a bunch of teenagers sitting around drinking beer and smoking the occasional joint.
I went along with the gang, primarily to stare at Becky Sue. I figured that since it was a hot day, she would be wearing something sleeveless, so at least I could get a hard-on if nothing else while having some brews.
It didn't start off very well. Becky Sue was wearing a t-shirt, which made it almost impossible to see what I wanted to see. After trying to peek down her sleeves for a while, I gave up and wandered around.
Becky Sue's sister Carol was there, sitting on the steps that led upstairs. She was talking to somebody and looked amused at the sight of all of the kids taking over her place. Maybe it reminded her of her high school days or something.
Carol had what we used to call dirty blonde hair that was cut short and a pug nose with a bunch of freckles around it. She was a lot more impressive physically than her sister, or should I say step-sister. She had good sized tits and while her weight was normal she did have a broad pair of shoulders on her.
She was wearing a red and black checkered shirt that had the sleeves cut off, making her look like a farmer in a way, and when I walked past to go into the kitchen I noticed Carol put her elbow on the railing as if she was going to get up.
Not ever missing the opportunity to check out an armpit, I glance over as I passed, and as I did I stopped on a dime, making a squeaking sound with my sneakers on the floor.
Luckily Carol wasn't getting up, but merely propping her arm up, affording me the most incredible view of her very unshaven armpit. She wasn't nearly as hairy as Becky Sue, but the sight of the spray of hair that sprouted from Carol's armpit sent shivers down my spine.
The hair was a couple of shades darker than her scalp, and it grew in a long thin strip. The impressive length of the hairs made it clear that Carol hadn't used a razor in quite a while as well, and since Carol was engrossed in a conversation with Ray Flood, I was able to just stand there at perfect eye level just a couple of feet away.
My cock was so hard that I thought it possible for it to tear right through my jeans, and as I thought about how many times I would end up jerking off while replaying this scene in my mind later that night, I failed to realize that carol was not talking to Ray Flood any longer but had turned her attention to someone else. Me.
"I'm wearing a t-shirt underneath," Carol informed me with a caustic tongue. "So if you're trying to check out my jugs you're out of luck."
In my finest hour, I was never much of a suave and smooth operator, but having been caught in the middle of staring at her armpit, I was reduced to even more of a stuttering and stammering moron than usual.
"No. I wasn't. Looking I mean. Looking at your tit uh breasts. I swear," I mumbled, grateful that nobody was around the watch me melt down.
"Just tripping then?" Carol asked. "You stoned?"
"Uh, no," I said, showing off my conversational skills.
Carol stood up on the stairs and came down, staring down at me like I was a freak.
"Is that a salami in your pants or are you happy to see me?" Carol quipped, adding. "Whatever it is, it sprung a leak."
I looked down and was mortified. All around the huge bulge in my bell bottoms was a stain of monumental proportions, covering a significant part of the front of me.
"Did you pee your pants or what?"
"NO!" I responded way too loudly. "I - never mind."
"Say, are you Anthony? The fat kid down the block? Damn, you must have lost a ton!"
"Uh... 134 pounds," I replied.
"Looking good, man," Carol said with a grin.
"Uh - thanks. No, I didn't pee myself."
"You horny little devil," Carol snapped, pinching my cheek like my Aunt Selma was fond of doing with her left hand.
I didn't care for that, but what she was doing with her right hand made up for it. Shielded from the other guys view by the stairwell, her hand had grabbed the bulge in my jeans and while squeezing it tight, she winked at me.
"I can feel where the weight went," Carol whispered, looking around as I stood with my mouth open while she felt away. "Wanna have some fun?"
"Me?" I squeaked, sounding like a goose as my voice went soprano.
"Yeah, go upstairs. Second door on the left. I'll be up in a minute," Carol said. "Be subtle about it."
Stumbling on the stairs halfway up wasn't very subtle, but at least I didn't fall down, and after ducking into the first door by mistake, I managed to find the right room. Carol's bedroom. Holy shit.
Being an only child and never having any girlfriends, the bedroom of a girl was like another world. I wanted to look around but Carol arrived just as I wandered over to her dresser.
"Figured you'd have your clothes off already," Carol said, locking the door behind her and waving around the quart of Hedrick Beer that she had taken out of the refrigerator.
"Thought we could use some refreshments," Carol said, smacking the cap in the edge of the door and sending it flying off expertly. "Hope nobody misses it."
"Uh - I think that was mine," I said, watching Carol bring the bottle to her lips and chug away.
"You don't mind, do you?" she asked, and I shook my head vigorously as Carol made a face and handed me the bottle. "Nasty shit. This stuff still 3 quarts for a buck?"
"Yeah. You should have swiped Mark Blanton's Colt 45 instead."
"Oh well," Carol said. "Too late now. I guess these are what you were trying to look at. Like 'em?"
Carol had peeled off her checkered shirt and was now proudly posing in a white wife-beater t-shirt with nothing underneath except for a pair of cantaloupe-sized breasts with fat nipples poking into the cotton.
"Um - yeah, but that wasn't," I babbled. I mean, they're beautiful but I was looking at your - you know."
"What?" Carol asked, looking perplexed for a second before lifting her arm. "Oh, you mean my pit hair?"
I nodded like an obedient puppy while Carol not only displayed her furry left armpit but also fluffed it up with her right hand, almost causing me to faint on the spot.
"Got a thing for hairy armpits?"
"Fuck no!" I said loudly. "Sorry. I mean no. Just girls."
"That's good," Carol said. "Hey, you should check out my kid sister. She's way hairier than I am."
"Is she?" I said, playing even dumber than I was acting. "That's cool."
"So I should leave this shirt on?" Carol teased.
"No," I whimpered, and watched as Carol grabbed the bottom of the t-shirt with crossed arms and peeled it off so erotically that I was actually drooling by the time the cotton had cleared her tits.
Her nipples were long thick pegs centered on crimson silver-dollar sized aureoles, and as I stared at those full globes I realized that I might be a tit man after all because Carol's breasts had actually distracted me from the swirling hair under Carol's arms for a brief time.
"Gonna Bogart that bottle, Anthony?" Carol asked, and after I took a swig and passed it over to me, she nodded down at my crotch. "Let's get a look at what got you a ticket in here."
Carol went over to a stereo on a table in the corner and set the needle on the record resting on the turntable, and as the room filled with the sound of Vanilla Fudge playing "You Keep Me Hangin' On" I tried to get my motor skills in motion.
I fumbled with the buttons of my shirt, and Carol commented that she was more interested in my jeans coming off, but said it with a laugh. Unbuckling my pants, I found myself wishing that the room was darker, because while I weighed about what I should, I was still a little soft and my hairless physique was nothing to brag about.
Carol didn't care about that. She had only one thing on her mind, I came to realize, and she suffered through me struggling to untangle myself from my jeans, almost falling in the process. Finally, it was me and my socks and my fruit of the looms.
The underwear were very baggy, being a reminder of heavier days, and they were soggy with the pre-cum drool I had been leaking, so I was happy to get them off. Carol laughed as I pulled them down and kicked them off, shaking her head in amazement at what she was looking at.
"Man, that is one fucking enormous cock you've got there!"
To be honest...
Carol misspoke. My cock was not enormous, at least as far as length goes. In fact back in my 300+ pound days the squat toadstool was barely visible as it was surrounded by the fleshy cushion around it. As the fat disappeared, more of it came into view, but even on that day, the penis that was pointing right at the giggling Carol was probably not even 6" long.
What Carol was referring to was the girth of my cock, and in that context her description was accurate because one place that I did not lose weight in was down there. Even my rather large hand could not get all the way around it, and as Carol stopped laughing and just stared at it, I felt like a circus freak.
"Bet you make the girls scream with that thing, huh Tony?" Carol asked, slipping off her jeans while staring at my cock much like I had stared under her arm earlier. "Wanna make me scream?"
"I don't. I didn't," I explained poorly. "I mean, I've never."
"You're a virgin?" Carol asked, peeling down her panties to show me the first pussy my eyes had ever seen, and as she moved toward me, she added, "Not for long."
I stood there frozen in place, unable to move, talk or even breathe, or so it seemed. Carol was beside me, running her hand down my chest and stomach while nibbling on my ear, and then her hand was on my cock.
"Damn!" Carol gasped as she grabbed my erection in her fist and moved her hand up and down one time. "This is fucking un..."
"NO!" I cried out, trying to stop what was already starting, and I stared in horror as I began ejaculating.
My cock was like a machine gun at first, firing ropes of cum halfway across the room. After that initial volley, my previously untouched-by-anyone-but-me penis simply sprayed my seed around wildly, and refused to stop for an embarrassingly long time.
I wished I had enjoyed it more than I did, but my humiliation, combined with Carol's laughter as she watched me erupt all over her bedroom, made it less enjoyable than I would have preferred. Now, Carol was holding up her hand, the back of which was covered with my cum, and smiling a wicked smile.
"I'm not laughing at you, Tony," Carol explained. "Not really. It is kinda funny though. You'll laugh about this someday."
"You will. Damn, what a mess. Was that the first time you've cum too?"
"No, I jerk off all the time," I told Carol, and then cringed when I realized what that sounded like. "It's just that this was the first time anybody - you know."
"Let me get this straight," Carol responded. "Not only are you a virgin, but you mean to say that you have never done anything with a girl before? Nothing?"
"No," I said.
"How old are you?"
"Well, Tony," Carol said. "You aren't going to leave this room until that all changes. By the time you get out of here you're going to have learned a lot."
Carol threw back the covers and plopped on her back, smiling as she waited for the human statue in the middle of her room to move.
"I'm sure you can occupy yourself until that anaconda of yours comes back to life. See anything you like?"
Even an idiot like me was able to react to that invitation, and as I climbed onto the bed I tried to remember the stuff that was in that book of dirty pictures one of my friends had.
Carol's pussy was right in front of me, and as her legs parted my eyes devoured the thick triangle of golden hair that covered her pussy. Her legs had a light coating of down on them as well, and it felt soft to the touch as my hands slid up them.
I wrapped my hands underneath Carol's thighs, much like the guy in the pictures had, and buried my face in the bush while my tongue lapped away. Her pussy smelled funky and tasted unlike anything I had ever experienced, but I tongued away as best I could.
Carol's hands were on my head, trying to guide me where she wanted my tongue to go, and after I started licking this fold of skin she got more interested and started to squirm in response. After a time, I heard her yelp out even though her thighs were clamped around my ears, and then her body went limp.