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.
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In 1969...
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.
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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.
