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.
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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.
