An elderly lady sat alone at her small table in a small café during a late afternoon. The sunlight would be longer now, the dark hours receding back, now that it was mid-spring. She wore a gray tweed suit with a skirt and jacket. The jacket had fairly wide lapels and two buttons covered in the same fabric and then the waist of the coat rounded off in front, several inches below the buttons. The skirt was straight and without pleats or ruffles of any type. It wasn't from an expensive store, but it was fairly new and she probably had several others at home that were cut along the same line. She might wear one of these to shop or take herself to dinner.
Just now the sunlight was affected by storm clouds that were small but frequent, causing shadows to come and go on her shoulders and features.
She had had one Cosmopolitan and a glass of white wine. Now she was holding her glass up to signal for a second glass of wine. She sat demurely at the table with her back erect and her knees together and cocked slightly to her right. Her feet were crossed, one foot hooked behind the other, and she wore low heels of imitation alligator.
She seemed, from the look on her face, to be perhaps a little sad, but content to sit alone in the small café and drink afternoon wine. In front of her sat a small, shallow dish of olive oil with crushed herbs. On a plate to its side were an assortment of olives and a bit of mozzarella. She would raise an olive to a point just in front of her mouth and pause, and think, never looking at the olive. After a few moments, she would eat it.
Two younger women were observing her. One was twenty-seven or twenty-eight. She had long brunette hair parted on the left. It swirled down on both sides of her face, past her ears and stopped an inch above her shoulders. The other woman was older, perhaps thirty-nine or forty. She was free with her dark natural curls. In the back, her hair flourished and then finished just a touch below the natural hairline. They, too, were drinking white wine, and they were chatting.
The younger one was talking, even as they watched the elderly lady.
"So, you know, I'm wondering whether to shave my pussy smooth or not. I'm wondering if Gary would like that or does he prefer me to be natural?"
The older of the two was watching the elderly woman and thinking about her. "I heard she lost her husband about four years ago. She got a small job and then in that last recession, about a year ago, she lost her job, too."
"How did he die?" said the young one. "He couldn't have been that old."
"Suicide, I think. That's what I heard. Lost all his money in some investment or other."
"Hmmm. Maybe she should have committed suicide, too, from what you say."
The two pulled their attention away from the elderly woman and sipped their wine.
"What about shaving my pussy?" said the younger one. "What's your opinion?"
The older woman said, "Well, haven't you asked him? Or do you feel like you don't need to."
The younger one was regarding the elderly lady again, but actually talking to the older one. "I think as long as I sit on his face he'll be happy. So the answer probably is, do I want the bother of shaving just so I can feel smooth down there, and know I did it when most people don't have a clue. Or should I leave myself luxurious and dark?"
"Most people don't have a clue about your pussy hair anyway. And they likely don't care."
The younger one pointed discretely toward the other table.
"Take her, for instance. Do you think she shaves between her legs?"
"I don't know. Why don't you ask her if you can have a look?" The younger woman at least acted as though she had missed the joke. "Hmmm," she said, "I suppose I could, you know. How do you think that would look?"
"How do I think what would look?"
"Me going over there and sitting down with her and then after a few minutes asking her if she shaved and would she show me her pussy?"
"It would look like something only you might do." She paused. "I think the craze for women shaving their pussies probably started well after the, ah, springtime of her youth." They both looked at the elderly lady in gray. "Why do you have this question about shaving the girl? I mean, I get the cozy
secret of feeling smooth and nobody knows it
thing, but what is it with you and Gary? I think most women just decide about that on their own."
The younger woman grinned wickedly. "If I tell you, it stays between us, right?" The older woman nodded.
"Do you shave your pussy?" she asked abruptly.
