Julie’s First Date

In the 80s I was a recording engineer in Los Angeles. It was here where I met Julie. She was the sister of one of the interns at a certain studio there. For both of us, it was hate at first site. Julie was a pretentious bitch whom I grew to lust. I was about 21, and she was 19—or something like that.

She was from New Mexico visiting her brother in LA for a few weeks in the summer. She came from money but didn’t have any of her own. She wasn’t working, but she lived off a stipend from her family—trust fund baby.

Several times she visited her brother at this studio. She thought I was gay, and I just thought she was a stuck up bitch, which she was—a typical gold digger. I won’t describe the arguments, but there were many, and the last one was the start of our year together, and then some.

Between sessions and toward the end of whatever we were arguing about, she made a reference to my being gay, and made some comment about her prospective idea of the size of my cock by making a finger gesture like calipers—something to the order of an inch. I rolled my eyes, and she widened her finger to show 3 inches, and then 4, and then bigger still. Finally, she got to some size, and I smirked. She saw this as an indication of my size, and she immediately leapt into my arms squeezing my body with her legs and said, “Prove it.” When I refused, she went back to calling me gay.

Hey, I’m a guy, and I wanted to defend myself, but I was working, and not sure what she was up to. Then she offered to show me her tits if I showed her my cock. She was about 5’3″ or so with a natural D cup. I could determine that with her shirt on. I am not particularly a breast freak, but I turned down the offer.

“No,” I said. “Take it all off, then I might be willing” or something as equally uncreative. She said, “Sure, lets go in the back,” an area where the studio did tape duplicating and had some video bays.

We both just stood there waiting for the other person to make the first move. Instead, neither of us moved, but she reached for my crotch—yes, I had an erection—, and I grabbed her breasts, crotch, and ass, not wanting to miss out on at least copping a feel, and we kissed, groping.

That was that. I had to get back into the session, and she—unbeknownst to me—waited in the lounge. I didn’t get out of the studio until daybreak or thereafter, and there she was still waiting for me.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” she says.

“Got? It’s morning. I’ve been awake for 20 hours or more. This will have to wait.”

Well, wait, she wouldn’t. “I’m leaving with you,” she says, and I acquiesce.

It was a frisky ride home, but I was beat. When we walked in the house and straight into the bedroom—using the term loosely because I had no bed, she wasted no time in stripping. It was even faster for her because she was not a girl to wear panties—a habit my wife has, too. Nice!

Yep. Those were Days all right, and she was completely shaven. I had never seen a shaven pussy up close and personal. I caressed it, and it was smooth, so I gave it a kiss. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of everything.

We both lay on the sheets on the floor. She grabbed my cock and took it into her mouth until I was even harder. She said, she would blow me later but she wanted me to fuck her. I’ll be honest here: between the teasing, and the blowjob, I didn’t last very long. She tried to hide her disappointment. She said it didn’t matter, but I felt bad. Acknowledging our fatigue, she said we cold eat each other when we awoke. We fell asleep and stayed together for a year, and then on and off for a while after that, but I’ll get to that later.

Shaven Women

I prefer women with shaven pussies. They are smooth, hide nothing, and are easier to eat. Generally, the woman feels heightened sensitivity, too. I have heard many women attempt to argue that a guy who prefers a bare pussy is surely a pedophile. This is patently untrue. Most of these women have breasts and wouldn’t remind anyone of a prepubescent girl.

I haven’t always been into shaven women, though I think my interest predated the recent fad. When I was growing up, huge bushes were the thing. Nobody groomed, let alone even shaved. The first shaven pussy—and that only trimmed—was Marilyn Chambers’ heart shaped pubic patch. A bit later, I was some totally bald pussies in magazines, and I thought they looked like plucked chickens.

When I was about 20, I met a girl a couple of years younger than me, Julie, who shaved her pussy. It was my first up-close-and-personal view of a shaven pussy. It looked much better in person than in a magazine—I cancelled my subscription. Still, I wasn’t wholly convinced I liked it. Silly me, I tried to convince her to grow her pubes back. Nope. She wouldn’t have it. It’s funny how things change. Most other women since, I have been trying to convince them to shave it bare.

My first wife of Italian decent had a veritable jungle down there. She was a woman who had to shave her coarse black hair pretty much twice a day—and I am not talking about her pubes. So, when I did convince her to shave her bush, by two weeks it was full again. In a week, you wouldn’t have known she had ever shaved. My wife now can get away with shaving once a month, and her bush isn’t even a quarter of the way in by that time.

The down side of shaving for women is when it is growing back in, not to mention the potential for razor rash. There are other methods. My first wife tried waxing, (ouch), an Epilady, (Ouch!), Nair, and razors. The razors were the best.

She tried electrolysis. She went to several sessions. The woman planned—after recovering from her shock of someone requesting to have her pussy plucked—to remove the hair in four sessions: a quarter of a patch at a time. At the first session, she started with the bottom quarter (near the labia). She assumed it would be an uncomfortable task, but it wasn’t, so she removed the hair from the entire bottom half. A couple of days later, Kristen returned to finish the job. She returned for several touch up sessions over the next few weeks. Her pubic hair just kept growing back to the state it was when she started. We decided not to spend any more money on this approach and stick to razors.

When I met my current wife, she knew I preferred women with shaven pussies, so she decided to surprise me. Well, the problem is I like an entirely shaven pussy—not just the lower lips with a tuft above. I know: picky, picky. My response was less than enthusiastic, and she was disappointed. She was about 40, and she said she had never shaven before, so she felt she had wasted her time. My explanation and assurance that it still looked nice (though it did look rather silly) did little to help. Of course after I ate her and she came, I think I was forgiven. The sensation of having her freshly shaven pussy eaten was new and exciting to her. From then on, though, she shaved it entirely, the benefit of which I get at around once a month or so. Of course, in between shaves it is a bit rough. But I am a man. I can rough it every once in a while.

As I end this, I am reminded with all of the anti-Muslim sentiment abound that the Quar’an requires females to be fully hairless below the neck. So, that with that and the promise of 72 virgins, no wonder it is the fastest growing religion. The shaving is a plus, but they can keep their 72 virgins. They are overrated, but that’s for another time.