To hair or not to hair

I was having a conversation with some girlfriends yesterday about pubic hair. (Yes, I have girlfriends. Yes, they are all beautiful and refreshingly open-minded. No, you cannot tie them up or watch us having sex. BUT we will contemplate licking Valhrona chocolate off each other’s parts for an immodest sum of money. Ok, so I digress.) Anyway, a group of us got together over a delicious Vietnamese meal and we were waxing lyrical about well, waxing…and other forms of hair removal.

But before I start, let me state this upfront since most of you who read this blog will probably be wondering anyway. I have pubic hair. In fact, pubic hair is my friend. I’ve done the shaved pussy thing before but for some reason, it doesn’t feel quite right to me. It destroys the sense of mystery and ambience to the whole area in general. And I can’t quite shake the feeling that I’m supposed to be twelve and fulfilling somebody’s twisted Lolita fantasy.

So currently, I keep my pubic hair in a landing strip format. (Boring, sorry.) But I have to admit that the length, breadth and general housekeeping of this strip fluctuates with time, mood and the number of ‘planes’ I expect to be landing on it at any one time. If I’m not doing any regular shagging, I do frequent maintenance below. It’s always better to be prepared, in my opinion. First impressions do count. Second, third, fourth impressions can jolly well deal with regrowth.

I know some girls who are of the exact opposite persuasion, and more power to them. It’s a matter of individual preferences, really. And special requests.

Sometimes, I am quite happy to take requests. They give me an excuse to indulge in a variety of pubic coifs that I know will find an appreciative audience. In fact for a long time, I was the proud owner of luxuriant vaginal vegetation because Adam, a very special regular, would love to bury his nose in it and just nestle. (This behaviour must be derived from the same gene that makes some men go crazy for the smell of musty armpits during sex. I should have paid more attention in biology class!) Anyway, since I really liked Adam as a friend and a partner, I promised not to let anyone take a razor or pot of wax to my pubic bush for a long time.

Basically I have a very opportunistic mindset about this. If you’re a good lover and having my pubic hair completely grown out (or removed or dyed red and shaped in your initials) makes you lavish greater attention on my pussy with your eyes, lips, tongue, fingers, silicone vibrating objects, then you got it.

I also know men who absolutely cannot bear the idea of going down on a pussy with any hair on it. (Although pubic hair in the tonsils isn’t listed as a life-threatening medical condition, I’ve checked) With JP, I would often find myself seated absolutely still on a toilet seat, legs splayed wide open, watching as each confident shick of his Mach3 chastised my errant pussy of its wildebeest ways. JP and I only hooked up very occasionally, but it became a bit of a ritual between us. And I have to say, the tingle of mint shaving cream combined with the intimacy of being shaved by someone else, not to mention the anticipation of fun-and-games to follow is an absolute turn-on. But obviously don’t try this if you’re both stone drunk or with a man that’s on asthma medication / just got eliminated from Survivor.

Female circumcision is listed as a medical condition, and let’s just say, it’s not something you want for Christmas.