It’s hardly a new experience to see a man come up from going down… and then see him wrestle with an errant hair in his mouth. In my early twenties, watching a man retrieve a pubic hair from his mouth wasn’t uncommon. But that was before the age of ubiquitous Brazilian waxes and enough porn to make us think pubic hair was dirty and gross.
Ashamedly, I’ve fallen prey to the belief that bare-is-better, to the cult of clean-shaven, to the worship of waxing.
Now, I’m almost always bare down there. Although the process isn’t pleasant, I’m typically waxed smooth. When I’m not able (or willing), I’m damn near clean-shaven (with the exception of a pussy Hitler mustache, on occasion).
I had prepared for my date with J the night before, shaving carefully and leaving only a short-buzzed pubic mohawk in my razor’s wake. The next day, after work, I met J for dinner, we had a nice walk along the beach, and then we went back to my place. I wanted to take a shower first. After all, it’s August in the sub-tropics and “hot and sweaty” is a way of life (by “hot and sweaty,” I mean it happens when I go to check the mailbox, not just during sexy fun times).
Because I shaved the night before, it didn’t take long. I showered, dried off, and hopped into bed naked. I wanted his mouth, and he was more than happy to oblige.
But after a little while, he came up with a funny look on his face. I watched him as his tongue worked back and forth inside his mouth… and I got nervous.
Fuck… did I forget to rinse all the soap off? Did I leave a washcloth in there or something?
He finally sat up and put his hand to his mouth. After a few moments, I realized there was a hair in his mouth. That wasn’t a big deal. Even with a close-cropped pube-hawk, hair happens. He secured the offending hair between his fingers and pulled…
And he pulled… and pulled… and pulled…
The hair was over twelve inches long….?
For a split-second, I was horrified at the idea I had a foot-long pubic hair and I was horrified (that apparently,) I had never noticed it before.
After my moment of panic, I realized what had happened.
Sometimes when I shower, a hair from my head falls out (we lose an average of 100 individual hairs per day, you know) and it gets rinsed down my back or my torso and makes a new home on or between my pussy lips. I find a stray hair from time to time, and without fail, I imagine how horrifying it would be if a man had happened to go down on me and happened to locate the errant hair. It’s a strange thought, as I don’t often find homeless head hairs in my pussy (and even less frequently than that do I have the opportunity to be eaten out).
J stared at what he thought was a mutant pubic hair between his fingers.
I stared back at him, wide-eyed, unsure whether to laugh or to explain.
Before I had the chance, he looked at the hair, then looked back at me… and then he figured it out.
“Oh!” he said, almost sighing with relief, “it’s from your head!”
Yes, stupid. It’s from my head.
Of course, I didn’t say that. I couldn’t have said that if I wanted to. I was too busy laughing.
(Ladies… please tell me this is one of those things that happens to everyone, but no one ever talks about? Please tell me I’m not the only one….?)