In the past year, I’ve come to really love my pubic hair after having a partner (The Texan) who didn’t want me to shave it, ever. It was as if having permission to let it grow out – a permission that stemmed from desire – allowed me to experience how good it felt. I love the way it feels physically when I push my fingers through it, how protective it feels, and how it’s come to be symbolic of a love that embraced a natural version of myself, just as I am. For so many years, I’d shaved because I thought that was what was expected of me – I lived with the razor bumps and itchiness and never stopped to consider my own feelings. It took a partner’s preference to make me reflect on my own.
I thought about writing a narrative piece for this, but when I think of pubic hair, several small and fleeting moments and memories pop into my head all at once, disjointed:
– a friend with benefits refusing to go down on me (that didn’t last long) because he thought shaved vulvas were pre-pubescent in appearance and it freaked him out;
– the first time I saw a shaved cock and balls and how much it freaked me out. I didn’t say anything, but I was surprised and a little bit turned off. Obviously not surprised anymore, but it’s still not my thing;
– a former partner who loved having her pubic hair tugged, just a little, while being eaten out, which was super hot;
– randomly finding The Texan’s pubic hairs all over my apartment and smiling every time, even weeks after he left;
– experiencing the different textures of the hair of different partners and relishing those differences
– running my fingers through the soft mound of hair that grows and grows when I travel (along with some pretty luxurious armpit hair, which I also really like growing out);
– burying my face in a partner’s pubic hair after particularly sweaty sex to deeply inhale the scent of our fucking
Maybe that’s it. Pubic hair catches the smell of us moving together in sync. Maybe that’s why I’ve come to love it. Or maybe it was finding one hidden behind my couch and suddenly remembering riding him, wave after wave of orgasm crashing down around me. What was once a burden is now a deep well of pleasure, a replenishing source of desire.