A Bushy Tale
Well, and a bushy tail. But I’m not going there, at least as a pictorial.
Earlier today I published my first February Photofest post, with a collage that featured, in a somewhat subtle, and (if I do say so myself) artistic way, a hint of the Bushy Bush, as Lil Sister (my euphemistic name for my cooch) has come to be called lo this past month.
I haven’t had a furry snatch in I don’t know how long. A couple of years now? I do recall having to grow it out in order to get waxed – I think that was two summers ago. I don’t recall paying as much attention to it as I have this time, and certainly not taking pictures of it and posting them; parading it in public, so to speak. I think I thought of it as little as possible, as a matter of fact, and only looked forward to the day when I could get rid of the mess.
This time has been different in subtle – and not so subtle – ways. It was a choice I made. I was being liberated from the tyranny of the razor, and I was also using it as an excuse to flirt-long-distance with W. It gave me an excuse to take naughty pictures, and something to tease him with over text and email. It became, in a way, a way to stay connected with the earthy, sexy part of myself that I had willingly had to put aside while I’ve been on this trip.
It ain’t been easy, let me tell you.
But I celebrated my cooch in photos, and looked closely at it in real life. I pulled on the hair and observed how and where it grew. I embraced my fuzzy pubis, the softly curling hair on my nether lips, the thatch of femaleness that the hair began to embody for me.
Somehow, it became erotic for me.
I don’t know what will happen when I get back to the “real world” especially when we start to go places where a bare cooch is almost the norm, and when I get back to sex and kink (and the pictures that that entails) with W. He’s never been one to dictate cunt hair or clothing choices, but I do know he has said in the past that he likes me to be “well-groomed” down there. And less hair does show off the rings. So…who knows.
All I know is I want him to fuck me when I get home, hopefully fully furred, at least once. And maybe…we can do some kind of scene showing it off, because it is kind of special to me.
Damn, too bad he hasn’t practiced straight razoring. Wouldn’t that be a way to bring it all around to kink again? A bushy-haired girl can dream, can’t she?