Between our first meeting and our second she shaves her cunt completely bare. This surprises me. We are lying entangled on her sofa and I slip my hand into her underwear and freeze. Nothing there but her naked cunt, soft skin, shorn.
She raises an eyebrow at me, mildly provocative. Almost taunting: she’s pleased that I’m surprised.
I’m surprised because I didn’t think she would. We discussed many things during our first meeting. In our preferences regarding pubic hair, we differed. Her tone suggested she found the idea of shaving slightly distasteful.
“I prefer it natural,” she had said. “Shaved looks… silly. Porny. And men seem to expect it sometimes. I mean… women have hair! That’s nature. People need to get used to that.”
I had told her my preference. We had laughed about how different we were. And later that evening, when we fucked in the back seat of my car, I felt the thick curls between her legs under my palm. Her hair there held her scent, made her cunt hidden, a secretive, dark place inside her body.
My preference was for my partners to shave, partially or completely. But, with her, I enjoyed the hair at her armpits and her groin. Found it wild and feminine in a way I hadn’t with many others.
But I hadn’t told her this. And, thus, between that first meeting and our second, she had removed that hair. A silent concession to my preferences. A giving way of hers. She had done this for me – directly for me. Quashed what had seemed (to me) like a stronglyheld belief. Shaped herself to be more pleasing, as best as she was able.
The intentionality of it shocked me. Aroused me. She had decided, in shaving her cunt, that we would likely fuck again. That she wanted to please me when we did. That she was willing to give way to my desires. That she would willingly submit, in this small way, before she was ever asked to do so.
