Wookie Pits

OK, so I started to write a piece on females with hairy armpits, after a pre-dinner discussion I had last night. Little did I know (but quickly discovered) that there is a whole underworld of armpit hair fetish out there!

Whooda thunk it?

I was just going to find a pic for the story and "POOOOOF!" there's all this armpit hair fetish nonsense.

I cracked up.

The women that I know who do not shave their pits (or legs...or bush) sure as shit don't do it for fetish purposes. They are against the ridiculous marketing in American culture that insisted that visible hair on women was not only unsightly, but a curse. There was even a 1982 article from the Journal of American Culture by Christine Hope titled "Caucasian Female Body Hair and American Culture." Since it was males making these claims and males seemed to rule everything at the time of the original female shaving movement (1915), these modern women went against the grain and stopped shaving.

It had become something that was specifically attached to male attraction, so they tossed it out the window.

And they were grounded in their reasoning...yet that was here in America. In many other cultures around the world, women do not shave. And in some cultures it is just downright sexy for a woman to be hairy.

hmmmm...

Now, that would never work for me personally, because I don't like hairy people. Male or female. Then again, I had a crush on Mr. Clean when I was 4, so there's that...

I don't think pit hair is sexy. I do not think armpit hair, regardless of gender, belongs in pictures or marketing pieces and wish to dog that dudes would shave their friggin' pits too. They're effing stinky or clumped with balls of antiperspirant/deodorant.

YUCK!

So in looking this all up, I even came across some people who are outraged by those who shave or like shaved "stuff". Apparently, according to one dip shit, we are "no better than pedophiles".

*GASP!*

Now seriously, I won't rail on someone who doesn't shave, so long as I don't have to fuck it and it isn't serving my food (which is what came up during the pre-dinner discussion). But I think it's a bit out there to say that those who shave their hoo-has are no better than pedophiles.

Seriously, have you ever been in the middle of receiving some mind-blowing cunnilingus and about to climax and have your partner stop to remove a pube from their mouth? Yeah. That can suck and truly fuck up the flow.

*snickers*

Let me say that a family member of mine has embraced this not shaving thing. YEARS ago. She loves to taunt me with her hairy pits and legs, but she doesn't wave that shit over my food.

When I left my husband, I got rid of the bimmer, got a Jeep, chopped off my hair and started climbing again. My friends were worried. I said, "If I stop shaving my pits and get like 27 cats, be worried."

This is the deal; a man can't serve food wearing a tank top because of those pit hairs, so why should a chick be able to? She is allowed to wear a tank because it is assumed that chicks shave their pits. Now, having worked there for a while, you KNOW that management knows that she is a non-shaver. Why can they not discuss this covering of the pit hair issue with her?

Now mind you, this place doesn't require that the employees wear hair nets or anything, but I would be far more grossed out by a pit hair in my hummus than a scalp hair. (Though for the record, both are gross.)

We are all different. Some of us shave and some of us do not, but life is not an Arrid Extra Dry® commercial. Put your frickin' arms down already!

Sometimes You Feel Like a Nut, Sometimes You Don't

No secret that I am picky about the twig and berries.

In a town where blow jobs are a dime a dozen and safe sex means that they don't (usually) fuck while driving, I am a mite selective with what I put between my legs or dog forbid in my mouth.

(The Lou is consitantly in the Top 10 for Gonorrhea and Syphilis according to U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.)

Oooooooh! Now we are talking FUN!

I would rather chomp on a piece of gum I find on a gas station bathroom floor than to screw some of the garbage dick that roams aimlessly around this town.

YIKES!

That being said, even once I have determined that IT is cleanish, which for me entails me actually being in a relationship with the dude and his agreeing to be tested, IT still needs to be maintained properly or it's a no go.

Nothing will turn my head faster than discovering that my companion has a wookie bush.

Truth be known, I like my men shaved pretty much everywhere and possessing a bicycle (and/or a fantastic dog), so if you don't have a bicycle or a dog, you better not have a wookie bush either.

Wookies are not pets.

Last year I started dating a very sweet and pretty boy (28 yrs old) who looked simply amazing naked. Fantastic (and functioning) penis. Very tall. Employed. Post-grad. So cute.

However...

He had the dreaded "wookie bush".

Holy hell and damnation.

Fooling around was like going on a safari.

It seriously limited my play time, as who wants to die being smothered by a mass of wiry, itchy hairs?

Now, because he was "polite for male", he never asked me to go downtown, but I used the one time we got on the topic to bring up his pet wookie.

He had read my previous blogs regarding the subject when I had discovered Detective Wookie Bush, but somehow did not think it applied to him.

SO cute!

He looked at me and blinked a lot.

I could see that he had been able to get by solely on his cuteness in the past and did not know what to do with a woman who knew what she wanted.

Awwwww! It was simply precious how he looked at me as if he could not fathom the possibility that I had not been sitting at my townhouse those years on the edge of my front steps just awaiting him to move into a neighboring condo and bless my life with his penis.

I mean, I had been...in a way...as I just expected a hot guy with a fantastic penis to drop right out of the sky, and I put zero effort into "looking" for a mate, so he was pretty close.

But still. Wookie is wookie and it must go.

I came home one night and called him for our nightly chit chat.

He told me to come over because he had a surprise for me.

Being a girl, when I hung up I squealed and tried my best to look cute and less exhausted and casually (with hidden excitement) walked the 4 doors to his place.

Because he is a sweet and adorable goofball, he is wrapped in his sheet when I walk into his room.

He drops the sheet.

There, with the second most beautiful penis on the planet is my surprise.

He has gone Edward Scissorhands on his wookie bush.

I swear he must have used garden shears.

Oh my!

There were paths shaved into it like when one shovels snow.

There were like 5 straggly hairs hanging from his balls.

It was a mess.

But it was a sweet mess.

This scared little man-boy had attacked his genitalia with sharp objects to make me happy.

And all the important stuff was still there so I could do nothing but reward him.

He never quite grasped the art of maintenance and only trimmed the wookie about bimonthly, but it was still sweet.

I would later get a proposal from this man and I can say with certainty that the wookie bush moment was by far a sweeter (and more satisfying) thing.

Men, if you do little else, learn the fine art of manscaping. The rewards are plenty.