SHAVED
A guy once said, “It’s like sitting on a popsicle stick and telling what flavor it is.”
Firstly, that is a cool thought, and I’d be happy to expound on it later. Secondly, we are talking about shaving, and what does this have to do with popsicles?
Not too sure, but the example was apt. A character description to point.
I was telling Popsicle guy about someone else. Call this someone who insisted on shaving— Catboy.
It was my first time shaving. As with all things in my yolo life, firsts were common and added layers to my ordinary. Sparks of rainbows in my otherwise monotonous life.
When you almost reach fifty in a few years, and your mom tells you to just embrace that life is coming to an end, you feel alone in your battle for immortality.
I’m forever thirty-five. I tell everyone that. Childish and dumb to some but this was my fight. I refuse to bow down to the light and forget that paths could be created through grit determination no matter what the doctor says. When you feel snuffing out, you’d realize it’s just you holding your breath.
“What’s the rush?” H asked. “Why are you pushing yourself so hard?”
I could tell him my truth but being Asian, saying something negative, the fates could be hearing and knocking on wood was unnecessary if you only kept your mouth shut.
So, think what you may. I feel the need and that’s all you know.
But now I’m told to slow down. They said, I should take time to smell the roses. Two sides to a coin and both have truths and points to take.
Okay, I shall listen to everyone, just this time. Won’t go gentle into that good night but won’t stop to smell the roses. I’ll find a way to be in the medium.
Back to Catboy who loved them shaved.
I met him last summer. He wasn’t my type.
I was getting tired of mommy boys — boys with pretty faces and those who had the perchance for wearing women’s clothes. To be clear, I have nothing against guys wearing maids and female underwear whatever. If this was their kink, I’m cool. So long as it didn’t involve me. I have my likes and dislikes too (read Barbie).
Lately, I’ve been thinking I should be more picky. Or rather my pussy should be picky. Haha. Not everything makes me horny which was a little of surprise that I was into Catboy.
It was his long dick vids.
I told myself that I wasn’t into big, long dicks. Usually, that meant the guy isn’t Asian.
If I wanted to have a good pleasurable time, most women would agree small wasn’t gonna cut it. Hence, toys come in play.
Though all that cease if the guy isn’t a pervert. For me, the mind and creativity mattered more. Within the realms of East Asians. Yes, sex racism still existed despite my attempts to be fair. (Read Racist)
So, Catboy had a long dick. Eight? Nine inches in length. Which was unusual because from my viewage of dick vids, bigger, longer cocks belonged to taller guys and Catboy was short. Slightly taller than me which was another strike off.
He was East Asian and a super nice guy, with a horny, hard stick. A perv mind who liked to show his third leg and when he heard I enjoyed watching jerking offs and guys cumming, he was excited to share.
Maybe, there was something to be said about subconscious influences. After watching several of his shows, I asked to meet.
“Are you shaved?” he asked. He, himself, was waxed, and smooth like a baby.
“Partly,” I said. This was a personal choice. Using a comparison of guys who choose to have a mustache, pubic hair was an affirmation that I was no longer a child.
“If you want to have sex with me, you have to be hairless,” Catboy replied.
“Wtf?” Popsicle guy said. “No guy will notice when there is a wet pussy and a hot milf to fuck.”
Yes. That’s true. Fact.
“He’s a sissy. Asking you to shave is like sitting on a popsicle stick and telling what flavor it is.”
Damn. Burn. Princess.
“I shaved all of it,” I told H after I’d done it.
To be honest the sex with Catboy was somewhat fun and his long dick pounded my pussy walls to obliteration. And despite his size, he was strong and pinned me down good.
Still, after the night of naughtiness, something was missing. A feeling of selling out.
“Many girls do that now. But most Japanese girls are still hairy down there,” H said.
“Really?” I was already regretting. H was into Japanese girls like I was into Korean guys. Stubs were growing and it was prickly when I washed. I didn’t like the bristled feeling when before it was soft and silky hair.
“It feels strange to be without hair,” I said.
“It’s okay. It’ll grow back,” H said.
Days later H was back from his trip and I showed him my new body. We played and had sex and fun. He enjoyed the different me.
But something was still missing.
It wasn’t just about losing hair. It was about giving in to the demands of another person despite my preference. I’d betrayed myself and in my quest to yolo-ing I should not.
Two steps forward and one step back.
“I’m not going to eat peanuts anymore,” I told H.
“Did you learn your lesson?” H asked.
“I did. I don’t want to do that.” Peanuts meant giving in to others’ needs and being miserable for waiting for things that weren’t going to happen. Last summer taught me that. After bouts of tears and frustration, I told myself life was too short to spend on some people who didn’t care about me.
Sex should be a two-way street. Yes, perverts were my goal, but if the guy needs to know the flavor of his popsicle, I should let it melt.
Who needs shaved ice and slush?
The ocean is vast and deep and fishes are aplenty. A cougar’s hunt is never over. And until I find my choice meats, there’s no reason to settle.