“BOORISH, CALL my cousin,” said my friend. “I think you two will get along”
“OK, I’ll call, give me her number.”
Call I did, and the initial conversation lasted for hours. In the following week, our conversations got deeper, friendlier, more frivolous at times and laced with a fair amount of innuendoes. On a Thursday, we agreed to have our first shag session over the weekend.
As we were both rather young (she was 23 and I was 21), we had THAT conversation.
“Boxers or briefs, Boorish?” She asked, brimming with anticipation.
“Either boxers, tighty whiteys or I just let it all hang.”
“Thongs or French knickers?” Asked Boorish as he wished under his breath that she would NOT say thongs.
“I wear big, cotton, granny panties.”
“You are so funny,” said Boorish, appreciating her sense of humour.
“What about grooming?” Boorish asked.
“Do you have a little Mohawk down there? Maybe a little runway? Or do you go for the bald eagle look?”
“I like it Au naturel,” she said.
I hoped to god that she wasn’t serious, and with a strange mix of anticipation and trepidation, I awaited the weekend.
The weekend came and I finally got to see her; she was attractive enough and appeared to take good care of herself. I hugged her and took a sneaky pick at her ears.
No ear wax, clean nails and her braids aren’t stinky, Boorish thought as he let her into his student flat.
Boorish wasn’t one to waste much time, after all she was there for a weekend-long shag session; so they got to it. I could smell a trace of her shower gel, her perfume was fruity and rather delicious, her lips were soft and her touch was absolutely mind-blowing. We had a twenty-minute foreplay session and we dry-humped each other a fair bit.
The clothes were off and we were down to our underwear, then I took a look and realised that she told me the truth about the granny underwear.
Bloody hell, those panties look almost as old as I am!
I kissed her lightly from her neck down to her belly button and could not help but notice a strange bulge in her crotch.
Looks like something isn’t quite right.
I grabbed the thick elastic strings of her cheap-cotton, moth-eaten Mickey Mouse panties and pulled them down.
Kai, haba, damn, shit!
I screamed as something that looked like a cross between a rat and a grizzly bear sprung forth from her underwear.
The creature jumped out at me with the eagerness of a runaway slave. Her ‘bush’ was the size of Angela Davis‘s Afro!
“What the hell is this?”
“I told you, I like it Au naturel.”
I found out that she had never trimmed her bush in all her years on earth. It was a horrid sight and it spread everywhere, down her thighs, up her stomach: it looked like a huge hairy oil slick.
“This is not good enough.”
“But I might get shaving bumps.”
“Since you never did attempt to shave or trim, you don’t know that for sure.”
“You hate me, you find me disgusting; you are so mean.”
I wondered if she expected me to feel sorry for her, so I left her to her own devices and went off to sleep on the couch.
She left the next morning and still speaks of how mean I was to her.
Au naturel? Now that takes the piss. Y!
Catch up with this peculiar young man on boorishmale.blogspot.com