I confess…I adore my own pussy.  She’s small and looks great trimmed.  She gets compliments all the time from people who have seen her, yet she remains remarkably humble!  She loves it when I sing to her and pat her satiny lips in the shower.  Lately, I’ve taken to reciting poetry to her.  Her favorite is an excerpt from the Edward Lear poem, The Owl and the Pussycat.

‘O Lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love,

What a beautiful Pussy you are,

You are,

You are!

What a beautiful Pussy you are!’

Here’s the whole poem for those of you that haven’t read it.  It’s a popular kid’s poem, probably not meant to be used to serenade pussies of a different sort in the shower.  I think it’s important, however, that we honor our parts!

Ok, so I’ve been playing with the beard trimmer for the past two nights, and I still haven’t managed to complete the task.  The first night that I swore I was going to shave my husband’s pubic hair, I was thwarted by the fact that the trimmer had to charge for 16 hours before it could be used.  Ok…so I just fucked him instead.

Next evening he comes home, though, eager for his shave!  Apparently the wait had upped the excitement level.  I experiment on myself first, giving my bush a nice post-modern crew cut down to the clit level, and shaving everything else smooth.  It looks great!  But the power used for my trim exhausted the supply.  He comes up to the bathroom, champagne glass in hand, and asks if it’s his turn.

“Well,” I replied, “we have a problem.  It needs to be charged again!”

“What?” he groaned.  “What’s a man gotta do to get shaved around here?”

I apologized for sucking up all the power, but he still had to taunt me a little, saying that he guessed he was just going to have to put an ad on Craig’s List for a woman who could shave him.  In rebuttal, I plugged the trimmer back in, and fucked him senseless again…this time sitting on his face and making him lick my freshly shaven pussy.  I can be very forceful when provoked!

After we were done, I went to check the trimmer, and behold…it started working again!  Thinking that it was fully charged, I commenced the operation on his pubic hair.  He submitted quite easily, as the champagne and sex had mellowed him out.  As fate would have it, though, I only got half way through before the trimmer died again.  Oops!  I tucked him into bed with promises of finishing tonight.

I bought a beard trimmer to trim my pubic hair.  Granola Girl is in fits, but I’ve managed to bury her deep within my psyche for the time being!  Anyway, I’ve tried shaving my bikini line with razors before and I really only end up butchering myself.  Problem is, if I let everything grow out completely (as Granola Girl would have me do), then I feel like Sasquatch!  I don’t think Sasquatch gets much oral sex.

So the beard trimmer is an experiment in hair maintenance.  Theoretically it should allow me to shave all the parts that I like shaved (pubic lips and above the clit), and keep fuzzy all the parts that I like fuzzy (everything else).  It comes with all kinds of cool attachments, which makes it tempting to do designs and shit in my bush.  I thought of etching out a peace symbol.

It also occurred to me that I could trim other people…hmmm, like maybe the hubby!  He lets the hair above his cock grow out, and I’ve often wondered what it would look like shaved off.  I think tonight’s the night, ladies and gentlemen, that I find out.  He’s already agreed, in theory, to letting me shave him many times.  On the off chance that he changes his mind, though, I’ve already offered to take him out for beers tonight.  The plan will be to get him buzzed, and THEN suggest that I trim him up a bit before giving him a blow job!  Should work, wouldn’t ya think?

(This one was inspired by someone using the search terms “hairy urban snatch”.  When I jokingly mentioned that to my witty husband, he commenced with a round of make-believe dialog between hairy urban snatches and hairy rural snatches.  I mean, really, who cares where the snatch comes from as long as it’s pretty and tastes good!)

Hairy Urban Snatch opened her front door and greeted her cousin, Hairy Rural Snatch.  Their other cousin, Hairy Suburban Snatch, was already relaxing with her cup of tea, waiting for everyone to arrive.  The bastard red-neck cousin Twat was still on her way.

“Come have some tea, my dear Rural, ” croaned Suburban from the parlour.  “You should feel right at home…we bought you some cups and saucers from Wal-Mart.  You can use anything labeled DIXIE.”

“You know…” Rural gave her a sneer.  ”Despite what you might think, not everyone who lives in the country is a dumb bumpkin who shops at Wal-Mart.  But I’m sorry…have you started shaving again?  Is that why you’re cranky?”

“I beg your pardon!” snapped Suburban.  “No one in our family has ever SHAVED!  I’m a neatly trimmed Snatch!”

“Oh is that what you call it in the Suburbs…trimming?  Typical level of non-commitment.  I mean you’re not quite urban and not quite rural…you’re something in between.”

“Girls, please!” pleaded Urban.  “We’re all Hairy Snatches in our own way!  It matters not where we come from or how hairy we are.  Rural prefers a bush, and Suburban prefers a trim.   It’s all good, and the important thing is that we accept each other, because we’re family!”

“Oh my God, you’ve shaved!” cried Urban’s cousins in unison.  “That’s why you’ve called us here to talk!”

“It’s true!”  Urban bowed her head.  “I’ve succombed to the temptations of city life.  The smooth appeal of skin has taken over.  I’ve strayed from my roots, but was hoping all of you, as my extended step family, would support me and help me through regrowth.”

“Through razor burn, you mean!” said Rural.  “Are you insane?”

Knock, knock.  “Wait, that must be Twat.”  Urban answered the door.  The distinct smell of fish permeated the parlour.

“Hey ya’ll bitches!!!!  Whas up?  Sorry I’m late!  I kept bumping into foreskin…had to stop and smell the roses and all that shit.  What city are we in, anyway?  Hey, who bought the fancy cups with the flowers on them?  What’d I miss?”