It's odd that people are so ashamed or embarrassed about preferences they have that might be slightly out of the mainstream or out of fashion.
Many times, those desires aren't really that strange at all, and all the person really needs is someone who can understand them. Those people are out there, and sometimes they find each other.
In the interest of full disclosure, let me state that this story could end up in one of two categories; My preferred choice - First Time, because it is about a woman's deflowering, or Fetish, because it is about a woman with a considerable amount of body hair, and the man who enjoys it.
If either topic offends you, this may not be the story for you. If both topics excite you, or even just pique your curiousity... please enjoy!
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Chapter One: Lust at First Sight.
I recognized Pam the moment I saw her walk into the restaurant, even though we had never met. The same young woman that had walked nervously past the front window of the establishment several times in the last half hour with her eyes darting as she tried to look inside without being obvious about it, and failing miserably.
I had recognized her by way she had described herself to me in the hundreds of messages we had exchanged over the last several months over the internet. She was more attractive than she had led me to believe, but that didn't surprise me, as she had displayed a tendency to be self-depreciating, a trait that I had found charming, especially given the way people usually act.
Pam was twenty-three, and had just celebrated her birthday last month, an event that I had noted with a rather clever card that I had created. It was that card that had helped lead to the point I found myself that evening.
I watched as Pam looked around the restuarant nervously, eyes down and sneaking furtive glances about. She seemed to be about 5'4" and slender, with wavy dark brown hair that was about shoulder length. Pam was wearing a dark blue sweater and matching slacks that effectively covered her from neck to toe, just as I had expected.
Sitting at the bar, I cleared my throat and looked at my reflection in the mirror behind the bar before rising. At 33 I was ten years her elder, and I hoped that I had been equally accurate in describing myself. Six foot tall, and at about 200 pounds I knew I could stand to lose a few, with short medium brown hair that was just staring to thin a bit. I was no Tom Cruise, but neither was I a total disaster. Just an ordinary looking guy, looking for - something.
When I walked over toward Pam, she raised her head slightly as I approached. Pam's eyes lit up a little bit, and to my relief she not only didn't run away, she smiled a little bit, exposing her pearly whites and a delightful overbite that gave her a little Mackenzie Phillips look.
"John?" Pam said in a quivering voice, and when I nodded her smile widened as her cheeks flushed a little.
"Hello Pam," I said and extended my hand.
Pam took my hand and it disappeared into my paw as we shook briefly, unsure on whether this was too formal. We gave each other a tiny hug before stepping back awkwardly, as I looked for the hostess who would lead us to our table.
We slid into the booth opposite each other and took the menus from the waitress, looking at each other nervously and unsure as to what we should do next.
"My hand was sweatier than yours," I said to break the silence.
Pam giggled at that, and from that moment on it was like we were old friends, which we were in a way. We had started out warily months earlier, exchanging information electronically and gradually becoming more and more personal. More and more intimate.
I don't remember what we ate that night, or whether it was any good because I was so excited. The person that I had fantasized about was now across the table from me. Pam was so painfully shy at first, but yet as the evening progressed her eyes began to meet mine more and more often.
I looked at Pam's tiny hands, and the slender fingers that held her wine glass, and as Pam raised her glass I watched as the sleeve of her sweater slipped up ever so slightly, exposing a bit of the auburn hair that grew abundantly on her arms.
When Pam noticed where my gaze had momentarily wandered, she self-consciously lowered her glass and pulled down the sleeve as the color rushed to her face once again.
"I'm sorry," I said sheepishly, but I wasn't. Not really, because after all the hair was what had brought us together.
Chapter Two: First communication.
It was on a website when I first came upon Pam. I wasn't looking for love, I was looking for porn. I was trolling the internet one night, bored out of my skull, when I stumbled across a website that featured hairy women.
Women who kept their bodies in a natural state by choosing to not shave their body hair, had always held a dear place in my heart. Growing up it was not unusual to see girls with hair under their arms, and my late wife was one of those who chose to buck the trend.
After she passed away in an accident five years ago I had kept to myself, and suffered in silence as the world went around me. Trolling the internet was my entertainment, and many nights I would sit there looking at naked women, thinking back on how wonderful our marriage had been, and how incredible our sex life was.
On this website, I enjoyed the galleries of natural women, relishing the sight of women with untrimmed pubic hair. It was exhilarating to see that their were still such women out there.
The barbie doll look had never appealed to me; perhaps it was an generational thing, because I know that young people today have grown up in a different culture that finds women with body hair appalling instead of appealing. As for me, the sight of a siliconed and waxed Pamela Anderson holds no appeal for me. Different strokes...
I stumbled across a chatroom on that website, and while I found the expected group of men that shared by interest, I also discovered that there were women there as well, or at least people that claimed to be women.
It was there that I read of the embarrassment they had endured, and the humiliation they had endured because they were hairy, or hirsute in the more extreme cases. Some suffered from a disease called PCOS, where a side effect was a great deal of hair growth. That tempered my enthusiasm a bit, as it disturbed me that something that brought me such visual pleasure was so painful for others.
Pam was one of the people that posted there, under the name "furryfeline". I answered a post of hers, and whatever it was that I said, it must have been the right words because we hit it off immediately. Words became paragraphs, and then we began to correspond personally, and intimately. Nothing overtly sexual, but flirting and teasing, and I learned about Pam.
What brought Pam to such a website, I wondered?
"Loneliness," Pam typed. She was bored and lonely.
How could a young woman who was so intelligent and sensitive be lonely. That should have been reserved for people like me. People who had their chance at happiness and had it slip away, either through error or, in my instance, fate.
"Too ugly," Pam replied. "Too hairy". Too much pain involved whenever she would find someone who seemed interesting. Too many snickers when the guy who see her, or too much fleeing when she would describe herself. "Easy to stay a virgin when you look like me," she explained.
A virgin? I didn't even know they made them anymore. How hideous could this woman be? A virgin? Could she possibly be a lesbian?
"Maybe I would be, if a woman would accept me as I am," Pam typed. "I'm just gross."
Give me a chance, was my reply.
It took months, but Pam did eventually, and that brings me to being across the table from her that night.
Chapter three: An evening walk.
I paid the check, and since it was a beautiful evening I suggested that we take a walk.
"I'd love to," Pam replied, and I held the door open for her as we stepped outside into the night.
The sidewalks were almost deserted, as the government workers had long since departed for home. This was Pam's hometown, although I had traveled here often on business over the years and was somewhat familiar with the city.
