Going Bush – Excerpt 1.0

I liked the way his beard shaped his face. I wondered if beneath that coarse bush he had a chin at all or whether the beard was purposely built to define the undefined.

“So, full bush hey?”

“What?” I swallowed embarrassment with a nonchalant type confidence.

“It’s just not often these days you come across a full bush. I mean it’s all waxing and shaving etc.”

“Well I didn’t hear you complaining last night.”

“I’m not complaining now, I’m just curious.”

“Ok well I’m curious about something too.”


“When you go down on a girl with that beard, does it just feel like she isn’t waxed, could you actually tell if you didn’t see it for yourself?”

“Ooh good question. Interesting. Let me think about that.”

I liked the way he moved around my kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers looking for all the right coffee making tools. Shirtless, still in his boxes and in no rush to leave, more like settling in. His sandy hair cut short on top, professional almost, side burns trimmed and ready to carry the weight of thick, coarse to look at but soft to touch, sandy ginger infused face pubes, mid neck length. Wide shoulders rounded just enough to assume he doesn’t work out, but is maybe involved in some sort of recreational sport that keeps him within the realms of nicely shaped, even his legs were proportioned to his body: this generally means he is definitely not a gym junkie. From my experience most gym junkies are heavy on top and skinny down the bottom. Hate to stereotype, but there’s a reason we do.

“I’d have to say I’ve never really thought about it but then again, I think the last time I met a girl with a full bush was when I was a teenager. Hmm, why is that?”

“Are you really asking me that?”

I lay in the bed, sheet covering my naked body, sitting against the headboard, stringing my hair through with my fingers.

“Well you haven’t answered my first question yet, why the bush?”

“I’m conducting a personal, social experiment.”


“No waxing or shaving of the vagina for one full year?

He pours two cups of coffee, puts the kettle to the side, lifts his head and says “Sugar’?

“White with one. Please.”

He brings me my coffee and sits in the chair opposite the bed, light shining through the windows and bouncing off his few chest hairs.


There it was, the big WHY. Half the time I wasn’t even sure I knew, each day a different reason and often having to remind myself every time I see the razor in the shower. I wonder what my reasoning will be today.

“I guess,” and it was a guess, “I just want to know whether my sex life is going to be any different with or without hair. Like you said, not often you find a girl with any pubic hairs and this is due to the likes of the Porn industry and the idea it gives men that it’s sexier to be shaved or waxed, among many other things. I guess I just wonder if it has any bearing on it all. Sex is sex and men and women are going to want it and have it regardless of what’s down there.” I move my eyes towards his groin and I swear I just saw it move.

I can sense my body starting to change, fingers moving faster and extending to what will soon be flailing hands, my legs now folded underneath me as I move forward, speaking more emphatically.

I lose track of the meaning of my words but I still speak them. As my mouth talks, my mind wanders to the way he is looking at me, a smile hanging off the end of his kiss, his body turned towards me, enveloping my soap box speech.

I stop. “Sorry.”

“Wow, you’re a little bit weird aren’t you?” He laughs.

“Define weird?”

“Actually weird isn’t the right word, maybe passionate. You are so passionate about the way a waxed box is perceived that you have taken it upon yourself to go bush for a full year. Let me ask you, how far into bush year are you?”

“7 months.” The speed of my reply could have him assuming I’m counting down the seconds until it’s all over.

“Holy shit. Ok, how’s the response been so far?”

“I’ve no complaints, but that’s not to say they haven’t gone home to their mates and described me as the yeti.”

“So if you don’t receive complaints but you assume that they are possibly unsatisfied when they talk to their mates, how do you actually know what the response is? How do you catalogue your process so far?”

“I guess I just take something from every meeting with a man, or every discussion I have with men and women about it. Like now, I catalogue the conversation and take from it the most important points.”

“Ok well what would you take away from last night and now?”

“Well I’m still a little confused as to whether it actually counts because you have such a big beard and I just have to assume that even if I was waxed, it would feel, to you, like I wasn’t. I mean if we are being frank, you’re not exactly whipper snipped down there either.”

“You’re funny. I like you.”

“You’re forthcoming and that’s refreshing. I like that. What’s your name again?”

We both laugh as he moves towards me taking my coffee mug and placing it on the bedside table.

“I think I need to test your theory about the beard.” He climbs underneath the sheet, spreading my legs apart.

“You already did that last night. “

“No, last night I wasn’t assessing the beard verse vagina situation.”

“So this time it’s more of an experiment?”

“I guess we are both scientists.”

And I feel the brush of his beard along my inner thigh, and then…

© T.Snow


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