Erotophoria

Whatever happened to the natural woman, complete with pubic hair? She’s a myth, that’s what! A figment of my Hippie Goddess starved erotic imagination! When I first started licking pussy, the furry beaver was already an endangered species, and now they’re nearly extinct.

I heard talk from one of those people who actually knew what sex was back in the 80’s (I was still ditching my diapers, running around naked in the backyard back then) that pink pubes were quite the secret fad. He calls himself Simon, runs a blog called The XLog… anyway… he asked, “What Color Are Your Pubes?”

Did I miss something here? Women actually have pubic hair?

Okay, granted, a few natural wonders out there aren’t afraid to let their pubic hair grow, and embrace Gaia’s blessings with the natural hirsute style, like Isobel or Justine, but they’re too few and far between. I can count the number of hairy pussies I’ve licked on one hand! I feel like I’m missing out on something… the hippie in me doesn’t know whether to weep, or cry out!

If we’re not careful we may lose the endagered species, the wild furry beaver, forever! We need to organize ourselves, stage protests, stop the razors, or something!

Maybe I’m nuts, but in this crazy world where teeth bleaching, pill popping, and inner-city SUV driving have all become acceptable practices I can’t help but hold firm to one bastion of Gaia’s promises: when women become sexually mature they grow hair!

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely adore a woman who entices me with the promise of letting me lick her pussy, but what’s a little hair between lovers? Hell, anything’s better then stubble burns! Honestly, how can I call myself a lover and expect a woman to grind a sharp object across her most sensitive of holy places, yank her nerve laden feelers from her flesh, or spread some poisonous cream over her delicious skin, just so she can feel worthy of my lapping?

I’m sorry ladies, but those commercial advertisements that assault you with solutions to “unwanted” body hair have got it all wrong. It’s not a privilege for you that I should relish in your slippery folds, and tasty juices. It’s a privilege to me, that you should allow me to worship on your altar of Venus, and only hope that the jubilant prayers of my lips and tongue might earn me equal devotion!

To be perfectly honest, when those soft fuzzies of yours get all wet and slippery they have a nice texture to them. And I don’t mind a few stray hairs in my teeth: I don’t floss enough anyway.

Bring back the perfect fur triangles from the 70’s Playboy mags. For God’s sake, I wasn’t there to live it the first time! Don’t let this depraved, young hippie grow up in a world where the furry beaver has become extinct in southern California, and I have to resort to looking at naked women at Hippie Goddess to feed my imagination.

Ladies, in the name of all things naturally sexy, follow Ponygirl’s Season of Naturalness lead: let your body be what it’s meant to be… if you do, I’ll gadly worship you.

~Virgohippy