I like shaved pussy

Lately, some of my friends have accused me of going soft. They say I've lost my "fuck you" edge. They say I no longer write about sex the way I used to, and that lately I've been mired in the sad, cookie-cutter world of current-events commentary.

To them I say: Fuck you. Sure, they have a point. But fuck them anyway. Especially Johnny the C.

Fortunately, last week I was nominated for "Best Column of the Year - Adult Category" by the Net Wits International Humor Society, so I figure now is a good time to reassert myself. Just the title of this column alone should be enough to keep me in the running. Regardless, I'm pretty sure I can beat out the other nominees. Okay, the other nominee.

Meanwhile, shaved pussy. Last summer, a comedian friend of mine and I were hanging out at the Sonoma County Fair (I'm very proud). After a fine meal of barbecued pork ribs, we went to visit my dad's grave side, the Sonoma County racetrack, where I had spread his ashes across the finish line back in 1993. It's funny how easily the subject of death segues into the subject of sex (The French call the orgasm "Little Death." I call it shooting my load). Unsolicited, I told her, "Guess what I do now? I shave my cock. Want to see? It looks like an abandoned baby bald eagle."

She's a lesbian, so I like to antagonize her. Check that. She's a person, so I like to antagonize her.

"That's too kinky for me," she said.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, we shave," she said. (And by "we," I think she meant the entire lesbian tribe.) "But we always leave a little bit up top."

I decided not to pursue the conversation. First, we were having a good time at the fair, so I didn't want to bring a controversial dark cloud over our cotton-candied existence. Second, she had no fewer than 18 beers back at her house, I was spending the night, she doesn't drink, so all the beer was for me. You don't want to tamper with that kind of set up.

But I got the gist of where she was coming from. You can't shave off all the pubic hair, for then you would be a CHILD MOLESTER. Yeah, right.

She wasn't alone in this belief. Another friend of mine -- who hosts a cable gardening show, writes freelance articles for several publications, gives me feedback on my columns and usually shows uncommonly good sense -- agreed with her.

"It just reminds me of being five years old and naked in the kiddie pool," he said.

Look. Thanks for sharing, but don't lay your hangups on me. I believe everyone should get what they want sexually. If you want a huge cock, go for it. If you want big tits, go for it. If you want to buttfuck your brains out, go for it. And if you want all of the above, stop at The Show Palace in Austin. Ask for Samantha.

Look. Again. We're talking about grown women shaving their pubic hair. It's an aesthetic, a style if you will. And unless you know a six-year-old who shaves regularly, I don't see the comparison to child molestation. I just happen to like the soft, smooth look and feel. There's a functional component as well -- nothing between me and the clit. Nothing.(Okay, sometimes her fingers, but we should leave my ex-wife out of this.)

Look. For the last time. It's not a deal breaker, it's just a preference. I'll lick shaggy bush just as readily as cue-ball pussy. But if I have my choice -- and I usually do -- I'll take the sleek, tongue-inviting, wet and glistening, mound in my mouth every time. Rub it on my face, in my hair, let me bury my head between your thighs and lap you like a hot, thirsty pit bull during a 100-degree heat wave on a humid summer's day in west Texas.

Shaved genitals may not be your preference, but for all I know you might be practicing some sexual activity that would turn me off completely. (Just kidding.) My point is this: As long as your sexual activities are limited to two or more consenting adults, by all means pursue your pleasure. I want my readers to fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck -- constantly and in any manner they so choose. And I want the same for myself. Enough said.

So. Did I win the award?

STANDARD DISCLAIMER: This column aims to be funny. If you can read anything else into it, you're on your own. Copyright 2001 by Mike Jasper.