For starters, I have a shaved head. Not the kind where I was going bald and
decided to attempt to camouflage it as much as possible. No, I shaved my head
six years ago, before my senior year in high school. I had no idea what it would
end up looking like, and it took a lot of balls (not shaved) to do so. I found
out that I have a large, handsome, highly symmetrical dome. A noggin that makes
me proud to shave it each and every day I get out of bed. Because of this fact,
I had always thought of my el natural as some last vestige of a once proud
civilization. And even a meager act such as washing it in the shower would make
me think of how my pubic hair was evidence of my own virility… and that
the carpet matches the drapes.
So when I started noticing a gradual increase in the number of porn stars
(through my continued study of pornography since the ancient times of the
dial-up modem) shaving or at least trimming their pubic hair, it struck me with
dismay. Then, when I attempted to query my male peers about the subject, it
really began to hit home. The vast majority of my sexually active college-age
male peers did at least some type of hedge trimming. Absolutely
mind-boggling! I had no choice
but to take the debate to the only true source of
enlightenment that was left—the final authority on the question that has been
around since the dawn of time (or mammals): women.
I decided to start off by asking women I had dated what they thought of my
specific crop of pubic hair (as randomly questioning the public at large might
draw suspicion of some abnormal motive). The overriding consensus was that not
only did I need to
curtail the length of my pubes, but below the waistline, I was some
out-dated version of Cro-Magnon man. One girl complained that it scratched her
landing pad, another that it tickled her nose when she gave me head, and still
another secretly wondered if I had a name for my pubic hair, like Sherwood
Forest. The reviews came one after another, and while some were indifferent,
most showed a mild disdain for my pubic hair and its length.
Until the last girl I asked. This was the part when my face started to melt.
My last, and most recent ex-girlfriend actually told me that she had held off on
deep-throating me because of it.
Hold on for a second here, did you just read that? I said
deep-throating!!! The
holy grail of oral sex! Wholly-whumpus motherfucker this shit was not
cool. It was about then that I dove headfirst into a whirlwind of deduction,
trying to figure out how my life had sunk to such a sad and dismal point.
I really couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My whole life I had considered
myself of below average hairiness. Of Swedish descent, I had accrued soft wispy
hairs over the majority of my body at a later age than what it seemed to be
every other boy in my class, and beyond that, my father wasn’t a hairy man, nor
was his father before him. I had seen men such as Robin Williams and Pete
Sampras on television growing up and knew for a fact that I lay at the bottom of
the hairiness totem pole. This was indeed devastating news to say the least, and
it called for some serious rumination on the origin of my now seemingly
indefensible stance on the subject.
After contemplation, it seems to me that the issue dates back to when I was
in the 7th grade. My father had purchased a brand new beard trimmer,
and, fascinated with the device, I had shorn my then-sparse tuft of hair
along with shaving the sides of my head! Just the sides. After
finding out, my parents quickly relayed me to the barbershop where there were
lengths taken to sharpen my hack job of a trim into some sort of retarded bowl
cut.
But the story doesn’t stop there my friends; the timing of this incident was
precipitously positioned exactly prior to the taking of my 7th grade
class picture. This meant that beyond the pragmatic abuse of my friends and foes
alike in homeroom, this disaster was
forever on public record! I had seen the old yearbooks in the library, they
had all of them dating back to the founding of the school! Talk about bad
timing. I twinge with fear at the very sight of this picture now and have
continued to bury this occurrence deeper and deeper into my subconscious. Until
just last week frankly, when after serious examination of the issue as a whole,
I buzzed my junx like a sheep ripe for wool.
And oh, how glorious it is to finally be free of the dead follicles that once
clung to the upper part of my pelvis. Among the many benefits of having given up
this last remnant of what was once my hair, I’ve cut my shower cycle down to a
clean three minutes (along with a cleaner pelvic region), I’ve achieved a
slimmer looking stomach, and I can now penetrate even deeper into the pleasurous
depths of the vagina. (Not to mention I have now permanently excluded the
possibility of contracting pubic lice! One STD down, a hundred and fifty-seven
to go!)
Beyond that, I’ve learned to cherish and adore that young rapscallion who
once excitedly experimented with a beard trimmer, because I’ve come to realize
that that adventure in hair trimming was what allowed me to shave my head bald
in the first place, giving me the beautiful, masculine, exceptionally virile
dome I have today.
So if there is any advice I can pass along to you incoming freshman, or
college-age males of any shape or denomination, it is that the sooner you shed
your hair down there, the better off you will be. Society is a cruel and
fickle mistress my friends, learn from the mistake I made and hopefully, with a
little luck (and maybe some grain-alcohol) you won’t be denied the
hot deep-throating action you so deserve.
