Cheryl was a Hairy Goddess

I explained to her that although she really turned me on, it would take me a while to reload. Cheryl offered to help in any way she could, and during the next couple of hours in that musty basement, she gave her first blow job.

In retrospect it was a horrible blow job, but since no other mouth had ever been on it, I loved it and I knew Cheryl would get better if she practiced. Over the course of the summer, she got plenty of practice down there on that mat, and she did improve. I made sure to wear rubbers from then on, and while it wasn't as much fun that way it was a lot safer.

Poor Cheryl. What I put that girl through, and how willing she was to let me do things to her still amazes me. She would lay there and let me run my fingers through her armpit hair, raking my nails through the dense thickets before licking them flat.

When we made love, she would often end up with her hands gripping the barbell so I could look at her pit hair while going at it. She seemed okay with it all though. I was her first boyfriend, so maybe she thought this was the way it was.

She even let me put my dick under her arm one time, and she let me get off by lowering her arm and letting me fuck her armpit. The sight of the head of my cock popping in and out from under her arm, surrounded by all of that jet black hair, made me cum way too soon.

That was the only time Cheryl let me do that however. You see, after that I walked Cheryl home, and she reappeared back at my door a little later with a horrified look on her face.

"Look!" Cheryl said after I hustled her down to our basement sanctuary.

I should have remembered from countless times of having the tip of my dick stuck to my underwear, that my semen is like an industrial strength adhesive. Poor Cheryl's right armpit was so caked with cum that she could only lift her arm a little ways, enough to show me the milky cum that had her pit hair all fused together.

"I was going to take a shower and I panicked," Cheryl said.

The shower would have taken care of it in no time, but I had a better idea. After running upstairs and getting awarm damp washcloth, I meticulously helped make everything better. After an extended swabbing of her armpit with the cloth and my tongue, Cheryl was as good as new.

"Jimmy," Cheryl whined when I brought her hand down to the bulge in my jeans. "I gotta get back home.

"Here," I said, pulling out my cock and wrapping her hand around it. "I'll be quick."

It took only a couple of minutes to get me off, with Cheryl patiently jerking me off while I licked her armpit like a happy puppy.

"Sometimes I wonder whether you love me or my armpits," Cheryl wondered aloud as she cleaned my semen off of her hand.

She was right. Instead of making my armpit fetish merely a part of our lovemaking, it had become the primary thing. I learned this too late, as I let a good thing slip away when Cheryl finally tired of my overwhelming fixation and broke up with me.

I can't blame her. I was like a kid in a candy shop and had no self-control, but even today I can still say that I never had any better times than in that cellar with Cheryl.

We remained friendly to each other, and she managed to give me a jab where it hurt a few months after we broke up. Cheryl came into the store for something, and the minute she entered the bulding I noticed that she was wearing a sleeveless top.

This is it, I recall thinking. Cheryl wants me back and knows that if she teases me like this I'll be putty in her hands. When she came up to the register she smiled and calmly ran her hand through her hair while we chatted.

Shaved. Gone were those spectacular thickets of rich black hair. Now the tiny hollows were coated with a 5 o'clock shadow of sorts. Granted, the stubble was so thick and dense that it practically made her underarms look black, but they were shaved nonetheless.

I shook my head sadly at this new look, and told her that she was looking good, but not as good as before.

"Never licked a stubbly armpit," I said while trying to imagine what running my tongue through all of those little seedlings would be like.

"You'll never change, Jim," Cheryl said with a smile, and she was right. I never did change.

***

thank you for reading - comments are always welcomed