Deciding Thoughtfully on Your Own

An elderly lady sat alone at her small table in a small café during a late afternoon. The sunlight would be longer now, the dark hours receding back, now that it was mid-spring. She wore a gray tweed suit with a skirt and jacket. The jacket had fairly wide lapels and two buttons covered in the same fabric and then the waist of the coat rounded off in front, several inches below the buttons. The skirt was straight and without pleats or ruffles of any type. It wasn't from an expensive store, but it was fairly new and she probably had several others at home that were cut along the same line. She might wear one of these to shop or take herself to dinner.

Just now the sunlight was affected by storm clouds that were small but frequent, causing shadows to come and go on her shoulders and features.

She had had one Cosmopolitan and a glass of white wine. Now she was holding her glass up to signal for a second glass of wine. She sat demurely at the table with her back erect and her knees together and cocked slightly to her right. Her feet were crossed, one foot hooked behind the other, and she wore low heels of imitation alligator.

She seemed, from the look on her face, to be perhaps a little sad, but content to sit alone in the small café and drink afternoon wine. In front of her sat a small, shallow dish of olive oil with crushed herbs. On a plate to its side were an assortment of olives and a bit of mozzarella. She would raise an olive to a point just in front of her mouth and pause, and think, never looking at the olive. After a few moments, she would eat it.

Two younger women were observing her. One was twenty-seven or twenty-eight. She had long brunette hair parted on the left. It swirled down on both sides of her face, past her ears and stopped an inch above her shoulders. The other woman was older, perhaps thirty-nine or forty. She was free with her dark natural curls. In the back, her hair flourished and then finished just a touch below the natural hairline. They, too, were drinking white wine, and they were chatting.

The younger one was talking, even as they watched the elderly lady.

"So, you know, I'm wondering whether to shave my pussy smooth or not. I'm wondering if Gary would like that or does he prefer me to be natural?"

The older of the two was watching the elderly woman and thinking about her. "I heard she lost her husband about four years ago. She got a small job and then in that last recession, about a year ago, she lost her job, too."

"How did he die?" said the young one. "He couldn't have been that old."

"Suicide, I think. That's what I heard. Lost all his money in some investment or other."

"Hmmm. Maybe she should have committed suicide, too, from what you say."

The two pulled their attention away from the elderly woman and sipped their wine.

"What about shaving my pussy?" said the younger one. "What's your opinion?"

The older woman said, "Well, haven't you asked him? Or do you feel like you don't need to."

The younger one was regarding the elderly lady again, but actually talking to the older one. "I think as long as I sit on his face he'll be happy. So the answer probably is, do I want the bother of shaving just so I can feel smooth down there, and know I did it when most people don't have a clue. Or should I leave myself luxurious and dark?"

"Most people don't have a clue about your pussy hair anyway. And they likely don't care."

The younger one pointed discretely toward the other table.

"Take her, for instance. Do you think she shaves between her legs?"

"I don't know. Why don't you ask her if you can have a look?" The younger woman at least acted as though she had missed the joke. "Hmmm," she said, "I suppose I could, you know. How do you think that would look?"

"How do I think what would look?"

"Me going over there and sitting down with her and then after a few minutes asking her if she shaved and would she show me her pussy?"

"It would look like something only you might do." She paused. "I think the craze for women shaving their pussies probably started well after the, ah, springtime of her youth." They both looked at the elderly lady in gray. "Why do you have this question about shaving the girl? I mean, I get the cozy secret of feeling smooth and nobody knows it thing, but what is it with you and Gary? I think most women just decide about that on their own."

The younger woman grinned wickedly. "If I tell you, it stays between us, right?" The older woman nodded.

"Do you shave your pussy?" she asked abruptly.

The older woman took a sip of her wine. "Not currently," she said. "But you're young and still crazy."

The waitress brought them each a fresh glass of wine. She nodded the smallest nod toward the elderly lady. She had just taken a fresh glass to her as well. She took their empty glasses and her tray and walked back toward the bar. The younger woman nodded over at the elderly lady. The older of the two at the table rested her elbow and ducked her head behind her fist.

"I didn't think she'd seen us looking at her," she said. She looked at the younger one with some animus. "Why didn't you ask the waitress if she shaved hers, then? I mean, you seem so interested," she asked.

The younger one had the wicked grin back. "Let me tell you why I'm interested. So, Gary likes to lie on his back. I move up and grab the headboard and pull my pussy up over his face. He gets so excited that he moans, honestly! I sit up straight and, Bang! He sticks his nose straight up into me."

"Wow."

"I know. But, so, like where does that leave his mouth and his tongue, huh? Where?"

The older woman said nothing.

"Right, sister! Right down at the bottom of my perineum. Right at the edge of my asshole! And when he does that he puts a hand on each side of my ass and spreads me and I just don't know what he's going to do!"

She was quiet and dreamy, with a huge smile on her face.

"You know what squirting is?" she said. Her eyes were closed.

The sky was clearing, the shadows diminishing. The elderly lady at the next table signaled for another glass of wine. The head waitress came over with the wine and a check and talked gently with her. The woman objected and picked up her glass. She gestured, like, what's the big deal? The head waitress kept talking quietly to her. After a minute, she nodded her head. Rather quickly she drank her last glass. She signed the check and stood up. As she left the café, her gait was a bit unsteady but her deportment was much to be admired. The older woman had watched her while the younger woman enjoyed her rapturous thoughts.

"You do know what squirting is, don't you?" she asked again.

"Yes," the older woman said, having watched the elderly woman safely out the door.

"See, after he takes his nose out of me, he moves up that little valley that runs between your pussy lips. You know? That valley?"

"Yes," said the older woman.

"And I slide down just a little bit as he moves up just a little bit. And then he reaches my clit. Oh, my god. Mind you, he still has my asshole spread with his hands. He moves his hands until he's like gently rimming my hole with his fingertips. And I can still feel where his nose was inside of me. And now he's tonguing my clit and, wow! Does that man have a tongue! He has the fucking Beethoven of tongues! I'm sitting up straight over his mouth like I have a rod up my spine and he says, 'Pull your lips apart.' You kidding me! So I do.

"I'm telling you, it's like being at the gynecologist office, except I'm on top."

The older woman just listened.

"And a couple of times he's gotten me so hot that I've squirted. I never squirted before in my life. And when it happened, he moved into a position where he could swallow me. Jesus God! One night it excited him so much that he came on my back, us just lying there. I could feel his warm spray climbing up and down my back. He wasn't even jerking himself." She paused and smiled. "Poor thing. I about drowned him when he came, he convulsed so much."

She calmed herself. She looked at her older friend and said, "So that's how good it is." The wine may have been affecting her. A kind of a glassy look had dawned within her eyes.

The older woman said, "And what does this have to do with pussy hair?" She noticed the daylight beginning slightly to turn. It should be a beautiful afternoon and sunset. The light filtering through the windows began to turn a rosy color and luscious.

The younger woman got a pensive look on her face. "Well, what I've told you, you might say he's seen and touched and tasted just about everything. So I'm thinking I might give him a different look. I mean, he tells me to spread my vagina above his face, but with all the hair he can't really see everything, know what I mean? And one night after he fell asleep, I stayed up looking at him with just the light from the bedside table, and I found some of my pussy hairs that had come off into his chin hair. You know, my long hairs in his scrubbly chin stuff. I picked them off one by one, but I thought, what if he had found them there in the morning? Like, looking in the mirror? That would be so icky. So that's what I'm thinking about."

Both women were quiet and thought their own thoughts. The younger one said, "I gotta go pee. Want to come with me?" The two headed for the Ladies Room.

This being a small café, one with at times a predominantly female clientele, the tables were glass-topped and their wrought-iron frames were painted a pure white. The floor was a dark gray vinyl tile and always glisteningly clean. It should be no surprise that the Ladies was spotless and bright. It had only one toilet but that had a stall around it. Its walls were rust-free and recently recoated with a lovely light blue color of paint. Across from the toilet was a wide vanity with a large mirror above and a five-light fixture with soft, muted bulbs.

The younger woman went into the stall but didn't close the door. She hiked her skirt up and sat all the way down on the seat. The older woman looked at her make-up and lipstick in the mirror and patiently waited her turn. She kept her glance averted from the open door of the stall, but she heard the rush of pee and then the pull of tissue from the toilet paper roll.

"See? Come over here and I'll show you what I'm talking about."

The older woman walked over and looked into the stall.

The young one sat on the toilet with her panties dropped all the way down to her ankles. She hiked up her skirt just a bit higher and spread her knees. "See?" she said.

She displayed a bush of very dark, soft-looking pussy hair.

"Do you mind flushing that?" said the older one. The younger woman grinned a sheepish grin. "Oops!" She reached back and pushed down the handle to flush her pee away.

"Sorry," she said. "It's mostly just the wine. Goes right through you. What do you think of my hair down there?" She was leaning down looking at herself. The older woman got down to take a closer look.

"You can come closer," the younger one said. "She won't bite you." She pulled her lips slightly apart.

The older one scooted a step closer. The skin on the top edge of each inner labia was very dark and contrasted with the rosy pink of her vagina. The hair was abundant, rich and dark.

"And, see, here's my clit. I love my clit," said the younger one.

The older woman said, "Don't take this the wrong way, okay?" She reached forward and touched the hair of the young woman. It was soft and flaxen. "If it were me, and I was this guy Gary, I wouldn't want you to shave off that beautiful hair. It's much more beautiful than mine."

A pause, then, "Good idea!" said the younger woman. She reached down and pulled up her panties. She stood up and shrugged down her skirt. "Let's switch and see what you look like down there."

The older woman had stood and stepped back a step to let her friend arrange her clothes.

"Well, no," she said. "I don't feel like doing that. I mean, it's okay if you do, but I don't want to do that."

A flash of anger whipped behind the younger one's eyes. "I thought you were going to show me yours, too."

"Well I'm sorry. I don't know where you got that idea. I never said anything about that."

The younger one stepped past her in a huff. Then she whirled back.

"You planned this. You made me think we could share some things, all to get me to embarrass myself and show you my pussy."

She tucked her blouse into her skirt and grabbed her purse and went to the door. "I thought we were friends," she said angrily. And with that she walked out.

The older woman finally had her chance to sit down on the john and pee. She latched the restroom door and then stepped into the stall and latched that door closed, too. She could feel the pee let down from her body and through her urethra into the bowl below. Once done, she wiped herself and then just sat there. She looked down at herself. Her own vulva was as smooth and bare as a baby's bottom. The events of the last twenty minutes had strangely excited her. The "little valley between her pussy lips" was damp with her liquid. Lightly she touched her clit and felt a powerful tingle.

Her own inner labia were slightly less protuberant than had been her young friend's. And she had no darkish tinge running along her top edges. But her labia were full enough that they folded over neatly into a nice, tight little envelope.

On a good day, when she got herself off, she could make herself come in about three minutes. When she was distracted or angry, it could take six or seven. Today was a good day.

Following her style developed since her teen years, she used the forefinger and middle finger of her left hand to pull gently sideways from a point just outside of her clit. With her the forefinger and middle finger on her right hand she continued to stimulate herself. Then she took those fingers and ran then them down the little valley between her lips and actually into her vaginal opening. She found there plenty of rich moisture. The rest was just as straightforward. In less than two minutes, she could perceive her own small pelvic thrusts. She sped up her fingers. Her eyes fluttered and closed.

In her mind was the picture of her younger friend's pussy with its luxuriant hair. The secret joy was that she liked her own vagina better. She shaved herself smooth because it made her feel sexier, simple as that. The private feeling of shaving, the secret knowledge about herself when she was at work, the admiring glances of male friends from time to time in very private situations.

She was getting close.

She had turned her head to her right and opened and then closed her eyes. Her fingers kept up their rapid motion, with the occasional run down and back up her woman's labial valley. When she would come, it was not a wham-bam type of feeling. It lasted a while, and at a high level of pleasurable glory. She could feel that feeling nearing as her fingers pin-wheeled around and across her clitoral nub. And when she would come, her knees would always convulse and move. Left or right, up or down, it didn't matter. It was an uncontrollable reaction to the magic of her fingers. And her upper body at the same time would clutch forward and she knew she was making a face that grew tight and was almost making a frown, though it was anything but a frown. And this all happened now.

Her upper body clutched forward several times as she kept her fingers moving. Then she slowed, and then she stopped. She kept her eyes closed and took several deep breaths. Her body slowed its surge and chemistry. The world slipped back to a normal pace. Her thoughts bounced around from work to her most recent man to the book she was reading. She just let them bounce. After a short while, she stood up and re-arranged her clothing and flushed the john. She stepped out and washed her hands carefully. With a last careful look at herself in the mirror, she walked back out into the café. The elderly lady had long gone, hopefully for a nice nap. Her young companion had furiously left. The light from outside was bright but nearing deep sunset tones. She went to the bar and ordered a small glass of Grand Marnier. As she sipped, she daydreamed about calling her new male friend and proposing something lurid, but decided against it. She liked making her own decisions about herself and what she wanted to do next.

The young lady tending bar walked by and pointed at her empty glass. "Another?" she said.

"Definite maybe for now," she said, feeling just a tad cocky. She smiled at the girl. She would learn. Girls have to decide these things thoughtfully for themselves. On their own.