OH DEAR, TRIM THAT BUSH!

 

You’re somewhat inebriated – and at your doorstep – with your right hand fumbling in your pockets for your keys while the other neatly wrapped round the waist, and a little bit onto the rear, of the dolly belle in whose company you’ve been engrossed for the better part of the night. You don’t know her; you probably don’t even remember her name by now. But she seems like a nice girl – I mean, she doesn’t look like the type you’d bang and then wake up the next morning only to find her missing and your T.V set gone. But, in any case, you don’t even have a T.V set [or anything worth making away with for that matter] so what the hell. Plus she has a nice ass. An ass so fine it could make an atheist believe in the mysterious ways of the Mighty Creator. An ass so fine it could make the gay community reconsider their stand.

You put the keys into the key-hole, turn it a little onto the right to open and swing the door ajar; ushering in your companion with the naughtiest of grins. You want to mumble “Mi casa es su casa” but the words just won’t come out. Not that you feel like talking anyway, you say a lot of dumb shit when you’ve had one too many. So you hold her softly by the arm, marshal her in and shut the door behind you.

Then you turn facing her, and without even switching the lights back on, pull her towards you with the force of a magnet drawn to another and lock your lips into hers in a warm long-lasting Fifty-Shades-Of-Grey-like kiss. You move your itchy hands up her body; fondling her thighs, bottom, hips, back and now steady breasts in the process. You run your tongue up and down her neck – kissing it furiously – as she grabs you tightly on the back, breathing heavily down your neck, and her sharp finger nails dig deeper into your skin. But you don’t feel any pain. If anything, the thrill only turns you on.

You take off her blouse and undo her bra gently like it’s some sort of bomb that will blow up at the slightest wrong touch. You stare at her boobs for a second – with your eyes wide open like some kindergarten kid who just saw candy for the first time – before digging into them with your whole face. You have never seen breasts so round – so sizable; so spotless; so perfect – before. You graze over them; licking and nudging her nipples in the most seductive way possible. Her breathing increases and she rips off your t-shirt, and dips her right hand inside your pants; in search of the ‘man’ with the iron fist. And when she finds ‘him’, you couldn’t be any more at peace your whole life. The pleasure is infinite; the tingle is incomparable. You don’t want her to stop.

You pull up her short skirt, revealing the fairly whitish knickers underneath those shapely thighs. You remove these too – with sharp precision and immense lust – sliding them down her long randy legs. You notice she’s struggling with your belt so you help her, and within a few minutes, you’re both naked and staring at each other in longing silence. You lift her up – your hands on her now warm ass – and toss her onto the bed. This is a promising night, you tell yourself.

You remember some piece of advice a friend of yours once told you, advice that is just about to bring to a grinding halt an almost perfect night. It rings in your head.

“Son, if you ever go down on a woman, rest assured, she’ll come back begging for more”.

You definitely want this one coming back. You want her asking for your number [instead of the other way round] when she leaves the next morning. You want her texting you ten minutes after she leaves saying how much she misses your soft lips between her thighs. So you heed to that albeit gross crappy piece of advice with all that you got.

You gently tease her nipples with your tongue, moving down to her tummy and then her navel –making camp there in anticipation and to get her ‘horned’ up for the next station. Then, sweetly and provocatively, you move your tongue down to her genitalia.

Your tongue stumbles upon something; something furry. Hair. Pubic Hair. It’s just a little at first so you ignore it and move on. Then more hair. And even more hair. You begin to wonder if you really stuck your tongue in the right place; where it belonged. Down there feels more like Karura Forest than the serene point of desire mankind has for ages presumed it to be. It feels like you just bumped into some orchestra conduction for stray cats down low.

Your tongue feels a tad bit shaggy and prickly by now. Like you just stuck it into a beehive; Like you just swallowed the chin of Anyang’ Nyong’o. You couldn’t find what you were looking for; it was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Or chasing an Asian man through China town [is it just me or do all these Asian folk look the same? With their tiny eyes and baby- faces and soft creasy hair]

Okay, that’s enough graphic display for one article.

Understand this ladies, a man’s pubic hair is his pride; his symbol of man-hood. We can fondle with it when we’re bored and let it grow ten-fold but, take this to the bank, it will still emit the saccharine whiff of a Chris Adams perfume if you go down there. If your region is still smooth, don’t worry kiddo. Just don’t watch any Angelina Jolie movie either. Yet.

But a woman’s pubic hair is just her destruction. You’re an automatic turn off if I touch your vajayjay and it feels like Amin Dada dumped mutilated bodies from Uganda down there; or World War freaking II was fought down there and all manner of weaponry discarded.

Female genitalia covered with hair feels like a training camp for freedom fighters with their long dreads et al and looks like some slack-jawed feckless pack of bozos wanked themselves off on it. It’s disgusting, in the very least.

Trim a little, from time to time. Check the garden every now and then. Make sure the weeds do not overstay their welcome.

Keep your privates neat and smooth at all times ladies. We want women who can keep themselves clean; especially down there; especially if you have a man who loves his occasional trips down town. Don’t just sing along to Kelly Rowland’s “I love my kisses down low” when you know it’s a freaking hell-bound train down there. Be wise.

So if you know you have a bush and your boyfriend is coming over this weekend, run to your nearest waxing boutique [is that what they’re called?] real quick. Your relationship depends on it, take that from me.

As T.I raps in ‘No Mediocre’, “Girl I should see nothing but p***y when I look down there”.

 

And that’s free advice. Take it or leave it.