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The remaining days of our brief trip to New Mexico were relaxed and fun. My dad finally got his opportunity to show me off to some of his friends and faculty colleagues, and they were appropriately admiring of his oversized son’s athletic accomplishments.
Peggy and Maria became fast friends, and nothing more was discussed about Peggy’s unusual occupation. Tad got the attention a prospective grandson would expect to receive, and the boy really liked Albuquerque.
The Friday morning after Maria’s great Thanksgiving feast, we packed up my big Ford pickup, said our goodbyes, and were on the road back to Georgia before noon.
We took the whole weekend to get back -- not pushing for speed, but instead enjoying the changing landscape -- much of which, driving through New Mexico and Texas, was very different from anything in Peg’s or Tad’s experience. By the time we crossed the Mississippi River at Memphis, things were looking a lot more like home.
Sharing motel rooms on the way back with Tad, Peggy and I were appropriately circumspect in our behavior, but our first night back in Lawrenceville, unpacked, well-fed, well-wined and showered, it was different.
We were sharing Peggy’s bedroom now. I was no longer a mere guest. I was in her big bed, hoping that when she came out of the bathroom she would be as naked and as horny as I was.
She didn’t disappoint. She was, indeed, in her birthday suit, tanned and fit as always, her skin bearing a hint of bronze without any sign of tanlines.
I made a mental note to ask her how she managed that.
It was pretty clear that it was going to be an exceptional homecoming. But first, Peggy wanted to talk a bit. “Notice anything different about me?”
“Well, you haven’t been coming to bed nekkid the last couple ‘days.”
“Something more ... fundamental,” she said.
She was partially covered with the sheet, but I carefully examined whatever was visible. “Nope,” I said. “Same ol’ amazing.”
She flipped back the sheet covering her lower half, lifted her buttocks off the bed, braceing with both hands, and gave me an up-close look at her pudenda.
“You’re getting a little hairy!” I said.
“It’s been a while since I’ve had a Brazilian,” she said, “and I quit shaving during our little vacation trip.”
It was quite a sight. Little shiny blonde hairs were springing up under and around the landing strip. For the moment, they looked a little spiky, but when I rubbed a thumb against the grain just outside those tender little inner lips, the newly grown hair was soft and supple. “I don’t think I’m going to get razor-burn,” I said.
“Do you like it?”
“You’re going to grow it out?”
“Yep ... unless you don’t like it.”
“Oh, I think I’m gonna like it. To tell you the truth, I kind-of prefer the old-fashioned way. And, Jesus -- you’re a True Blonde! That’s the lightest blonde I’ve ever seen on a pussy.”
“You’ve seen a lot of blonde pussies, have you?”
“Not enough, no. But even most true blondes have drapes that are lighter than their carpet. Not my Peggy.”
“So you don’t mind? You’re not going to stop pearl-diving if I stop shaving?”
“Never! I’m liable never to come back up for air. I’ll be able to recapture my youth!”
‘
“You get any younger, you’ll be illegal! But tell me about this ‘recaptured youth’ thing. Are you saying that Whatshername -- Aurora -- had a hairy one?”
“Oh, Jesus yes!” I said. “I mean, a gentleman isn’t supposed to mention such things, but, hey, wow! It was a jungle! That child had never shaved. Never so much as had a trim! It was a shocker, that first time I saw it. Aurora’s family was -- I already told you -- they were the cream of society back home. Really classy people. My folks were middle class midwesterners, transplanted to the southwest.”
“So you associated shaved pussies with being upper class? You expected Aurora to have a full Brazilian as ... what? An 18-year-old high school kid?”
“I didn’t expect anything in particular. We were both 17 and I knew from nothing about shaved snatches. Besides, this was a while back, and it was Albuquerque -- not San Francisco. I doubt that shaving had become all that universal back then, at least, not in New Mexico.”
“So. Was it too hairy for you?”
Peggy was enjoying this.
“Oh, hell no!” I said. “It was amazing! Bouncy, her hair was! Springy-like. And it was all over the place! Pitch-black, soft and curly and wonderful -- and, eventually, I found out that everything was right where it was supposed to be, down deep, there, underneath!”
I think Peggy was a little disappointed, hearing all this passionate praise for a pussy so different from her own. “Sounds like maybe you prefer it that way,” she said.
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