[Update: This post is old, read more recent stories about lady business here.]
I remember the first time I tried to shave off all my pubic hair. It had just started growing, and I didn’t understand that it was supposed to be there yet, and I got razor burn. I think there was a part of me that wanted to prevent it from growing because that meant, you know, a lot of things in my body were going to change, and I wasn’t ready for that … Except for tits. I really wanted big tits.
Fortunately, I didn’t have the power to stop either from “blossoming” full force, though I tried in vain to keep the lawn mowed. I groomed ruthlessly through middle school and high school so as not to be embarrassed come time for locker room changes and the inevitable girl-on-girl shaming that came with it. For some reason, there was this universal understanding that it was horribly unsexy to have hair down there. Going off Cosmo and the occasional, curious viewing of porn, we had assessed that guys “didn’t like that.” So we shared waxing tips and salon references and come time for swimsuit season or intimate encounters, at least we felt sure we had done one thing right. But one day my freshman year of college, I ceased all unnecessary carpet cleaning. After a routine shower shave (in college, there is no money for waxings, only cocktails), I actually stopped to look at my naked self in the mirror. After a few moments of inspection, I realized something incredibly disturbing: my vagina looked pre-pubescent. Just the way it did before I ever had pubic hair to shave. And I thought about all the guys who had complimented my refined love-rug and turned immediately averse to them. How could they be attracted to something that looked so much like a child?
That thought alone was enough for me. I let it grow back. All the way back. And it was itchy and uncomfortable, but once my pubic hair was back at its rightful length I felt like I had actually grown into my adult self, my natural womanhood. And I felt truly sexy. I also found, to my naïve bewilderment, that guys really don’t give a fuck. Like really don’t give a fuck.
I’ll admit: I still can’t let it sprawl halfway down my leg when I put on a string bikini. It’s not like I want to scare off the entire beach-going public. But my bush is fairly prominent, and now I have two products of puberty I can be proud of: big tits and a big bush.