The understanding I drew was that hairy, especially as hairy as I was, was chick repellent.
To have Wendy’s cool fingers threading through my chest hair as she ran her hands over my all but naked pecs and her lips danced across my sensitive neck was beyond a turn on. It was redemptive. I was not so disgusting as I’d been led to believe. At least not to everybody.
Even more so when her lips left my neck and she sat up to let her eyes rove over my bare chest by the halogen street light streaming through the fogged windows as her hands pressed the panels of my shirt yet wider. She didn’t say a word. Not with her mouth anyway. Her eyes told me that she liked what she saw.
Although perhaps she was just so far gone in her own haze she just didn’t mind.
Whatever may have been the reason, to have her looking at me like that flipped another switch in my brain to “off”. So much so that I didn’t so much as blink when she tried yanking my shirt tail out and, when it didn’t come, started fumbling with my belt.
“Please.” She moaned then. “I want it off. I want to see you.”
Assuming she meant the shirt, I untied the, largely decorative, knot off to the side of the buckle of my woven leather belt, unbuckled it, and undid the top button of my Levi 501s to untuck my shirt. Her fingers quickly found the last two buttons of my shirt and undid them.
I sat up, pressing close to her, as her hands went to my shoulders to shove my shirt down my arms. On a whim, I nuzzled her neck and let my lips graze the delicate skin there.
I guess that must feel even better for a girl than it does for a guy because Wendy responded by shoving me back and peeling her cable knit sweater over her head.
“Come here.” She said as it fell behind her.
I wasn’t so sure though. But, not because for the first time I was looking at a girl in nothing but a delicate bra from the waist up, not counting ones with staples on either side of their navels.
“Uh, Wendy?” I glanced around. “Should you be shirtless here? What if someone comes?”
“The windows are fogged.” She all but panted. “We’ll see the headlights and I’ll have plenty of time get behind the wheel and either pull my sweater on or drive away before they get close enough to see through them. Besides, I don’t really seem to care right now. Now, please. Kiss me some more.”
There was a flaw in her logic, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
Kissing some more sounded good. It sounded real good. Kissing was my new favorite contact sport.
But, when I leaned up and went for her lips, she tilted her head, moving them away. I might have chased after them with all the drive I’d chased down nimble quarterbacks for three and five yard losses, but she offered up her neck to my mouth instead as her own teeth found my earlobe. Her nails raked my back, drawing upwards against the lay of the hair there, easing an itch I’d never known I had.
God, that felt amazing!
And I don’t think it’s just because I’m particularly hairy either. Over the years, I’ve used that particular trick on no few women, not one of which had a hairy back. And they all rather enjoyed the attention of a good back scratch once I learned to control my strength.