Hairy Mary puts on a show

Hard on the beach

It was only some years later that my hair fetish became fully sexualised. Once again Mary Morris was centre-stage - Mary Morris the accidental exhibitionist .
It was the day of the annual school trip to the seaside: a short coach trip with most of the village there as various parents came along to help and supervise.
I had just come out of the sea. There was Mrs Morris with her daughter Chloe and little Johnny. Chloe was wet and shivering.
“You going back for your towel Jim?” Mrs Morris asked. “Be a love and take Chloe with you. Look after her for a minute while I dangle Johnny in the waves, he hasn’t been in yet.”
So there I was, walking up the beach with little Chloe Morris. Unselfconsciously she slipped her hand into mine and I could feel the convulsions of her shuddering little body as we tramped in silence over the sand and through the pebbles.
“Which is your towel?”
She pointed and I d****d it over her. Then we sat down and waited. Somehow she was still holding my hand and I didn’t mind it, but I was terrified some of my friends might see me. I wanted to be off.
Soon Mrs Morris was crunching back up the beach with Johnny on one hip. She came up and stood looking around, pointing out people they might know to the little boy. And every time she lifted her arm, there it was - a little tuft in her armpit.
Dark against the soft white skin, it repelled me. My mother certainly had no hair there. No women I knew had hairy armpits. It wasn’t natural, it wasn’t normal. And yet every time she let her arm drop by her side, I was impatient for her to spot someone else and point them out. When the arm was raised again it seemed to me graceful and relaxed: well-muscled and tanned above, soft and yielding underneath, with that provocative hairy pit that drew my eyes like a magnet.
As long as the scene went on I could not look away, but eventually she turned and asked Chloe how she was and then stood looking dreamily out to sea. The show was over and surely it was time for me to make my excuses and leave.
But now, three feet in front of me were Mary’s firm white legs. I stared at her full calves and the long fine hairs that covered them. Some still wet from the sea and plastered against her skin, just as I had last seen them in the shop. Others were drying and softly wafted by the sea breeze. I was transfixed. I hardly dared, but Mrs Morris was chatting away to the three of us, looking out to sea, so I allowed my eyes to move on up past her knees to ample hairy thighs and even more ample buttocks encased in her stretched black bathing costume.
I held my breath, my heart was pounding.
Mrs Morris glanced down at me for a moment and I looked away. She adjusted her position and shifted Johnny on her hip, then she was chatting away again and when I looked up there it was, pubic hair sprouting out from between her now slightly parted legs. On one side the costume was pulled across and I could see a little portion of her fat hairy labia poking out of its tight confines.
The rest of her vulva was invisible but clearly outlined under the stretchy fabric. I was fascinated for a moment and then panic set in. My own pubic area was feeling as tightly outlined as hers. My pink little willy, surrounded by the first adolescent thicket of hairs, was growing fast.
I soon had an uncontrollable boner. As it hardened it began to poke out under my bathing shorts. When I looked down I could see its red angry tip squished against my thigh. When I looked up there was the vision of the hairy quim of a fully grown woman and it grew harder still.
With one hand still held by Chloe I had to put the other down to cover my obvious excitement. It was crazy, but as I gazed I began to diddle my tight foreskin with one finger. My eyes ran appreciatively up the fine calves, over the pink dimpled area behind the knees and onto the soft thighs and back into the dark thicket of hair and all round that tantalizing bulge of woman flesh. It was as though I was running my hands over her and I desperately wanted to touch. …
Suddenly Mrs Morris was looking straight at me as she turned and plonked Johnny down on the stones in front of me. I squirmed and drew my legs tightly together, but she did not seem to notice as she bent down, and began rubbing her son with a towel.
Scene three was now beginning and it was so perfect I could not believe that she was not putting on a deliberate show. Surely she must want me to ogle her magnificent cleavage, because there it was, level with my eyes and oscillating rhythmically as she worked the towel. She seemed oblivious and as she bent further to take off Johnny’s trunks, there they both were, dangling and distinctly separate beneath her gaping costume.
Breathless, almost panting, I just did not know what to do. My dick was bigger and stiffer than it had ever been and throbbing between my thighs. I could not walk away, so I sat it out and soon discovered there was more to come.
Johnny was dealt with, so it was Chloe’s turn and Mrs Morris was now so close I could smell her damp costume and that womanly odour I had first encountered in the sweet shop. She rubbed Chloe down vigorously and her shaky pink flesh filled my field of vision. At one point Johnny began to rummage in the picnic basket and as his mother turned to see what was going on her shoulder strap slipped.
For a split second there it was, a full round breast hanging free before my eyes. The nipple was pink and prominent, surrounded by a darker halo – and then it was gone. With an unconcerned “Oops”, Mrs Morris whipped her strap back up and peeled off Chloe’s costume.
It really was time for me to go and I had a moment of inspiration.
“Mrs Morris, I’d better go and change, but I’m a bit cold. Can I borrow a towel?”
“Yes of course Jim. Here’s mine, it’s still dry. Thank you to looking after Chloe so nicely. I’ll see you on the bus.”
I let the towel d**** over my groin and got up awkwardly. If Mrs Morris thought it was odd that a cold boy did not immediately wrap the towel around him, she did not say anything or even glance at me as I sidled away down the beach towards the changing rooms under the promenade.
I paused momentarily to ease my stiffness into a more comfortable position. It was still standing tall and I tucked into the waistband of my shorts as best I could. In fact I was not in the least bit cold. I was hotter than I had ever been. Suffused with a delayed blush and panting for real now.
Something has awakened in me that was going to be hard to suppress and I remember feeling a little downcast that Mary clearly still thought of me as a little boy, when I was obviously more of a young man than I had ever been and had a fat erection to prove it.
I had seen them both – cunt and titties – the twin grails of any growing boy. And not just little girly things, but full and frightening on a grown woman. And I had seen those mysterious hairs as well, and the armpits. The armpits were a puzzle. But I had seen them.
And then, as I walked at a snail’s pace, waiting for my stiffness to wear off, I realised I had seen another strange wonder. When Mary’s great bosom had swung free for that magic second I had registered the soft whiteness of it and the redness of the nipple, but it now seemed to me that I had also seen a fringing network of fine hairs clustered about the teat.
Now that wasn’t normal. No not normal, but It was all excitingly strange. And my new-found manhood seemed harder than ever as I approached the changing room door.

To be continued