It didn't help that she was light skinned so the hairs were very visible when you got close and there is nothing as disheartening as a good pair of C cups covered by a layer of fuzz, I used to shudder at the thought of wanting to give them some oral attention only to end up with a hairball in my stomach. The thought of me kissing her with my eyes closed would bring up some horrific gay images due to the light layer of fuzz on her upper lip. But on the other hand I always did have thoughts of waking up in post coital bliss warmly snuggled in her fuzz without blankets, and on rainy days sitting with her on the couch combing her fuzz with her favourite brush.
I thought I was the only one who had examined her fuzz and thought she would be far stunning without it until I conferred with my boys and we decided that what we should do (which we never got to doing), would be to put a sleeping pill in her drink and carry her to a farm so the following could be done:
Anyway on a serious note, let it be known that I support fuzzy chics' rights to live free without the fear of being sheared like a sheep in New Zealand come knitting season.
I just realised something else today. I have become that employee who hates his job but comes to work everyday, putting in just enough so as not to be seen as lazy and staying under the radar so that they can get a steady pay check as they search for a better job.
Have a productive and fuzzy day!
