The beginning: a story of armpits

“Your armpits were the beginning of my corruption,” she said.

I was on the phone with my friend, G.

One of my closest girlfriends is G. When I met her, she had a mediocre sex life with a boyfriend, and was working in a law firm. These days, she’s changed so much. She’s gay. She’s in an incredible lifestyle D/s relationship where she regularly gets bruised so bad that she can’t sit down. Recently she called me and told me this, that my armpits were where it all started.

“I was in denial about my sexuality for so long. The moment it all changed was when you showed me your armpits one day. I remember I was like, whew. I felt something I couldn’t deny any longer.”

As for my armpits, I haven’t shaved them since I met a girl on my study abroad in Italy. Let’s call her P. She almost always wore dark red lipstick and got me to start wearing my lips dark too. Under her armpits were fluffy, curled dark clouds that looked so soft. I wanted to be just like her, and so I stopped shaving. My armpit hair grew out pretty fast. It was light and straight, and when I lifted my arms the little hairs spread like a flower blooming.

I think I remember the day I showed them to G. I was in her kitchen, maybe we were with a few friends. I lifted my arms above my head and said — look, doesn’t it look like a flower?

“After I saw yours, I stopped shaving too,” G said. “And my hairy armpits became a symbol for all the changes that were going to happen in my life.”

A fetish — like for hairy armpits — is just a message about something. If you follow it, it’ll lead you somewhere.