The Book of Cunt

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Carol sort of started it. We had been making the beast with two backs, and we were just lying there in post-coital contemplation when Carol said that she thought that she might start shaving.

‘Shaving? I started shaving when I was thirteen,’ I told her. ‘And then I gave up halfway through the year that I started university. And I haven’t shaved since.’

Carol laughed. ‘Down south,’ she said.


‘Yes. What do you think?’

What did I think? To be honest, I wasn’t sure. So I played for time. ‘What… umm… prompted this thought?’ I asked.

‘I was just trimming the edges, tidying up the bits that otherwise sneak out from under my bikini bottoms, and I thought: Why don’t I go the whole hog? So… what do you think? Yes? No?’

I still didn’t know. But, conveniently, Carol was lying on her back, and so I knelt between her spread legs and stared at her cunt. ‘Gosh. I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I suppose it might work. Although, personally, I think I like you with a bit of hair. A bit of bush.’


‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘Perhaps it’s just what I’ve always known. What I’m used to. Perhaps it’s just my age. A hangover from when I first got interested in…. Well, you know. When I first discovered Penthouse. Bob Guccione liked a bit of bush. And H and E.’

‘Did Vicky have a bush?’

(Vicky was one of my exes.) ‘Vicky? Vicky had silky scrub,’ I said. ‘Blonde. But, yes.’

‘And what about Belinda?’

‘Yes. She had quite a little forest. But very fine. Very soft. Angel hair.’

‘Perhaps I could start by trimming it very short,’ Carol said.

I reached out and ran my fingers through her lower locks. ‘Wouldn’t that make it a bit… well… scratchy?’ I said.

‘I don’t know,’ Carol said. ‘I think I read somewhere that if you use lots of conditioner.’

‘I suppose you could try.’ But, even as I said it, I realised that I didn’t sound very enthusiastic. And then, almost without thinking, I reached out and picked up my phone and zapped off a few snaps.

‘What are you doing?’ Carol asked.

‘Giving you something to remember it by. Remember the way that it was.’

‘It’ll grow back, for goodness sake,’ she said.

‘Ah… but will it?’ I asked. ‘Will it grow back? That’s the question.’

‘Of course it will. The bits along the edges grow back. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have to keep snipping them.’

‘I knew a girl who shaved off part of her eyebrows,’ I told Carol. ‘They didn’t grow back.’

‘I think that might be different,’ Carol said.

It was at that point, and while I had my phone in my hand, that I noticed the time. It was later than I realised. ‘I’m supposed to be meeting Lorraine at four,’ I told Carol. ‘We need to decide what we are going to do about deliveries. This Covid business has the customers all wanting to place an order online and then have the wine delivered the same day. Right to their door. Contactless.’

‘Can you blame them?’

‘No. Probably not. Although you’d think that they could plan a bit,’ I said. ‘But we’re going to need a bigger delivery crew. Or something.’

‘What about my photographs?’ Carol said.

‘Oh. Yes. I’ll email them to you.’

It was ten past by the time that I got to the store. ‘Sorry,’ I said to Lorraine. ‘I was detained.’

‘Detained? Sounds serious.’

‘Well, side-tracked. Carol wanted to talk to me about shaving.’

‘Oh? Is your beard going?’ And Lorraine looked at me with her head tilted to one side. ‘I can’t imagine you without a beard.’

‘Not me,’ I said. ‘Carol. Down south. She’s thinking of going bare. Wanted my opinion.’

‘Oh?’ Lorraine smiled. ‘And what was your opinion?’

I laughed. ‘I think I like a bit of hair,’ I said. ‘I’m not sure why.’

Lorraine nodded.

‘Are you…?’

Lorraine nodded again. ‘Why? Do you want to see?’

Lorraine and I had been friends and business partners for more than ten years, and yet there were escort izmir still times when I wasn’t sure if she was pulling my leg or not. ‘You could send me a photograph,’ I said. ‘You know… if you felt like it.’

‘OK,’ Lorraine said. ‘Now… what are we going to do about this delivery business? Online sales are going through the roof. But walk-ins are way down. Way, way down. We need to do something.’

‘It would be helpful if we knew how long all this was going to be going on for,’ I said.

Lorraine smiled. ‘It would also be helpful if we knew the winning numbers for next weekend’s lottery,’ she said. And, of course, she had a point.

In the end we decided that we would try and get a couple of ‘man-with-a-van’ contractors for three months. ‘That’ll give us three vans — including Rufus,’ I said. ‘And if this is still happening in three months time… well, we might have to look at something more permanent.’

When I got back to my flat, I called Rufus to let him know what we were thinking. It turned out that he knew a couple of guys who might be just what we were looking for. ‘You had better be quick though,’ he said. ‘Demand for couriers seems to be going ballistic.’

The following morning, I awoke to be greeted by a bunch of emails. Buried in among all the ‘limited time only’ offers, there was an email from Lorraine. The email came with a couple of attachments — which, at first, I assumed were probably sales summaries from the previous day. But no. They were jpegs. ‘Enjoy’ was the one word in the subject line. Lorraine was given to passing on little cartoons and other internet ‘entertainments’, so I left them to be enjoyed later in the day.

It was almost midday by the time that I got my morning chores and other miscellaneous crises out of the way. I had no doubt that there would be another batch in the afternoon, but, for the moment, things were more or less under control. I made myself a coffee and sat down to enjoy Lorraine’s cartoons or whatever. Except they weren’t cartoons. They were photographs. Photographs of a rather attractive female pudendum nestled in a sparse nest of salt and pepper hair. In the absence of any advice to the contrary, I assumed that the pudendum belonged to Lorraine herself.

‘Very nice,’ I emailed back. ‘Why have I had to wait so long to feast my eyes on this delight?’

‘I don’t recall you ever asking before,’ came the reply. There was also a large smiley. And, yes, Lorraine had a point. Ask and ye just may receive, I reminded myself. There was no guarantee of course. But it was always a possibility.

Both Carol’s and Lorraine’s ‘snaps’ had looked exotic, erotic, and alluring on the small screen of my smartphone. And, later that afternoon, they looked even better on my big screen monitor. Accidental masterpieces?

Carol’s cunt was quite open — which may have had something to do with the fact that, minutes before I had photographed it, it had been hosting my hard cock). Her almost-matching flappy inner labia spread like a glistening pink butterfly. And the reddish-brown hair (that she was considering shaving off) grew upwards, away from the head of her cuntal valley, before spreading out across her beautiful mound.

Lorraine’s cunt was more closed, with plump outer labia and a stand of salt-and-pepper bush that would have made any arborist proud.

I opened my top-of-the-line photo editing app and started playing with hue, tint, tone, and shade. The software package had not been cheap. But photography was my little indulgent hobby. And then I fired up my professional-level printer. The resulting prints were everything that I hoped they would be. Pretty as a picture? Prettier than a picture — if that was possible. And super sexy too.

The next question was: what was I going to do with them? They were just crying out to be mounted and framed and hung on the wall in my home study. The only problem was: my home study was also where escort izmir I often held business meetings. And then it struck me. I would create a book. Yes. Folio-sized. Leather bound perhaps. Something that could take pride of place in my bookshelf. Maybe tucked in between The Times Atlas of the World and Helmut Newton’s White Women. The Book of Cunt had a certain ring to it.

I had just made my decision when the doorbell rang. It was Amelia. My neighbour. ‘There was a courier earlier,’ she said. And she handed me a small parcel.

‘Oh. Yes. Thank you,’ I said. ‘Hopefully, that will be a new water filter for my coffeemaker.’ And I glanced at my watch. ‘A glass of wine?’ I suggested. ‘It must be about that time.’

‘Umm….’ She seemed hesitant. ‘Oh, OK, then,’ she said, eventually. ‘I suppose if we stay a metre apart. Or is it two metres?’

‘I think it might be two metres,’ I said. ‘But we can manage that.’

I went and got a chilled bottle of Dry Riesling and a couple of glasses. ‘If you sit on one side of the coffee table and I sit on the other, we should be all right,’ I told her. I poured a couple of glasses of wine and indicated for Amelia to help herself to one. ‘Cheers,’ I said.

Cheers,’ she echoed. ‘How is business? There don’t seem to be many people out and about.’

‘In-store is dire,’ I told her. ‘Dire. But online has gone mad. I’ve just had to hire another couple of delivery drivers.’

‘And what else have you been up to today?’ she asked.

‘Oh, this and that. A bit of admin. A bit of… you know. Oh, and I had a bit of a play with some artistic photographs that have recently come into my possession. I’m thinking about compiling a book. Of favourites perhaps. Not sure. Still just thinking about it. Still just turning it over in my mind. You know.’

We chatted on for a bit. About photography. About cell phones versus proper cameras. About hobbies in general. And then, since the conversation seemed to be going so well, I asked Amelia if she was a hair girl or a bare girl.

For a moment or two she just frowned. And then she smiled. ‘Oh? Who wants to know?’

‘It’s just that Carol, my girlfriend… you’ve met Carol… she’s thinking of shaving. Going bare. She asked me what I thought.’


‘I think I’m more of a hair kind of guy,’ I said. ‘Not sure why. Just….’

Amelia nodded. ‘I went bare for a while,’ she said. ‘But then I decided that I preferred a bit of the old Shepherd’s Bush. So….’

And then (perhaps it was a subliminal response to ‘Shepherd’s Bush’) I thought: Might as well be hung for a sheep as hung for a lamb. ‘I don’t suppose you have a photo or two,’ I said.

‘A photo or two? You mean of…?’ And she waved a hand in the region of her lady parts.

‘Just to help with my deliberations. Give me an idea of… well… possibilities. Proportions. Coverage. You know.’

For a moment I thought that her next move might be to throw her wine over me. But she didn’t. She just half smiled, half frowned. ‘I might have some,’ she said. ‘Or I might be able to arrange to have some.’ And then, after another pause, she said: ‘You just want….’ And with her free hand, she described a sort of square around the area of interest.

‘Just enough to help me… well… form an opinion,’ I said.

She nodded. ‘I’ll send you something.’

And so it seemed that my earlier thought had been right. Ask and ye may receive. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I began to make a bit of a list of who else I might ask.

‘What’s the… umm… fashion?’ I asked Amelia. ‘Are we living in hair times or bare times?’

‘Gosh, I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I think it might depend a bit on age. But I don’t really know.’

‘Gillian?’ I said.


‘Yes.’ (Gillian was our upstairs neighbour.)

‘You might have to ask her yourself,’ Amelia said. And she laughed.

Ask Gillian myself? Yes, why not? I was, after all, on a bit of a roll. ‘I somehow get the feeling that our Gillian may be kissed with silver,’ I said.

Amelia laughed again. ‘You may well be right,’ she said. ‘But, as I say, you will have to make your own enquiries. It’s above my pay grade.’

I did make my own enquiries as it happened. The following morning, Gillian and I had a conversation in the entrance lobby. Gillian was coming in, I was going out. We maintained a two-metre space between us.

‘Are you sure you want to go out there?’ Gillian asked me. ‘There be dragons. Well… there be viruses anyway.’

‘I need to go and have a chat with my girlfriend,’ I said. ‘She’s thinking of shaving. She wants my opinion.’


‘Yes. Tidying up her lady garden.’

Gillian did a double take. ‘Do I need to know this?’ she asked.

I suppose that I could have taken that as a signal to move the conversation elsewhere. But I was on a roll. ‘It’s tricky,’ I said. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been asked before. You know… hair or bare. I mean… what do you think?’

‘I don’t think I even know your girlfriend, do I?’ Gillian said.

‘Carol? You’ve probably seen her around,’ I said. ‘What’s the fashion at the moment? And do these things even follow fashion?’

‘Don’t ask me,’ Gillian said. ‘By the time that I think I know what’s in fashion, the world has invariably moved on.’

‘So where are you at the moment?’ I asked.

‘Standing here talking to you about your girlfriend’s lady garden. And if that isn’t weird, I don’t know what is.’

‘No. I mean….’ And I nodded in the direction of Gillian’s crotch.

‘Are you serious?’

‘Just looking for help,’ I said. ‘Looking for a bit of direction. Sometimes it’s not easy being a bloke.’ And, for a moment or two, I wondered if I had crossed some no-go line.

‘Well,’ she said eventually, ‘I’m pretty much of the let it grow, let it grow, let it grow school.’

I nodded.

‘But that’s just me.’

I nodded again. ‘Thank you. That’s very helpful,’ I said.

‘I can’t see how,’ Gillian said.

‘Well, it just gives me….’ And then I decided to have one go at the ask-and-ye-may-receive strategy. ‘I don’t suppose you’d happen to have any photographs?’ I said.


‘Yes. Just of the umm….’ And I used my hands to indicate an approximately ten-by-eight portrait rectangle. ‘Not the whole….’ And I indicated a full-length portrait.

‘You really are a very strange fellow,’ Gillian said. ‘In fact, you’re weird.’ And then, for what seemed like forever, she looked at me as though she was seeing a platypus for the very first time. ‘All right,’ she said, eventually. ‘I’ll see what I can find. Do I have your email?’

‘Jack at. It’s on that neighbours’ contacts directory that Amelia put together,’ I said. ‘Oh, and thank you.’

I wasn’t on my way to visit Carol. That had just been a ruse to introduce the topic to Gillian. I was just going to grab the London A-to-Z from my car. But I got the A-to-Z and then took a slow walk around the block. Just in case Gillian was watching me.

Gillian’s email arrived shortly before the cocktail hour. And when she had said ‘let it grow, let it grow, let it grow’, she had not been joking. Gillian’s bush was a bush to end all bushes. And between her bush-clad outer labia, she had enough many-folded inner labia to provide for a family of four. I don’t think that it would be too much of an exaggeration to say that I was in love.

‘I’ve been thinking about your question,’ I told Carol when I phoned her later that evening.

‘Which question was that?’ she asked.

‘To shave or not to shave?’

‘Oh. Yes. I’d sort of forgotten all about that.’

‘That’s good,’ I said. ‘Because I’ve decided that hair is where it’s at. Your cunt is pretty as a picture with a bit of hair.’

‘But not without?’

‘It just wouldn’t be the same,’ I said.

‘Pretty as a picture?’

‘Pretty as a picture,’ I confirmed. At some stage I would tell her about the book. And about ‘ask and ye just may receive’. But all of that could wait for another day.

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