I didn’t care. I was only interested in girls or mature women, married or not. I looked at their eyes and their body language, how they reacted to m... presence. Some were embarrassed when they realized I knew what they were thinking (too shy like me), others did not like to be discovered but sometimes both could not hide their attraction to me. Others were smiling and waiting for my next move and there were some who came directly to speak to me. I loved to insinuate myself in clothing stores,. Those first impressions taught me that a woman's bush not only gave her pussy a unique personality, but functioned as a badge of her maturity and power as well. And then came the dark times. When I was finally old enough to start dating and having sex with women, fashions had changed and shaved slits became all the rage. As excited as I was to finally be having sex and to no longer be merely beating my meat to a centerfold pull-out, the beardless clams I encountered left me utterly. I realised it was a photograph, not a painting, and said so to Amy, whose hands were still squeezing me slowly. “Yes, that’s my favourite, do you know who she was?” I looked closely, and my mouth dropped open. “Amy, is that you? I think it is, the look in your eyes, obviously you have..matured..but yes, that’s you isn’t it?” She nodded, and lowered her eyes. I now realised what this was all about, and my anticipation increased, as did the rigidity of my cock, if that was at all possible. “And. The distance that separated us was painful and at the same time a blessing. We gradually lost contact completely. The years went by. I dated women but none of my relationships lasted very long. They just could not compare to that which I had once had.I put my desires for a relationship aside and instead I poured my energy into my studies. I graduated near the top of my class with an MBA. I went home to spend a month with my parents before heading out in pursuit of a career. Two weeks passed and.