When Eve first surprised me by asking if I minded hairy legs and armpits , she was expecting me to be tolerant in the matter - that's why she was bold enough to ask - from knowing my liberal views in other matters. But, as she later told me, it was her turn to be surprised when I responded not only positively but told her I loved body hair and fully approved of her 'no shaving' resolution. In fact, that first hot summer morning when she first revealed her very hairy legs and underarms to me, we spent the next two hours not working but discussing body hair in general as she told me of her experiences to date, complete with the attitudes and 'problems' she had encountered, as noted in the previous article.

Eve seemed pleased to have found a kindred spirit in the matter, for as she also told me, I was the only person, beyond her sister and mother, who she had discussed body hair with and felt free and unembarrassed to do so, safe in the knowledge that I would be sympathetic, interested, and approving rather than sniggering and smutty. 'You've no idea how liberating it is to be able to talk about being hairy without having to pretend it's a non-subject', she said.

After this there was never a week when we did not spend at least two coffee breaks or lunch breaks (when we were alone, of course) discussing aspects of body hair, and we talked about it when ever the subject cropped up elsewhere such as (rare) sightings on TV or in movies or published photos. Like me Eve found hair very erotic and could not imagine how she would manage if she shaved it off. She told me how turned on she got stroking her own body hair - we had a mutual interest here as I told her I enjoyed similar sensations with my own body hair! - and she particularly enjoyed stroking the hair on the backs of her thighs. In fact I could tell when work was getting boring for on several occasions I spotted her hand sliding up under her skirt, and there was laughter when I reminded her we were supposed to be discussing a new publicity brochure, not turning ourselves on! If we sat out in the summer sunshine for lunch breaks, Eve loved raising her arms to let the warmth dry her damp hair, or rather absent-mindedly pull up her leg to stroke the hair. She even did this when we sat at outside tables of bars or cafes, when we stopped for lunch on journeys to visit customers. This sometimes caused eye-popping at adjacent tables, particularly among male customers. But Eve always had a pleasingly subversive attitude to reactions to the display of body hair. Apart from her cheeky comment 'It's Great to be Hairy' if anyone stared too closely or look disapproving, she was quite happy in summer to strap-hang in the subway while wearing a singlet or sleeveless top, and to thrust her bare legs out quite prominently in buses or subway trains just to watch the reactions. Usually it involved those in her immediate vicinity to pretend not to notice or to look away, but we always reckoned to have scored a bull if any man blushed or looked embarrassed.

In fact, with British men at least, we found the subject of female body hair something they found embarrassed to talk about, in particular the word 'hairy'! I witnessed this several times. A sales agent in his thirties called regularly on us. Obviously he noted Eve's hairy appearance but never mentioned it. We had an electric kettle kept behind Eve's desk which we used to make tea (illicitly as we were supposed to use the official tea machine, hence we kept the kettle out of sight). One day the agent walked behind Eve's desk instead of in front of it, for some forgotten reason, failed to see the kettle, which was full of cold water, and kicked it flying across in front of Eve's chair. The water struck Eve in a great sheet at knee level and poured down her legs into her shoes. When wet the already furry appearance of Eve's legs was extremely spectacular, of course. The sales agent was mortified at the accident. 'Terribly sorry', he said,' You've got wet legs'. Eve saw the funny side and pealed with laughter: 'Correction', she said,' I've got wet hairy legs', and stuck them straight out in their wet matted glory from her sitting position in the chair. The sales agent blushed bright red, picked up his briefcase and rushed out. He never called on us again!

In the company as a whole there were maybe fifty women employed as stenographers, progress chasers, PAs, computer operators, and the like. All of them were impeccably shaved, of course, with smooth legs and armpits the absolute rule, so Eve made quite a strong visual impact among them, more so because she also wore smart business clothes just like they did, but with the important difference that her legs and armpits were so visibly hairy. This did not notice in winter when she wore long sleeves and black pantyhose, but it certainly showed with bare legs and sleeveless tops in that particular hot summer. Soon after the 'official' communication with me, Eve was approached by two of the women employees of the company when she encountered them in the rest room. They acted in a 'motherly'way, asked did she realized how untidy she looked with hairy legs, and offered to donate her a razor! Inwardly, Eve told me, she was distressed by this pressure, but she acted cool, told them no thanks she preferred not to start shaving, declined their offer and walked out. Funnily enough she had a repeat of this encounter with two other women in the same rest room the following summer!

All these incidents were amusing to us, of course, when we discussed them afterwards, but it certainly showed me first hand the terrific pressure women are under in a 'smooth society' to remove body hair. I was truly impressed with Eve's fortitude and good humor through all this, and her determination to brazen out her resolve not to get caught up in convention. She also made the point, not always appreciated, that it is easier for some women to shave and say it is no great problem if they only have a light growth on lower legs and armpits that can be skimmed off once or twice a week with a plastic razor. But in Eve's case the hair was thick, dark, and abundant and even if she only shaved up to the knee she would need to shave every day, and it would need more than a light skim! Even at age 16 Eve had appreciated this, and her mother, noting that Eve was rather hairier than she was had also advised against it. Eve had studied the subject , quite a lot, because she was so hairy and she also pointed out that beyond a certain degree of hairiness those other favorite depilatory measures don't help either. She was far too hairy for electrolysis to make any meaningful effect, and for waxing the hair has to grow long enough for the wax to grip at the next session - which in Eve's case meant she would have to grow out her hairy appearance again before the next waxing session. Hence her view that a hirsute woman was most comfortable staying hairy, if she could brave out the social reaction. Eve told me that she was actually quite often scared and embarrassed and her cheerful attitude and light hearted approach were her way of braving out being so hairy. Certainly I admired Eve's great way of facing up to being hairy, and in turn Eve told me how much she could relax when with me, knowing she could talk uninhibitedly about being hairy, and not have to be on guard about her appearance.

Eve's experience, in her previous work, and with me, was that it was women rather than men who most objected to an open display of body hair, maybe because they were so conditioned to its usual removal. I had a direct and amusing experience of this on one of our business visits. We visited a high grade furniture firm. The boss was a prim middle-aged woman in a dark office above the showroom. Evidently in here gloomy windowless office Eve's bare hairy legs did not register with her. We made our departure down the big open-frame staircase in the center of the showroom, the prim company boss coming with us to say goodbye. Once at the foot of the staircase Eve realized she had left her briefcase in the office above. 'Don't worry, I'll go back for it', she said, and walked back up the open-frame stairs which by then we were standing beside. The sunlight streamed in through the big full-depth windows of the showroom, and glinted perfectly on Eve's dark leg hair as she climbed the stairs. Higher up it was light enough to see way up her knee-length skirt (I enjoyed the erotic sight myself). The prim woman boss followed Eve's legs up the stairs, dark hair as far as the eye could see! She gasped as Eve disappeared from view above and said 'Good Lord, what is she doing with legs like that? Looks like an overgrown schoolgirl. Surely her mother has told her to shave her legs?'. I grinned as words failed me, but then Eve came running down the stairs again and we said farewell. in the car I gleefully told this story to Eve, who laughed and said 'Funnily enough my mother told me not to shave my legs - she's got hairy legs herself, but not as hairy as mine!'.

Eve was always joking about body hair when ever she saw something relevant. A leading stocking and pantyhose maker started an advertising campaigned that plastered billboards everywhere with images of smooth elegant legs in sheer pantyhose or stocking tops. Waiting for a subway train one day, Eve studied the huge pictures for a moment and said 'Wouldn't it be great if by some magic we could replace all these pictures overnight with my hairy legs instead of all these smooth legs. Imagine the reaction.' It would have appealed to me - Eve had great legs as well shaped as they were hairy. Another time the women's tennis circuit was being highly publicized with good action pictures of the leading players of the year. Said Eve:' I'd love it if tennis players stopped shaving - imagine the effect if a leading woman tennis player had hairy legs and armpits like mine and appeared on court like that. How would the sports writers and TV commentators react?'. Twenty years later I'm still waiting to see hairy legs in a pantyhose advert or in a women's tennis tournament!

Once I asked Eve if, despite her cool approach to being hairy, she had ever had doubts about her attitude. She told me the closest she had come to total embarrassment had happened the previous summer in a hot spell when she had been invited to a 'pool and barbecue' party organised by a group of old college friends one Saturday night. Feeling bold and feeling feminist she wore under her shorts and shirt a rather skimpy bikini she had just bought in a fit of daring. As she put it herself, this came nowhere near hiding 'The beard' as she called her long pubic hair. Aside from growing in a thick line up to and above her navel, Eve's pubic hair spread out to meet her thigh hair and the long main growth hung down like fronds of seaweed, with the side hair simply hanging down each side of the brief bikini bottoms. When she got to the party the other guests turned out to be rather smarter than the college crowd she was expecting. Eve reckoned there would be at least a few hairy armpits and legs on view besides hers, as there had been a strong feminist contingent at the college. But as they all stripped off and plunged into the pool, Eve found that not one of the other women present showed any body hair at all. Every one was impeccably smooth and elegant without even a single pubic hair peeping out of any swimsuit. To say that Eve felt conspicuous in such an extravagantly hairy state would have been an understatement. She heard a few giggles and knudge-knudge whispers of the 'God, what a hairy gorilla' variety( she vividly remembered hearing that said) and with lots of withering stares all around her she wished she could have disappeared from view on the spot and really had to force herself to stay and brave it out.

Sometimes she had a different effect. One of her more amusing stories was when the family took a holiday in the south of France later that same summer. Here, Eve had no fears about being at the poolside hairy and in a bikini because this was France. One morning she went to the beach early with a book to read, took off the bikini top and stretched out face down to tan a little in the sun. She was feeling a little dozy when she sensed somebody was standing nearby looking down at her. At that moment she heard a woman's voice say (in French) 'Go on, you ask him'. She turned over, only to see two late-teens French girls who were astonished to find they were now looking at a woman. From the back they had only seen Eve's white bikini pants , her hairy thighs and legs, and the dark hair that grew lightly at the base of her spine. With Eve's long hair down her back, they evidently thought she was a hippy twenty year old man rather than a hairy twenty year old woman, and were profuse with their apologies apparently. Eve had quite small breasts and face down there was not even sufficient breast tissue visible to indicate she was a woman!

Like some other hirsute women I have met, Eve was always delighted to see other naturally hairy women. She was something of a proselytizer for body hair. At that time (though she later cut it) Eve had not even cut her head hair since she decided to stay naturally hairy when she was 16. So her head hair was very long. She normally wore it either in braids or a pony tail, but sometimes she just brushed it out straight down her back like the old drawings of Alice in Wonderland. this looked great, specially when she sometimes wore a long sleeveless 'earth mother' flowery dress that was calf length. With her hair hanging down, sandals, and leg hair visible she looked like a pre-Raphaelite painting, and on more than one occasion attracted remarks to that affect from passing strangers! Eve used to kid me, too, saying that if I was really 100 per cent devoted to body hair I should have a beard and long hair, too, not be clean shaven and short haired as I am. I had no answer to this except to say I approved uncut hair everywhere except on my head! Typical of Eve's enthusiasm was the occasion we stopped for lunch at a riverside cafe on one of our business trips. We were sitting at the outside tables with our lunch when a launch arrived at the visitors' landing stage. Two women tied up the boat, both in their thirties, both in shorts and singlets, and both naturally and visibly hairy. We were surprised at this unusual sight as the sun glinted on their leg hair. All the other women around (except for Eve) were conventionally smooth and hairless. 'They must be on holiday from Europe', I said. They can't be English or American with hairy armpits like that'. 'We can soon find out', said Eve, and quick as a flash dashed over to them, introduced herself, and after a few minutes brought them over to join our table. 'You're wrong', she laughed, 'They are both English'. So they were, and over lunch we found they were teachers at a girls' boarding school in the north who had hired the launch for a holiday river cruise where they could relax in their preferred naturally hairy state without enduring the stares and looks they got on crowded holiday beaches and other venues. They were delighted to find like thinking from Eve, and even more to hear of my support for the naturally hairy ideal.

Of all the smooth hair-free women in our company, one of them, a sales executive called Catherine, used to call in on our office frequently and was very helpful with contacts and ideas. She was specially helpful and friendly to Eve. I wondered why this was. Eve hit it at once. 'I think she's secretly hairy and finds a fellow spirit in me' said Eve, citing the times she had spotted and contacted other hairy woman. She was not visibly hairy, however, with impeccably smooth legs and underarms in summer even though she had heavy brows. The answer came unexpectedly a few weeks later. I set off to catch the train for a city meeting. Just outside the office, Catherine drew up in her car. 'Where are you going?', she asked. It turned out she was going elsewhere in the city. 'I'll give you a lift, jump in. 'She said she was late, so hold tight for a fast ride. She swept fast around corners driving more boldly than I would consider prudent. With the exertion her knee-length skirt rode further and further up her thighs with every quick turn. I watched in fascination, and eventually the skirt worked itself high enough to show a very neat all-round shave line 6 inches above her knee, above which grew thick wiry dark hair. I made no comment, of course, but she was obviously a hirsute 'shave slave' tied to a daily shaving routine. I passed this news on to Eve, who then innocently raised the subject of being hairy in a later conversation with Catherine - which brought out that Catherine did, indeed, admire Eve's boldness in being so visibly hairy and was trying to pluck up the courage to 'come out' hairy herself. I hope she did, but shortly after this Catherine left so we never found out.

The only part of being hairy that Eve did make an effort to conceal was her mustache, which I had noticed from the first time I met her. It was only a light mustache, but it was there. It turned out that Eve bleached it to reduce its visibility because otherwise it became a dark line. She asked me to give her the tip every time I thought it was growing dark - turned out to be once a month - and she would bleach it again. After a couple of years Eve went her way to other work, and soon got married, though we remained in touch by phone for a year or two. In case you wondered, no I never had a sexual relationship with her, erotic , good looking, and charming as she was. I was a good deal older than her, she came from a very respectable and well liked family, she had a boyfriend already (who was bearded and friendly and supportive of her hirsute stance but not particularly turned on by it, according to Eve), and in a company like ours any hint of a more than professional friendship would not have been tolerated. But I valued her friendship, wisdom, and wonderful refreshing attitude to being hairy, and even a platonic friendship on our level of understanding was delightfully exhilarating, making her one of the most inspiring women I've ever met.