Vintage Hairy Girls Jasmyne San Francisco Hippie

In the sultry, hazy carefree days of the 1970s, when bell-bottom jeans and tie-dye tee shirts reigned supreme, an untamed flower child named Jasmyne blossomed in the vibrant streets of San Francisco. With her cascading chestnut locks, lush unshaven undergrowth, and a lithe body so effortlessly speckled with the delicate freckles of youth, Jasmyne embodied the free-spirited essence of the era.

Our story commences in a dimly lit basement flat, where postered walls of psychedelic abstracts frame Jasmyne’s آزادی. She reclines on an oversized beanbag, knees bent and eyes closed, lost in the pulsating symbols of the rock music vibrating the room. Simmering in a thatched vest and high-waisted cut-offs that leave little to the imagination, the young hippie seems to be in a trance, her mind wandering though she is absolutely present in the now, her body awakening to the sensual grooviness of the sixties.

“Mmm,” she whispers, as her slender fingers trail along the definition of her clavicle, tracing the outline of her vest. The air is laden with incense smoke, the hazy oppression building as Jasmyne begins to strip. She discards the vest, breasts bounds free, her puckered nipples ripe and rose-colored. The girl is a vision of nature itself – hairless from the neck up, with a profusion of dark, curly bush below, untamed and au naturel.

Snaking with a feline grace, Jasmyne removes her cut-offs, revealing more of her hairy patch of pubic curls and long, slender legs that are still childlike in their innocence. She continues to writhe with the music, succumbing to its pulsing rhythm that seems to hold her hypnotized. In a sensual full-bodied motion, her hand grazes between her thighs and causing a shudder of sheer pleasure to roll through her being.
Unable to contain her growing arousal, Jasmyne brings her fingers back to her slick opening and begins to stroke, watching herself touch and rubbing her nub. Either not aware or simply not caring that she is being captured on film, the young hippie continues to explore her own body, undressing for the camera and the world.

The lens zooms in, capturing Jasmyne’s movement, her natural tits and hairy bush. Her body is one of a free spirited flower child and it moves in time to the music. You get flashes of her bush, her erect nipples, her glistening entrance as she caresses and pinches herself. Her moans become more urgent and primal as the increments of the video are fast forwarded. Jasmyne is lost in pure bliss, a primal creature moving with the mosquitos. Her hips gyrate her wrists flicker lazily, playfully toying with her nipples. The warm air causes them to harden gradually.

Reaching a point of full bloom verging on an explosive high, Jasmyne arches backwards, her hairy bush fully exposed, her freckles a map that the camera diligently traces. Her buttocks clench as she works herself into a frenzy, her long legs trembling with the intensity. A series of breathy moans signal her peak – explosions of electrical energy that seem to move through every nerve cell in her body.

As the credits roll, Jasmyne continues to bask in the glow of her post-coital bliss. The camera lingers on her dewy skin, her flushed cheeks, her subtly heaving chest. There’s a raw, sensual honesty to the moment that’s completely unselfconscious – the true essence of “free love” captured forever in this intimate act for the masses to witness her naughty deeds.

Over forty years later, Jade visits Archives and downloads Jasmyne’s vintage film. Strutting towards her building on a warm, sunny day in the city, she wonders what in the world made Jasmyne want to film herself in that way back then. Her curiosity builds with each block until she gets to her apartment and starts the download, eager to experience vintage unshaven pussy for herself. It’s unclear whether she’s going to play it, but the anticipation of experiencing naughty 70s sex for herself is palpable.

The intro music hits and the credits roll…Jade presses play and sinks back in to her couch, prepared to be transformed. Before she knows it, she’s whisked to San Francisco of the past, joining Jasmyne in her music-filled room filled with the smell of incense and haze of the times. The young hippie is busting out all over the screen, her movement enthralling Jade with each sway and shift of her body. The unapologetic sight of Jasmyne masturbating is making Jade wet beneath her own clothes.

She watches, entranced, as Jasmyne strips down to her naked glory, her large swaying breasts overflowing into the frame. Pussy hair is everywhere, from inside her bush to the thin feminine spark on her thighs and the light dusting in the curves of her underarms. You could chalk it up to fashion or lifestyle of the times, but the effect is undeniably erotic in its hairiness.

Freedom of expression, as seen in Jasmyne’s natural naughty pleasures, inspires Jade to get more comfortable. Following Jasmyne’s lead, the modern woman sheds her modern clothes. The vintage film has infiltrated her mind, seeped into her bones. She feels Jasmyne’s spirit, the freedom of the age, the natural way of the world, and puts her raising a glass to the two of them, two haired beauties worshipping their own body, unapologetically natural and hairy. As the film comes to its climax, Jade is lost in a haze of throw-back bliss, reincarnplified and teeming with an undeniable, primal urge to dance to her own music.