Sitting in the pub the other night, I noticed a hairy phenomena unheard of when I haunted the bars every weekend back in the days of yore… back in the days of my youth.
Many of the young men these days are proudly sporting facial hair: cultivated goatees, haphazard 5 o’clock shadows, brazen muttonchops.
Many of my girlfriends vocalized their dislike of this trend. Not me, though. I’ve always liked a good looking man with a beard.
But before I go on, let’s clarify.
Nope. Not good.
No. For the love of all that is good in the world, NO.
Well, this is just a sad case of denied sexuality.
However, this on the other hand….
Sweet Jesus… I … I have no words….
You see, a good beard makes my inner cave girl quiver. It suggest strength, protection and a manliness that makes my heart flutter. The rough texture against my cheek (or any other body part *wink wink*) brings me to my knees.
I like it. I like it a lot.
Now, I am not one to try to change anyone’s mind. I can completely understand how a well-kept shaved man can make any woman swoon.
But the rugged manly touch of facial hair brings out the beast in me.
Final case in point:
You can all leave me be now… I’ll just be here…. gazing at this (yes, yes, I know… IMAGINARY… but full-on masculine) hunk of hairy manhood.