The hairy truth

I fought between moans to keep from calling him "Burt."

Honestly, his body was the best I've ever had the privilege of seeing nude. It's the kind I want to write cheap erotica about and have the image of it burned into my brain permanently. He has the kind of body that I can't help but want to undress in my head when I see him fully clothed, and now that I know what's underneath them, I only imagine it will be even worse. While laying on top of me, his facial hair scratched against my face in a perfect way as he covered my lips with kisses. My hands rubbing his hairy chest, letting the fingers trace against the grooves of his pecs and abs, then going lower to hold onto an ass from the gods, I closed my eyes and thought to myself, I've dreamt of this before.

I don't know how my obsession with hairy men started, but I feel that my mother is partially to blame. Growing up, it was obvious to me that all the celebrity men that she found to be insanely attractive had one thing in common - hairy chests. Her picks ranged from men like JFK Jr., who was commonly photographed jogging shirtless, his chest hair on display, to rocker Jon Bon Jovi, who she kept a shirtless poster of tucked away in case she needed a quick moment to fantasize. Another favorite, Burt Reynolds, sported the most beast-like spread of body hair, and to me he seemed the most puzzling pick out of them all. To say the least, I did not understand my mom's affection for furry men.

"I think it's gross," I commented one day as we were studying the picture of Jon Bon Jovi's chest. My own dad, while not a particularly hairy man, did sport a rather modest patch of chest and stomach hair and that seemed fine to me. The other guys simply had too much.

"It's sexy," Mom explained. When I scrunched my face up in disgust, she laughed. "One day, perhaps you'll understand."

Still, the guys I found myself attracted to as I got older were always the complete opposite of what my mom seemed to like. These guys were usually fair haired, with practically no body hair, and if they did happen to have it, it was most likely waxed off in order to show off their muscles. These were the guys I wanted posters of, and the guys I wanted taking me out on dates, and for the most part it's what I usually got. I saw no visions of hairy men in my future.

A couple of years ago, I met a guy named Tony through a mutual friend. Tony and I hit it off immediately, and one of the things I found myself being the most attracted to was his body. He had amazing muscles and it was obvious he cared a great deal about keeping himself in shape. He looked like the type of guy whose second home was a gym. The amount of time I spent wondering how his body must look without his clothes on surpassed pretty much any other thought I had going through my head at the time by a mile. Finally, I got the chance to find out, and as he disrobed himself I was pleased to notice that I had not been building him up, but there was one thing I found about my experience with Tony to be a major disappointment - he had no body hair. Now, I'm not saying that Tony had alopecia or that he just was not a hairy man. Tony shaved his body. He shaved his chest, arms, stomach, and legs - everything.

Sharing the bed with him that night, I was restless. Every time his skin touched mine, I was pricked. It was like sleeping with a porcupine. As I watched Tony dress the next morning, I was reminded of the cactus-like bed partner Tony had proven himself to be, and imagined it would be a lot like sleeping with me after I went about five days without shaving my legs. This was not something I wanted to associate with a hunk of a man. Visions of Burt Reynolds danced in my head and I thought to myself, yeah Tony, your body may be hot, but probably even hotter with a little more hair.

I think it took the absence of hair on places where I expected it on a man, his arms and legs, for me to see just how sexy body hair really can be. After Tony, my taste in men made a major turnaround. Seeing shirtless guys with muscles still appealed to me, but when there was hair on their chest it appealed to me even more. I found myself getting excited by noticing tufts of chest hair innocently peeking through the collars of a man's shirt. It was as if I were seeing something I shouldn't be. Chest hair started making me find even the most average of bodies insanely attractive. At last, I understood what my mom liked about chest hair - it's manly! It's natural!

As far as my fascination being a discouraging reminder to those men who aren't blessed with a thick mess of curls on their chest, that isn't so. Those guys are just as hot to me. There can only be a few Burt Reynolds in the world, and to hold others to those standards just wouldn't be fair. My real fascination comes from how these hairy men are able to embrace their masculinity and wear it proud on their chest; their ability to not succumb to the world of waxed chests and spray tans, and just let things be natural. For me, it's like being able to go braless - sag and all.

And any chance I get to be with these Burts of the world, I'm accepting them with open arms.

Tashina Savage reported The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas as lost on her Netflix queue, and actually kept it. Email her hate mail at sundaysgirl@gmail.com