On men, I like chest hair and leg hair. I don’t understand men waxing or shaving their hair off unless it is for aero/hydrodynamics or protection from hair-grabbing equipment. Men should look like there is testosterone surging through them. They should look all grown up and ready for experienced, skilled, fun.

There is nothing wrong with a little grooming, of any hair. I am not as fond of facial hair. Even unruly eyebrows are a bit unappealing. There is no body hair that can’t use a bit of a trim here and there.

Head hair? I like men with thick, dark hair that is a tiny bit long. Hair loss issues? Forget the horrible comb-over. Shave the rest bald, it is totally hot and I think overcomes that “looking older” thing that happens when hair-loss advances.

I love the way Jack’s dark, glossy chest hair is so obedient. It lines up perfectly, or as he says, “it has a grain.” It is a well-groomed map pointing a tantalizing path down to his cock. I like to run my fingers through, grab and pull on it. It is great fun to play with in the shower. I soap it up and write messages or little pictures with a finger. He closes his eyes and tries to read what I am writing. I also love to run my flat hands up his stomach and chest, right in the middle, when it is glistening with sweat. I delight in trying to disrupt the map, hide the path pointing to my personal playground.

I also like to have a last good hair grab during sex of the thick, chestnut-brown hair on his head. He warns me before he is about to get another ivy-league cut for work, so I can have another last good, fingers-wrapped-in-it tug.

Conversely, I prefer now that there is hardly a hair on my body, other than fine, nearly colorless fuzz, from the neck down. That reminds me, I was thinking I would go for a wax this week.