THE MASCULINE PHYSIQUE

Yesterday's blogpost reminded one of my readers of something I had written years ago, after attending the Folsom Street Fair in a discreetly educative capacity. We had been there handing out pamphlets and literature. And we were fully clothed.

The comment string underneath that post devolved into conversational speculation about the hairiness of certain parts of my anatomy.
Which was distressing.
But not invasive.

Investigative journalism only goes so far.

I am a man, and consequently hair grows on parts of me that it doesn't on women. No fertilizer is necessary, men are naturally a conducive seedbed for hirsuculture. We are somewhat more pilose.
Women are normally considerably smoother.
Which is very likable of them.

There's hair here and there.
Not everywhere.

It is not present in frightening quantity.

The common nature of a dusting of feathery stomach hairs is that they are aligned in such a way as to gently transmit microfibers of cotton or fluff from one's tasteful undergarment toward the male navel, where at the end of day there will be a minor aggregation of such, affectionately known as 'the dust bunny'.
It is a small item, and altogether rather insignificant.
Many if not most women do not possess one.
Consequently one imagines that they are either insanely jealous, or quite fascinated. Their smoothness does not catch the free fuzz, nor guide it to a convenient repository.

We feel incredibly sad for them. As men. But we do appreciate whatever modest body hair they have. Indeed.
It's really cute. Charming, at times.
In moderation.


Still. No belly button lint.
How very sad.



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