A letter to men with beards
Beloved bearded guy,
Initially I wondered why I was dating lads my entire life. You make me feel primal. You might be only twenty something, but your beard makes you years wiser and more mature than you really are, arousing and concurrently deceiving me. Lust in a caveman type of manner. You’re more man than boy, and it is proven by this face fluff. Something about that beard demands admiration, and I’d like to give it to you. But something about it says that makes me swoon, and that it requires respect for the owner’s girl.
You make guys like harry fashions laughable. If we break up with you, we’ll be unable to look at a shaved face exactly the same manner again. I’m brought to most of the cast in Sons of Anarchy where Leo Decaprio’s boyish attraction in the Titanic used to be what tickled my fancy because of you. You seem so hot rocking the rustic and rough appearance, but in a suit, you’ve got the existence of a diplomat, controlling the room and all its focus.
But there are some hairy small speed bumps along the way, that I forgive you for, in lieu of your angelic face pelt. For example, folks will believe that your house is lived in by a little creature. You bearded guys lose a lot, so this is what us women get in exchange for the wages that is dreamy. Really, folks might believe just a little creature lives in your beard because it crumbs and so catches all the small drops, that stain your jeans and would fall in your lap.
But because your beard enamors me thus, I’ll be your handy helper, wiping away these small morsels as they fall and lightly picking out. The very first time I do this will likely be obstructed, but also find it endearing. The things your beard gets me to do. You’ll feel the same about me brushing your beard, which I’ll discover to be a calming experience.
The very first time you touch my body, I am going to feel nerve endings that I never even knew existed. The very first time I feel my thighs tickle, and graze my abdomen as you give it soft kisses, I am going to feel like I’m about to burst, and wonder why I was with a guy with a naked face.
I dwell for being woken up by that nuzzle that is fuzzed. It makes cuddling manner more interesting; I feel like I’m playing with a sweet fluffy pup, including a protective and hot guy all simultaneously. This mixture is not comparable. Occasionally when you wake me up by rubbing your face in my back, mid-dream, I believe a small golden retriever is embracing me from behind.
Beards are a considerably better accessory than earmuffs or scarves to keep me warm in the wintertime. While I come home from work after a journey through some bitter December snow, my entire body thaws instantly. Those who believe only spooning is an excellent remedy for the wintertime cold haven’t experienced the tingly heating effects of a beard, which sends shivers down your back.
Folks don’t understand what they’re talking about when they say beards are itchy. Certainly, those beards must be conditioned. But if your beard it nicely conditioned, it makes kisses exhilarating, and not itchy whatsoever. And sharing conditioner with you doesn’t make you look more female. If anything, it improves your manliness and the fact that you just are interested in being healthy and silken for your woman, and look after yourself.
At the exact same time, you make me feel like mine is equally as significant, although you’ve got existence.
Girls will be envious of me, when we walk in the road, and you will be envied by guys. But I’ll never behave envious with you. Because your beard and you make me feel safe. It creates something that makes you smoldering and irresistible, but makes me feel totally protected.