Posted: 5/9/2005
I must tell him how hot he is,
for surely he has no idea.
Metrosexuals can suck my hairy twat.

Back in high school and college, my best friends were gay men. They were spirited, they loved to gossip, they always complemented me, they were the best cuddlers, and they had an uncanny ability to make me feel better about myself by putting others down yet remaining friendly and non-judgmental.

But when it came to romance, the only boys that got my blood boiling were those with a bit more machismo. Their muscles bulged and their armpit hair peeked out of their flannel shirts with the sleeves ripped off. Their stone-washed jeans had rows and rows of stringy holes. Tufts of soft, curly hair stood between their chests and their tight, black Def Leppard and Skid Row t-shirts. Their calloused, yellow-stained fingers flicked Montclair Menthols in between tweaks of various parts of their shiny Mach 1’s with the black racing stripes, air shocks and scooped hoods. They smelled like men, they looked like men, they acted like men, and I--being a heterosexual woman--was always turned on by them.

After spending most of the late 90’s with one of these men, I found myself single upon the dawn of a new century. After I got through all the textbook break-up phases (denial, anger, depression, bitterness, casual sex with strangers, and an “oops, sorry, I guess I DON’T love you” rebound), I was eager to find my next main squeeze. But slowly, I started to realize that the men had changed. Where had all my strong and silent, hard-rock listening, muscle car driving, mullet-sporting, chest hair-donning suitors gone?

They had all turned gay!

Suddenly, every time I was on a date in a man’s apartment and excused myself to the bathroom, rather than being surrounded by a bottle of cologne and a micro-chip sized bar of soap with a pubic hair on it, I would see all this extra equipment. If I forgot my moisturizer, I could use his. Hair out of place? What luck! Johnny has some pomade! Pesky back hair? Why, it’s my lucky day…here’s a razor rubber-banded to a ruler! Perfect!

I just love cuddling up to these new-century men on a chilly evening. The way they wrap their shiny, silky-soft arms around me and stab me all over my back with their stubbly, two-day grown-in chest hair…I get the chills just thinking about it. And they smell like rose gardens! They never get sweaty! And when they take off their pants, there’s none of that awful, dirty pubic hair. Nope, it’s ALL shaved off. Every...last...bit of it. So all that’s left is soft, pink, shiny, prepubescent-like skin.

YUCK! Why are you doing this to me, men??? Why are you all turning gay? I’m a heterosexual woman, and I want a MAN! I am a feminine being; I need to be the yin for your yang! I’m a grown woman looking for a grown man, not one that looks like a hairless little boy!

I miss your smell! I miss running my fingers through the curls of your chest hair! I miss your ego being so inflated that you didn’t dare cry in front of me, let alone behind my back. I miss you getting all greasy from working on your car, which wasn’t really broken in the first place. Ok, I don’t miss your belches or your farts, but it really is immature to see who can make them louder or make the dog leave the room first.

I once had to break up with a man because I walked in on him in the bathroom and never got over what I witnessed. It wasn’t a 10-inch dump in the toilet. He wasn’t clutching the latest copy of “Tranny Trist” magazine in one hand and himself in the other. It was just him, holding a razor, gracefully balancing on one leg, the other leg up on the ledge of the bathtub, shaving his toned, tanned calves. I can feel my vagina losing moisture and shriveling now just thinking about it.

Another dumped me because I stopped giving him head. I didn’t want to, but my lips became so cut up and sore from all the stubble on his shaft that I just couldn’t do it anymore! And when I tried to use my hand, it felt like I was stroking wood--literally--and getting splinters!

Men, do you really have to be so gay now? Do you really have to smell SO fresh? Do you really have to have skin so soft, supple and pink? I liked you fine when you let your natural testosterone reign over your body. Please, leave the shaving below the neck to us women. I know you hate feeling stubble on our legs when we haven’t shaved in a few days; how do you think it would feel if that stubble was covering your chests while we tried to lay on top of you? I’ll tell you how it feels. IT FRIGGING ITCHES!

Are you doing this because you really hate cuddling THAT much? Well it’s working!

When, between 1989 and today, did body hair suddenly become so dirty and revolting? Aren’t we all showering? Now every new guy I meet boasts with a sexy grin that he keeps himself “clean and trimmed,” then waits for me to pounce on him at the mere vision. Well I’m turned off already! Shaving it DOESN’T make it look bigger! To me, it just makes it look like a little, slimy, pink, pre-pubescent, wiggle worm. It makes you look twelve. It makes you look girly. The hair doesn’t bother me. I’ll take the hair over a pink, pre-pubescent, or porcupine ANY day.

I’m sorry you had to listen to me swoon about how “Gay Gavin” would make a better boyfriend than you because he really listens and doesn’t mind holding my purse while I try on jeans. I’m sorry I asked you to shower because your underarms smelled like “guinea pig vomit.” I’m sorry I cried and accused you of loving your ‘76 Chevy Nova more than me. I want the old you back.

Why are you all so homophobic, yet you shun, wax, shave, and scrub off everything that is anti- ‘mo about yourself? Why, when you KNOW it’s true that you look better with age and character, do you avoid letting your natural handsome features speak for themselves? Why are you all turning into the high-maintenance, self-absorbed women you used to get so annoyed by? Why do you claim to hate insecure chicks, yet now you have to change everything about your body? It isn’t a lie that for most girls, personality is more important than looks. My aforementioned late 1990’s ex was a sexy, balding, hairy-backed beast with a killer sense of humor. And no, he wasn’t rich!

Please men, just be yourself. Butch lesbians are more manly than most of you these days, and unfortunately, they just don’t do it for me.

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(Comments 1-10 out of 34)

You're so Macho
Posted: 5/12/2005

Ok, I totally agreeed with you on this one. I am gay gay gay, and don't like gay guys that are completely shaved everywhere mother nature wanted hair. It's a turn off. You're either natually hairless or just plain hairy - guys should understand that. Trim down there if you want to trim, but shaving it? YIKE, that's sooo wrong. I've seen married men doing it at the gym too, gross me out!

Thank God there's a hetro woman out there that has the guts to say it!!! Bravoooo!!

Posted: 5/12/2005

what a magnificent reeling screed - are there women this profoundly courageous in the greater DC area? Where do I sign?

Shoe already on the other foot
Posted: 5/12/2005

Woman are constantly being told to adhere to generalized standards of femininity, through advertising etc. Basically, most men don't like butch women, period. I know I don't. So while we have the choice to be metro or not some women are attracted to metrosexuals and some aren't. The market for butch-like women is found only in trailer parks and among lesbians. So we don't have much to complain about. Even women who like to watch football and hang out with "the guys" better damn well be shaving their legs and armpit hair if they want to attract a guy, there is no option there.

Shoe on the other foot?
Posted: 5/12/2005

If I wrote a blog imploring women to get their act together and adhere to my particular notion of stereotyped go back to wearing stockings all the time and baking pies, gosh darn it!... I wonder how long it would be before I was taken to task for objectifying them? Interesting that making such sweeping generalizations about men, however, is considered perfectly acceptable.

Posted: 5/11/2005

I have never shaved below the neck in my life, and never will. Thanks for your post. I would hit on you, but I have a sister named Leigh, and that would be too weird. You probably even look like her.


Never Listen to What They Say...
Posted: 5/11/2005

"I’m sorry you had to listen to me swoon about how “Gay Gavin” would make a better boyfriend than you because he really listens and doesn’t mind holding my purse while I try on jeans."

I have learned to disregard everything women say about what they like in men and instead pay attention only to what they do. To paraphrase the classic lawyer's line, are you talking nonsense now or were you talking nonsense then?

This bear loves the hair...
Posted: 5/11/2005

This gay man loves the hair too (yes...even back hair). But I disagree with Leigh on the pubes. A little grooming is just being plain considerate (I am not talking about shaving ...just keeping it neat). Yeah I know. There are a few "full bush" fetishists out there who might feel otherwise, but by and large I think that most people, gay, straight, male or female , don't much enjoy flossing with a wiry pube when they go down.

Dont be embarassed with what you've got but if you want more head, keep it neat.

Rugby, hmmm
Posted: 5/11/2005

Tommy, what a coincidence. One of the last dudes I was head over heels for while dating--and fit my requirements--had played rugby back home in South Africa. Never made any connection.

Rugby Men Are The Answers To Your Prayers
Posted: 5/11/2005

Check your local paper, Irish bar, big green field (the pitch) for a local rugby team.
They will be the answers to all your prayers.
Allthough there may be a few 'closet' metrosexuals on the team - 90% are exactly the kind of man you desire.
Great post - thank you. - T

You're so vain
Posted: 5/11/2005

One thing that I have noticed is that today's "metro" is no fun to hang out with, as in, "hanging out with the guys" hanging out. I lived in a snooty city for four years and hardly made any male friends that I could stand for more than five minutes. Yeah, lets have a grill out with fucking shrimps and some french sauce shit! Oh, and don't forget the Michelob light! Oh my God, you're drinking Miller High Life?! EEEEWWW!
I just moved back to my small hometown, what a relief. Cookouts with brats and burgers, chewing nasty tobacco, and drinking the champagne of beers! All those vain metrosexual pricks can shove it up there shorn asses.