Mr Beard is an old friend from Twitter. Some of you may recall his blog. A fantastically sexy writer, he’d blog about
his sexual exploits and his pursuit of the female variety. I used to enjoy a little read on my way to work
each day, leaving me wondering about how gorgeous and sexy he might be in the
flesh. We exchanged tweets for a while
and then he asked me out on a date once I revealed changed my avi to the real
me. When we actually met, I was surprised
that he wasn’t the beautiful man I was expecting to see. He had a full on beard. I’ve never been out with ‘man with beard’. I wasn’t sure how I felt about thick facial
hair. But I went with the flow and there was something about him that hooked me
in. He kept his gaze on me throughout
our first date and he subtly touched my legs during conversation; this left me
feeling slightly woozy by the end of the night.
Fast forward many months.
I hadn’t seen him in 12 months, in fact. He’s a prolific online dater, Match, Guardian
Soulmates, POF, Tinder, he’s done them all (and continues with the
aforementioned). So I wasn’t too fussed about
seeing him again and I have been dating others myself, don’t you know?Anyway, Sunday afternoon he messaged me whilst attending his granny’s 90th birthday (why he thought of me at an old woman’s birthday, I’ll never know!). It was a casual ‘I’m thinking I could come round tomorrow with a bottle of your favourite’. And so I obliged. I knew what the following night would entail and I was already getting excited.
We’d sent flirty texts all day whilst at work. He told me to answer the door naked. I would have done so but I have neighbours with children to think about. Instead I told him, I’d leave the main door open to the flat and he could come upstairs and knock on my actual door and I’d let him in. It worked. But I wore a very nice underwear set with killer heels. Once through the door, I wasn’t quite prepared for the sight in front of me! A larger than life, basil brush-type broom sat on his face! Urggghhhhhh! He had let it his beard grow waaaayyyy too long! I was quite repulsed! I just don’t do beards!
He lent down to kiss me and I shut my eyes and pursed my
lips, whilst this wiry, fuzzball tickled around my lips. I could just about
access his mouth. Really, there is no
need for it. I told him off for growing
his beard and that I was struggling to get my horn on. But it was he who told me to close my
eyes. Soon enough his hands rid up and
down my body and it wasn’t long that we christened my kitchen table. Beard and all.
Let me resume. Mr
Beard did not leave me alone all night.
I have never had a man spend so much time on my own ‘beard’. I have no idea what he was doing down there
but can only imagine he groomed, pruned, gave me a short, back and sides with a
head massage thrown in (sorry, couldn’t resist).Later on, after I fed him (and probably assisted further beard growth with five-a -day), I laid next to him in bed (not a pillow but said beard, very comfortable) and said: ‘You know, you are looking like a Greek priest and I am going to church this weekend for Greek Easter. Every time I see the priest, I am going to think about you and what you did it to me tonight’. We both laughed. I may be thinking ‘Christ has risen’ this weekend but I will have thoughts of other things having risen. God, please forgive me in advance for any bad thoughts. It’s not you, it’s your beard.
