I know. I’m a walking cliche. But nothing gets me hotter than a tall, skinny, pale guy with artfully mussed up hair. I’ve been dating permutations of this guy for the past seven years. They’re usually at my goal weight. Their skin is more porcelain than mine. And their bony pelvises leave bruises on my inner thighs during sex. But they’re so. pretty. And their hair’s even prettier.
Not that you can run your hands through it without getting stuck halfway in. It may look just-out-of-bed messy, but it takles some serious styling product to get that way.
Those the men in my life swear by:
Go to it, men. I could use a nice view outside my window.