In a world where women flock to bikini bars to be groomed, where every sexual object is waxed, shaved and using enough depilatory cream to cause a nuclear explosion, I had to wonder…how far will men go to get groomed? If you’re a fan of the Dos Equis Most Interesting Man in the World commercials, you may have seen the one where he says he has no idea what manscaping is. In case you don’t know either, it’s the act of a man grooming the extraneous hair on his body, whether it’s back, toe, or balls. It’s the new “boxers or briefs” question. How do you like your man groomed?
I have a friend who removes all body hair a la Olympic swimmer. His only advice is, “Don’t get the Nair near your nipples. That shit burns.” This seems a bit extreme to most ladies. I don’t know about you, but I have a small routine that does not include shaving things like arm hair. I mean, who has time let alone inclination?
And we’ve all seen those Sasquatch men lying on the beach, sunning their fur coats. I’m sure some women snuggle up to those beasts at night and run their fingers through their chest hair. This, too, seems extreme.
For most women, we like our men to look like men. What romance reader wants to find their Highlander’s knees bare? I have to admit I’m a huge fan of facial hair. Most of my heroes sport a sexy scruff, the kind that deliciously burns the heroine’s sensitive skin. As for the other parts, I like to see a little trimming “down there,” but keep the chest hair please. Back? Uh, no. Nose? Oh, hell no.
So tell me your manscaping preferences. How bare would you like your man to go? And if you’re shy, you can answer the older question—boxer or briefs? Leave a comment and enter to win a copy of RUNES, my paranormal ménage a trois. Winner will be announced Friday, November 19.
watch the Runes book trailer here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JxjwNTSYBSk
Excerpt of RUNES: Adult Content:
Evangeline rolled to her stomach, pressing her aching bare breasts into the mattress. Maybe her state of undress had spawned the dream, but she didn’t think so. Whatever drug she’d overdosed on had had adverse effects. She’d been hallucinating for a week. Whether sleeping or awake, it didn’t matter. Her sister’s auburn-haired ex-boyfriend had sidled into her brain via psychotropic meds.
She rocked her hips against the bedclothes as the memory of his long, tapered fingers filled her mind. His fingers had circled her waist, spanning it easily, his thumb flicking the thin gold hoop in her navel as his tongue sank between her lips. She could still taste him. Spearmint gum, the faint trace of cigarettes, and the most mind-blowing scent of male. This image, like all the others plaguing her, left her trembling with need of an addict. But she was no longer addicted to drugs, and didn’t need cocaine to escape her problems or her body. The hallucinations of her sister’s ex had driven her to new heights.
Hot and annoyed, she jumped to her feet, and strode across her bedroom to peer into the long mirror. Short, spiky hair, a wave of violet over one eye, a tiny silver stud in her nose, and two other concealed hoops, one in her nipple, the other in her navel.
The tattoo still shocked her. She couldn’t remember getting inked, not surprising since she’d stumbled home from the club, drunk and buzzed, and tossed back a bottle of Xanax in an attempt to stop the gnawing pain in her soul. Swallowing pill after pill with tap water, she’d wanted to stop the pain forever. But it hadn’t worked. She’d awakened hours later with a tattoo winding from her shoulder to her temple.
She touched the stars at the corner of her eye with a fingertip. She had to admit the rune lettering and spattering of stars suited her.
What would her lover Sean make of this? She shivered thinking of him. Too much time had passed since she’d set eyes—or hands—on his sexy, sculpted chest, or felt his searing kiss. They’d been sleeping together for six months, but she’d refused to let him draw her into his life. Staring now at her new clear-eyed reflection, she wondered if it was time to move toward a commitment.
Her fingers longed for the strings of her guitar, but it was deep night. She couldn’t risk waking her sister, Jessa, or worse, her father. So she settled for leaning against the headboard with the instrument, embracing its familiar weight.
The hallucinations did more than excite her libido. They inspired new music in her, and she’d been writing. Between her job at the bookstore, and being bombed out of her mind for days on end, she hadn’t had time to devote to her true passion—songwriting. Perhaps turning over a new leaf could further her goal of achieving her dream of becoming a songwriter.
As a particular bar of music flitted through her mind, a new vision of Will rose inside her. She slung an arm over her eyes and allowed it to consume her. The short, red hairs of his jaw bristled against the sensitive flesh of her stomach, blazing a trail of heat directly to her sex, which moistened and swelled for him. Then surging upward, his big hands cradled her face, caressing the star at the corner of her eye, and sending a shock straight to her core. Her head fell back, her body shuddering as if on the edge of orgasm. Her fingers fluttered over his muscled chest down to the edges of a tattoo that disappeared into the curling dark hairs cushioning his cock. A flood of emotion surged through her fingertips. A marrow-deep jolt hit her, followed by the taste of desire, and inexplicable tenderness.
Evangeline gently laid her guitar on the bed next to her, thrashing herself for entertaining such feelings for a guy she’d seen only once or twice in passing. Her sister’s ex, Will What’s-His-Name.
Fingers shaking, she lit a cigarette, then crossed to the mirror, leaning close again to study her reflection. This clear-eyed Evangeline was new to her, but she could learn to like her. Another flash of auburn hair crossed her vision, and she stared hard into her dark blue eyes. Thoughts of Sean plagued her.
“Oh Will,” she murmured ruefully, “I don’t even know you.”
Em Petrova is the author of Runes, Isolde’s Wish, Trefoil, The Tempest, Tattoo Dream, and Deux.Since a young age, Em has been lured by the world of paranormal and romance. She penned her first novel at the age of twelve, and after gaining an arts degree, has returned to her literary roots. She loves to dig deep into the souls of her unique characters and uncover their secret desires when she doesn’t have her nose in a great new read.