As we all know by now, I have previously lived in a small and rural country town, which has often been described as a place consisting of tumble weeds, women dressed in long gowns. And not to mention the attitude held by some and not all, that the daughters of the town were to finish high school if they hadn’t dropped out already, get married/find a partner and then start producing the next line of dynasty. I have often voiced my belief that most girls I saw and bore witness to, were often made to believe that it was okay to not have a brain and therefore independently stand on their own two feet before becoming parents. This in return caused anguish for those like myself who decided that losing our virginity drunkenly in the back of a ute or swag, was not cool but rather something sacred and to be shared with someone that we actually loved. As we often had the town gossip commenting on how we were producing multiple invisible children, we were ‘going on a holiday’ while their daughters were proudly flaunting the fact that they were already up the duff.
Congratulations, you are the proud owner of no brain, chlamydia and a baby to a guy who possibly will be seeing your best friend next week.
With having said that, the town men of the rural country town were somewhat different compared to the women and children. The men that lived in and around the small country town often worked long hard hours to sustain the growth of cattle and crop the acres and acres of grain to produce a living. And if they weren’t at the head of table breaking bread with their wife and children, you may find them at the local watering hole. The favoured watering hole often held the sustenance of life which most hard working man wanted on a Friday evening. With this urge to sustain their hunger, they could be seen riding their horses up before swinging down off the horse, causing the red earth that coated their pants to fall off and lay in a pile around their dusty boot cladded feet. After having tied their beasts to the water trough and patting fondly the beast’s neck, the cowboys of the South East proceeded to make their entry known.
|The Lone Cowboy Of The South East
Swaggering their way up the bar and slapping their cowboy hat down onto the murky brown coloured pine timber and calling out ‘a coldie thanks love’. It was there the local bar wench would serve them as they took their coldie to an available bench or stopping to have a yarn to the nearest bloke. Who was also a long last comrade in the race of cropping their hectares of grain before the crop become null and void and in return, earning them less of an income to sustain their needs and debt against the bank.
During this time of living and dreaming, I was known by a completely different name and by a completely different attitude and appearance. I was known as the woman who drunk like a nun, partied like a nun and often lived like a nun in front of open doors to those who followed each and every movement I made. I was also dating one of son’s that most women secretly wanted their daughters to date but instead, shied them away because in their eyes, he wasn’t a ‘clean cut from the cloth’. In fact, my brothers and he were often the favourable sons in the shire that everyone wanted to marry their daughters simply because of how they treated and respected women, the likely fact they would find employment/had employment and with that, would support their family.
In my eyes, he was the one that stood out like a shiny beacon of light amongst the cattle drovers, grain croppers, men that fixed the wheel on the wagon and the busy women that walked from shop to shop. Unlike others, he wasn’t visiting the doctor weekly for a shot of some miracle drug called penicillin in a place that no lady should ever mention as it is indecent of her (the buttocks) and getting a stern telling off from the local doctor about ‘wrapping it up, son!’
When the local doctor of this magical cure drug found out that I was seeing this man, he promptly made an appointment to sit me down within his cement office and lecture me on ‘wrapping it up, daughter!’ This was not including the stern and medical looking repeat on the birds and bees talk that Mother may have given me along with the stern discussion of how children are created. After bearing a 20 minute solid talk, he finally ended the lecture with “You are so different from everyone else. It is obvious that you have a brain so I demand that you don’t live here for the rest of your life doing nothing but popping out kids. You have been gifted with a brain and I demand that you use it!”
And as it was evident that he believed in women having a brain and thus being educated rather than breeding the next dynasty, he reconfirmed as any father would do that he was normal. “I like him and I approve of him. However if he hurts you in anyway, remember, I know how to wield a scalpel’. Needless to say we had been both warned.
|You’ve been warned….
One of the many nights in our relationships especially after finishing a growling shift and tiring day of becoming educated, I was greeted by a bouncing and slightly giddy version of the person I was seeing. Having previously sounding like he had been dragged through trenches before being strung out to dry on a cross made out of barb wired, I was needless surprised at the image of him jumping up and down on the spot. Thinking that he had been offered an award stating that he was employee of the month or simply for the fact he was a great worker, I was rushed past my ex-Mother in Law and deposited into the ‘man cave’.
This is where I was told to sit down, empty my mind from all of the things that I had learnt that day and that I was simply to listen in silence. For those who don’t know me so well in real life, I am one of those people that leave half way through a movie to go the bathroom and when upon returning, bomb bard the person with a trillion questions as to ‘what have I missed?’. Can’t help it if the line is non-existent but I’ve managed to notice that my lipstick is gone from the amount of CPR having been required and my drink bottle has smudged the gorgeous redness and us ladies who were red, know that it is a bitch to keep that shit looking fab. So after getting comfortable to the best of my ability, he pauses in front of me with his hands clasped under his chin as what he has wanted to show me starts and I become horrified.
If there had been an earthquake and the house was crumbling down around me, I would not have been able to move from my seat as I was stuck there. It wasn’t just because of the song that was coming out the speakers bur rather the image of a 6 foot plus giant bouncing around his man cave, singing. I swear in the moment I was experiencing a flashback to the day we both looked at one another from across a somewhat over crowded room filled with proud as punch parents and teens’ who couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of there and start drinking.
|“Moses is coming!”
Having been pre-warned that “Moses was coming”, I thought while waiting for whoever this Moses was to appear, these people were either confused or wrong in general. As the actual Moses had been alive when Jesus was walking the planet and breaking bread with those. And I may have been tempted to remind everyone that they either needed to go back to bible school or have a serious talk with their Father while psychoanalysing them. It was at the moment in time that I turned around to watch the crowd part thus allowing a tall, young man to proclaim loudly, ‘I’ve arrived and I am going to heal you’. In that second or rather seriously long minute of my life, I was now living in a Benny Hinn moment considering I had been watching him that morning and that any given moment, this Benny Hinn wannabe was going to press his hands to someone’s forehead. Before claiming to the sucker who has been brain washed, “I, God, heal you!”
As my eyes swept over Benny Hinn, I noticed he had a tea towel wrapped around his head, he had borrowed someone’s bathrobe and a cleaner’s cobweb brush clutched in his hand. So, this was the Messiah otherwise known as Moses. Not knowing how to react for instance, should I be laughing uncomfortably along with the other parents or be patting him on the back with the rest of the followers/friends. Instead, I turned to Lois and said out loud, “Who the fuck is the weirdo?”
This was considered to be most inappropriate language considering I was in my old school grounds, as Lois scolded me to ‘watch my language’. Tuning Lois out and wondering if someone had spiked the punch, I turned to look at the whacko wearing the tea towel and robe because there was something about him that I just couldn’t put my finger on. After watching this weirdo for a few minutes, I secretly wondered if a worker had turned a blind eye to the fact that a patient was escaping from Bailey’s.
|Its all about the suit, darling.
Another eight months went by when one day Frodo came out and asked if his friend, J, could come to the house for pre-Christmas celebrations. Staying in the kitchen under the pretence of preparing food even though there was enough to feed the Norwegian army however it was due to the fact I wasn’t in the mood for greeting strangers, Lois grabbed me by the arm and was scolded for being rude and that I should greet our guest. After lingering in the kitchen for another few minutes twisting a plate around and glancing at the food, I begrudgingly went outside to greet our guest. Coming to a stop and seeing some guy talking to the men in my life at the time about something to do with the engine, he took his glasses off as he glanced up from what lay underneath the bonnet. In that moment, I felt like Earth had stopped rotating, my stomach was now somewhere lying in a heap around my feet and I had the incredible urge to start hysterically laughing.
It was not because I had found ‘The One’ that proceeds to knock the breath out of you and leave you wondering if they had experienced the same emotion/feeling as you. But rather to my horror, it was the robe sash, tea towel wearing fruit loop that had been the Twin’s graduation ceremony. Least to say, I spent as much time as possible away from him and if I had the opportunity, I would have probably moved states. Not only to get away from him but also the discussion him and Lois were having about ‘what is your favourite sexual position?’ that almost made me keel over and die.
After that action packed afternoon and many jello shots with Shell-Dawg, the courting soon began. What seemed like countless weeks of tip toeing around one another, pretending that what I was feeling was part of my imagination and that I had in fact gone insane. Lois and Red finally sat me down on the couch and gave me a stern talking of ‘grab your balls and stop being a little bitch!’ Those words may not be exactly the same words that had been spoken but I am sure you get the jest of it. So, after deciding whether or not I actually wanted to do this or not, I manned up. Ignoring the uncomfortable swarm of butterflies in my stomach, I stood outside my parents place and asked the poor guy who was now not a mental patient or a whacked out fruit cake, out.
Least to say, I now essentially was titled ‘girlfriend’ and learnt that the man could certainly kiss your socks off. Not that I had any on. And that a good kisser can make you fly into your parents house before collapsing against the door and burst into a round of giggles.
Fast forward 16 months into our relationship and having witnessed him dancing around the man cave while singing on top of his lungs, we were sitting at a table on a date. This was when the smart arse decided to lean forward in his seat and stare at me from underneath his lashes. Now because I was a sucker and still am, I was hypnotised by his eyes and often found myself becoming a ‘little’ flustered. This may have caused due to the look of sex in his eyes but also because I was starting to lose focus on what was happening around us like someone had my eyesight on a dimmer. Like most occasions when I get flustered, nervous and giggly, I start to swallow nervously as my head tends to fill with R rated visions and fantasies. All while blushing like the complete idiot I am today.
Having him leaning across the table with a hand placed under his jaw and the other drawing on the back of my hand, I noticed the way his shirt pulled taut against his shoulder and that there was this irresistible and naughty twinkle in his eyes. At that moment in time, I was a goner complete with hook, line and bloody sinker. Since my mouth was as dry as the Sahara Desert, I had just taken a sip of my tea when he whispered naughtily, “So bug, would you consider having sex with a bearded man?”
Snapping my eyes up from my tea cup and swallowing the wrong way so now my tea ended up somewhere in my lungs, I began the crazy dance of patting my chest and trying to not cough loudly. Giving up hope of being polite and now resorting to hacking up a lung and pounding myself on the chest; I finally rescued myself and my lung from death by ‘bearded man’ talk and glared at him from across the table. Sucking in deep breathes while trying to formulate an answer that would deem necessary and socially appropriate, I couldn’t think about anything bar one thing. And for that one thing, I shall not repeat. So while I was off in my dream world, I watched his mouth form words and no doubt repeated the sentence causing the couple sitting next to us to tear their eyes off one another and potentially saving themselves from eating one another.
After the couple had stopped glaring at us due to the fact one of us had been discussing fornication in public, I replied with instead of a sassy comeback, “Seriously? Do you have to really have this discussion while we are having dinner?” This just proves how much of a nun I really was. Catholic school, eat your heart out! So not being one to drop the subject nor dim down the embarrassing moments, I watched in fascination as he stroked his jaw in a manner that implied he was pondering, hard. No doubt what he was going to say was going to be a toe crunching, however he swept his hair over his shoulder and slowly smiled in my direction. It was that moment I totally fan girled in my seat and I wanted to run my fingers through his hair and growl, ‘fuck dinner. Fuck everything else and just fuck me!’. Instead, I shrugged myself in response at “I think guys with beards look manlier, do you think Bug?” before turning my attention to the lobsters in the tank.
Nodding his head in agreement to whatever he had been thinking about, I received a smirk that implied a million and one things while he stared at me from underneath his lashes. And just like that, once again I was goner. Having seen a movie, we were curled up in bed with my head on his shoulders and his fingers were weaving around in my hair, when I leaned up and gave his jaw a kiss. Staring at me sleepily with a question in his eyes, I smirked at him before whispering, “Here is your answer at dinner. I would consider sleeping with a bearded man and yes, you do look manly with a beard.”
With that, welcome dearest and most beloved Hornbags, readers of the east and west, family members and my utmost favourite, bearded men.
As I have often stated I hope to keep you entertained until my parting words of each blog appear at the end of whatever I have typed. Also, that I welcome you to another new month however in my case, a rather late welcome to the month of November and like normal, I shall tell you why. But before I do, I am starting to harbour the ever entertaining thought of a rather profound fat and jolly bearded man dressed in red with white kinky suspenders, coming down my chimney to join me for a few cookies and a glass of milk. This has left my toes twitching in excitement that I get to sit in Santa’s lap and also at the thought of my Dad, who still to this day does what he does every year since I was a little girl, calling out ‘Ho Ho Ho. Merry Christmas’ when it strikes midnight or we have all gone to bed. And the thought of being surrounded by loved ones both in person and also in thought.
Most readers would have realised or guessed by this time especially since I normally update within a day or two of a new month having posted, I haven’t posted for a couple of weeks and for this I wish to humbly apologise. Life has been rather busy outside of the screen that you read me through and like most real life writers of blogs, real life has been busy of late. One of the things that have kept me up in the airs is my last assignment for the semester, studying for exams and doing them within a six day period. Talk about mentally and physically exhausting but then, welcome to university and the ever increasing enjoyment of stress and tiredness being your best friends and soul comfort.
Now unlike most group presentations that I’ve watched in regards to my last assignment, all I can is ‘holy shit!’ Following the fact that I had broken my rule of no coffee for a month, I forced down a couple cups of Joe and in result, experienced a caffeine high that had me at one stage grinding my teeth together like someone on crack (or pictured in movies when presented by actors). The end product of this high was me successfully writing my interventions of nursing tendencies and after something like 30 hours of researching, forming a hypothesis and concluding a pile of steaming bullshit, I found myself editing like a mad woman 20 minutes before my presentation was due.
Yes I know that after two years at university you would think that I would have time management down pat and with that, would have gotten my shit together. As much as I sit here each and every semester and tell myself, ‘I am going to be organised. This is going in return cause me to start my assignment the first day of tutorials’. To which we both know is never going to happen in my account. This failure in time management for my assignments often leaves me with 48 hours to find information, research, form a hypothesis, support my theory, edit and race into uni to hand it in to the Italian stallion that works behind the counter. And like I have previously stated, some of my best shit that I have been able to produce and therefore hand in has gotten me to pass my degree so far. With that coffee high, lack of sleep and because my group was awesome, we passed that presentation like a boss. #LikeABoss!
Having come home post presentation and collapsing on my bed and snuggling under my blankets, I closed my eyes for what seemed a few moments. Before waking up to discover that it was no longer Monday but rather Friday and in return after having mentally switched myself off after weeks of assignments and clinical placements; I had less than a week before my exams started. Instead of having time to recover and slowly progress myself into exam study, my exams were brought forward a week due to the fact that my university resides within the ever bustling city of Brisbane. Who just so happens to be the host of the G20 this year. Let me pause and put in my excitement……. Eh!
This means I had four days to cram 13 weeks of bullshit into my ever expanding brain. I spent the first few days of exam cramming going between studying on my bed, lying with my legs up the wall in some tantric yoga position that I’ve seen pregnant ladies do to almost laying across the kitchen table with a book in my hand or a pen scribbling notes down. This soon resulted in me looking around the ground floor of the house and resisting the urge to clean like a mental OCD freak. Mhm, this didn’t last long as I spent two hours cleaning the kitchen while eliminating dishes that hadn’t been washed since, well it had been a while and the floors were now mopped within an inch of its tiled life. With the rate that I was going downhill due to the mess and general not giving a shit attitude, I knew I was going to resemble an emotional whore of an insane delinquent who either wanted to scream at the state of the house. Or hide underneath my blankets because I was afraid of what laid beyond my closed bedroom door.
Towards the end of the exam block and like many other students, I just wanted the shit to be over and done with. Because unlike some, I had a date with my bed where I could collapse in a heaped mess, The Notebook playing while I mourned for myself before crying. After having successfully cried for more than a quarter of the film, I would have somehow found a tub of ice cream. Safe to say, I neither own The Notebook, a melted tub of ice cream and a dessert spoon which in fact may have resembled a soup ladle. When Saturday arrived along with the fact that this was going to be my last exam for the semester, which consisted of 80 questions that needed to be done in an hour and a half, I was ready to call it quits. And when it came to me walking out of the exam room, I felt like it had been a month of sheer hell and borderline anger management issues rather it being six days of fucking agony instead.
While most university students opted to get pissed after hitting the nearest bar to shove alcohol down their throat, I went to my comfort area instead. Coming home and grunting hello, I face planted onto my bed and silently hang up a sign on my door that said, ‘Fuck OFF!’ was posted brightly for everyone to see. When I grabbed my pillow and readjusted it, I realised I had managed to make it without committing murder or having Lois and Red commit me. Guaranteed I was emotionally, physically and mentally fucked from March onwards particularly when it came to how I dealt with the passing of The Godfather; I had just sat my last exam for my second year of university. Having analysed myself and throwing on some Eminem, my good ol’ buddy from my teenage years, I put a pillow over my face and proceeded to have a decent and lengthy sob session.
After recovering from my exam nightmare and wondering what the fuck I was now going to do with my life, I did what I normally do best and that is reorganise my already organised bedroom and re-position bedroom furniture. While I considered it a new fresh start to life as I had been sleeping in the same position, I collapsed on the floor and proceeded to sing my lungs out. Guaranteed I had the house to myself otherwise I wouldn’t be singing with my bedroom door open, the sound of an eighties introduction soon flooded my speakers and I was hysterically laughing when the lyrics started. It was the same song that J had played that night he proceeded to jump around his man cave while singing loudly and I had found the inspiration for this blog post. I found myself replying the same song over and over again until I suspected my skipping fanatic of a next door neighbour would come over and start bashing on my front door and singing:
“You catch his eye, from across the room you catch his eye, You think ‘oh my, he’s got quite the beard, oh my’
And now you want to but you can’t look away
His beard is black and bushy with a hint of grey
And now you find yourself walking his way
And with that song springing its self up in my playlist, this is the real reason why this blog post is titled, ‘You Should Consider Having Sex With A Bearded Man’.
|The power of the Mo…
From the change of October 31st and November 1st, a month long affair for facial hair allows women including myself to openly ogle and stare at men. November for some, bring the ever worrying thought of Christmas lurking around the corner while for some men, it allows them to put down the razor, leave behind the five o’clock to pussies who can’t grow a beard/mo and let the native man beard/mo come back to life. All I can say is: thank fucking god for Novemeber and that! It means in the long haul for thirty wonderful days and nights, women aren’t allowed to nag their men into trimming, grooming and simply erasing all signs of sign that greets their partner’s face every morning.
Yes and if you haven’t gathered, I fucking love November!
For those who live in a country that does not understand/know what Movember is or women don’t appreciate male facial hair and therefore live under a rock; Movember is an annual event involving men growing moustaches during the month of November. This is turn allows the world and community to become aware of a variety of different men’s health issues such as prostate cancer and other cancers affecting men including the funding of other associated charities linked to Movember. Now when the clock strikes the 1st of November, men across the world take action of signing up with a smooth, clean shaven face and for these 30 wonderful filled days, commit to the ultimate deal: growing the mo! These amazing, selfless and generous men often known as Mo Bros, groom/trim and in some cases, wax their way into the fine moustachery annals. These men or rather should I say, Mo Bros, are often supported by the women in their lives who are also affectionately known as Mo Sistas. Resulting in the Mo Community for both sexes raising awareness and money in hopes of changing the face of men’s health issues.
In return of sprouting a rather spiffy new accessory which so happens to be a mo, Mo Bros become the walking and talking billboards for 30 days. Move over Breast Friends, this is the time for Mo Bros to become welcome into society and for women who love facial hair to openly ogle. Therefore be deemed and classified as ‘appropriately non-freaky action’. No need for the AVO guys, we simply wish to stroke your face, maybe lick you a little and than slip our numbers into your suit jacket and leave with a wink.
Like the Movember Foundation of Oz states, Knowledge is power. Prevention is everything. Early detection is KEY.
The Movember Foundation of Oz can be seen challenging men to grow funky looking moustaches during November therefore resulting in the spark of conversation as to why they have chosen to grow a mo. While the most valued funds which have been raised by Mo Bros/Sistas are put towards men’s health programs that are targeted to educating and encouraging men to seek medical advice to name but a few. When I researched what the Foundation’s aims and achievements were, I discovered as I am a curious person that as of 2013, four million moustaches had been grown worldwide. With a little more scrolling and curiousity, I discovered that countries such as Canada, Ireland, South Africa, Austria, Belgium, The Netherlands and good ol’ Sweden amongst other countries in the Pacific, have officially joined in the journey of the Mo Bros/Sistas global domination in regards to Movember.
Question: Apart from raising awareness and money to fund charities while growing a mo, what does Movember really bring to attention?
Answer: Movember brings or rather draws attention to testicular and prostate cancer and mental health awareness while the Movember Foundation’s ambition is to improve men’s live across the world. This can be done and is often achieved through programs which are funded such as Awareness and education, providing information and support for a man who is currently living with cancer. And finally, researching and also offering mental health services and advice. The overall goal that the foundation along with the Mo Bros/Sistas would like, no scratch that, would love to see in the near future is:
- The reduction of mortality rates due to prostate, testicular cancer and men’s suicide.
- Men who are living with prostrate or testicular cancer being physically and mentally well.
- For men, teenagers and young boys to understand how important it is to be both physically and mentally healthy. And if experiencing signs of depression, to take action by seeing/speaking to someone will prevent the last point in the first sentence from occurring. That is: suicide!
- That both men and boys with mental health conditions should not be facing discrimination or being discriminated against.
These four points in return can help impact, shape and allow the belief that men should take action when they don’t feel physically or mentally well and men won’t engage in risky activities which can threaten their health along with their lives. This can be done by destroying or at least starting to break down the massive amounts of stigma surrounding mental health. Causing the number of men who are least likely to seek medical help for health concerns to drop considerably, resulting in the even ground of both men and women seeking help. Rather it just being women who are more likely to seek help as opposed to males.
So for those women and gay men who still haven’t gotten the clue as to why we should be considering having sex with a bearded/moustached men is clearly evident. Mo’s are pretty hot right now, along with the reason it is helping a fellow male to be allowed access to various amounts of support and information. You get to openly look at someone with your mouth hanging open, naughty delicious thoughts racing through your head and allowing that inner ego of yours to come out as you casually slip him your number. However, just make sure he is gay because I wouldn’t want you to be punched in the eye/face by a straight laced, homophobic vanilla twister. Eh, how they are so bland. However if that still doesn’t twist your fancy, here are some extra reasons:
- Fashion Statement: Wearing a beard is a fashion accessory. Guys with facial hair are seen as trendy these days. It can make a guy look stylish in a very classic or modern way, depending on how they incorporate it with their overall fashion statement. A beard doesn’t necessarily have to serve a specific function with any look you would want to pull off, but it can enhance your overall look and undoubtedly take it to the next level.
- Mature Look: Men with beards are seen with a serious and intelligent aura and women like that! Women are very into the idea of having mature (not old) men by their sides. Well-groomed and trimmed beards can give men that stable and gentleman look which gives an impression that they can take care of their women.
- Relaxed Mode: As much as women like serious looking guys, they also men with a carefree attitude. When men don’t shave and grow a beard, it can appear that they have an outgoing and rebellious character which can prove enthralling to many girls.
- Intimate Deal: That tickling sensation when facial hair rubs against the sensitive skin around the lip area and face during intimate kissing drives women crazy! Studies have shown that men with beards can elevate women to the height of their sexual desire because of how it stimulates the delicate parts like no other.
- Elegance and Sophistication: It’s amazing how beards can change a man’s appearance. Facial hair, when well-groomed and properly trimmed can make a guy boost with a touch of elegance and sophistication yet with a manly persona.
|Because, how is this not hot?
With that if you would like to kindly donate and support my dear friend’s incredibly sexy husband, Mr Hunk and his glorious mo, this is his link or send him some words of encouragement. I am sure he will gladly accept anything.
Until next time,