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I’ve always been one to stand out like a throbbing zit, a pustule or the sore thumb in my sexual preferences. Why can’t I be like the small group of friends at school and lust over the same celebrity?
Coming across this image of David Beckham and his recent ink addition on his right hip, I remembered my odd ways. Maybe I should have applied to be Victoria’s PA. It’s not that I think her husband is a visual atrocity. I just don’t get the urge to strip him bare and bonk his brains out. How can you say, with minimal offense of course, that someone isn’t your glass of Cristal? (I don’t like tea).
When my friends lusted over George Michael (before he came out), I shrugged and mumbled something about his stubble and his slightly prominent chin (his lower jaw overlaps). With Beckham, it’s his slightly feminine features. I’m a primitive woman. I like them hairy. I also like men that are probably the contemporary equivalent of Neandearthal. I don’t know.
The metrosexual has given way to the hipster and while I can get the laid back hipster nonchalance, it doesn’t really offer anything a girl can sink her teeth into and sometimes, depending on where you live, the hipster trend challenges the basic foundations of body hygiene. What is it with the return of the stove pipe? What about jeans that fall further down than a guy’s sack? What is it with that?
Looking at Beckham above, I can admire his body. At least he isn’t the Michelin Man but he’s a little feminine but I have to admit, he is a visual traffic stopper but it just doesn’t gel with my primal side and that can be due to various things. I just might consider a self experiment, plot each day on a graph and relate it to my menstrual cycle to see if the hormones play a role in sexual attraction.
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