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Reijer's World: ‘So You Like My Hairy Body?’

by Reijer Breed in Columns & Opinions , 25 september 2017


Mark was very hairy, and we often met at the bar De Spijker. One night, we were at the bar with a pint. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of his chest hair. Big tufts came out of his shirt with two open buttons. “They often call me names,” Mark said. “I often hear such things as: ‘I have hedge-clippers at home.’ And so on.

I get lots of comments in gay bars especially.” I put an arm around him and gave him a kiss in his “hairy” neck. “When did your body hair start to grow?,” I asked. “Quickly, after my first ejaculation at thirteen.” I have known Mark since he was twenty years of age. He always sat down next to me on the last train. We discussed the evening, the bars we visited, the boys and men we had met. “Reijer, why not come home with me?,” Mark asked.

He lived one stop from my stop. “I have some great wine in my cellar.” I looked at him and said: “Yes, I will. As long as they do not check the tickets for the stretch Wormerveer to Krommenie. I don’t have the ticket for an extra stop.” “O well, we’ll just have to take our chances. And when push comes to shove, I’ll pay your fine,” Mark said. But there was no check.

Mark lived in a small house on the Noorderhoofdstraat in Krommenie. Behind the house was an enormous shed, with another garden behind it. Mark turned on the heater and opened the bottle of white wine from the cellar. “Wine after beer you’re in the clear,” he said, and filled two enormous crystal glasses. He crawled up against me on the couch.

After a sip of wine I kissed him. Our tongues were teasing each other, and I felt his chest hair. He moaned, and I played with his nipple. We finished our glass, he stood up and said: “Let’s go upstairs. I’ll bring the bottle of wine with me.” We climbed the stairs and walked into Mark’s bedroom at the front of the house. We quickly undressed, and as it was extremely cold, we huddled up against each other under the duvet cover. I said: “Let’s create some body heat and pretend we are heaters.”

He flipped me over and shoved his hard cock inside of me. He fingered me afterwards. It reminded me of “Goldfinger,” the opening song of the fourth James Bond movie from 1964. It was sung by Shirley Bassey. Shirley was the woman who made my father somewhat nervous. When performing at the Grand Gala du Disque, she was wearing a wonderful glittering blue dress with a naked back. “What a beautiful woman,” my father said. And wittily my mother replied: “Then I will wear the same dress.”

Shirley BasseyHe’s the man, the man with the Midas touch
A spider’s touch
Such a gold finger
Beckons you to enter his web of sin
But his lies can’t disguise what you fear
For a golden girl knows when he’s kissed her
It’s the kiss of death from

Mister Goldfinger
Pretty girl beware of this hearth of gold
This hearth is cold

He loves only gold
Only gold
He loves gold
He loves only gold
Only gold
He loves gold


The next morning, I was still in Mark’s hairy arms. "I’m going downstairs to make a breakfast,” Mark said, and he disappeared from the bed. Sometime later, we were sitting at the breakfast table in our underwear and heavy dressing gowns. I drank my coffee while Mark was baking bacon and eggs.

“So you like my hairy body?,” he asked while squeezing some oranges. “Don’t be so insecure. You are gorgeous. A guy with lots of hair on his body – the envy of lots of smooth men,” I said. Mark put the orange juice and bacon and eggs on the table. He walked towards me, smiling. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me.



 







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In the New Issue of Gay News, 315, November 2017

















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