Men with long fair hair are probably my favourite thing. I like the contrast with my own hair, I like the gold and yellow and fawn strands drawn together on the nape of the neck, the waves and lights and shadows when it is loose. Fair haired men have gorgeous skin, too: as I see my fingers type I think rather of massaging freckly shoulders, stroking jaws with reddish stubble. As for blue eyes, who could ignore the straightforward friendliness scarcely masking the promise of every sort of pleasure?
As you might expect, I have shared my life with one such delicious blond man for many years. One day, I came home and he asked me to look in the fridge. I saw nothing unusual.
“I bought milk!” he announced, proudly.
I kissed him and held out the the half full bottle. “No, treasure, you did that yesterday.”