The first thing I remember with any clarity about the lovely Mr Hunt is his legs stalking off into the distance as his mate chatted me up and generally tested the water, working out if I was up for fucking him.
He has lovely legs… long and strong. I had no idea about anything of substance at that point, but the friend, who was shorter overall and definitely shorter of leg was much less interesting than the jeans clad pair striding down the path.
The mate would do, but I knew who I would making a move on when we got to their house.
I am tall, with ridiculously long legs. The curvier I have become, the less striking they have been as they have been soaked into the general proportions, but buying trousers and tights has always been a nightmare. I like long legs on a partner, male or female, probably as a mirroring of my height.
There was a question in Twitter this week. “What do you think are your most attractive features?”. I believe attractiveness is in the eye of the beholder, but I think a younger me would have rated my legs as attractive probably partly because I find legs attractive in other people. I like people with long legs because I want to bump hips with them as we walk side by side. I want a stride that matches mine.
Legs are also a battleground. Last week I was teaching “changes that happen during puberty” with two primary aged female children. Immediately they identified that on female bodies, hair would start to grow and you “had to” remove it. You could pull it out, shave it or use smelly cream but it had to go. *
When I was a little older than them, I was dismayed when my mum refused to help me take the fluff off my lower legs. It was the wrong parenting decision then, because it left me socially ostracised, but I wish I could comfort the teenage me with how little it actually matters as an adult.
In 2005, I got a cut on my lower leg that became infected and I spent nearly six months with my leg raised and antibiotics pouring through my system. With few exceptions my legs have been left hairy ever since. The risk of a cut and infection and the huge amount of scarring on my shin just meant a little blonde fur that doesn’t bother Mr Hunt is not a priority for me.
When I was younger, my legs were a big part of my self image. Their length, strength and hairiness were all markers in my self image. As an adult, bodies, part or whole, are much less important to me than the people they house. Touching someone is more important than whether the the skin is hairy or smooth. I have learnt to apply those principles to myself, so here are my beautiful, hairy, scarred legs.
*I did correct this misconception. Leaving your legs hairy is a valid choice, as is removing the hair, but reassessing from time to time what you do and why you do it is important.