Girl on the Net

As with literally any blog post that discusses physical beauty, this piece is going to come with an important note: what I am about to do is fetishise/objectify/admire/wax lyrical about one particular physical feature, but understand that you do not need to have this feature in order to be beautiful. You can be beautiful with whatever you’ve got, there is no one correct way to be visually stunning, and I have dated many gorgeous people who do not happen to share the characteristic I am about to so thoroughly cream my knickers over. In short: not everyone is bald, and that is OK. But my boyfriend happens to be, and there isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t cast my eyes towards the heaven I’m pretty sure does not exist, to thank a God I definitely don’t believe in for sending me a hot bald guy. I can (and assuredly WILL) write essays later about the joy of dating a hot bald guy from a tactile perspective, but for now I’m taking a rare turn into the visual. Here are my hot bald boyfriend’s three best angles, thank you so much for asking.

1. From the right, in profile.

I adore being able to see the curve of his head, from brow and forehead up and over to crown then all the way down his neck and into his t-shirt. Just this clear, perfect, smooth silhouette.

I get the best opportunity to enjoy this angle while he’s picking the music. Pointing the Fire remote at the TV to select the next thing we’re listening to on Spotify, brow furrowed a little in concentration as he chooses what to play. I find it very sexy the way that he curates the tunes – he knows about music that I haven’t heard but will almost certainly like, and he selects it carefully to match the mood.

And yes, I know I wrote all those blog posts about men hogging the music and how much it annoyed me, but he doesn’t hog the music – he offers me the choice over and over again. And it turns out that as long as I get to pick maybe 10% of the time, most of the time I prefer for him to choose it. I’m actually really delighted by his music taste. To the point where I think he is growing a little annoyed by the fact that I make him choose the tunes all the time.

What I don’t think he knows is that I also just love looking at him as he does this. While he’s concentrating on picking something, I get to see him in profile, from the right hand side. Specifically the right side rather than the left because as an added bonus it gives me the best view of my favourite of his tattoos. But the most compelling thing about this particular angle is that I get to see the curve of his head, from the crown all the way down the neck and to his shoulders.

There’s something compellingly vulnerable about baldness – it is, after all, a permanent and irreversible kind of nudity, showing off more skin than anyone with hair. At the same time, there’s something almost dominant about it too – like the swagger of someone who strips off in broad daylight without ever trying to turn their back or hide certain parts.

If you’re bald, I can see more of you than you can of me. I can observe, and marvel at, the exact curve of your skull. When you nod or shake your head, or hang it in shame or through shyness, I can see how that beautiful curve changes. And it gives more of you away than the same gestures done from beneath a modest blanket of hair or a hat. It’s extremely appealing, that curve. That perfect smooth glide. Just mesmerising beyond words.

In lieu of words, I like to stroke it with my fingertips.

2. From the side, slightly above, when lying down.

That same line – the beautiful curve from brow over crown and down to neck – grows longer when he’s lying down. When he’s naked in bed and leaning up on his elbows, head dipped slightly so he can kiss me, or – the best, the actual fucking best – because he’s laughing. Just fully lit up with laughter so he bows his head to take a breath. Amazing.

When he does that, I can see the curve of that smooth line that cuts such a neat and precise silhouette… from the crown of his head, diving inwards at the neck, rolling over the shoulders and then tracing all the way down the spine of his naked back.

Good Lord. Jesus Christ. Holy Mary Mother of Sweet Wet Fuck.

3. From above and behind.

The following trick is so hot that I’m going to predict at least three of you who go out with bald people, or who are bald yourselves, will immediately send this to your partner and ask if they’re up for doing it with you. If you date someone bald and you’ve not yet tried this, I’m about to bestow upon you a very precious gift, so listen carefully. And commit to coming back and leaving a comment if you do decide to do it, so when I get to three I can throw myself a party.

Ahem.

The best of all my hot bald boyfriend’s angles begins with both of us naked, panting and sweating and grinning towards the end of a fuck. I’m sitting in bed, propped up on pillows against the headboard, he’s lying on his back between my open legs. He’s facing away from me, gripping his cock with purpose and skill. The back of his beautiful head is resting on my stomach, so I get to view him from above.

And not only do I get to see that, I also get to stroke it while he wanks. Running my fingertips back and forth across his scalp, or rubbing my palms against it, feeling him twist and push back against me like a dog getting scratched behind the ears.

But best of all – the greatest – is that from this angle, with his head tipped back, I get the fucking jackpot of wank voyeur views: his face, hands and dick all at once. I can simultaneously see his hand working his cock like I’m not even there in the room and also his face with an expression of focus and determination.

I get to see, and embrace, the whole of his body. Cup his torso with my thighs so I can feel the tension in it as he pushes himself harder when he gets closer to coming. See the way his legs straighten up when the first wave of orgasm starts to wash over him, and look forward to the unencumbered view I’ll have in a second as thick spurts of hot cum thud from the tip of his cock and fall onto his stomach, his hand…

And all the while this is happening, I am stroking his head. Fingertips running gently back from forehead down to crown, while I cup his torso with my thighs.

Pressing slightly harder as I run them in the opposite direction, watching how his legs straighten up as his climax approaches. Caressing his head in both hands, twisting my palms over the short-short hair at the nape and gently dragging my fingertips over the smooth baldness at the crown.

Then holding my breath as he parts his lips to utter that soul-fuckingly beautiful phrase:

“I’m gonna come.”