Women Love a Hairy Back

Oh how I long to be seen as a man, 

and be protected from an excruciating and intense summer tan.

I could jog down the street with sweat glistening from each strand, 

and see women turned on, all over the land.

They would tell me they love it, I swear that's true,

while they pull me on top and run their fingers through.

No man would guard me in a game of Shirts and Skins, 

even though ladies would say that my body's a ten.

Ahh, but unfortunately it is an area that I forever will lack,

and I must go on living while knowing, that women love a big hairy back. 

First of all, I think that I should let my readers know that I fully understand that 99% of women do NOT like hairy backs. That being said, I take great pride in my entry this week and believe that the mere use of the word "Hairy" in the title automatically arouses discomfort in the reader (Title). I do not dance around the topic until the end or attempt to hide it in metaphor. I want readers to know from the onset that I yearn for a hairy back. Through such a forthright tone, I believe I demand a high level of unease and even nausea in the reader, just with the title. Now, although hair consists of dead proteins, I know many high schoolers who will throw out an entire school lunch if they find even one small hair (Myself included). Therefore, hair has rapidly become a touchy and almost dirty subject in our society today. Secondly, I believe my sexual reference works in an essential way in the post to force sexual, as well as hygienic discomfort upon the reader. The diction in the statements "pull me" and "run their fingers" work to imply that the woman would pull me in by the back hair which just seems to absurd for the average human (6). Finally, I believe my apparent self-contempt serves as the most effective aspect of my piece. I desired that the reader not blow me off as a sarcastic speaker, therefore I defaced myself as not being a "man" (1). The embarrassed diction in "I forever will lack" derives pathos for myself and yields sympathy from those whom must shave their back. My obvious loathing for my hairless body allows the reader to question my sanity, which makes the piece all the more uncomfortable, because who would ever crave a hirsute back?