This week’s Pillowbook has a few words about a man with a hair fetish. Including a variant hair sex practice that may surprise even you, the sex blog readers who have seen it all:

let me briefly share with you an observation on the kinkiest hair sex i’ve had. so far.

it’s not really about pubic hair, but i still think it’s worth mentioning.

i had this guy once (well, quite a few times, actually), who was so besotted with my hair (head hair) that he wanted me to get on all fours over him and use it to stroke him to full erection, every single time we fucked. all over his body i’d stroke him, like he was a billiard table and i was sweeping him prior to a game or something. i would have to sweep him like that for however long it took for his cock to be standing fully to attention. which was usually about ten seconds, but could go on for a lot longer, depending on whether or not he wanted me to bypass penetration altogether and hair-sweep him to orgasm, as he sometimes did. then he’d shoot his load into my hair, and i’d have to go to sleep with a wet spot next to my cheek…

but that’s not the kinky part. that’s just normal.

you and your partner probly did that very thing last night.

no, the kinky part was when he wanted me to peel back his foreskin, take a single strand of living, still-attached hair, wrap it around his glans in a spiral from the base, roll the foreskin back over it, and then – ever so gently so that the hair didn’t break – pull away from him, dragging the hair out from beneath his foreskin like a rock climber’s line playing out of his ropebag.

the thing was, my hair is so fine that sometimes it *would* break, and then things would turn ugly.

let’s not go there.

but, if it didn’t break, he would end up so aroused that, when i tried to then mount him for penetration, he’d usually have come in my hand while i was still trying to place him against my slit.

we did that so often that my head hair was well and truly fetishised. i’d be sitting in a sidewalk cafe with him and the wind would riffle my fringe onto my face, and, when i went to brush it away with my hand, i could tell that he was boning up beneath his latte.