The Dangers of Hair

The Dangers of Hair

I whipped up this photo in response to the banning of the painting “Portrait of Ms Ruby May, Standing” by Leena McCall. These days, thanks to Testosterone, I am happily even harrier.

by Creature Karin Webb

Hirsute.
Nape of neck
Top of head,
Armpit, crotch, lips,
Ears, feet, crack.
Perfume locked tresses
Scent-ers emanating out and around
Attracting animals.
Primal hedonistic invitation.
Soft breasts and back,
Treasure trail, chin, and jowl,
Arms, ass, legs,
Backs of hands,
Bits.
The dangers of a mammal
Are in its ability to communicate
So stealthily.
Pores leaking nonverbal come-hitherance
And “no tresspass”
Seeping up the stalks of mane
Expanded by heat, trailing sweat.
Other bodies warm in response.
Filling this room
Full of oils
Personal dirt and
Putrid-sexy stench.

I couldn’t sleep the other night and so wrote an art piece for performance. It’s meant to live in a gallery for a stretch of time.

I imagine a field of razors, scissors, and clippers covering the floor throughout. All shapes and sizes of haircutting implements blanket the room. Perhaps there is a pond of Nair in one corner, boasting waxy shores and electrolysis tools piled high on threading discard sands.

It is a familiar wasteland. One imagined from the piles of waste garnered from decades of upkeep, with an undercurrent note reeking of shame.

At the room’s entrance stands a soap and hand sink station. One by one (or small group by group), people are invited to enter. Winding through this sharp and dangerous setting is a path. The path leads to a tent I sit in. I am unshaven and soft. Nude. Available to pet, explore, and caress. One may look at my body covered with hair, even stare, should they like. Both masculine and feminine are the current patterns of my design. My audience may speak, question, command that I show my nooks and crannies. They may ask to breathe in my clean, natural fragrances should they wish. Witness.

I hold court loving my natural body—struggle as it often is to do so. I’ve fought a lifetime to hold onto this rite|right to the hair which I grow daily. Free to display my mammalian self uncensored, I look forward to sharing. Radical naturalist reality.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

This writing takes time, research, and consideration. It is my art.
Please visit my Patreon, offer one time Support or email me for other options. Thank you.

Scent

If you’ve spent any time around me you might have noticed that I smell everything. I touch something, and I smell it. I stop and smell the flowers when I walk. I nuzzle my nose into nooks and crannies, I notice the smells of the room I’m in, or from block to block how lingering the pungent smell of a passing garbage truck has persisted.

I smell myself too. My emotions smell differently than one another. I have ruined shirts from too many wearings while fighting with a partner or feeling stress and fear. Fear smells are distinct from the sweat of a casual walk down the street or from being turned on. I can sometimes tell my partner’s mood by their smell. Smokers, drinkers, fast food eaters, people who are ovulating or menstruating or just took their “T” shot, people who are turned on, sick, drowning insecurities with perfume and deodorant, or having 15 different soaps, shampoos, make-ups, and other sprays lingering on their bodies and in their hair, the unwashed, the clean sweaty, those working in a barnyard or just out cutting the grass, digging in the garden, taking a walk in the woods, after cooking, clothes dried on a line in the sun, baby scalps (yes it’s absolutely a thing, try it if you haven’t sometime), getting closer to the ocean…

I love smelling things. That particular animal instinct is a turn on for me. Knowing exactly where I am on earth because of what I smell makes me feel more grounded and alive, and often more happy.

Once I walked into the bedroom of a friend of mine who I was dating. As I walked in I was hit in the face with the smell of sex — but it was the particular smell of sex that my other partner at the time made. Hours after their affair, without being told, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the two of them had been at play.

One of the sexiest things someone ever did during sex was bury their nose deeply in my armpit while fucking me, inhale wholly, and lick my patch of sweat and hair, obviously turned on by what they found there. I thought “That’s what I do!!!”, and wondered why other people don’t get up in there more frequently. You can’t keep me away from those folds holding a person’s scent. I will point out though, that deodorant and perfume on people really doesn’t smell or taste great while in a feral headspace.

I was surprised the first time I experienced a golden shower that what turned me on most about it was the animal scent of my friend. I immediately felt closer and more loving, more devoted to that person peeing on me. It erased the idea that I might be squicked or taken out of my headspace. Indeed, and excitedly, it pulled me further into the scene.

I’ve been thinking about the smell of testosterone lately. I can smell the synthetic testosterone carried inside some people taking T. It smells like the pheromones coming off naturally higher testosterone producing people, but slightly more… acidic? Acrid? Just a tiny bit. It only bothers me when it’s too much. I think that the different testosterone products smell somewhat differently from one another too (having taken two different versions of the hormone myself). When I started my own T injections my animal smell shifted pretty dramatically. What really fascinated me was that early on, in the first couple months, I smelled like me not on T, and I smelled like me on T… There was a distinct mix of my familiar lifelong musk and the sweeter smelling pungency of many men. The combination of the two was distracting to say the least. It was like smelling sex coming out of my own body from my armpit pores and from between my legs all the time. I was at attention for a week or two constantly feeling a little turned on and euphoric from inhaling a whiff of the mixed chemistry coming out of me.

The smells from my pussy are different too. I think they’re less distinct, and now that I’m not bleeding anymore the monthly garden of smells constantly shifting and turning over has calmed to a more uniform, lighter story. I miss my old smells to tell the truth, but these new ones are ok too.

Once I broke up with someone because they didn’t smell right to me. I found myself showering each time I got home from having a wonderful time with this person. I was madly attracted to them and we were beyond perfect for each other on paper. Luckily it turned out I didn’t smell right to them either, and we were both relieved when the conversation acknowledging that strange hang-up went so well. We’re still close. It’s interesting, hanging out with them after starting on T shots, I don’t dislike their smell as much anymore. I wonder if it’s because we’ve been friends for so long that their smell has become a comfort to me? Or maybe they’re eating differently? Or maybe having higher levels of testosterone circling my own bloodstream is aiming my nose and instinct a bit differently?

My cat’s fur sometimes smells like maple syrup. I could go on all day…

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

Please support my work on Patreon. For one time donations click here: Support the Artist 
~Thank you.

Age Verification: www.ABCsOfKink.com addresses adult sensual and sexual information, including imagery associated with a wide variety of BDSM topics and themes. This website is available to readers who are 18+ (and/or of legal adult age within their districts). If you are 18+, please select the "Entry" button below. If you are not yet of adult age as defined by your country and state or province, please click the "Exit" link below. If you're under the age of consent, we recommend heading over to www.scarleteen.com — an awesome website, which is more appropriate to minors looking for information on these subjects. Thank you!