I took my top off and felt repulsive – until I realised I’m an otter
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As I danced un-self-consciously in the warehouse-like London gay nightclub, I noticed how the luminous green laser lights beamed down onto my shirtless, yet slightly sweat-saturated, torso. The long chest hair I’ve now let grow was scrunched into tight curls that any period drama heroine would be envious of – yes, my chest hair is, basically, Elizabeth Bennet’s barnet – and every so often its sporadic silver streaks illuminated under the lights, glistening like an old but precious stone.
![[Gary Nunn: Chest hair]](https://metro.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2024/09/SEI_221873653-5d9b-e1726472631948.jpg?quality=90&strip=all&w=646)
Catching a glimpse, a fellow raver then smiled in my direction. I returned the smile and he then boogied up to me. Gently, with his handsome hazelnut eyes obtaining unspoken enthusiastic consent from my blue ones, he ran his hand through my Jane Austen-esque chest hair.
![[Gary Nunn: Chest hair]](https://metro.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2024/09/SEI_221873650-bb54-e1726472565819.jpg?quality=90&strip=all&w=646)
‘Mmmmm,’ he whispered as he stroked. ‘Love the fur.’. What happened next was too steamy for an Austen romance tale, but it made me feel something more powerful than merely being fetishised. It made me feel giddily validated. It’s been a long journey to such body confidence and self-acceptance, but I can now confidently say that I too love my body hair.
![[Gary Nunn: Chest hair]](https://metro.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2024/09/SEI_221873661-de1d.jpg?quality=90&strip=all&w=646)
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![[Gary Nunn: Chest hair]](https://metro.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2024/09/SEI_221873659-70f5.jpg?quality=90&strip=all&w=646)
