Exrotica

Daan Spijer
3 min readDec 5, 2016
photo by Daan Spijer

She was a strange-looking woman. Probably about twenty-six, with a boy’s chest and a woman’s hips. Her hair was a velvety red — the hair on her head, that is. Her eyebrows were platinum blond and the fine hairs on her bare forearms were black.

She was exotic. I found her erotic.

That reminded me of a weekly crossword competition in the newspaper where all the words were already written into their correct squares but each had a letter missing. You had to guess from the clues what the word was to be. Like: I found the woman very E_OTIC.

She was definitely both. What colour was the hair I couldn’t see? The hair pointing in an inverted triangle to that exciting, erogenous area (it certainly could not be exogenous, although the hair could be). I was determined to find out. But how?

I could not get the thought of her out of my mind, with fantasies of being naked with her occupying most of my idle moments. I had many and long idle moments, leaving me frequently shaky and frustrated.

I was on Facebook when a friend posted a private message to me: “Tran, check this out!! There’s this bird with the most amazing red hair who’s posted a challenge :P” I followed the link and there she was — a head-and-shoulders shot with the red velvety hair on her head and the platinum eyebrows. There was a short post next to the photo:

“Lonely almost thirty seeks intimacy with the first man to guess the colour of my other hair. Private messages only.”

I felt my heart double its rate and my penis came to attention, as I imagined being that man. I don’t know what possessed me, but I immediately messaged, “emerald green”. Fat chance, I thought. Ten minutes later she responded: “Tran.S.Late, you’re the man :) Are you up for a viewing?”

I was totally up.

In preparation for the ‘viewing’, I dyed my pubes red and put a bright green streak through the hair on my head. Then the big question: To SHA_E or not to SHA_E? Hey! I’m talking about my face.

I walked into the café. She was like a beacon — a down-light turning her hair into an irresistible magnet. She didn’t look up until I stopped at her table. She said nothing as she slowly moved her gaze up my body. Her eyes rested on mine and a nervous smile wavered on her sensuous, orange lips. I sat down.

“I’m …”

“… Tran. I can tell. Your hair …”

“Is Licit your real name?”

“No, it’s Liz, short for Elizabeth. My friends call me Licit because I never do anything … you know … ‘naughty’.” She blushed. “That’s my big problem in life.”

“What about …?” I pointed at her hair.

“It’s a decoy.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“You know … makes me look more exciting than I feel.”

“And the Facebook challenge?

“My girlfriend put me up to it. I went along with it because I thought there was no way …” She blushed again.

I smiled as I thought about the green hair I expected to see soon.

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Daan Spijer

Lawyer, mediator, award-winning writer and photographer, living with his wife Sally in Mt Eliza, (south of Melbourne) Australia