I love Chest Hair

TMI?

Maybe.

But I'm glad someone else feels the same way and felt the need to write about it.

I couldn't put this more eloquently myself; "When I meet a guy for the first time, I have no problem with his eyes wandering south for a second to check out my rack—that’s when I steal a glance at the little slip of landscape peeking out from the collar of his shirt. Is it heavily forested, gently grassy, or just a desert-like stretch of flesh, with nary a hair in sight to provide shade?"

I'm too afraid to wax poetic myself on chest hair at the moment. My Dad doesn't need to read about his daughter's acquired turn-on's (Dad, hopefully you haven't read this far yet, otherwise I'm kind of embarrassed right now).

Here are some pics of the Princes of Chest Hair. Tell me who you think takes the King Title!