I am nine or ten years old, still in pajamas as I sit on the toilet watching my dad swivel the brush in the bowl of shaving cream, then apply to his cheeks and over his moustache. His tongue then pushes his cheek outward to become a smooth bump to shave cleanly, to become smooth as cream.

Soon I notice the fly of his pajamas is slightly open, enough to see a penis for the first time in my life; at least an adult penis, as I’m sure I’d seen my brothers as a baby six years younger than me.

I knew I shouldn’t look, and the image is still emblazoned in my memory, his penis limp, yet full in its extension. Sex was not talked about in our very christian family. Modesty was.

Because I grew up feeling very loved by my dad (not by my mother), I’ve been very aware of being attracted to men who carry similar physical properties: broad shoulders, muscular arms, brown eyes, and wavy hair. Although I have loved blonde boyfriends. I have always liked moustaches too – that aren’t too bushy.

My present husband has donned a moustache most of the three years we’ve been together…and has trimmed it to the top of his upper lip so it doesn’t scratch me; but when I ask him to try shaving it as thin as my dad’s, he refuses.