Are Moustaches Sexy?

It's Movember. A time when we "celebrate" moustaches as a reminder of men's health and a fundraiser for prostate cancer.

But are moustaches sexy?

When I was a kid (in the 1970s) moustaches were sexy. The Australian cricket team had the very sexy Dennis Lillee with his famous moustache. But hair was in then - big chest hair with gold chains.

Have we changed?

These days we're more likely to see models waxed and buffed than sporting chest hair. Models go for the sexy look of the 5 o'clock shadow, rather than a full beard.

I'm not a mo fan, myself, but I did kiss a mo that I enjoyed a long time ago. I thought I wouldn't like it but was surprised at how appealing that tickle was.

I'm writing some moustache kisses for Movember. You can find them here at Mo-Ro.

But let me give you a taste:

Day 7 - November 6

It’s two o’clock and so far my day’s been kiss- and caterpillar-free. We’ve been busy and I like busy days, they go more quickly. Another hour and we’ll watch the Melbourne Cup and have afternoon tea, barring customers who don’t know that Australia stops for a horse race.

My boss hovers behind me while I serve the last customer. When they leave, he clears his throat. Turning around I hold back a groan. The next wanna-be caterpillar is lined up waiting. It’s fluffy and a truly poor excuse for six days growth.

I brush a kiss on him that has him jumping back and sucking air. My technique didn’t suck that badly. Maybe I zapped him with static.

“Hello, Officers,” he mumbles.

I turn to the counter and there’s Dutch and Mo from Saturday night.

“How can we help you?” My boss asks the question for the very first time. He never works at the counter much less helps anyone.

Dutch answers. “My partner here’s after another kiss but looks like you beat him.”

Mo flushes a dark pink and no doubt I’m a matching hue.

“No. I came to pay. I assume I have to pay for the kiss.” Mo’s even redder, if that’s possible.

I point to the donations bucket at the end of the cashier’s desk and walk there with Mo on the other side of the divide. When we get there I lean on the counter so I won’t be overheard. “You didn’t need to come in to pay.”

“I wanted to.” He glances down for a long heartbeat before looking up directly at me. “I hoped to find out who you are.”

My heart jumps before taking up a faster pace. “Briana Malton.”

“I’m Mark Bridgetine.”

“Hi Mark. It suits you better than Mo. I’m sorry about that.” I give him my best apologetic smile.

“I’m not.” Mark has a charming smile that makes his pale green eyes sparkle. My breath catches.

“C’mon Casanova,” Dutch calls. When I glance to him, a couple of customers have walked in.

“Will you be at the pub Saturday night?” Mark asks.

I’d really like to say yes, super quickly but that will appear way too eager and pathetic. So I play it cool. “I usually end up there.” My cheeks are hurting from the smile that may burst off my face.

“I hope to see you there. I could save a kiss, if you need one.”

The thought of kissing him again sends tingles through me, even if his moustache is thickening. I nod, vigorously, betraying my attempted cool demeanour.

He leaves and I go back to work. There are too many days until Saturday.

Twenty four kisses to go. And one I’m definitely looking forward to.