His name was Logan and he was my neighbor back when I lived a “trailer trash” life. Tall, and larger than life, when he bent down his head to walk through my living room door, the whole opening just disappeared. Only a sliver of daylight surrounded the bulk of his form. His most distinguishing feature was his luxurious long blond hair and he kept it immaculate! Because of his beard and that beautiful hair some referred to him as Jesus. But Logan didn't look like my idea of Jesus, he was more like a Viking. Sometimes I could even envision him with a horned Viking helmet and carrying a sword and shield.
Logan became my Viking for a short turn, but he was dumb as a box of rocks and I couldn't understand him when he talked. He mumbled and only spoke in half sentences, sometimes trailing off before he would finish a thought as if he were losing his script. We would sit on my back porch smoking weed, trying to complete a conversation but it never turned into any kind of deep understanding. I didn't mind that he was a terrible communicator because all I could seem to want to do was stand behind him combing and braiding and running my fingers through his hair! These times would conjure up fantasies in my head of Logan standing tall at the bow of a Viking ship on a storm tossed sea with his hair whipping furiously about his head and shoulders. Which spurned my thoughts of an erotic encounter with all that hair.
It didn't take a lot of coaxing to maneuver him to my bedroom one afternoon and to strategically position him where the ceiling fan would blow his hair whenever he would toss his head about as we had sex.
The visual was most rewarding and oddly, better than the sex. We only had the one encounter, and I can't remember what ever happened with Logan. But I'll never forget how satisfying that head toss was for me.