A bit of self-discovery

by Matthew Wright   

I’ve always wondered why I’ve been so turned on by extremely furry bearded men, and how the word “primal” takes my breath away when I hear it, say it, or type it. Now, I get it.

It started with a single hair on my chest—coarse and dark, almost out of place on my otherwise smooth skin. I remember noticing it one morning, just after waking up, and feeling an odd thrill. I had always wanted more hair, to look rugged and strong, like the men in old photographs with wild beards and thick, untamed bodies. This one small change felt like the start of something... different.

Over the next few days, the hair on my chest multiplied. It wasn’t alarming at first. I watched the subtle transformation in the mirror, fascinated by the way my body seemed to be evolving on its own. I ran my fingers over the growing thicket, marveling at the texture, the way it seemed to root me more deeply in myself. There was a primal satisfaction in it, a feeling of connection to something older, something raw.

Soon, the growth became more noticeable. It spread across my torso, up my arms, down my legs, even over my back. I found myself admiring it more than I expected, as though each new patch of hair was a symbol of something larger happening inside me. It was more than just appearance. It was a shift in how I saw myself, how I felt in the world.

The hair didn’t stop. It thickened, overtaking nearly every part of me, until I was covered in it, head to toe. But I wasn’t alarmed. Strangely, I felt calmer than I had in years. The more my body became enshrouded, the more I began to feel like I was being freed from something, though I couldn’t yet place what it was.

I stopped shaving. I stopped cutting my hair. The razor became irrelevant, and the idea of fighting the changes felt absurd. I let it all grow—my beard, my hair, the fur that now coated my arms and legs. It was as if my body was reclaiming its natural state, pulling away from the expectations of what I was supposed to be. I stopped caring about how others saw me.

With each passing day, as the hair grew thicker, the distractions of the world grew thinner. The noise of modern life—emails, social media, the endless, meaningless chatter—began to fall away. I stopped checking my phone. I stopped answering it altogether. What was once urgent and pressing became distant, insignificant. There was a stillness growing inside me, like the world was slowing down and allowing me to simply be.

I spent more time outside, feeling the air on my skin—or rather, my fur. Walking barefoot through the woods, feeling the soil beneath me, I realized how disconnected I had been. Not just from nature, but from something more fundamental. Society, with all its distractions, had become a prison of endless details, pettiness, and manipulation. Every conversation felt like a battle of egos, every interaction weighed down by false pretenses.

Now, none of that mattered. I no longer needed to explain myself. I no longer needed to prove anything. The world I had known, the one that demanded constant attention and effort, began to dissolve. In its place was the earth—vast, patient, and silent.

The deeper I went into the woods, the less I thought about where I came from. My thoughts became quieter, more attuned to the rhythm of nature around me. The rustling of leaves, the chirping of birds, the wind brushing against my fur—it was all the language I needed. Words, once so important, lost their power. The complexity of human interaction felt unnecessary now. Communication was simpler, more elemental.

I didn’t become an animal. I didn’t lose my humanity. But I did become part of something larger. The trees, the soil, the sky—everything around me felt like an extension of myself. My body, now covered in thick hair, seemed to belong more to the earth than to society. I was no longer bound by the expectations or the trivialities of human life. I was free.

It wasn’t a sudden change, but a gradual shedding of what no longer served me. I let go of the need to control, to explain, to fit into the mold of who I was supposed to be. Instead, I embraced what was happening, this slow but steady transformation not into a beast, but into someone who no longer needed the distractions of modern life. I didn’t need to speak to understand, didn’t need to be heard to know my place.

The pettiness of the world—the manipulations, the details, the ceaseless noise—faded into the background. And in its place, there was only silence. A silence that wasn’t empty, but full of life. Full of meaning.

I had become one with the earth. And for the first time, I truly felt alive.

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