When I was in college, I dated a bearded woman for a very short time. She had a light-brown down almost an inch long on most of her face, and the hair on her arms was about two to three inches long. I was deeply attracted to her the minute I saw her. She reminded me of an Angora cat, not only because of her furriness but because her favorite sitting posture in class was somehow very feline: one leg drawn up against her chest, heel braced on the seat, chin resting on her knee. She made me want to stroke her.
I was also attracted to her because of her bravery. She obviously didn't care what people thought, and I admired that. She tended to wear long, gauzy hippie-chick skirts with her tie-dyed T-shirts, so I didn't know if her hirsutism extended to her entire body. In our senior year, we got together, and I discovered that under her clothes, she was almost as hairy as a werewolf. I thought she was beautiful. I've never dated an excessively hairy woman before or since--something about this particular person really got my attention. Kissing a woman with a mustache and beard took a little getting used to, but her whiskers were so soft that it really wasn't a problem. The only reason it didn't work out was because she was a devout evangelical Christian, and I don't belong to any organized religion. Every man I've ever told about this has cringed, gone pale, grimaced, or said he felt like throwing up.