When I was about 18 and regaling my mother with some tale of a man with whom I was smitten (She asked, she's that kinda mom) she said something that struck me dumb:
She turned from doing whatever she was doing, looked straight at me and said: "Oh my god, you're attracted to his mind! ..... poor you."
I remember stopping mid-swoon, gobsmacked. Not because her words meant so much in that instant — they seemed silly to me since, duh, what else would make a man hot — but the utter genuine vehemence in her delivery arrested me.
Over the years and many, many men I've come to understand why she pitied me so. It would be far easier if I were attracted to mere body parts; if I could, like some friends, see a guy with a nice ass and think "I'd hit that," or partake in some of the hotties with blank eyes who hit on me. Much easier because there are far more attractive men out there than devastatingly-smart, perceptive ones. (Though it seems I've managed to "hit" a few — but that is a tale left private, methinks.)
Instead, I am stuck with what I dubbed years ago The Keanu Reeves Effect. This is where the attractive-ness quotient of a man is related directly to his intelligence. (This was bourne from a belief that, though Mr. Reeves is perhaps the most perfectly stunning male specimen physically, he does nothing really for me because of a certain perception of ... ahem ... idiocy therein. Empty eyes, if you will. I have learnt since, from a friend's friend who worked on a movie with him, that he is actually quite astute and charming. So the term for the Effect remains mostly due to overuse but I am now more and more intrigued to have lunch with the dark-haired man. If he showed up at my door with a proposition I'd probably accept. At least for lunch.)
However! Despite my exhibiting this Effect, there are a few things I do find utterly disarming and delicious about men, physically.
This post is dedicated to one such characteristic: hands.
Men's hands are delicious. They are — or rather, those I like are — different from women's. Now, I do not have small dainty hands at all, however when compared with a man's there is a marked difference (despite my having inherited my father's big palms and keeping my nails short).
A man's hand has more pronounced joints, more visible sinews, broadness at the knuckles, a kind of latent competency therein. Broadish, strong, long fingers with some sort of aesthetic shape are, frankly, utterly arousing. What, one thinks, could be done with those?
..... excuse me for a sec.
She turned from doing whatever she was doing, looked straight at me and said: "Oh my god, you're attracted to his mind! ..... poor you."
I remember stopping mid-swoon, gobsmacked. Not because her words meant so much in that instant — they seemed silly to me since, duh, what else would make a man hot — but the utter genuine vehemence in her delivery arrested me.
Over the years and many, many men I've come to understand why she pitied me so. It would be far easier if I were attracted to mere body parts; if I could, like some friends, see a guy with a nice ass and think "I'd hit that," or partake in some of the hotties with blank eyes who hit on me. Much easier because there are far more attractive men out there than devastatingly-smart, perceptive ones. (Though it seems I've managed to "hit" a few — but that is a tale left private, methinks.)
Instead, I am stuck with what I dubbed years ago The Keanu Reeves Effect. This is where the attractive-ness quotient of a man is related directly to his intelligence. (This was bourne from a belief that, though Mr. Reeves is perhaps the most perfectly stunning male specimen physically, he does nothing really for me because of a certain perception of ... ahem ... idiocy therein. Empty eyes, if you will. I have learnt since, from a friend's friend who worked on a movie with him, that he is actually quite astute and charming. So the term for the Effect remains mostly due to overuse but I am now more and more intrigued to have lunch with the dark-haired man. If he showed up at my door with a proposition I'd probably accept. At least for lunch.)
However! Despite my exhibiting this Effect, there are a few things I do find utterly disarming and delicious about men, physically.
This post is dedicated to one such characteristic: hands.
Men's hands are delicious. They are — or rather, those I like are — different from women's. Now, I do not have small dainty hands at all, however when compared with a man's there is a marked difference (despite my having inherited my father's big palms and keeping my nails short).
A man's hand has more pronounced joints, more visible sinews, broadness at the knuckles, a kind of latent competency therein. Broadish, strong, long fingers with some sort of aesthetic shape are, frankly, utterly arousing. What, one thinks, could be done with those?
..... excuse me for a sec.
No comments:
Post a Comment