Turning a Guy On? It Ain’t That Hard

May 9, 2011  |  


A friend of mine recently asked me what turns me on. Strangely enough, I had a hard time answering outright; my initial notion being I was supposed to come up with something from a gonzo Adult Videos flick that involves a blender, maraschino cherries, a vacuum cleaner, the tongue of an adult St. Bernard and a celly with 911 on speed dial.

I’m a male who’s not in his 70s and suffering from prostate cancer. By virtue of that, it takes little more than a strong wind to turn me on. Teen sex comedies would have you believe it takes some really far-out Shyte to get a man going, but female stand-up comics almost nail it when they joke about the vagina being more than enough.

While I don’t think that’s entirely accurate, I do know it’s the simple things that drive us. Here’s a brief, incomplete list of what gets me open:

– A woman with a nice frame whose silhouette is enough to engender the anticipation of seeing her. She clearly takes care of herself and can dress like a knockout (not a Slore) when she wants to remind the world that she’s on jam.

– Dark hair. (On her head, that is)

– Watching my girlfriend prance around in skintight black cotton pants that look as though they’d barely fit as sleeves around my arm. That’s how asses get slapped as they walk by.

– The “walking sex bomb”: a woman who’s not just dead Hot, but owns her sexuality and renders the average man a babbling buffoon. See: Rihanna; Megan Fox; Shane Mosley’s girlfriend.

– Navel rings.

– Virtually anything with shiny fabric from Victoria’s Secret.

– The Ford Mustang Shelby GT500. Any year.

– Walking in the kitchen to see aforementioned girlfriend cooking. Of course, I do my best to see that the meal gets postponed or somehow ruined…

– Jeans, sweet Jesus…JEANS. The right pair can punctuate what you’re already working with beneath, or if you’re rocking a sloppier a$$, make all that feta cheese you’re packing look like a heart made of freshly-sculpted ice.

– A killer, traffic-stopping.

Yep. No crazy-filthy sex acts, whips or Areola clamps. This list will change, I’m sure, as I grow older. But at 30, these are what remind me why women are the best invention since the Chia Pet.

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