Forgive me friends, it’s been… twenty years since my last confession.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been attracted to a specific female type. No, I don’t mean body type. I’m fine with brunettes, red-heads, blondes. She doesnt’ have to be slender or slight. She doesn’t have to look like she just stepped out of Cosmopolitan magazine. Nope.
What’s attracted me most to women is one thing and one thing only. A mind.
So many of the “bombshells” my fellow males swoon over just don’t do anything for me. It’s a woman’s intellect that gets my motor going. The fact that she’s witty, clever, perceptive. These things are what cranks my… sorry. Getting away from myself there.
A woman who knows how to pick up a book, read it, and think about what she’s read.
A woman who knows how to be herself, have her own opinions, and be able to look at the arguments of others objectively.
A woman who isn’t afraid to change her opinion, and not be afraid to admit she’s wrong — because she knows I’m willing to do that, too.
Finally, a woman who understands that a bed is an altar. And a stage.
I’ve been lucky. I’ve spent my life in the presence of beautiful women. Not women who’d be on the cover of MAXIM, but women who’s minds are more beautiful than can be expressed in words. A few of them I’ve even convinced to share my bed with me.
Again, Me = Lucky.
So, no, I’m not attracted to 90% of the Hollywood actresses that get shoved into my face. Not until I hear them speak. Because there’s nothing sexier than a woman’s whisper in your ear, using all that wit she’s got in that sweet tongue. That just about does me in every time.