Skin

Nothing is more sensual for me than when I first catch a glimpse of a sexy guy's skin, be it his side, his back, his belly. To pull up his shirt and lay my hands on his bare skin is electrifying.

Why, I don't know.

Skin, after all, is almost devalued now. Exposed flesh is more common than Big Macs. Girls, especially, have decided they have to show off their guts and backs. Fat chicks -- "It's my body, and I'm proud of it!" -- seem to take special pleasure in unburdening their shirts. Gobs of flesh droop over their pants as they thunder past in low-rise jeans licking ice cream cones. Guys are less obvious about it, opting for one-size-too-small T-shirts that hug the contours of their muscles while also offering peeks of skin here and there. But television makes up for any lack of male flesh in the real world. MTV is a swirl of hips, backs, nipples, belly-buttons, chests, sides and abs. So is every other youth-oriented channel.

Yet, somehow, the heart-pounding mystery of skin persists. Will it be dry or oily, smooth or hairy, darker or lighter? Will it be freckled or flawless, bony or muscled? Will the nipples be flat or pointed? Will the navel be a swirl, a plug, a simple indentation? So many possibilities, so many little surprises when the moment arrives. Unless, of course, you've seen the guy shirtless. Then, the mystery is gone, replaced perhaps by something less romantic -- lust.