Sexy is...

         What is sexy? So many things, melded together - sexy takes charge of all the senses. Real sexy isn't plastic, or latex; it isn't pretty pictures on a glossy page. Real sexy is what gets under your skin, makes you tingle. It can involve different things, but it comes down to those things that make you sweat, make you drool and get your heart pounding.
         Sexy starts with the visual, before we touch, we see. It begins in the eyes: the feel of their caress across my skin. Startling eyes that grab my attention, devour me whole. Laughing eyes, the kind that speak and command, or when the occasion calls for it, beg. The details of the rest of the figure tend to be mutable, some times it is the squareness of jaw, or the line of their neck. Any detail might catch draw my attention, but it is the eyes that capture me. If the vision before me peaks my curiosity, then I move closer, to see what is beneath that beauty that caught my attention.
         Of all the things that draw me in the most important is the smell. Not a cologne, or soap; nothing that can be bought. That magnetic odor of man, some pheromone that triggers an indescribable animal impulse. The right smell is the finest intoxicant, better than any drug. And just like any addict, what I am prepared to do for a fix belies logic.
         Once I'm drawn in, the dance begins, the choreographed motion of touches, flirting and meaningless conversation. Touching becomes the main play. My hand brushes against his hand, his arm. How does his skin feel next to mine? Can I find a reason to touch his face, a light touch that can set him on a low simmer? Watching those eyes, searching for a sign that he's ready, that he wants more. Is what pulled me in strong enough that he feels it too? Will it be easy, will it be complex, how long will we continue the waltz until we find out?
         Once it happens, once the social dance concludes, we move to a more intimate one. The senses take over again. Touch rules this private dance, the feel of skin under my fingertips, smooth here, rougher there; the textures of his hair, silken, bristly. The mixture of touches, fingers trailing lightly, hands squeezing tightly. Mouths seeking, tasting. How the muscles move under the skin, the tightening and relaxing. Feeling his pulse under my lips, in his wrist, in his neck. The soft nuzzle behind his ear, whispers that don't use words. Ah, the sounds, beyond words. The sounds of passion, the small moans, sharp inhalations, slow releases. The words full of fever, which matter so much less than the voice they are uttered in. The force, the hoarseness; need cracking through. That final strangled cry that escapes just as it hits. That craving for the heat and flavor of another.
         Sexy is all of it, the five senses teased, appeased. The beauty of the outside, the scent of passion, the sounds that make us melt. The long strokes of skin on skin, the partaking of another person. A hunger that goes beyond the skin, waiting for a taste of more. Sexy is the exchange of power, the ebb and flow of the waves of passion and our ability to submerge ourselves in them. Sexy is full contact; total involvement. It is overwhelming and delightful; the only joy that surpasses that of the chase is the finding.