Here’s the thing: I’m a fan of the ladies. I’m a fan of looking at the ladies. And, when there is mutual agreement to do so, I’m a fan of touching the ladies.
That’s just the way I am. Some deep something within drives me to think this way — to look at certain females and think: “Oh, golly, I think I’ll keep looking.”
The Methodist and Baptist churches that my parents and grandparents dragged me to until I was in my late-teens would describe my behavior as normal, red-blooded and American. I personally wonder if there really is such a thing as “normal” when it comes to sexuality, but I will say that I have no problem with how I think. I’m a man and I like women, and I’m OK with that.
So I will admit that when I go to a motorcycle show, such as last month’s EICMA, and I see that every manufacturer — and, in some cases, accessories provider — has festooned its product with extraordinarily gorgeous women, there is a part of my brain that shouts: “Oh, golly! Tight clothing! Exposed flesh! Ample cleavage! Shapely bottoms! Huzzah!”
And when I say “brain,” I’m not really talking about my brain…
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