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February 18, 2008
All he has to do is roll up the sleeves of his button-front shirt -- twice Ė not too neatly, though, and never above the elbow Ė and Iím gone. The soft dark hair on his perfectly formed forearms, enough so that thereís no mistaking heís a man but not too much that Iíll mistake him for a lower primate, practically begs for me to stroke it. And oh, those large, exquisitely formed hands, with nails trimmed to perfection without looking manicured. Iím so mesmerized that I neglect the menu. Who cares about food. All I want to do is devour him.