My man is up on the roof doing the “man thing.” I’m inside, just waking up, playing on my Facebook page, when I hear his footsteps up there.

Who goes up on the roof at 7:00 in the morning? What’s up there anyway? I suspected as much when he put on his raggedy shirt, jeans and boots—he was going to be doing the “man thing.” I love the “man thing.” It turns me on.

As a guy I knew once said, “You never know what turns a woman on.”

I told him that was because men are always trying.

“Stop trying,” I said. “You’ll learn something.”

My man is sitting in his chair on the patio. He stretches his legs out in front of him, taking up all the walking space. But what the hell, if you had long fabulous legs with big strong thighs like that, you’d stretch them out right in front of you too if you wanted or needed to. He crosses his ankles and sits there, cellphone in hand, reading the New York Times, The Economist, Bloomberg, al Jazeera or one of the other hundred and one newspapers he reads on his phone. I love looking at him taking up space and having to sprawl because he’s so big. It turns me on.

It’s the unselfconscious things my man does that turn me on, when he’s just being who he is naturally. When he puts on his tool belt to work around the house; when he rolls up the sleeves to his dress shirt instead of buttoning them when we go out on a casual date; when he stands with one hip higher than the other, cowboy style; when he drives away in his truck like he just got rid of the training wheels; when he gives me that puppy dog look, that hungry “When’s lunch?” look or that “deeply focused on what I’m talking about” look.

But then, I turn on to men in general. I turn on to that guy over there squatting down to change a tire, his thighs bulging out of his jeans; that other guy wearing a broad-rimmed hat against the sun, carrying a huge trashcan up on his shoulder; or that guy behind the bar with the lightly shaved beard who hands me a perfect martini. When I turn on to men in general, I take it all home and turn on to my man in particular.

A young man comes to fix the computer in my office. He’s wearing a T-shirt, jeans and a baseball cap. He turns the baseball cap around with the visor in the back to get a better view of the screen. His hair falls out. He has long silky, black hair down to his waist. He’s wearing a pony tail with a silver and turquoise clip on the end. He definitely doesn’t look like a nerd, but boy oh boy, if he is one, he’s one hot nerd! He has no clue how sexy he looks sitting there leaning into the screen with his big shoulders, his long, black pony tail down to his waist with a silver and turquoise clip on the end of it. It turns me on.

This is the little secret, the thing I think my friend was struggling with when he said, “You never know what turns a woman on.” It’s simple. A woman turns on to the strange and ordinary “man things” her man does. The way he makes sound effects when he’s driving through a puddle, the way he comes out of a movie imitating the accents of the actors, the way he whistles mindlessly, the way he hangs onto his clothes until they’re in shreds—hell, the way he stands in front of the toilet and pees with his pelvis thrust forward as if to mark his territory, when the fact is he owns the place. It’s all natural stuff. It’s all him. And women love that natural, “him” kind of stuff. At least I do. And I’m probably not the only one.

On this morning’s Facebook feed alone, a woman friend posted a picture of the sandals and designer socks her man was wearing; another woman friend posted a picture of her six-foot-plus tall husband holding his two kindergarten children, one on each big strong hip; and another woman friend posted a picture of her man smiling beside a bottle of beer with a demolished “roasted pork knuckle and potatoes” dinner on the table in front of him.

You tell me that these women weren’t turned on by the strange and ordinary stuff their man was doing? You tell me that wasn’t at least part of why they put those pictures up on Facebook.

I like turning on to my man’s everyday self and I like my senses being aroused on a regular, everyday basis. I like the emotional hit and warm glow turning on to him gives me, how my breasts tingle and fill up with energy, and how deep in my belly, I feel a gusty desire and a lusty love of life. I particularly like how easy it is for me to turn on to him when he’s his most natural, unassuming, whistling, standing cowboy style, doing voices and even a little bit sweaty, self. Turning on to him is more than me turning on to him sexually as an individual, it’s even more than feeling sexy—it’s also turning on to life with him and to life in general. Turning on increases the volume of my chi, opens all my chakras and keeps my energy flowing. It’s life-affirming and life-enhancing.

We’re sitting in the living room reading. Music floats gently from the other room. The house is quiet, a desert rain having just fallen. My man turns and looks at me.
“What?” I say.
“Nothing,” he says. “Just looking at you.”
“Just looking at me?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Just looking at you.”

Now that really turns me on.

 

Author: Carmelene Siani

Editor: Evan Yerburgh

Image: Flickr