No, not the beer sort, silly. I’m referring to the guys on the cover of every romance novel—shaven chests and 6-pack abs.
Why is that fucking attractive, anyway? There’s no good biological reason. I like tits. I know why I like tits—shapely, puffy ones are signs of nourishment. (God, now I’m thirsty. Be right back.) Ass too! I love a woman’s ass. Why? Well, a firm, round, bouncy one is a sign of a superior baby oven, a wonderful vessel to help spread my genes. But abs? WTF? Sure, it’s an impressive sign of fitness, but they offer nothing, biologically speaking. No, not a sign of strength. You want strength? Any no-ab-having NFL lineman can squash Matthew McConaughey like a bug. Abs are stupid. I’m eating a jelly donut.
Fine. You want the chiseled fellow. You’re not going to be upset when your dinner date features lawn, with a side of shrubbery? OK. You dream of running your hands down his mid-section like a cheese grater. Oh, and the “V” at the belt line. (Stupid too.) Yes, I know. The “V” is dreamy. Christ. Do you have any idea how much time this Adonis spends biking, running, swimming, and doing sit-ups? Where’s he going to find time to ring your bell?
All right. I give up.
You know where you find this guy: at the gym. Yes, I realize he may be running. That’s not a good time to approach him. Maybe, only when he’s stretching before the run. Just meet him at the gym. He’ll be on the ab deck, or sprinting on a treadmill. If he’s punching and kicking a big pad, best to move along. If he’s holding a weight behind his head, crunching reps, make your move. Just walk up, and ask if you can work in. (Hint: If there’s an unoccupied sit-up bench right next to him, that’s not a good time.) When he begins loading plates up on the bench press, wait until he gets in position, then strut up, and ask if you can spot him. Let’s hope you’re wearing shorts, and your lady parts are flowery. Why? Well, you’re going to be basically straddling his face as you spot him. Yep. Hot, huh?
After the workout, stud-monkeys usually hit the sauna. That’s a good hunting ground, too. Follow him in there, sit behind him, and think nasty thoughts, like how you’d love to lick sweat off his “V.” (I just got a douche chill. Fuck. I need another donut.) You can make a witty move. I’ve actually done this. Offer him your water bottle. Tell him it’s not water; it’s a Cadillac margarita. Come to think of it, when I did this, the woman cringed, and left. Maybe it’s funnier coming from a woman. Give it a shot.
So, what do you do to keep him away from other ab lovers? First, I’d enlist him to be your personal trainer. That should make it clear to the gym-sluts that he’s off the market. Second, whatever you do, make sure you downplay his attributes around your girlies. Tell them he has an itsy bitsy wiener, vag isn’t on his special diet, and he has hemorrhoids. That should keep them away. I know you’re tempted to show off nasty pics of him. Don’t. Keep them in your personal spank bank.
Enjoy your specimen, while it lasts. Eventually, he’ll give in to the lure of buffalo wings and Hefeweizen. Fuck. Now I’m hungry again. TTYL