Care to experience my version of hot man on woman sensuality?

Up late last night practicing my bedroom eyes. Wake up late, shower and slip into my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. Late for work. I head for the Orange line on the 42 bus. Farragut West to Dunn Loring. The train seems oddly empty for 8:15 AM. Very few women to give my wink-flex-point with a thumb trigger. I'll do it anyway. If I can give them just a little piece of me to make their day, I will. Jim calls me on the cell to tell me other furries were whispering rumors about the return of Paniagua. Danger is her middle name. Rogue ninja in diesel jeans and pumas. Her weapon of choice? Sharp and deadly bootleg CD Shurikens. She's also been known to use her iPod headphone cord as a garrote. Her stealth, along with her other ancient and deadly ninja skills, will make her a very dangerous opponent.

Maybe I should hit the gym. Get a pump in. Prepare for battle. My brand new lime green banana hammock is unusable. Already stretched out. Any slippage could be dangerous if there are women working out. Good thing I buy them in bulk. Extra large. I apply some Bikini Bite to make sure stuff nothing pops out unexpectedly and slip into my hot pink banana hammock. I hit the gym. Working on my pecs, biceps, and abs: Preacher Reverse Curl, Seated Concentration Curl, Crossover Chest Fly, Pullover Crunch.

Sweaty. I give the mirror a Front Double Biceps and Side Chest combo before hitting the shower. I'm thinking, Babe. You are way too much – total fitness and power, muscle mass, ripped definition, stamina, intensity, mental focus. I change into my plain white churidar like the one Esha Deol wore in "Na Tum Jaane Na Hum." Low profile. Low flair. My inner flair will be concealed as much as it can. I don't want the beautiful but deadly Paniagua to get the jump on me.

Walking home today. Me in my plain white churidar. Low flair. My head bobbing in rhythm to music only I can hear. I stop in at Tryst, flex for the ladies and grab an iced-double-half-calf-mocha-latte-something-or-another. I need to clean my Adams Morgan Compound.

Me you ask? Total fitness and power. Grace. Dignity. Shohei-Ryu-Bollywood Karate. That is what I'm about. And for that “special” lady who wrote the other day and said that it makes no sense that I ride metro AND have a private pilot, I think we should get together so I can school you on my version of hot man on woman sensuality. If there are any others who would like to experience this true wonder of nature, you know where to write.