I remember the time when I noticed how a woman's underclothing barely touches her skin, how it rides on a cushion of air as she moves, how silk floats about her body, brushing her flesh like angel's wings... I understood how a woman must be touched.

My Ideal Person: Every woman is a mistery to be solved... but a woman hides nothing from a true lover. Her skin color can tell us how to proceed. A hue like the blush of a rose, pink and pale...and she must be coaxed to open her petals with a warmth like the sun. The pale and dappled skin of a redhead calls for the lust of a wave crashing to the shore... so we may stir up what lies beneath and bring the foamy delight of love to the surface.