More Love for Legs

I love women’s legs. I remember intentionally dropping my crayon on the floor in 2nd grade, just so I could check out my teacher’s legs as she dangled one shoe off her foot while sitting there reading us all a story. I can’t learn that. It’s just something in me that I love about women.

This subject is actually a bit complex, I think, because there are both biological and cultural factors involved. Yes, from the standpoint of evolutionary biology, we could definitely point to strong, shapely legs as an indicator of fitness, and no doubt human legs have evolved in terms of both length and shape because of both natural and sexual selection. However, I tend to think that various cultural factors overlaying all this are probably even more important for “leg men,” who imprint on their particular focus within a specific cultural context.

The accidents of personal experience play a very significant part. If you come to associate women’s legs with sex during puberty, that will probably stick with you for your whole life. And it could be for various reasons: seeing sexy pantyhose commercials on TV, noting a particular girl’s legs in school (because of how she’s dressed), talking about women’s legs with friends at the time, etc. And then perhaps this association becomes even more strongly reinforced by envisioning and dreaming about women’s legs (including images from the media and real life) while you masturbate.

Our culture definitely tends to treat women’s legs as sexy, so there’s also a very potent trans-personal cultural dynamic at work. Personal experience hooks into that quite readily, because it’s out there in various forms in the media and everyday life. Just seeing, say, a dance by a “leg goddess” such as Cyd Charisse in an old musical might imprint on your mind for life.

A culture doesn’t have to grant women’s legs this particular sexual emphasis, and not all do, but it’s a non-arbitrary association, because their legs lead directly to the obvious.

And this association is enhanced by cultural norms in various ways. First, in our culture, women shave their legs, making them smooth and even sexier and also yet more different from the legs of men. (They’re already naturally much less hairy, more rounded, and more shapely.) Women also often exercise them specifically in order to improve their tone and shape and perhaps tan them as well. And use skin softeners and so forth. Further, they wear stockings or pantyhose, which gives them an even smoother, sheerer texture and conceals minor blemishes, suggesting physical perfection. They also wear high-heeled shoes, which flex the muscles of the legs with each step, emphasizing shapeliness and fitness. And they sometimes wear short skirts or slit dresses or whatever that draw the eyes to the legs and emphasize them. A male who grows up surrounded by all this can be forgiven for developing an obsession with women’s legs.

And what’s not to like? Legs appeal to multiple senses: sight and touch. There’s a superb shape and line as well as an enticing texture (enhanced, of course, by shaving and perhaps nylons). At the sight of a woman’s legs, a man might well dream of running his hands over them and coming between them. And that smoothness in turn suggests and evokes what? Well, the vagina itself. So it’s no “accident” at all that shaving and wearing nylons are cultural enhancements that even more strongly allow legs to evoke feminine sexuality and enhance female sexual power.

With clothing, legs can also very handily be both revealed and concealed, which makes them almost uniquely empowered to allow women to tease and seduce men and inflame their imaginations. Legs being long, a little can be revealed, then a little more, then …. and so on, all the way up. It all depends on how much she wants to show. And sometimes less can be more. In addition, the momentary flash of legs through a slit skirt while a woman is in stride or crossing her legs can burn a potent image into a receptive man’s mind, both because they are beautiful in and of themselves and also because they suggest sexual availability. And if they are subsequently concealed, you yearn to see them again and also to see more. Dresses and skirts are all about advertising accessibility while also concealing and withholding.

 

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Celebrity Sightings: Ekatarina Lisina – It’s Pretty Obvious

By now you all know I’m a legman. Legs are my thing. I just love women’s legs. So it seemed fitting I write about this extraordinary lady!

The Russian model who officially has the longest legs in the world is set to break into Hollywood after she appeared on This Morning, where presenters Holly Willoughby and Phillip Schofield used ladders to interview her.

Ekaterina Lisina, 29, whose 52.4″ legs are recognized by the Guinness World Records 2018, revealed that her newfound fame from her stint on the TV show has seen her offered an exciting film role – and admits she is being inundated by male attention.

The model, who is 6ft 9in, is already known in her hometown of Penza, Russia, for having the biggest feet for a woman – a UK size 12.

A former professional basketball player with an Olympic bronze, she has an offer for an upcoming movie called Rugby Girls, she revealed.

‘The filming will take place in England. I will have a chance to be listed in the Guinness Book as the world tallest actress too,’ she said.

‘It will be screened in two years time at the world cup in Japan.

‘It is about women’s rugby championship in 1991, mainly behind the scenes stuff.

In the US team there were two tall sports girls and I will play one of them.

‘The film is being made by famous people but I can’t name them yet.

‘They chose me because I am fluent in English. I lived in Slovakia from the age of 12, then in Hungary. I speak Slovak and Czech, too, and my English does not have an accent.’

Ekaterina also claims she has a list of growing male admirers – ‘self-assured’ men who are not frightened off by her height.

‘I don’t have problems in my private life,’ she said, stressing that men do not need to be tall to catch her eye.

‘For a long time I’ve had many admirers and now their number is growing every minute.

‘Only self-assured men are capable of approaching me.

‘Those who are not just won’t do it.’

The mother-of-one’s height runs in the family and her six-year-old son is also a giant, weighing almost 11lbs at birth.

‘Not every girl is over two metres tall but I don’t have any personal problems about it,’ she said.

‘I like my height. It is unusual – and everything unusual attracts attention.

‘I like experimenting with my looks. Not long ago I coloured my hair, and now I plan to make lots of African plaits. I can easily go out without make up.

‘Like every girl, I have my own opinion about a good-looking man. I prefer dark-haired man with brown eyes. I don’t mind the man’s height at all. I just want to meet a good man.’

Discussing her style and how she dresses her lofty frame, she explained:  ‘I love mini-skirts and short dresses. (Well done!)

‘I like jackets but if I am going out I will put on a fur coat or just a long coat. I prefer white and black colours in my clothes.’

Her height does, however, have its downsides. The daughter of two basketball players revealed: ‘I have problems on planes, especially I am not given a seat next to emergency exit or in business class, I have to stretch my legs into the aisle and I make it difficult for stewardesses to serve passengers.

‘And it is hard to buy jeans, I have to order my clothes from a tailor.’

 

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Miscellaneous Stories: The Soft Whisper of Locomotion

After three days of sadness in this blog I need to cheer myself up with a heaping helping of desire and beauty. The cornerstone of a healthy breakfast here at phicklphilly.

I’ve loved women’s legs since before I can remember. A life long leg-man. When Spring time hits in the city and the legs are bared in skirts and shorts, I am constantly tantalized on a daily basis. Some men like boobs and some like butts, but for me a woman’s means of propulsion is what turns me on. The legs that move her forward in the world are my very favorite thing.

Legs are, along with the eyes, the core of feminine sensuality. Not sexuality, that’s breasts, butt and the like. Sensuality is the soft whisper compared to sexuality’s loud trumpet. I like soft whispers. They’re more fun.

The manner in which a woman walks, stands, sits. These tell you about her confidence in that moment. I suppose you could say it’s not the legs I’m attracted to but rather what the legs tell me about the woman. (But I still love legs!)

Researchers have spent far less time studying men’s attraction to women’s legs than the typical man on the street devotes to gazing at them . . . and maybe finding himself spellbound by them. So—to heterosexual males at least—what’s so special about female gams?

In preparation for this post, I first examined what evolutionary biologists have theorized about this phenomenon, and found most of their findings limited and inconclusive. Two of scientists’ discoveries, however (see, e.g., “Why do men lust after women with long legs?”, Quora.com), seem to confirm what most men (lay experts that they are!) already grasp intuitively. That is, studies have shown that (1) men prefer women with longer than average legs, and (2) they also favor women who have a higher leg length to body ratio —and, interestingly, the opposite is true of women’s preferences in men.

Still, my later investigation of several Web forums centering on this age-old, so-intriguing topic was much more fertile. And they are what constitute the main focus of this post. In essence, what I learned from these forums is that a man’s bestowing so much attention on a woman’s legs is perhaps best understood as a kind of “visual foreplay” for them.

Curiously, many forum respondents contrast women’s legs to their breasts and buttocks. In these comparisons, women’s legs are generally perceived as more suggestive, sensual, and seductive—whereas T & A are viewed as much more “in your face” sexual. One discussant, for example, sees women’s legs (along with their eyes) as representing the very “core of feminine sensuality,” proclaiming them a “soft whisper,” compared to the “loud trumpet” of more intimate, or private, parts of the female anatomy

In another forum (“Why are men attracted to women’s legs??”, Armageddon Online Forums), a respondent, obviously puzzled by his primary erotic preference, notes: “I love everything about the female body. However for some reason, a sexy pair of legs is the first thing that grabs my attention . . . but why??” And, though hardly conscious of it, he partly answers his own question by admiringly describing women’s legs as “slender, soft, smooth and perfectly toned.” Moreover, he and many others allude to the length of female legs as itself contributing to their magnetic appeal and depicting an ideal of feminine pulchritude, which may, in fact, explain why tall fashion models far outnumber smaller ones.

It’s fascinating how many discussants on this topic seem to regard a woman’s legs aesthetically almost as much as they do sexually—as “monuments” of, or “testimony” to, a woman’s general comeliness or beauty. More than a century ago, Freud was so bold as to link the human aesthetic sense to sublimated sexual desire. And though there may be some question as to just how “sublimated” we can consider a man’s attraction to female legs, there’s no doubt that such an attentional focus is at a farther remove from other, more direct, points of male sexual interest—or to the sex act itself. To return to what I described earlier, wondrously gazing at a woman’s legs might have mostly to do with a man’s innate attraction to the sensual, rather than the more explicitly sexual. (That’s always been me)

Yet, regardless of how this attraction is appreciated, the word that probably best characterizes such an allure is tantalizing—or, in some cases, taunting. Note the words of this respondent: “With clothing, legs can . . . be both revealed and concealed, which makes them almost uniquely empowered to allow women to tease and seduce men and inflame their imaginations. Legs being long, a little can be revealed, then a little more, then . . . and so on, all the way up. It all depends on how much [the woman] wants to show. And sometimes less can be more. In addition, the momentary flash of legs through a slit skirt while a woman is in stride or crossing her legs can burn a potent image into a receptive man’s mind . . . [partly] because they suggest sexual availability”.

In brief, a woman’s legs can at once please . . . and tease. And while the partial display, or exposure, of a woman’s breasts or butt “function” more obviously in this seductive manner, it’s undeniable that for many men a pair of shapely legs alone have the power to effect this enthralled response.

Whenever I see a lovely pair of legs I feel that little dopamine drop of joy to carry me through my day.

Thank you ladies, keep walking! I love you all!

 

 

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Kylie – Broken Wing – The Rittenhouse Cocktail & Fashion Event

“I see your screen is cracked. Is that in style now?”

A few years ago, when I sold advertising for a drinking website, I was asked to be a judge for the Rittenhouse Cocktail & Fashion event. It’s actually and event that is impossible to complete. How it works is this; They pick an evening in the Spring where about a dozen of the fashion shops stay open late.  Each one brings in an alcohol brand to make cocktails and serve them to the general public. People can sign up for this event and everybody pays for tickets and gets a little wristband.

The shops are scattered all over a seven square block radius between Broad street out to 20th street, and between Chestnut and Locust street.  Most people who sign up for the event just wander around and stop in places to check out their wares. While there, they can enjoy a nice cocktail made from some big liquor brand.

It’s a fun night if that’s all you planned on doing. Take a date, look at cool fashion, and drink your face off.

Here’s the problem you have when you’re a judge for the event. You show up, and they give you a list of all of the stores with a note pad to write down all of the names of the cocktails. But you also have to write down the ingredients, and then you have to rate the drink.

This would be a fun exercise if I had four hours to do it. But the event only lasts for two hours. I’ve done this event twice, and both times I couldn’t physically get through the event.

But I tried. Lord knows, I tried. Beautifully smashed.

The people working the tables are great. They’re really excited for you to taste their products and are very enthusiastic about discussing them with you. But, you can’t spend a great deal of time with each representative, because you have to get to the next spot. I would like to get the list of places at least a day before hand, and a list of what the brands are and the names of the drinks with their ingredients. Then I could maybe get through the twelve different locations and the drinks. But there is still the timeframe. It is a back-breaking exercise in speed tasting and running around center city. Could me and my ex-girlfriend Michelle (See: Michelle – 2007 to Present – A Brand New Day) pull off an event like that? Sure we could. Would we be destroyed at the end of it?

Damn straight.

So it was my first time as a judge for the event. This was back in 2012. I’m in one of the shops, about a third of the way through the event, when I’m approached by a somewhat cute brunette. She is dressed in a cool leather jacket and tight slacks. She looks very fashionable. Perfect for an event like this. She’s maybe thirty. What struck me most about her was her hair. She wore the rare “stacked bob.” You really don’t see many women rocking this style. Best thing about it is, it’s really unique. People will remember a chick with that cut. She also was carrying a nice camera and taking a lot of photos. She said she was covering the event for Philadelphia Weekly. (A piece of shit print publication, that no one reads anymore. It’s better utilized as a birdcage liner or wrapping your fish up in.)

“You look like you know where you’re going, mind if I tag along?”

I tell her sure, because I could use the company of an attractive photographer and tasting partner. I tell her that I’m a judge for the event. We exchange formalities and get moving. I’ve got the list and she’s helping find each place.

It made it way more fun to have a girl with me on this little journey.

We’re hitting each spot and getting to know each other along the way. The clock is ticking and I’m really trying to get through the whole show. By the end, we were literally running to the last couple of places. It was a fun challenge.

We missed a few along the way but as miracles would have it I actually remember the last cocktail I tasted. So I couldn’t have been that banged up. We were in Nicole Miller in the Bellevue Stratford on Broad street. The drink was a whiskey infused cocktail where the rim of the glass was made of Smores. You could actually bite the edge of the cup and eat it. It was called”Ghost of the Campfire” due to its sweet but smoky taste. To me, it was the clear winner.

Kylie and I had a great time together that night. We ended up walking over to Ocean Prime at 15th and Sansom. We sat at the bar and sipped one final drink. We chatted and exchanged business cards. I remember her phone screen was really cracked, which was the birth of this line, “I see your screen is cracked. Is that in style now?” I see so many busted screens these days.

Why won’t these people purchase cases for their phones? It’s essential for a bit of technology that none of us can no longer live without.

I kind of liked her and thought she was attractive so I was going to try to see her again. I could use some ruse about coming to an event with me. We parted ways and I told her I’d reach out to her in the near future.

I think I did on Facebook or text, but nothing ever came of it. I did see her maybe six months later when I was at an event in Old City. She shared studio space with another photographer down there. But I was inside a building when I saw that familiar stacked bob walking down 2nd street. By the time I would have gotten through the crowd and got outside, she would have been down the end of the block by then.

Little did I know at the time how Kylie would re-enter my life in the near future. I will write about her again, but she won’t make another appearance in this story for a while.

Oh, and she has world-class legs…

 

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Annabelle – Chapter 1 – Nice to Meet You

I get the bill. “The second one was on me.”

The title for the Annabelle series was going to be: “The Final Elegant Arc” but in light of what I’ve learned in the last year, I can no longer call it that. So I’m not going to call it anything.

My life has its moments of elegance and moments of pain, but it is far from final.

I was meeting ex-girlfriend Michelle (See: Michelle – 2007 to Present – Nice to Meet You) for brunch on a Saturday. She was getting her hair done in the morning and then we would do our usual Saturday ritual. I was early as usual and her hair appointment was running long. (That kind of amazing beauty takes time. Just happy we’re still friends!)

I stepped into one of the shittiest hotel bars I’ve ever been in. Just because it was a block from the hair salon. The Warwick Hotel is a beautiful place on 17th and Locust. They have a restaurant a coffee shop and a bar connected to the hotel. Prime Rib is a nice spot on Locust and Tavern 17 is at 17th and Chancellor. I’ve been to this bar many times before when friends would visit the city and stay at the Warwick. The drinks suck, the service blows, the management turns over on a semi-annual basis and the way the place is laid out is in a way where you can’t see anything. There are all of these large pillars or supports that are everywhere through the bar area, and you can’t see what’s going on at the bar. The bartender may not see you and you’ll have to wait.  You can’t find your friend, etc. It’s just a suck bar.

But I thought the number 17 would bring me luck. 17 is my family’s lucky recurring number. It is very prevelant in my father’s life and I thought there could be something there. Recently my friend Trish (See: Trish – 2011 to Present – The She Wolf) asked what my birthday was. I told her 8/9/62. She said,  “What’s 8 plus 9?” I responded…17.

I walk in a little hung over from the night before. The website I worked for at the time had a huge party the night before and we were all a little shattered from it. I walk in Tavern 17 around 1pm on that fateful Saturday. It’s empty and dark. Which for once I was happy about. Behind the bar was a very tall, fresh faced, slender blonde working the bar.

I swagger up to the bar and ask for a Corona. I introduced myself and run my usual program on her. “What’s your name, what do you like to do when you’re not working here?” She tells me her name, and says she’s a photographer as her full-time gig. The Corona is crisp and deliciously ice-cold. It’s actually just what I needed.

Something tall and golden that is no longer Michelle.

Annabelle seems nice and I’m making her laugh with my fatal charm. She’s 5’ll”. Taller and leaner than Michelle. We exchange business cards. I tell her I’ll check out her website. (Michelle is still way prettier though! Michelle reads this blog!)

I text Michelle and let her know where I am. I’m having a beer and she can just come here when she’s finished.

I crush the first Corona just to knock the edge off the day. Annabelle pops the cap from another and places it front of me. It’s just as good as the first. There is no one else in this shitty bar at this time of day, and she’s happy to have someone with which to chat.

She says she does a lot of head shots for local actors in the city. Annabelle is very connected with the local theater community here in Philly. She also does some wedding work as well. I’m assuming that pays pretty good. I can’t put and age on her but she looks to be about 24 or 25.

I’m feeling better now. Chatting with this tall blonde is good and the cold beer has reactivated the alcohol still in my system, giving me a gentle but effervescent buzz.

The door squeaks and the sunny afternoon light pours into the bar. Michelle enters the bar. “Oh, and here comes another charming and lovely blonde.” I say on cue. I introduce the two ladies and we have a laugh. “Your hair looks great, Michelle”

I get the bill. “The second one was on me.”

“Thank you, Annabelle!” I tip up to what the bill would have been and gather my stuff. We say goodbye to Annabelle and head out of Tavern 17 into the afternoon to have some delicious brunch and drinks.

Then we’d probably head back to my apartment and watch Netflix, sip wine, and smoke cigarettes. I’d be in my chair and she’d recline on my sofa.

I later checked out Annabelle’s website and reached out to her on Facebook, but nothing ever came of it. I didn’t ask her out on a date or anything. I may have asked if she ever wanted to meet for lunch or something. My usual gentle M.O.

But like I said, crickets.

When you meet someone like that, and it’s brief, there is a good chance they will quickly fade from your memory. I met tons of people back in 2012. I had a job that was 50% socializing. I didn’t forget Annabelle, but I wouldn’t see her again until a year later in 2013.

And it would be a whole new ballgame.

 

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Brooke – 2013 to Present – Legs for Days

Brooke was on point with the drinks. She even stuck around and hung out with us.

When I worked for the online start-up, back in 2013, there was a kid that worked in the office who was always playing crazy music. It was mostly all shit. I can’t believe I’m about to say this but it was also played too loud every day. (Yea, I’m getting old)

There were only two artists he ever played that I could stomach. One of them was a band called Tame Impala. I liked them because their singer sounded a bit like John Lennon. They were in town to open for the flaming lips at Festival Pier. So me and the kid decide we want to go. Somehow I got the hookup, probably through Keila when she worked at Live Nation. We were in the VIP section, which is nice because you can see the stage, it’s fenced in, you’re away from the animals, and you have your own clean bathrooms, and your own bar.

We grabbed a bite of over priced food before the show. Actually, the opening act was playing. It was Sean Ono Lennon. How sad is that? Your father is 1/2 of the two greatest composers of modern music in the 20th century. Let that sink in for a moment.

John Lennon is your father. Your half-brother Julian looks and sounds like dad, but your mom is Yoko Ono. No. Sorry. You’re just a filthy rich kid. Your dad was in the Beatles, and your shitty band is opening for the band that is opening for the Flaming Lips at Festival Pier in Philly. Sorry kid. Give up.

So we’re back at VIP and I need some wine. There is a very tall lean brunette that is serving me. She cracks a bottle for me. She fills my cup with ice and then pours the wine in on top of it. This is how I like my chardonnay. So I won’t have to keep coming back to the bar, she says she’ll just keep coming out to me in the section and keep my cup filled. I liked her already  because she was tall, beautiful and charming. Now I’m falling in love.

Tame Impala were good. I dig some of their music. It was a good show. Brooke was on point with the drinks. She even stuck around and hung out with us. I remember telling her about my girlfriend and just raving about how much I loved her. I was telling her about all of the romantic moments I created to celebrate how much I loved her. Brooke loved this and I feel like I made a memorable impression upon her.

I’ve run into her since then at different gatherings. I remember a bunch of us were all sitting around at Rouge. (Not a fan. Rittenhouse douche/snob watering hole) It was me, Keila, Alice, Brooke, a couple other girls and I think one or two guys  I didn’t know. At one point Brooke gets everyone’s attention and says: “(My name) speaks about women the way wish any of the men we know spoke about us when we weren’t around.”

That’s one of the nicest compliments I have ever had the honor of receiving. I’ll be taking her to Keila’s farewell party from the IT recruitment firm this week, So I’ll write more then.

Note: Brooke’s story continues in tomorrow’s post: (Church – Birthday Boy)

 

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