I know of my sex appeal. I know about sexuality, and I know how to use it - tastefully, of course.

Have I mentioned how hot Michael is? Hot, hot, hot. I mean, all guitar players are crushworthy - it's like it's issued with the talent - but I've been noticing lately that he is total Hottie McHottie of Hotland. Not that I could tell him that. Luckily, he is a boy. Hence, too dense to figure out why I'm staring at his ass.

Sex appeal is not on purpose.

Sex appeal is the keynote of our civilization.

Cute? You think he's cute? What's cute about him?
...
Well, yes. He's got that smile, that really bad boy smile, and a great backside.

On page eighty of the relationship manual, it clearly states, you cannot look at another man's backside, especially if you think it's great.

Physical attraction that strong is addictive. And knowing that kind of magic isn’t just a fantasy makes me want to find it again. But what about being with someone who makes me a better person? What about sharing my life with someone who adores me as much as I adore him, whom I can always count on, who helps me find my way when I’m lost?