When Conan called out the name - Bret Michaels - there were a number of wild hoots and hollers from the studio audience.
The front man for "Poison", swaggered out from behind the curtain, sexily clad in a black "T" - etched with ominous skulls - a pretty, multi-colored bandana, and tight ratty jeans showing off package.
The affable talk show host was revved up and ready to get down to the nitty-gritty.
"So, what kind of woman are you into," Conan probed, or something to that effect.
In the brief moment that Bret hesitated, Conan was all over him like a dirty shirt, "I mean, like, are you a breast man, or what?"
The audience roared at his indiscretion. Bret was quick on the uptake, though.
"A breast man, definitely."
My jaw dropped when Conan went where no talk show host has boldly gone before.
"You like 'em big, or what?"
Bret laughed and noted that it didn't matter.
"That can be fixed," he noted with a sort-of cheshire grin on his face.
Then, he went on to note that he has not squeezed a real breast in a very long time. The audience went into hysterics.
Yeah, men are pretty much "visual" when it comes to sex.
Me?
I'm into blue jeans, especially the faded, snugly-fit kind. Where they've been worn in at the butt, the crotch, the legs...can conjure up so many erotic fantasies, such a turn on!
Woody Allen once said,
"Sex without love is an empty experience, but as empty experiences go, it's a pretty good one."