It’s been such an extraordinary week that I’ve been desperate for distraction. I was definitely going NUTS! So I took myself off (all alone) to see Mama Mia.

It did the trick - in spades! I came out humming and dancing. I did the a little wriggle dance all the way back to the car. It’s a mercy you weren’t there.

Honestly, is there anything Meryl Streep cannot do? I was gobsmacked. The woman can sing, really sing.

Which is more than I can say for Pierce Brosnan. I’ve seen his vocal performance in this movie described as reminiscent of a wounded water buffalo, but truly, that’s a tad cruel. It wasn’t quite as bad as that.Not, um, quite. Let’s just say as a singer, he makes a great James Bond.

What’s more, he did it all with a straight face. He must have been paid squillions.

Colin Firth was great - sang his own song and played his own guitar.In fact, there was an incredible amount of hairy chest all around. No problem.

Julie Walters and Christine Baranski as the best friends were sofunny and out there. And the story actually worked with the songs. Itwas cleverly done.

I know critics  have not been kind, but honestly, I didn’t care. I wanted a “feel-good” time - and I got it! And as for that island! OMG, it was gorgeous. I want to live there while I write the great Australian novel. No, wait a sec - I want to live there while I write great erotic, drop-dead sexy novels.

I admit to having a couple of ABBA “greatest hits” albums. I play them when there’s housework I can no longer avoid. Bopping through the vacuuming does help.

Have you seen it? What did you think?Who did you go with? Was it better with a friend? And what about ABBA -could they write dance songs, or what?

I’m blogging RIGHT NOW with Romance Novel TV! (Thursday 6th November, Over There)

Quite apart from the fact thatthere’s yet another copy of THE FLAME AND THE SHADOW up for grabs, I’mtalking about what makes fantasy so, well, fantastic.

Oh yes - and how absolute powercorrupts absolutely and how I’m above all that.  *buffs nails andfluffs hair* Very appropriate in a post-election world.

http://www.romancenovel.tv/wordpress/rntv/marias-blog/

And TOMORROW, Friday 7th November, I’ll be over with BAM GALACE, chatting with you about what gives us all the shivers. But don’t worry, I’ll remind you.

And - you guessed it, I’m giving away another copy of “you know what”.

I think I’m a trifle confoosled. It’s possible that Blastoff Day was yesterday. Or possibly last night. Oh hell, never mind, pass the dried frog pills.

Hope all you Over There had a super election experience. It sure turned out interesting… Thank heavens for The West Wing, aka “American Politics for Aussies 101″.

The point is - that my baby’s out there! Yay! In good bookstores everywhere. And here’s the photographic evidence. Thank you, thank you, ladies. I absolutely LOVED seeing these!

First, here’s Clynax, bless her, in the store with The Flame and the Shadow. Geez-Louise, they look good together! :-)  Note also that the book is in the SF and Fantasy section. That’s because Berkley published it in their Ace line. (Like they do with Charlaine Harris. heh heh) Mind you, I suspect there are a few SF/F fans out there in for a bit of a shock! Look, look, I’m right next to Tolkien on the next shelf. Poor old dear is probably spinning in the grave.

Next up is our good friend, Dani, who’s, um, camera shy. In this first pic, she used her camera-phone to immortalise The Flame and the Shadow in the bookstore. I think Cenda looks particularly elegant and beautiful in that company, don’t you?

And here we have The Flame and the Shadow where it belongs - on Dani’s bookshelf at home, keeping excellent company by the looks of it.

If there are more sightings, please, please send me any photos. It’s such a pleasure to see them - and you. *beams*

Want more? Read Chapter 1.

I still don’t have my author copies, so I’d LOVE to see a photo of you holding The Flame and the Shadow. Send it to me and I’ll immortalise you here on the blog. You can be anonymous or your first name. Whatever you like.  No pressure. I really would love to see a picture, ‘cos then it will be real, you know? So if you think of it…

Off to the Melbourne Cup day lunch soon. Trying to decide if I should drive - which means I have to VERY careful about how much I drink because the police will be out in force. Or get a taxi. It’s coming home that’s the worry, because a squillion other people have exactly the same idea. And, come to think of it, I need to be sober to write my blog post for Romance Novel TV. This Thursday (Friday in Oz.) Don’t worry, I’ll remind you.                  .

Here’s the last except - Excerpt Three. This one’s a bit hotter - literally! heh heh

I’m about to break out the dried frog pills, like the Bursar of the Unseen University. I don’t know if you read Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novels, but the Bursar is more than a little nuts and the dried frog pills keep him on a precariously even keel. That’s how things are Chez Rossetti at the moment - precarious.

Thanks heavens I’m going to a Melbourne Cup lunch tomorrow with a group of friends who aren’t particularly interested in romance novels.

The Melbourne Cup, BTW, is a horse race that stops the entire country at 2pm in the afternoon of the first Tuesday in November. It’s the only horse race I ever watch, let alone bet on. I’m planning on a lot of champagne.  Tomorrow night’s post should be interesting.

Anyhow, here you go - Excerpt Two.

Okaaay… Things are hotting up. Penguin, bless its publisher’s heart, has done a special on The Flame and the Shadow. There’s an excerpt, (same as the one bel0w) and a Dear Reader letter. It’s nice to know the publisher is doing its bit. Kind of comforting, you know?

As for me? I’m going to publish an excerpt every day until Release Day. This is Excerpt One and you can read it in its entirety on my website. Another one tomorrow!

In other news, I am now a complete bundle of nerves,rather than a woman with any sense at all. Part excitement, partapprehension - all terror. Which is ridiculous really. I should bethrilled, this is my dream. But human nature is weird. Go figure. Mypoor Beloved - I’m driving him nuts. *sigh*

Whatever happens will happen Over There - not tomention the fact that my Release Day is your Election Day in the US.And I have no earthly clue whether that will help or hinder. Any ideas?

I either need my hand held or a swift slap around the chops. Or both. Go ahead, folks, you have my blessing! Don’t hold back!

The Flame and the Shadow

Book 1 in the Four-Sided Pentacle series

Publisher: Berkley Ace
ISBN-10: 0441016340
ISBN-13: 978-0441016341
Genre : Erotic fantasy romance
Format: Trade paperback, ebook

Release Date: 4 November 2008

Order from Amazon

There cannot be one…without the other.

Some are drawn to the light. Some are drawn to the dark. Some desire both.

Grayson of Concordia, known on countless worlds as the Duke ofOmbra, is a mercenary, a sorcerer of shadows - a man whose soul isconsumed by darkness. For Gray, the bleak savagery in his heart ismanifest in an entity he calls Shad. He has long resisted Shad’senticements, but when he is hired to kidnap a fire witch, he seizes thechance to restore his soul - no matter the cost.

Cenda’s heart is ash. Since the death of her precious babydaughter, life has lost all meaning for the fire witch. Slowly, she hasworked to master her powers and go on living. But when she encountersGray, her will is no match for her desire, though her love may notsurvive the terrible discovery of Gray’s plans.
By reading on, you are signifying that you are over 18 years of age.

CHAPTER 1

The flames had been singing to her, so loudly Cenda could almostcatch the words. She tugged at the heavy fabric of her gown. Five-it,the small chamber was stifling! But Krysanthe had lit the fire with herown hands and closed the windows tight to keep out the night air.Outside, below the sill, lay the vegetable garden of the Wizards’Enclave, the plants pushing slowly through the soil in the chilly duskof early spring. She couldn’t stand having the healer cluck over herlike an irritated hen. There’d been enough of that since—

Without taking her gaze from the flames, she shifted in the bigshabby armchair, tucking her long, narrow feet under her, unlacing thefront of her gown. She could let the fire die so the room cooled, butshe didn’t want to.

No, no, keep the fire. Cenda ripped the gown off over her head.Absently, she tossed it aside. Beneath, her lanky body was clad innothing more than a shift, worn thin and soft with frequent washings.Ah, that was better.

Resting an elbow on the broad arm of the chair, she propped her chinin her palm and returned to the contemplation of the cheery blaze.Yellow and orange ribbons leaped and writhed, dancing for her,crackling, hissing. Was that Elke’s high thread of a baby voice,singing a nonsense song? The one about the fishie in the lake. Are you lost, little fishie, are you lost? Where’s your mama, little fishie, where’s your mama?

They’d both liked that one, though not even a mother’s love could persuade Cenda her daughter had had anything but a tin ear.

Are you lost, little one? Where’d you go without your mama?

Cenda blinked, the tears sizzling on her cheeks. A log shifted andsparks leaped. She seemed to see Elke’s sturdy little body, runningaway from her, down that long shimmering tunnel, the curls bobbing,Booboo the furrybear toy clutched tight in one chubby hand.

Faithful Booboo. She didn’t need to turn her head even a fraction tolocate him, because he sat on her pillow, keeping her company throughthe interminable nights.

In fact… Cenda uncurled her legs, wincing at her stiffness. How longhad she been sitting before the fire? Shadows had pooled in the cornersof the room. She rose and took two steps to the bed, almost upsettingthe unlit lantern on the small side table in the process. Absently, shesteadied it with one hand, even as she smoothed a palm over Booboo’swell-chewed ears. “Look, sweetie,” she whispered, picking him up andhugging him to her chest. She sank back into the sagging embrace of thechair. “There she almost is, my darling. Do you think I’m mad?”

Booboo refused to be drawn, so Cenda set him on her lap and leanedback, losing herself in the flames again. Yes, there was the curve ofElke’s cheek, the twist of a curl, fat little hands, fingers spreadlike a starryfish. In a strange way, the pain was welcome, the piercingagony of regret better than the odd numbness that had afflicted her formonths, so that life went on around her, separated by a gray veilbehind which people moved and spoke and existed. And touched her not atall.

A bright eye winked from the other side of a burning log. Cendawatched with complete attention, holding her breath. If sheconcentrated, she might see Elke’s face. A flame flickered like a tail,like an animal darting into the undergrowth. Cenda blinked. A tinylizard lay on the log, its body sculpted of moving flame, minisculeclaws gripping the charred wood.

“Oh,” she breathed, no more than the smallest exhalation.

The little creature tilted its head to one side, watching hercarefully. Its eyes were the same shade of blue as the heart of flame.

Great Lady, what a sweet dream!

The seconds tiptoed past. From deep in the Enclave, Cenda heard theMoonsrise chant, the strange five-beat rhythm familiar, haunting. Herfellow wizards, the Pures, would be filing out into the twilight toraise the Dancers, to pay homage.

She hummed along under her breath. She could hold a tune, but onlyjust. Choir Master used to insist she mime the more complex passages,but the flame beast didn’t seem to mind her vocal deficiencies. Itshead bobbed and it crept closer along the burning log. “Pretty thing,”crooned Cenda, abandoning the chant, “sweet pretty thing.”

A second lizard crawled from between two glowing coals and Cenda’ssmile widened, her fingers buried in Booboo’s fur. She was undoubtedlymad, but what did it matter? Singing softly, completely off-key, shegazed dreamily at her strange audience, her long body relaxed in thechair, one foot tapping time.

Now she had three, sitting on the tiles of the fireplace, each ajewel of flame, no longer than her middle finger. Steadily, theyadvanced, until the first reached the threadbare rug. At the firsttouch of a tiny claw, it began to smolder and Cenda laughed, the rustysound so loud in the quiet room it startled her. “Watch thefurnishings, little one.”

The fire lizard quivered, but held its ground. Then it made a dashfor Cenda’s bare toes. She yelped and jerked, but she couldn’t movefast enough. A leap, a scramble and the little creature was sitting onher foot, hanging on with its talons, tail extended for balance.

Cenda froze. It didn’t burn. Sweet Lady, it didn’t burn!

That was— That was— She swallowed.

Pinpricks dug into her flesh, but the fire lizard’s body felt hotand smooth, like sun-warmed stone. Its little sides heaved and shecould swear she felt its heartbeat flutter against the top of her foot.“Sshh,” she soothed. “Sshh. I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

Very slowly, she leaned down and extended her hand, the way shewould to one of the Enclave’s cats. An excruciating pause and thecreature stepped onto her longest finger, as delicately as a maidenlady. It paced across her palm, advancing until it reached herthundering pulse. There it lowered its head, nosed her skin. Apparentlysatisfied, it curled up in her palm and appeared to fall asleep.

“Goodness,” said Cenda, lowering her hand gingerly to her lap, next to Booboo. “Goodness.” How Elke would have loved them!

Sharp as a blade in the guts, it all came crashing back. My darling, oh my darling. My baby. A vise made of bitter regret closed around her chest. She couldn’t catch her breath.

Something tickled up the back of her calf. “Hey!”

The second lizard skittered over her knee and made a dash across herthigh, leaving a pitter-patter of scorched tracks on her shift. Thethird followed, right behind. Together, they made a leap for herforearm and curled around it, an improbable pair of exquisitebracelets. Completely bemused, Cenda watched their heads lift, thesapphire eyes glowing as they stared deep into her soul.

At her back, the latch clicked. A brisk voice said, “Five-it, Cenda,what do you think you’re doing? It’s freezing and you’re sitting inyour— Aaaargh!”

* * * * *

Grayson of Concordia, known in a hundred dives on a hundred worldsas the Duke of Ombra, lay naked in the velvet dark, long fingerswrapped around his aching erection. Temptation besieged him.

It was never as good as when Shad did it.

He’d held out against Shad’s cool touch for almost a year this time,since long before he’d arrived on the small, crowded world of Sybaris.

Which was why he’d closed the rickety shutters and drawn the dustycurtains right across. No shadow could exist in darkness this total—Shad couldn’t exist.

He wouldn’t have to look at him, a man-shaped slice of midnightstretching over the floor and up the wall of the cheap inn room. Hewouldn’t have to feel the shadow Magick smear his soul, remember thehorror in his mother’s eyes that sunny winter’s day on the way homefrom Devotions, the first time she’d seen his shadow move.

All by itself.

The flick of her fingers in a warding gesture, her choked whisper. “Abomination!”

But his body didn’t care. It was never as good as when Shad did it.

* * * * *

Want more? Read the rest of Chapter 1.

There’s been a lot of talk about Baz Luhrmann’s new movie, Australia.

A little while ago, when it first started gathering pace, I thought to myself, “Yep, might go see that one. What’s not to love? Hugh Jackman and David Wenham. Yeah!”

And then I read somewhere that the Drover (Jackman’s character) dies at the end.

That did it. Nope, wasn’t going. Nu-uh, no way. What a total waste of time and money, I thought, if there’s no Happy Ever After.

Next thing you know, Baz Luhrmann did some audience tests and changed the ending. The Drover survives.

I’ve changed my mind - sort of. I might go, I might not. Jury’s still out.

But it occurred to me how completely I didn’t want to see that movie unless the romance came right in the end. to the point that I thought I would have wasted my time if it didn’t. I had no idea I was so wedded to the lure of the HEA. It reminded me of the time I bought an m/m novella from an ebook publisher. I read all the way to the last page - where it finished unhappily ever after. I was outraged, truly. Insulted, disappointed, furious. If it hadn’t been an ebook I would have thrown it against the wall. I’d invested my feelings in the characters and the author had let me down.

What about you? Are you deeply invested in an HEA? How do you cope if there isn’t one? Does it spoil your reading/viewing pleasure?

A few weeks ago, I bought a pink T-shirt with “honeyfuggle” written right across the front in big friendly letters. I have a honeyfuggled bust.

“Honeyfuggle? I hear you ask. “What’s a honeyfuggle when it’s home?”

I’m not going to tell you straight up because I’d like you to roll the word around your mouth. I love the subliminal associations sounds and syllables make in our minds. I bet you have some ideas already! Honeyfuggle always sounds a bit naughty to me. But that could just be my dirty mind. *whistles innocently*

My other favourite shirt from this company says “wordnerd“. I like that one so much, I’ve almost worn it out. And before you ask, they don’t sell online and I only see them at this particular festival, from year to year. Very frustrating.

I wanted to buy bibacious for My Beloved, but unfortunately it didn’t come in a size big enough, which seems a little foolish when you consider what the word means. Fond of drinking. My Beloved loves his wine.

Here a few others:

• slubberdegullion ~ a slobbering or dirty fellow; a worthless sloven.
• blatherskite ~ a blustering, talkative fellow.
• graphospasm ~ writer’s cramp.
• tatterdemalion ~  a person in tattered clothing; a ragged or beggarly fellow; a ragamuffin.

As for honeyfuggle, what sort of visions did the word conjure in your mind?  Something sweet and a bit wicked? Or perhaps you saw Winnie the Pooh with his hunny pot.

Would you wear a T-shirt with honeyfuggle printed on the front? Or on the back for that matter? What about wordnerd? Or any arcane/archaic word?

Do you have a favourite T-shirt, and if so, what does it say?

And the meaning? Honeyfuggle is a verb. To honeyfuggle someone is to deceive, dupe, swindle or wheedle.

With honeyed words. See?

Did you guess?

I absolutely love storms - thunder,lightning, the huge weight of purple storm clouds, that weird colour the sky goes, the tight hush before it hits, as if the whole world is holding its breath.

As long as I’m not too wet or cold,I’m energised by the elemental power of it. In Norse legend, the long rumble of thunder is the gods playing bowls in the heavens. I love to think of that.

Where I live, we get a lot of afternoon thunderstorms, especially in summer. Yesterday’s was a beauty.  I was out walking with a friend by the river in the centre of the city and the light was extraordinary, a sort of luminous green-yellow, which sounds disgusting, but the effect was like a brilliant Renaissance painting by an absolute master.

We watched it stride toward us down the river, giving us time to shelter in a riverside restaurant, outdoors, but still under cover. The water went this amazing pewter colour and the skyscraper windows lit up like they were neon. There was not one rainbow, but two. Rainbows always make me smile.

None of these images are of my city, BTW. They’re just to get you in the mood. I wish I’d had a camera with me!

Itmade me remember that when my kids were very small, they were a little frightened of storms. I have such a clear memory of sitting with them on the bed, all cuddled up and safe, watching the trees whip about as the storm approached out of the west. They were never frightened after that. In fact, when they were little older, I bundled them up and we went out walking in a huge downpour.The storm had brought down the power lines and we had no electricity at home anyway. We found the power guys up a cherry-picker fixing the line and stood on the corner in the rain watching for ages. They must have thought we were nuts.

I just wish I could do the same for the dog. Poor old thing, I’m never going to convince her. She’s so terrified, she goes clean out of her canine mind. She ran away in a thunderstorm once and it took us a hideous week to find her. She’d run six kilometres and across two four lane highways. I feel so sorry, but no comfort is enough and we don’t like to reassure her too much or she’s even more convinced the sky is about to fall on her furry head.

Are you actively exhilarated by storms, like me? Or do you think of the destruction and discomfort? The hail damage to your car? The flooding in the basement?

If you’ve discovered some way of calming your dog/s, I’d love to know about it. We find doggy valium (from the vet) helps, but we have to time it perfectly, giving it to her before the storm hits or she’s too frightened to eat even the best treat. *sigh*

It used to be that if I wantedflowers, I had to produce a baby. The level of commitment required didseem a little high, I always thought.

These days,  things are much better. There’s a lovely bunch ofcarnations and roses on my dressing table. My Beloved now remembersthat I like purple flag iris and smelly things for the bath andorange-flavoured chocolate.

So take heart!  A hotel company did a survey of 2000 men aged 18 to65 which found that men aged 53 are at their most romantic.  Aw…

• Fifty-three-year-olds are much more likely to surprise theirpartner with a simple gesture such as a walk in the summer rain or asprinkle of rose petals in the bath. This is also the time they tend tosplash out on chocolates, flowers and perfume.

• Of the 20- to 25-year-olds surveyed, only one in four said they hadrecently treated their loved one to a candlelit dinner compared withalmost half of the over-50s.

• The study also found a third of the over 50s have recentlysurprised their partner with champagne compared with just 19 per centof men in their 20s.

• An affectionate 73 per cent of older men said they told theirpartners they looked beautiful all the time and 85 per cent wouldn’tleave the house without kissing their loved one goodbye.

Surprised? Do you think men get better with age, like a good wine? Or do they just become more set in their ways? Like glue. 

It’s newsletter time, which means…

Rackety Kate and the Pirates

Chapter 12

Pairs of Possibilities

The story so far:
Four of Jack’s pirate band step out of the jungle – big Duka, blond Peter, the brooding Harley and a gorgeous oriental specimen, Chan. The air positively vibrates with challenge and testosterone. Kate’s feeling pretty challenged herself until she remembers that Rossetti’s readers are the ones with sense…

Chan changed his stance, slipping his arms around Harley’s lean waist from behind. He rested his chin on the other man’s shoulder and slid one hand under the waistband of his breeches. Harley inhaled sharply, but he didn’t take his eyes from Jack. Neither did Chan.

Or Duka.

Come to think of it, all three of them were staring across the clearing. Kate could almost swear she heard the air sizzle.

Silly, murmured Ess. They’re looking at you, sweetie. They want you.

Not just me, thought Kate, achingly aware of Jack’s hard,warm body mere inches away, one hand on her shoulder, the other gripping Peter’s nape. The younger man’s breath came in light, shallow gusts, the heat of his cock pressed against her buttock, leaving a small, damp kiss on her flesh.

The silence was absolute, save for the liquid lapping of the pool and the breeze playing in the trees.

Want more? You can read all of Kate and see more pirates on the Rackety Kate page. Want even more than that? Join my newsletter - see below.

Subscribers to my newsletter get to interfere with Kate’s love life. Sign up to join the fun!

Who is this “average woman” anyway? You ever met her? I’m sure haven’t!I think she’s a mythical creature, like the Loch Ness monster, or BigFoot. Oh no, wait a sec, she can’t be Big Foot, ‘cos she wouldn’t beable to find shoes to fit her.

Okay, I admit it - this is a vent,  pure and simple. But honest togod, it drives me nuts that I can’t buy shoes or clothes because I’mnot “average”. Hell’s bells, I don’t know anyone average, do you?

I’m not even going to talk about bra sizes. Grrr…

But shoes? Aaaargh! You all know how much I love shoes, but I havesmall feet. Not impossibly small, mind you, a size 5, or a 35 European.I know other women with the same size feet. My mother’s are a wholesize smaller.

Over the years, I’ve developed a kind of slide-over-’em gaze,specially for shoe shops.  I give the place a quick once over, neverfocusing on any one pair, because I mustn’t fall in love and risk abroken heart.  Then I brace myself, buttonhole an assistant and ask,“What do you have in a five? Do you have anything in a five? At all?”

In my naivety, when we went to the US, I thought there’d be hundredsof pairs of beautiful shoes, all size five, all jostling on the shelves, competing to come home with me. The hard part was going to be selecting from among the multitudes. I even had my heart set of a pairof cowboy boots - red ones.

Nope. NOPE!

My Beloved bought a faaabulous pair of cowboy boots. Mark Nason, on a sale. They are just gorgeous. *whimper*

But for me? Same old story. *sigh* Yes, I did buy a couple of pairs on a sale, useful, but not special, you know? I saw shelf after shelf of beauties, not a one in my size.

Next time, I’m going to Hong Kong, or Singapore - somewhere where women have small feet!

Your turn. Wanna vent? Be my guest! Go for it!

My baby's gone and got herself a tattoo. Don't get me wrong - it's actually quite tasteful, a spray of snowflakes over her hip. On anyone else's daughter I'd say it was quite nice, but on my little girl??

  Oh. Oh…

This picture isn't her, BTW.

And she's not the only one. My son has an interlaced Celtic design up one bicep and he's going to have it extended over his shoulder as soon as he can afford it. On any other man, I'd say it looks sexy. He has lovely golden skin and excellent muscle tone. (I'm a good breeder, okay?) But on my baby boy? Oh dear.

I'd be the first to say tattoos can enhance the body. Some of them are true works of art, really classy. After all, Brin in GIFT OF THE GODDESS has the most gorgeous dragon tattoo on his most gorgeous self. And the hero of my current WIP (Book 2 of the Four-Sided Pentacle series) is probably going to finish up with a small tattoo - to remind him of something.

But what is it with this passion for ink? You'd be hard put to find anyone under the age of thirty without a tatt somewhere on their person. Obviously, I need to catch up with shows like Miami Ink.

In fifty years, we'll have a generation of wrinkled, tattooed bods creaking about with their walking frames. I fixed DD with my beady gaze and said darkly, "I hope you still like it when you're eighty." She just tossed her hair and smiled, being totally incapable of believing she might actually be that old - ever. They've both pointed out it could have been worse - like a skull with flaming eyeballs and a snake coming out of its mouth. Guess so. *sigh*

As for me, I'm pretty well ambivalent. If I was younger, I'd think about it seriously. Something small and sexy in a private place. Where I wouldn't sag. But geez, I'd have to love that design! And it would need to be deeply meaningful if I was going to carry it on my skin for the rest of my life.

What do you think of tattoos? Slutty? Decorative? Important? Do you have one? If so, why did you get it? People's reasons are always so interesting. Is there a difference to your appreciation if the tatt is on a man or a woman? Does it make a man sexier?