Women. I don't mind them, if it's on offer and rude to refuse. Prefer gentles and their hindquarters, personally. There's something to the odd quirk, though. To the purse of a man's lips when he's sour about something. The oddities of hands.

...Scars, I suppose. Got to ask. Do you like looking at them. Or making them?

[Some folk in service house assume things about his habits; he's aware of it. He's avoided it, thus far.]