I love my husbands forearms.
He was just in the garage, building something and had his sleeves rolled up and oh.my.lawd.
Ten years and three kids later the sight of his sweaty forearms -- preferably with a watch -- sends me.
Now, I've always loved his forearms, but since we have a history together it goes deeper.
Those arms have held me for ten years. Have held our babies for eight years. They provide for us. They love us.