Talking about gender-specific issues can be touchy these days. I know this because I’ve done that on more than one occasion. While there are some undeniably difficult subjects within those issues, there are also some aspects that are undeniably fun. As it just so happens, many of those details happen to be of the sexy kind.

There are a lot of gender-specific traits that have incredible sex appeal. I don’t think I need to go into detail about why men find female breasts sexy or why women find Channing Tatum’s abs sexy. That kind of appeal speaks for itself. For the appeal that comes from men doing hard work, it’s a bit subtler, but every bit as powerful.

I know this because I’ve felt it. I’ve had days where I’ve labored away for hours on end, working up a sweat and straining muscles that I don’t normally strain. Going all the way back to high school, those days were rarely easy. However, those were often the same days at which I felt truly sexy, as a man.

It’s one thing to just work through general drudgery. There’s nothing too sexy about that. When you work hard and achieve something you’re genuinely proud of, though, it’s like slaying a dragon and winning the Super Bowl. For a man, it highlights the best aspects of masculinity. Some misguided people call it toxic. Most see it for what it is and a good chunk of it is sexy.

A hard-working man, straining his body and pushing his limits, is in the upper echelons of male sex appeal. As a man, I can attest how great it feels to achieve that level of manliness. I feel like a Daily Sexy Musing for it is overdue, but that’s okay because some sexy is always worth celebrating.

I grunt. I strain. I sweat. I lift. I push. With every ounce of effort, I channel the power in every muscle. I endure the hot sun, the muggy air, and the dirty ground. There’s work to be done and I have the strength to do it. Through grit and grime, I don’t avoid it. I embrace it. I am a man and this is my finest hour. The task is daunting. Every breath I take is labored and short. There’s pain in my body that’s impossible to ignore. Even so, I forge ahead. At first, the strain is distress. A part of me looks for any excuse to stop. Another urges me forward, turning pain into strength and strength into stamina. The more I hurt, the harder I work. There’s a job to be done. There’s a goal to be reached. There’s a challenge to overcome. I do not waiver, letting every beat of sweat pour down my body. I can feel the eyes of others on me, watching as I turn my manly strength into something real and tangible. I sense the growing awe in their eyes. Respect and admiration comes easy when you’re strength is there for all to see. I want them to see it. I want them to know it. I want them to respect it. My hands get dirtier. The scrapes and scars accumulate. Pain and discomfort keep trying to dissuade me. At every turn, they fail. I am a man, working hard and earning his lot. Whether in gold or respect, I know my value. Now, I have proven it. I am at my strongest. I am at my greatest. I am at my most fit. In the presence of such a man, what will we do? What more can we achieve?