What is sexy? Ah, the eternal question. It can be answered with innumerable responses. Not only is sexy in the eyes of the beholder, it can change in each beholder's eyes on a moment-to-moment basis. But basically it's anything that gets you wet, hard or off. Or just excited, for that matter. I recently had two unexpectedly sexy, exciting experiences in one day. And I'm not quite sure how to process my equally unexpected physical response!

The first was the furthest excursion imaginable: a trip to a shooting range. I had never held a gun, much less fired one, and the whole idea of guns has always repulsed me. I considered my self about as anti-gun as a person could be. Even waking up with an intruder leaning in my face one night didn't convince me that arming oneself might be advisable. Living in New York City, where people piss me off on an alarmingly regular basis, I would never trust myself with a firearm, for fear I'd go on a maniacal spree if I couldn't find a bag of Pirate's Booty. And don't get me started on trusting my fellow man. Or woman. In summation, I was a gun hater.

Until Vegas's Gun Store. My escort for the big January cons got it into his head that he wanted to shoot a gun and that Vegas was the place to do it. Gamely, I went along for the ride. I shuddered as the jovial gentleman waiting on us gave shooting instructions - a scant few seconds worth! - and slipped on my protective goggles and headphones with shaky hands. We entered the small shooting range, where four or five other folks were getting their jollies blasting live ammo at paper effigies of assorted colorful criminals. My nerves were completely on edge; even with the headphones, those blasts were loud. And the knowledge that any one of these yahoos could turn and end my life with one little squeeze of the trigger only added to the fear.

But then I stood by, like a good little woman, and watched my man take aim at our paper terrorist with his Lock 9mm. Hmm, it kind of looked fun. In minutes I was asking if I could try. Our instructor jumped to my side and offered a few tips, giving me a bit of an "I told you so" smirk. The first shot was a shock. The second one felt a little steadier. And by the third I'd managed to pierce a hole straight through "the kill zone." I was hooked. Suddenly the knowledge that I could turn and end someone's life had gone from a feeling of fear to a feeling of power. It was, horrifyingly, intoxicating. And I simply cannot explain my damp panties.

Perhaps easier to explain was the soggy crotch that resulted from seeing Tom Jones. What? Tom Jones? How the hell old is he, you ask. Well, sure, he's, um, ancient. And believe me, older men are so NOT my thing. But this guy's still got it. Whatever it was. Or is. While his hair had a sort of sprayed-on appearance, he sure could move! He grooved around the stage, belting out old hits and new, dodging knickers like nobody's business.

I almost cried during "Delilah" (a sentimental favorite), and everyone sang along to "What's New, Pussycat?". Surprisingly, the audience was an eclectic mix of old and new, hipster and suburban, male and female. One particularly inspired woman of a certain age chose to display her excitement by dancing in the aisles. The only people who weren't moved by the Welsh crooner were a Japanese couple who came in late and left only a few songs later. Evidently "The Green, Green Grass of Home" holds no nostalgia for them.

Mr. Jones's banter between songs, and his closer inspection of the lobbed lingerie, was heartwarming and wonderful. Oh, how I wished I'd been seated in the front row! His ability to seem simultaneously retro and current contributed to his appeal. Here was a guy who could do it all, and his subtle pelvic movements during "Help Yourself" - with a big thrust on the line "To my love!" -- made me want him to do it to me! I was shocked and appalled. And turned on! By the time he left the stage, I was left panting.

So ended a day of aiming and shooting, but not scoring...of watching panties being tossed and sniffed, even if mine weren't doffed. And now I have two new responses for the next time someone asks "What is sexy?"