From "Metronome"

For Jin, it didn’t hit him the way it did some boys. He’d always appreciated the intricate nature of a woman’s beauty, the delicate exactitude of a gesture, the way a woman could store entire sentences in her head only to pick them apart later, carefully, carefully, like so many petals.
It was an instinct, the attraction, sharp and all consuming, the smell of a man. The taste of his sweat and the nubby grit that held on to the ridges near an ankle. It was about the delicious loss of control that came from being opened.
Though he didn’t have a type, it was important that he could depend on the other person’s body. He didn’t like the feel of small or fragile things. The delicacy of sinews and pert bones repulsed him- he hated his own elbows, for example. There was a little knob that stuck out, the subcutaneous olecranon bursa. Bulbous and insistent, like a bottle cap poking out from underneath his skin.