One of my numerous theories, perhaps to be someday published in a Dave Barry-type book, is that we each have varied levels of a substance called "The Juice," human pherimones, if you will.
I say this because I've noticed a patent lack in the quantity/quality of mine, and a whopping Exxon Valdez-sized load just oooooooooooooooozing from others. Allow me to cite a noteworthy example from the now infamous ex-fiancee's apartment (Courtside)
INT. APARTMENT. NIGHT... A studly, dark-eyed fellow named Colby (the name just burns w/ male soap-opera hubba-hubba) on a fateful evening stopped by to say "Hello." Since things were ever up-and-down w/ this would-have-been-lover, I was not yet sure as to what kind of feelings she had for me. I was either trying to play it cool or thinking that, romantically "All was Well in Zion." At any rate, Mr. Beefcake didn't even cross the threshold, and all eyes were fixed on his masculine frame. Not one female eye in the room dared dart away for a second, lest they miss perhaps some mischievous flicker of a grin, an involuntary flex of a bicep, or other assorted evidences of a Tom Cruise swagger.
I remained, of course, perplexed by the power this newfound personal idol had on these college gals: typically aloof, studious, serious, etc. but now beyond hope of self-mastery. My own love-interest lingered at the door, drinking-lounge-style draped over the door like how a butcher hangs meat in the window. She was clearly advertising.
At this point, I could feel the disparity between my male "umph" and this hunk's estimable potency. As he bid them good-bye, all four girls' eyes pierced sheet rock, wood and paint and followed this virile figure with a hormonal radar as he passed through the outer door and down the few stairs leading in front of their window. Naturally, I had to clear the way so each of them could pry open the blinds and giggle at his "wiggle" as he walked away.
I was amazed. I felt like the pup in the old---was it MGM?---cartoon where the biggger dog is circled by an excitable pup, eager to be apprentice to an apparent master of "doghood." Clearly I needed schooling... or scrubbing? He was well-groomed.
Alas, such as it was, I entered it into my lengthy list of humorous anecdotes and there it remains... proof positive that some guys got it, some guys don't.