adds, I like men, that's how. Not always, of course.
In my youth it was books by men, newspaper articles (say, on horseracing) by men, books in my aunt's house, which held her deceased husband's interests and none of hers, as I take her as not a reader. Now, many years later, I wonder why not. I never took her as stupid, even as a teen or near adult.
He was, I gathered, my listening at thirteen, an explorer. I still have some of his rocks. He was the head tool and dye person at Douglas aircraft during WW2. I remember him slightly, showing me how to turn the ice cream thing on their back steps in oklahoma (or was it wichita? based in what is now Santa Monica).
I was four then. A faint good almost short video memory in my brain.