In the hall outside her room is some doctor, a woman in a white coat holding a clipboard. She has, it looks like, long dark hair twisted into the shape of a little black brain on the back of her head. She’s not wearing makeup so her face just looks like skin. A pair of black-framed glasses are folded and sticking out of her chest pocket.
     Is she in charge of Mrs. Mancini, I ask.
     The doctor looks at the clipboard. She unfolds the glasses and slips them on and looks again, the whole time saying, “Mrs. Mancini, Mrs. Mancini, Mrs. Mancini…”
     She keeps clicking and unclicking a ballpoint pen in one hand.
     I ask, “Why is she still losing weight?”
     The skin along the parts in her hair, the skin above and behind the doctor’s ears, is as clear and white as the skin inside her other tan lines must look. If women knew how their ears come across, the firm fleshy edge, the little dark hood at the top, all the smooth contours, coiled and channeling you to the tight darkness inside, well, more women would wear their hair down.

- from Choke by Chuck Palahniuk (on Amazon)

Fantastic novel on every front.

But regarding the topic at hand…. Agreed? or No? I find there is something supremely sensual about a woman’s ear. Photographically speaking, ears can make or break a photo. I’ve taken photos that, in reviewing them, they were near to complete perfection but they’ll never be posted because the ears weren’t sensuous enough for a certain image or they were diametrically opposed to what that particular image was trying to convey. Most often in what I shoot, though, the ear is neatly just out of view or… right there.

     Lila Jane was one of the pretty girls I’d seen at school. She was one of the nicest, and she was living right next door. One day when I was in the yard she came up to the fence and stood there looking at me.
     ”You don’t play with the other boys, do you?”
     I looked at her. She had long red-brown hair and dark brown eyes.
     ”No,” I said, “no, I don’t.”
     ”Why not?”
     ”I see them enough at school.”
     ”I’m Lila Jane,” she said.
     ”I’m Henry.”
     She kept looking at me and I sat there on the grass and looked at her. Then she said, “Do you want to see my panties?”
     ”Sure,” I said.
     She lifted her dress. The panties were pink and clean. They looked good. She kept holding her dress up and then turned around so that I could see her behind. Her behind looked nice. Then she pulled her dress down. “Goodbye,” she said and walked off.
     ”Goodbye,” I said.

     It happened each afternoon. “Do you want to see my panties?”
     ”Sure.”
     The panties were nearly always a different color and each time they looked better.

- from Ham on Rye by Charles Bukowski (on Amazon)