It is a sparkling springtime afternoon in the heart of Gaytown, USA, that tony little section of your city where--by some marvelous and terribly convenient confluence of geography, affluence, urbanity, or simple safety--gay men come out to play, to see and be seen. Its a special, all-too-brief season, a time of year when winters chill is not yet a distant memory and warm sunshine feels like a novelty, something to be savored before summer wears out its welcome.
Strolling into the park that serves as an ad hoc gathering place on days such as this, you spy men of all shapes, sizes and ages out and about, the more confident among them doffing their shirts to show off all those hard months working out since last summer; now its time to soak up those first good rays from above, UV index be damned.
Thats when you spot him. Hes a tall, well-muscled Adonis posed up on the lip of a marble fountain, wearing shorts, sunglasses, and not much else. You cant really believe your eyes; he looks for all the world like one of those young men you find only in the pages of an underwear catalog, or sitting high up on a billboard above Times Square. They dont really make guys like this in the real world, do they? But here he is, in the flesh. And what flesh it is...
You circle over so as not to appear too anxious, all the while
giving your best introductory phrases a mental once-over. Beautiful day, isnt it? Or maybe: Wow, have you been working out a long time? Id love to have a body like that. Well...youll surely think of something.
Soon youre within striking range and gathering up your courage, and just when youre this close to pouncing, his friends appear, Starbucks frappucinos in hand. And thats when your intended suddenly jumps up and fairly screams with delight. You stop in your tracks and stand there off to the side, unnoticed, taking in the scene. The lean body is still there, in fact he looks even better now that hes standing fully upright and you see the shadows cast by ample pecs and tight abs that dont suggest a six-pack as much as the whole freakin case. Theres even the flash of a gorgeous smile, and a glimpse of bright, wide-set eyes behind those Ray Bans...but now youre seeing other things, like the fluid, theatrical motions of his hands as he talks, the toss of his head that can only be described as girlish. And the voice. It calls to mind that old expression: He opened his mouth, and a string of pearls hit the floor.
You are somewhat dumbstruck by the transformation, wondering just how it is your Rhett Butler became Scarlett OHara in the space of a second. And you are also struck by the fact that your mental woody has pretty much gone with the wind. Make no mistake, your boy is still a vision, but thats all he is now. Lovely scenery, like the green trees and the bright white fountain shimmering in the sun on a Saturday afternoon.
Sissyphobia - by Tim Bergling
Strolling into the park that serves as an ad hoc gathering place on days such as this, you spy men of all shapes, sizes and ages out and about, the more confident among them doffing their shirts to show off all those hard months working out since last summer; now its time to soak up those first good rays from above, UV index be damned.
Thats when you spot him. Hes a tall, well-muscled Adonis posed up on the lip of a marble fountain, wearing shorts, sunglasses, and not much else. You cant really believe your eyes; he looks for all the world like one of those young men you find only in the pages of an underwear catalog, or sitting high up on a billboard above Times Square. They dont really make guys like this in the real world, do they? But here he is, in the flesh. And what flesh it is...
You circle over so as not to appear too anxious, all the while
giving your best introductory phrases a mental once-over. Beautiful day, isnt it? Or maybe: Wow, have you been working out a long time? Id love to have a body like that. Well...youll surely think of something.
Soon youre within striking range and gathering up your courage, and just when youre this close to pouncing, his friends appear, Starbucks frappucinos in hand. And thats when your intended suddenly jumps up and fairly screams with delight. You stop in your tracks and stand there off to the side, unnoticed, taking in the scene. The lean body is still there, in fact he looks even better now that hes standing fully upright and you see the shadows cast by ample pecs and tight abs that dont suggest a six-pack as much as the whole freakin case. Theres even the flash of a gorgeous smile, and a glimpse of bright, wide-set eyes behind those Ray Bans...but now youre seeing other things, like the fluid, theatrical motions of his hands as he talks, the toss of his head that can only be described as girlish. And the voice. It calls to mind that old expression: He opened his mouth, and a string of pearls hit the floor.
You are somewhat dumbstruck by the transformation, wondering just how it is your Rhett Butler became Scarlett OHara in the space of a second. And you are also struck by the fact that your mental woody has pretty much gone with the wind. Make no mistake, your boy is still a vision, but thats all he is now. Lovely scenery, like the green trees and the bright white fountain shimmering in the sun on a Saturday afternoon.
Sissyphobia - by Tim Bergling
