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Stories from a man who fails to meet media expectations of what it means to be gay:
white, frivolous, over sexed yet sexless, shrill, single, stylish, a clown, unimportant, et al.
tue 03/12/2002
Last thursday
I spent the majority of the work day in the field, training a new hire. Well into the afternoon, we broke for lunch at a fast food joint, where we tried to organize all of our paperwork. Well, Udo spent his time trying to figure out a system for organizing the unfamiliar forms, papers and tools. Me, I just sat there answering his questions while trying not to get too distracted by the man sitting near the front entrance.
The man wore a delivery company uniform which showed of his large, thick legs. He also had heavy, thick hands. They were working man hands. Actually, he had a working mans body, large and a bit worn.
He had a bit of belly, which softened the harshness of the rest of him. He was a real man. His eyes however, where an almost unreal shade of blue. They were intense and sharp. I tried not to stare at his eyes, not only because it would have been rude, but because he had eyes you could drown in.
He had dark colored hair which was quickly receding and been cut very short. A look I have always found attractive. Actually I lie, or rather, I understate. It is a look I find immensely arousing.
While trying not to stare at the delivery man, a group of police officers sat at the table next to us. I was indifferent about most of them, but there was one anglo guy who made me think about how sexy side burns can be.
As interesting as Mr. sideburns was, the Latino officer who sat closest to me was even more attractive. He had a small scar over his left eye and I fought the urge to brush over the scar and the rest of his face with my hands. Sometimes it's the imperfections someone has that can be terribly attractive.
I didn't stare at the delivery man when he left the restaurant and I decided to ignore the cops next to us. Except that I couldn't help but turn when they all shouted a greeting to friend of theirs. A shortish, compact, muscular African American highway patrol officer who then stopped to talk to them all.
That was when I decided that maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing to have a uniform fetish.
I looked away from them, only to see that a thirty something man with a sad puppy dog face sat at the table the delivery man had just left. He looked troubled. He looked lonely. I wanted to hug him tightly as I mapped his face with soft kisses.
So I turned away and looked at the other side of the room, where a younger blond guy sat at a stool near the windows. He wore a faded red baseball cap and a few strands of his longish hair were refusing to stay under the hat and had fallen across his face. I assumed he was a student from the nearby university. He was thin, lanky and not really my type. Except.
He wore rather skimpy running shorts which showed off his very long legs. The sun was low enough in the sky that the angled light highlighted the curly blond hair on his arms and legs. The light made his hair seem white and soft.
The restaurant was starting to feel warm. Very warm.
When Udo finally pulled his paperwork together and asked if I was set to go, I told him that yes, I was more than ready to leave.
More later,
nico
Music:
Loud, thumping, sweaty, poppers drenched disco
a cold shower.
Elsewhere:
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