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O, The Adonises I See!

(Is that even the plural...? Oh well, too late; it's already written, and I've decided my ear thinks it's pretty.)

I could write reams about how I feel when I see a hot guy. In fact, I know I have; there are embarrassing notebooks overly versifying the subject already--embarrassing not so much for raciness as, more often than not, lameness.

Anyway, besides the more directly libidinal thrust a hot guy can put into normal daily rhythms, there's also those deeper effects and reflections. Prolly merely my usual overthinking, but sometimes it can't be helped.

Today, there were two guys that got me off kilter like that. Damn them--for being hot and being frustrating!

The first was some kinda nurse or doctor or dentist--he was in scrubs, let's leave it at that. He had blonde hair and sunlit eyes and a glorious smile. He came in looking for some cologne though wasn't too sure what as he hardly wears any. For all I knew he was 35 but damn if he wasn't the most gorgeous guy to come through my department in as long as I could remember. So attractive, so personable, so genuine.

And yet I couldn't manage to look him in the eye, let alone flirt.with him (or even return the flirt? was he flirting with me? it's hard to be sure of these things when you could hardly bring yourself to maintaineye contact....).

He was only there a few minutes but something fluttered somewhere in my ribcage, and some shade passed over or through my cerebrum. I wasn't too shaken by it, but it reminded me of my one greatest weakness (bullshit, but let's pretend that's this is it): I can actually be quite timid in person. It's maybe why I don't go out clubbing or partying or socializing enough. Not because I don't drink anymore but because there's that twinge of nervousness that preys upon my latent timidity and renders me paralyzed just long enough to turn down an offer of going out.

Is it weird that I hope he comes back some other time when he's on break? I could barely focus enough to be useful; plus he was so gorgeous, so sweet. Why couldn't I just be myself or shit?

The second adonis I encountered today was at the gym. Of course. There were many ripped and built guys that made me feel a bit self conscious, but I shrugged that off as best I could for the most part. Even that really faggy guy with the great pecs wearing that stringy tank so his nipples poked out (fag. I'm sorry, hon, but you're a fag. straight guys aren't permitted to do that shit.). Fuck his pecs, though; Beautifully shaped and defined. Also, his arms and shoulders and back. And his friends'. Damn them all. I'll get over it, eventually, when I achieve something to compare. Of course only material accomplishments can permit gains in self-confidence and -worth. Obviously.

But it was when I was doing my cardio at the end that I saw Him. This adonis. It didn't help that I was already calling myself on chickening out on using the treadmill when I spied him treadmilling his hot ass something fierce.

It was his proportions. So perfect. Shoulders just broad enough, tapering perfectly to a slim waist, leading to a firm shapely ass. I saw him diagonally from behind but I could tell his chest was equally in proportion to rest of him. His body exuded fitness and, humbly enough somehow, sexuality. At least for me. I wanted to be him as much as be with him.

See, those proportions...I've spent enough time in my life seeing my body as lumpy and ungainly. That although possessing broad shoulders, my arms are too twiggy, my lats too meager. That although having strong legs, they just won't bulk up, they'll always be offset by these damn hips. I know there's potential, sometimes I can even see it, but what I wouldn't give to have achieved for myself what that guy had. He wasn't even that huge, he just looked strong, athletic, balanced, sexy. The opposite of how I sometimes imagine I must look.

Do I overthink things? (is it even worth asking? read anything on this blog and you'll see it's an ingrained curse.) Why can't seeing hot guys just be a sudden pelvic yearning, a blooming behind the sternum? Why does such a simple thing have to ripple through and echo off relics artifacted through my mind and memory? Maybe it's me or maybe it's just human.

(Hell, why must it be like that during sex, too? Why must we think?)


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