Okay. I didn't take this and I can't quite remember why I saved it to my desktop, other than the obvious. Something pretty. And why not, we all like a lucky dip, or the idea of one. And there certainly is promise in the photo.
He reminds me of Manny, a bit. Manny's skin was more olive. I don’t think of Manny very much anymore. I wonder if this guy goes to gym every day and lives on a diet of tuna and rice?
He reminds me of all those guys, the names of whom I have long since forgotten, but I always knew them, it was my thing, I always asked their names. Tom always thought that practise was odd.
“Why?” he’d ask.
I always thought it was only polite, if you were going to fuck someone, ask them their name.
All those guys who got me though a night of drinking, or a long weekend. Those boys who came home with after a night of dancing. Or, much more likely, those guys who said yes to me at the doorway to a sex cubicle. I wonder how all those guys are doing? The number of which I have long since lost count of. That question always amuses me. What is your body count? Really? Who knows that? What are we? Teenagers?
No comments:
Post a Comment