Sulky

Friday, May 9, 2003 -
Ap�sl�min ida corbalanyrtne 'ls�o rohl'daathi�m v� nen�a iroyss�rd.

CALLIPYGIAN
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The men in my life are a wee bit pissed at me.

Blaine sez I misrepresented his situation with PTB Books, Inc. The epic gay romance is not the sticking point (and dang, wasn't I tempted use the phrase "queering the deal"). Other considerations are gumming up the little tiny wheels in the big fat brains at PTB. Blaine explained the other considerations to me, which I'm not allowed to tell you, because Blaine thinks I've already spilt too many details as it is. I promised him my lips are sealed. Too bad I don't type with my lips. Neener-neener-neener. (Naw, I'm just winding you up, Blaine, m'luv. I'm not gonna type anything, not another word. I won't even opine that the "other considerations" are ingredients that wouldn't be out of place in a bucket of hogwash.)

Blaine has never forgiven me for lumbering him with the pseudonym of a major appliance*�how he loathes John Hughes! As would any self-respecting anthropoid. Except for one film: John Hughes' career should've flourished and died with Ferris Bueller's Day Off.

Speaking of hogwash (but we weren't speaking of hogwash, were we?), did I forget to tell you we have our new pigs? The 4-H projects arrived last month. The porker connoisseurs among you will be pleased to hear we have one Duroc and one Hampshire, Nathan and Julio, respectively.

The Fiend wants you to know he did not say "Aren't you adorable!" to that nice man at the antiques show. He said, "You're too cute." Which he sez is a lot less fey, especially without the exclamation point. And he insists there was no exclamation point. (Well, fine. Okay then. Have it your way, darlin'. But ya still kissed him.)

And finally, Jer.

Jer is a tad miffed at being characterized as the the boy with furry ankles.

"Makes me seem like a hobbit," he groused.

(Oh, cucciolo... you are so very unlike a hobbit. So very very.)

Jer is a male past the age of puberty, and the hair that enclasps his legs is not downy fluff. Yet, if you saw Jer naked, your first impression would be that of a smooth fellow, not at all furry. Well, maybe that wouldn't be your very first impression if you saw Jer naked, but he is indeed sleek. (He's pure Scandinavian, but dark-haired�is there such a thing as Black Danish? His father is a yellow-haired Viking, his mother is as dark as Medea.) Besides the Cimmerian shock of hair upon his head, Jer has demure bushes of shadow under his arms and around his cock (and the sweetest silky wisps nestled under the cleft of his ass) but the rest of him is sheer with a satiny gold tan because he still swims** almost every day and ignores the admonishments of his pale elders, who chase after him with sunscreen.

However, about his ankles...

The hair on the lower-half of the lower-half of Jer's comely legs, below his nicely-rounded calf muscles (I do like to see a man with meat on his calves�skinny legs, male or female, dismay me), intensifies until it becomes quite dense right above his ankles, while his feet seem hairless in comparison. The illusion is that of little black satin cuffs of hair 'round his ankles. Not at all reminiscent of hobbits, but invoking fancies from tales of wolves in human guise, their true identities revealed by their beastly feet. Smooth skin, furry soul.

Or, since Jer's such a waterbaby, maybe it's a selkie I have in my bed.

~

* Pretty in Pink: "Blaine?! His name is Blaine?! That's a major appliance, that's not a name!"

** Last October, when Jer resigned from the swim team (he needed more time for music and the scholastic requirements of the honors program) he asked me to give him his "shave down" the night before his last competition. Before I knew Jer, I had assumed that swimmers shaved their bodies to improve their aquadynamics, but they also do it for the sudden and complete exfoliation of the body's layer of dry dead skin cells. They even shave their palms and the bottoms of their feet. The exposure of a fresh, sensitive layer of skin markedly accentuates a swimmer's sensual awareness of his medium, translating to feelings of power and speed in the water. The effect is as much a mental stimulation as a physical one. Reminds me of when I was more glam in my wilder, younger days. The slinky sensation of a freshly-shaved body under slippery, lustrous fabric can make you feel absolutely and divinely sylvan. So after I shaved Jer, he shaved me, and then we ambushed the Fiend and shaved him. Went through a whole bag of disposable razors. And then we made up the bed with satin sheets. Black satin sheets. Black, slippery, lustrous satin sheets. Upon which we did absolutely sylvan things to each other.

<~>
Ap�sl�min ida corbalan� 'lse nesgla ugar�-cham sa cru ogrulho bat�oltha al�mv�sde.

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