I had dinner last night with Bachelor #6 at the new mediterranean place down the street, where La Mooné used to be. He’s 27, soft-spoken, a project manager with a local bank, who likes to “hang with friends, watch movies, and travel.” Since his house is a half block away from mine, I walked him home after dinner and sort of lingered for the half second that it took him to ask me in. We sat on the couch and I chatted in that way that I do when I’m not particularly listening or caring about what’s being said, but wondering through the babble if as the guest Miss Manners would approve of me making the first move. I decided to jump off the diving board and into his grand expanse, letting myself be completely surrounded by his warmth and affectionate heavy petting. If I may fast forward a bit, let me tell you about his butt: it was the butt to end all butts, like an animé butt. From down there, all is blotted from view, except a brilliant dark fuzzy corona through which to catch brief glimpses of the back of his head lolling this way and that. Having explored so many hairy bodies intimately with my camera, my eyes are trained to relate in a certain way to my subject, and with the addition of hands and mouths arms and legs and whatnot, the experience becomes an aesthetic encounter in which all senses are activated. I had a hard time not constructing art pieces in my head–or just clapping.
Tales of Post-Twinkie Ennui