An ode to the essence of boy
How do you know you're gay? It's such a nonsensical question. How do you know you're straight? You know who you fancy. And I've always fancied boys*, before I even knew what it was to fancy someone. When I was barely ten I was already drawn to certain boys in my class; the pretty ones. I was already lusting after teenaged boys on TV; only powerful hormonal influences could make Wesley Crusher seem cool, and as for Lucas Wolenczak, well, even today I have only wistful sighs.
There's something about boys. They have something girls don't. The way they move: half the time they are like oversized puppies, always a step away from tripping over their own feet. And the other half of the time they suddenly break into a fluid motion of grace and power.
And it's not just some boys, it's all boys. They're hypnotic. It's just a matter of degree. Every one has some attractive feature. A strong jaw, a high cheekbone, a witty turn of phrase, a quick smile. Sometimes they are beautiful; subtle masculinity hidden under an elegant surface. Sometimes they are handsome; rugged strength and sexy stubble.
I can't help but notice them. Every boy I see gets a quick appraisal, and lots get a second glance. They're just... pretty. And fascinating. And occasionally -- very occasionally -- knee-weakeningly hot.
What the hell is my point? I dunno. I guess it's spring, or something. Whatever, it's a blog, I don't have to have a meaningful conclusion. I could just post pictures of my cat** or something, but no, I give you more. Sure, it's stream-of-consciousness pseudo-philosophical psychobabble, but it takes way longer to produce than taking a picture of my cat*** so it's clearly more valuable.
* And by boys I mean men. My use of "boys" used to upset my mother until I pointed out that my brother has a "girlfriend" even though they are both in their 30s.
** Hypothetically. If I had a cat. I don't. I prefer dogs. Possibly because they remind me of boys. Let's not read too much into that.
*** Still hypothetical.