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timmy
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Has no life at all |
Location: UK, in Devon
Registered: February 2003
Messages: 13818
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Sometimes I hate being 52. I was at the gym and he was there, working out. Unusual for two reasons. The first is that itis very rare for a teenager to work out. And the second is because he was imperfect and yet wonderful to behold.
He was a tough lad, perhaps 16-18 years old. Slim and yet with defined muscles, wearing a wifebeater style top and baggy long sweat pants. Light brown hair, about 4" long and wild, with generous blond highlights. Light brown soft eyes, and a smooth oval face.
His nose was a little too large, but not importantly so, and his face was like Princess Di's, but not like William's. His gaze was full on, not towards the ground and there was a tan about his face mostly but with rosy cheeks, and about what could be seen of his body through the sleeve holes.
He was somewhere between 5'8" and 5'10" tall and wonderful to look at. he was confident and had a husky light voice. And I would now be writing a story about him if I had any inspiration at all left to write with. I know this is one of theose "Seen once and never again" teenagers. I could live at the gym and never see him again.
He quite cheered me up. And, had I been between 16 and 18 I like to think I'd have spoken to him.
Author of Queer Me! Halfway Between Flying and Crying - the true story of life for a gay boy in the Swinging Sixties in a British all male Public School
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