PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

In one of those magazines ("for queers") that were

kept beneath the counter and sold with a judgemental

scowl on the cashier's face, as if my paper money and

coins were tainted, I found him after I gladly took

ownership of the issue, his beauty so overwhelming that the

desk clerk's attitude faded to the merest miniscule of

inconvenience.  He was eighteen or nineteen years old;

his hair almost waist-length, his body lithe and slender;

clad only in a yellow lace garter belt, and yellow stockings---

delicately sheer with semi-opaque reinforcements at the

heels and toes.  Some photographs featured a bedroom's

interior; and some featured a beach's fine white sand and

bright sunlight:  and in all of them he was either fully or

partly engorged.  His deep eyes displayed the need to be

loved according to his nature.  His coy smile suggested the

pleasures that will accompany such Love.  Thirty-six years

ago, but I still remember him as if just this afternoon.

Starward-Led