I know I am not the first person in the history of the world to think this:
Wow! Those are some really great pants. I bet they would look great on my floor...
Last night I went out with a friend of mine to a local bar. He wasn't wearing particularly great pants. The thought above is not a caption that came to mind when looking at him.
Rather, I kept on thinking this whenever my bartender would turn around and I could see just how perfectly his grey dress pants manage to caress his thin muscular legs and well-defined ass. The fact that he was wearing a v-neck - an accessory t-shirt that, if worn well, can melt my butter in any Saskatchewan winter - did not contribute to his overall hotness factor.
Complication: he has a wife. And a son, named Isaiah. Which usually is enough to make me look away and start thinking about other things.
But I just kept on looking at those pants. When something looks that great you can never turn away. It would be like walking through St. Peters Basillica trying to find the bathroom and ignoring all of the stunning artwork on the walls. The way these pants fit this man - it was a work of art.
Complication: you recall my straight married friend that I have struggled loving? I'm sure you do. Well, he works at this bar though I thought he had quit and wasn't expecting him to be there. He greeted me, and then introducted the Mr. I-Wear-My-Pants-Really-Well (fictitious name) as his best friend that he has known since grade 2.
I struggled to keep my jaw from dropping. The world suddenly seemed even less fair. This is where I should turn off the horny and start focusing on things like beer, or the conversation.
And yet, while my friend and I were talking of largely inconsequential things looking in the direction of the aforementioned pants man (seriously, if all bartenders are this attractive, I'm going to start spending more time at the bar stool and less at the table), I kept on being more and more impressed by this man's pants. His v-neck... his tattoos...
And couldn't help imagining the way they would wrinkle on my floor...
Today I embarked on two weeks of complete non-sexuality which, being essentially the first twenty-two years of my life, has put me back in the closet. I'm managing a young adult national classical music touring group. I'm looking forward to it, but in the expectation of being professional at all times my sexuality is to be suppressed. Again. Before it is more thoroughly enjoyed... That being said, I almost went out with a bang.
I told the friend who I went to the bar with last night that I was gay, immediately after we left the bar. I started by telling him how ridiculously attractive that man was in those pants - and that he really wasn't interested in having me watch him glide around that floor like the winged piece of glory that he was he wouldn't of worn them. That is one hell of an introduction to my sexuality if I say so myself...
And then, leaving out other aspects of our conversation, he offered to kiss me.
I think it was the alcohol talking, because this friend of mine is straight. He's not even bicurious (despite this sounding as though he may be). For my personal dignity, and his, I said no.
I've said this before and I'll say it again. Straight men may be damn attractive, but they are not available. I just have to remind myself of that.
And try not to think about those pants for the next two weeks... and what kind of shape they would be in after a night of resting on my floor...
