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contours provocations
journal - 2001-0522 - tue 2100 Water Polo; "Hormone Pirates"; Virgin Territory; Grape Jelly; Sweaty Boy As I pecked away at the keys last night, I was enduring the season finale of "Roswell." The first year, I loved "Roswell," but this year, my interest has waned. It was as though the producers could not decide if they wanted to do sci-fi or romance. So the stories were uneven, at best. Plus there were not nearly enough semi-nude shots of Max or Kyle. If they'd wanted to spice up the series, they should have had those two join the water polo team. As I understand it, "Roswell" moves from WB to UPN come next season. Maybe if UPN puts out the money, "Roswell" will be a flasher show. I wonder if I can start an e-mail campaign about water polo. Before going to bed, I thought I'd read a little, but I had no idea what I wanted. My book shelves have become so cluttered, it's almost impossible to find anything specific. I usually wind up moving books around until some bright, shiny cover catches my eye. (If I were so prone, I guess I could stand back and throw darts at the books.) My find for the evening was - drumroll please - "Hormone Pirates of Xenobia" and "Dream Studs of Kama Loka." Two erotic, funny sci-fi novellas under the same cover. In "Hormone Pirates," a space trader becomes a sperm donor on Xenobia. But he quickly develops "sperm hunger." Various couplings ensue leading to a rousing climax. Campy and innane, but worth a quick read. I'd read it before but forgotten a lot of the details. This morning, as I hurriedly slipped it back onto the shelves, I noticed "Best Gay Erotica 2001." I picked it up and realized I had no idea I had it. I'm certain I didn't buy it within the last few months. So I can only guess that I purchased it several months ago, shifted it around and then forgot about it. Very odd. Thinking that maybe I'd read it and put it aside, I glanced at it earlier this evening, but nothing rang a bell. Virgin territory, it appears to be, to use a cliche. This morning on the way to work, as per my habit, I bustled by Krystal for biscuits and a coke. Well, they had a coke, but no biscuits. I swung around to BK, and as I entered the door, I noticed a construction worker in front of me. Tall and slim, with a shaved head, a thin gray tee, black frayed cut-offs, brown work boots with black leather tops and crumpled white socks. I could not take my eyes off his legs. I was trying to act semi-sophisticated and not be caught gawking. But I wanted to run over and smear grape jelly up and down his thighs and then slowly lick it off. No such luck of course, it took me a few seconds to realize the only thing I'd be licking would a butter biscuit. At lunch today, I ate at the bar at WXYZ. As always, I'd brought along something to read, in this case, the June issue of "Out." Again I made a serious attempt to affect a certain panache. But I did not realize there would be a sweaty hunky boy on page 14 in an ad for DKNY briefs. Nor did I know about the quasi-unclothed guys in the multi-page spread called "New Kid in Town." So it took all my self-control not to drool on my broccoli. PAX!
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