Tour De Life
Friday,
March 18, 2005
Volume 33,
Issue 11
Sat, Nov 07, 2009
IN THE SGN
SECTION ONE
Front Page
MORE/ALL
SECTION ONE
STORIES
SECTION TW0
Arts & Entertainment
by Beau Burriola |
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| Boy Magnet | ||
I was standing in line at La Panier, the little French bakery in the market. The line was pretty long, just like it is every weekend morning. As I stared at the different brightly colored pastries, I wondered if I could make a supplemental living by hawking off stuff on eBay. Hey, if grandma can do it, why not me? I could sell off some of my old stuff and maybe make enough to go back to France and get as much pain au chocolat as I like. Er-hum, scuse me, a silky voice behind me said, tickling my ears. In the second right after I glanced up to see who spoke, I fell deep into a daze, lost in the bluey blueness of his blue, blue eyes. He was Seattle, Chicago, France... everything I love about dark-haired, blue-eyed-boys-with-a-day-or-two-unshaven-facial-hair all wrapped up into one. His eyes...so blue. I was so enamored by the man standing in front of me that I only just realized that it was me he was talking to. Huh? I stumbled, involuntarily tilting my head and sighing at the blueness. So blue. I was a mosquito heading gleefully toward the fateful blue zapper. Must go toward blue. Without thinking, I stepped toward him. I uh..., he stopped with a half-grin, moving his hands down the front of his body. As my eyes followed his hands, I lingered on the trucker logo adorning his chest. Melt. Was this really happening to me? Was I dreaming? Had all the karmic goodness and hard work of the gym and good living finally coalesced into one magnificent unexpected blue-eyed payoff? Though not overly familiar with boys picking me up in pastry shops, Ive read enough man-on-man fiction books in my early rural Texas days to know that Im being picked up when I see it. This was definitely it. Action would soon commence. With both beautiful blue eyes on me, he moved his hands down the front of his body. It was as if he didnt notice anyone else around us. Thanks to him, I didnt either. With my pulse racing, I watched his hands hover over the button to his pants. My pulse doubled again. Dude, he said in a way that sizzled and crackled with hotness. Looking back up at his face I stared into the blue. How can eyes be so blue? He leaned in where I could smell him. Since he was taller than I, my nose was nearly touching his chest. He smelled like a bike repair shop. I melted again. This was Heaven. His silky voice took on a whisper when he spoke into my ear: Your pants. My pants? What do you mean my pants? Were not done with yours! Then it hit me what he was trying to say. With two cruel words I was yanked violently out of Gay fiction heaven and thrown into cold hard Gay reality hell. When I looked down, I noticed that my trendy new European belt, which is really only good if you dont move around since it doesnt buckle very well, was again undone and hanging open, zipper crept back down again, everything hanging out, revealing the bright yellow and orange corner of my souvenir Key West boxer shorts. As quickly as my little hands could move, I tried to stuff my conch-covered embarrassment back in, but not before he turned to go. Instinctively, I knew I had to say something. The world would be less blue if I didnt. But what do you say after that? Thank you. Thanks... Um... Hey! but he didnt stop. On he walked out the door and into the sun while I fumbled with my trendy, expensive, useless belt. Even with inquisitive glares around me, I was trying to catch the last traces of him stepping out of the shop and into the sun. Gone. And for you? A ladys voice behind me asked. Frustrated, I shoved the loose piece around the complicated latching device and into my pants. Pain au chocolat and a baguette please, I sighed, feeling the full tingling heat of embarrassment. When I reached out to grab my baguette and my change, the familiar sound of my brilliant French demon-strap clanging open again made the straight couple behind me laugh. I didnt look at them as I grabbed my helmet and left. It was a long bike ride home. But now, in the spirit of making lemonade, the first item up for bids in my big jump onto eBay is a cute little trendy white European belt with silver buckle that I bought at a little shop along the Rue de St. Croix de la Bretonnerie in Paris. As I wrote in the description: This exotic belt is a guaranteed boy magnet.t Beau Burriola is a full-time patisserie-connoisseur and part-time writer now back to wearing the cheap, dependable, worn brown leather belts he grew up with. Email him at beau@beaubrent.com. |
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