Thursday, July 11, 2019

Sight Lends Substance blog post #345

Courtesy of
We’ll continue the dreamy, ethereal mood this week with a short piece I wrote for the blog. Let me know if it strikes a chord.



I knew you ere I met you. With closed eyes, I clearly see the breadth of your shoulders, the flair of your ribs, the curve of your buttocks. And that face! Neither fair nor swarthy, but with golden skin unblemished by the razor’s burn. Beautiful, yet masculine. Oh, yes. How manly.
We held conversations in my head. Such wisdom from someone so young. Sparkling, intelligent, witty. I looked forward to our talks at the end of the day when the nightly news was done, and you alone shared my apartment. Delightful. Intimate. Ethereal.
As pleasant as this was, I searched for you diligently. Libraries, sports bars, soccer games, on the streets… everywhere. Each time someone moved out of my apartment complex, I waited with bated breath to see who the new tenant would be, only to be disappointed when someone totally unsuitable claimed the premises.
Over the years, I found some near-yous, some of whom were delightful; others odious. But none were genuine, so I lost interest. Perhaps I should have devoted the time and energy to develop a relationship with one or two, but they had frailties so human, they turned me off, as the saying goes. A few assignations were all I could manage. One, an altogether acceptable young man, more intrigued than the rest, hung on longer than most. But eventually, I drove him away because he wasn’t you.
I saw you today. The apartment in the building next to mine had gone vacant. I watched without hope as a stream of possibles entered and left with the complex’s rental agent. I must have been out when she showed you the apartment, because you had made yourself at home before I saw you shirtless on the patio that faces mine. My flesh crawled at that first sight, and my breath came in gasps. You were he! The man of my dreams. The specter who’d been with me all these years, my ideal. My David. And the sight of you lent you substance.
Careful watching showed no roommate. No visitors at all. I learned your routine and synchronized mine so far as my job allowed. Fortunately, I did most of my work from home. Medical billing is tedious but profitable.

On the third day after the new tenant moved in, I timed my departure to coincide with his and introduced myself as we met on the sidewalk.
 “Hi. I’m Lynn Proctor, your neighbor with the opposing patio.”
“Hi, Mr. Proctor, I’ve seen you out there a couple of times. My name’s Hank Warton.”
His grip was firm and encompassing. Hank. A manly name for such a graceful form.
“Everyone calls me Lynn,” I responded.
We paused long enough for me to learn he was an engineer working at a downtown firm, was single, and had moved here from Washington state. Then I asked why he chose Albuquerque for his new home.
“Beth… my fiancée,” he replied. “She took a job with an architectural firm here.” He chuckled. “Funny thing, I beat her here. She won’t move from Seattle until the middle of next month.”
Downer. But at least I had five weeks or so to develop a relationship. And I worked at it hard. I wouldn’t let go of my paragon without a battle. I introduced him to my favorite sports bar, where he was a great hit talking baseball like a pro with the guys. I noticed he drank a bit too much and got a little edgy before the evening was over. Watching his pecs play as he drove us home, thrust such frailties from my mind.
I unlimbered my tennis racket when I learned he liked the game and managed to hold my own. In fact, I beat him about as much as he beat me, which caused his shoulders to tense. During the second set, we argued over whether a ball that hit beyond the line was fair or foul. I gave in when the discussion started to get heated. My building resentment dropped away as we showered alongside one another in the club.
Then came the day when Hank rapped on my patio door after work one day. He was dressed in shorts and a snug polo shirt that showed his six pack to full advantage.
“Whatcha up to tonight?” he asked after I opened the screen.
“Nothing. Unless you want to go to the bar.”
“Nah, don’t feel like it. Just thought maybe we could hang.”
My heart skipped a beat. Lord, would my yesteryear dreams finally come true? Whoa there, Lynn. Don’t rush things. Let him set the pace. “Sounds good to me. How about a drink.”
“Scotch if you have it.”
“Rocks or neat?”
“What kind?”
“Laphroaig ten-year-old or Johnnie Walker Blenders’,” I said.
“Laphroaig neat.”
We settled in my living room with our drinks. He sat with his legs splayed, which about sent me over the moon. The hair on his legs was lighter than the dark brown on his head. Not thick, not intrusive… just sexy. Had he noticed me giving him the once over? Probably hard not to. I took refuge in my drink.
We talked about his work and his firm a bit, but I had the feeling he wasn’t saying what he came to say. By the time we finished our second drink, I’d had enough.
“You’ve obviously got something on your mind. What is it? Spit it out.”
He speared me with big, brown, expressive eyes, sending shivers up and down my spine.
“I don’t want you to think I run around on Beth all the time. But….” He gave a great sigh. “But I’m getting hard up. She’s been delayed by two weeks, and I’m not sure I can wait. Do you know any women who might accommodate us?”
I gazed at his smooth, slightly irregular, and unbearably handsome features and blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Hank, we don’t need any women. I can give you what you’re looking for.”
His crooked smile brought me to my knees in front of him. He permitted my touch, cooperated as I stripped him, and moaned as I ministered to him. I took my time and made it so good for him I thought he was having a fit during orgasm.
Afterward, he flexed his broad shoulders and stretched his arms to the ceiling. Oh, man… sex on steroids. A moment later, he rose, and performed a striptease in reverse. As he smoothed the shirt over his trim belly, he gave me a sated look.
“Thanks, guy. I needed that. See you around.”
My mouth dropped open. “Are… are you going to just leave me here like this? I have needs, too, you know.”
His eyes widened. “Hey, guy, if that’s what you want, go find yourself a queer.”
As he strolled with manly grace through the patio door and stepped over the fence to his place, I almost forgave him his callousness.

I knew you ere I met you. With closed eyes, I clearly see the breadth of your shoulders, the flair of your ribs, the curve of your buttocks. And that face!
I’ve met some near-yous, of course. But never the real you. I’ll continue my search because sight lends substance to us all. But in the meantime, I’ll live with the insubstantial you in my head as consolation.


I’ll wager that at one time or the other in our lives, we’ve all encountered a situation similar to this… regardless of our sexual orientation. If you want to tell me about yours, email me at

Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

My personal links: (Note the change in the Email address because I’m still getting remarks on the old PLEASE DON’T  USE THAT ONE.)
Twitter: @dontravis3

Buy links to Abaddon’s Locusts:

See you next week.


New Posts are published at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Blog Archive