I should be cold, but there's a fine young man keeping me warm

November 19, 2006 - 9:40 p.m.

What would you say if I told you that I have an unemployed live-in lover who will be skipping town in three weeks?

You would be surprised as I am that I am living a life like this.

Do you remember Angel Hoss? Well you better, cuz he’s only the sexiest thing to show up on this blog since the day it was born. He’s the young, beautiful man who gave me naked body massages for hours on end. How could you forget him?

Long story short, the boy had started a road trip back in August that led him all over the Eastern and Southern parts of the U.S., and he was gone for 9 weeks. We would text and email each other occasionally, to say hi. While he was gone, the girl who was watching his cats decided she could no longer do it, and after no one else would help him I volunteered to take them. Despite the fact that I am highly allergic, like rashes and bumps and eyes watering and blurry and on fire.

So I had his cats for a month or so, and they were a handful to say the least. They were pretty pissed off that Daddy was gone and I ended up with some battle scars, puncture wounds, missing hair, etc. Me and Hoss communicated even more during this time, and I was looking forward to him coming home and perhaps warming my bones a bit.

He got back to Chicago three weeks ago and the first place he landed was my house, to see his boys. He arrived around 9pm and I was dressed all cute, with hair fluffed up, pine candle burning, piano music playing, and dinner on the stove. I offered him the use of my shower, laundry, internet, and silently in my head, I offered my naked body.

Together we ate vegan tortellini soup and garlic bread and he told me stories of his trip. It got late so I offered for him to stay the night and he shyly asked if he should sleep on the couch, or…And of course I said, “No, you come sleep with me.” So he crawled into my bed and he’s been there ever since. Just coincidentally I had taken the following two days off of work, in order to study for my mid-term at school. So he and I pretty much chilled at home for 2 days, and it quickly started to feel like we were playing “house”.

After he explained to me his temporary lodging options, which didn’t allow cats, didn’t have internet, or was located out in the suburban nightmare of NILES, I offered to let him stay with me. Why the hell not? I’m single, independent, don’t answer to anyone, have a big apartment in the middle of the city, and I’m off at work all day. It was perfect for him.

So he stays home and works on documenting and archiving his trip (photos, journal entries) so it can be published into a book, and does research for jobs and housing for where he wants to move.

Every night when I come home from work he greets me at the door with smooches and “How was your day?” and “What would you like for dinner?” and then I go and plop down somewhere, peel off my work clothes and just chill while he sits next to me and rubs things and tells me about his day. Then he’s off to cook dinner and I take a 20 minute nap until kitchen noises and scents wake me up and I know it’s time. We eat together every single night, and he cooks vegan so it’s always something new to me and always very flavorful and tasty. And wow, surprisingly balanced and oh so healthy! I thought being a vegan would be a full time job, but he makes it look simple. I don’t even notice the absence of meat and dairy, and there’s a vegan version of Mac-n-Cheese, chocolate cookies, ice cream and even BBQ ribs, so I’m eating better than ever before.

He’s like my little wife, and I don’t mean that is a derogatory way.

We have our two computers set up next to each other on the same desk, one Mac and one PC. We take turns using the internet and when he’s working I’m off in the other room studying or spacing out or whatever it is that I do. There are numerous cameras lying around and we both take tons of digital photos and compare cameras and online services.

The two cats are always nearby, sleeping the day away, and at night the four of us sleep together like a happy family, tho sometimes the cats are naughty towards me and chew my head because they want all the attention.

So that’s the story of my temporary live-in lover. My lithe, sinewy, perfectly sculpted lover. God bless me for being graced with this milk chocolate, delicious, flawless specimen. When he puts his hands on me it feels like he has six hands and his kisses feel like three mouths. I don’t know how he does it and I don’t want to know. Let the magician keep his secret. All I gotta say is, never, in my entire life, have I felt anything like it, and I’ve been around the block a few times, you know it.

I’ve been lucky in the past to have had a few boyfriends with smoking-hot bodies, at least one of them was Perfect, and a few more were 95% perfect. But this boy, there’s something about him that I can’t put my finger on. It’s like he should be the model for the male human body in an anatomy book. And what’s even more dizzying is the fact that it comes to him with essentially no effort, no diet or exercise. He just came out of his mama’s womb looking that way and I can’t help but envy the GENES. That’s why “specimen” is the most accurate word for him.

I honestly feel like the gods have smiled upon me, that I am so lucky to ever have a superfine lover such as this. I feel unworthy for such fineness.

He’s tall and perfectly proportioned with nice posture. He has such little body fat that you can see every single tendon, muscle and vein in his body and when he exerts any physical movement, you can SEE THE SHIT WORKING. You just don’t know how appealing it is to see someone’s shit work.

We have this nonsense game where we shake each other’s hands all the time, like upon passing one another in the hallway or the kitchen, or sometimes just while we watch TV. Not like maniacal pumping up and down or anything, just the initial grasp, over and over again. We’re practicing, ya see, to achieve the perfect handshake, just the right amount of firmness, and more importantly, to sharpen our eye-hand coordination so as to never have the awkward “miss” when extending our hand to someone new and important. We shake hands very well together, and my favorite part is just watching his veins pop up with each clasp, all manner of things straining and flexing on that one little lower arm.

Yum. Such perfect hands, so smooth and soft and nicely manicured and clean. The chest, the abs, the shoulder blades, all edible. He’s like a giant cob of corn and I wanna nibble the shit outta him, kernel by kernel.

Normally his eyes just look brown, fairly dark brown, until one night I was pleased to discover them all aglow. We were lying on my bed just sort of talking and staring at each other and the lamp was illuminating his face completely and I saw many a brown hue, and yellows, all sparkly and multi-faceted like how some of those fake contacts look. It completely changed his countenance; he suddenly looked 5 years old and all magical and elf-like. Jesus. I catch this look every once in awhile and just gnaw on my hand, trying to figure out how I could possibly capture this on film for the whole world to see.

Another thing I want to capture on film, is the doe eyes. Sometimes he stares, like really Stares, and his eyes peel open and get all big like Bambi, with the long black lashes. And sometimes he’ll cup my face and just say, “Pretty.” *flap-flap* go the eyelashes. STARE. Me personally, I totally, totally have a Serious Staring Problem, that I make no efforts to “work on” cuz I LIKE staring, so I honestly don’t mind at all when others stare also - at me, at a crack on the wall, at that super-long hair growing on their forearm, whatever. I’m unapologetically pro-staring, mainly because I’m practically DEEF and sometimes dumb and there is major important information I need to be bringing in through my eyeballs, because it can’t come in through any other sense, so bug-eyed staring it is.

Most people, normal people, would be uncomfortable being stared at, being held in the gaze of those Bambi eyes. They might think, Oh my god, this person is staring! What are they looking at?! Do they see my mustache/wrinkles/hairy mole/crooked nose/deep-seated self-loathing?” But I just stare back and think, ”Naturally this person is staring, because there’s like hella shit to look at in this life.”

Yes, so staring boy who blushes with shy smiles and dimples in the cheeks and crinkles at the eyes and miles of smooth skin and smelling so good and making a good sleeping partner who sometimes talks and ask questions and offers info on Finland and Canada in his sleep and the little belly button and tiny fur patch and perfect nipples who is polite, amicable, a conscientious roommate, lover of animals and the Earth who recycles fastidiously and takes out the trash and puts away leftovers and always wants to eat on the plate I made in Kindergarten, and waters down the grape juice because it’s too much sugar, and always serves me first, the hottest food, sprinkled with fresh cilantro to please the senses, and who leaves me the last cookie, and burns woodsy incense and candles so home always feels homey and reminds us of our respective childhood homes of pine and cherry and apples, and who listens to Cajun, Zydeco and Delta Blues and doesn’t laugh when I suggest adding Woodie Guthrie’s “This Land is Your Land” to a mix CD…

(I know how you’ve been dying for one of my >150-word run-on sentences.)

This will all end eventually. But right now, things are good. Warm and nice, I have a little family to come home to, to come inside from the cold, wet drear and naked trees that are Chicago in November. A boy to keep me warm, just like I asked for.

*seizing the day*

Seizing it!

*smooches*

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