Watching Twinks
I must patiently wait for the proverbial drop of the soap that may
cause the subject of my attention to stoop, and in doing so, spread his cheeks
to reveal a blossoming bud. And rare is the centerfold photographer who
positions his beefcake model is such a pose as to expose that alluring third
eye.
Nestled betwixt the buttocks, the asshole bears the distinction of being the
unique structure of the male anatomy that does not readily display itself for
the world to behold. Indeed, the eighteenth century French novelist, Marquis de
Sade, wrote that the butt-hole is the body’s most private part. Herein,
perhaps, lies my intrigue with this exceptional gem. The history of my unusual
fixation is readily traced to my college days spent at a conser-vative southern
university. Like all good southern gentlemen, I pledged a fraternity during my
freshman year. Quite naively, I endured an initiation that seethed of sexual
overtones. The eroticism or these sanctioned rites re-mained unrecognized until
the following Spring Q that semester that I realized my carnal interest if
members of my own sex.
