Easily one of my favourite past-times - shared by many of my gay brethren - though one that I've had to curtail recently since it's seriously slim pickings here. These days I've come to the conclusion that the better-looking specimens have all been shipped abroad leaving the disheveled country yokels behind.
I know! I'm so judgemental! But let's all agree that city boys are far more polished in appearance. Despite having their own curious appeal, grungy McShaggys with their unkempt hair and sloppy dressing simply don't do it for me.
Every once in a while though Fabulous Felix and I manage to catch a gem. Or two.
Felix : OMG Come and see. The boy is cute.
Paul : Is this your usual twinky cute?
Felix : Oh yes! So cute!
Paul : Way below my frailty level?
Felix : Possibly.
Paul : Powerful gust of wind could blow him away?
Felix : Definitely.
Paul : I'll pass.
Of course our tastes differ when it comes to men. Separated by an unwavering line we like calling the frailty level.
Below frailty level?
Adhering to popular opinion of late, Fabulous Felix prefers his boys really frail. Practically manorexic. Reed-thin enough that a stiff breeze would prove fatal. Squeeze them too hard and they just might shatter into a thousand low-fat pieces.
Boggles my mind. Don't we love men because they are tough? Don't we love the idea of slamming them hard against a dingy wall to ravish them thoroughly?
Or is it just me?