Junction X trundles on...
Dec. 7th, 2006 10:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
erastesNot many trains yet, you'll be pleased to hear.
My poor Tagonist (I can't really call him a PROtagonist) is so far up De Nile he's likely to find Stanley and Livingstone any time soon.
What I really NEED to be doing is rewriting Transgressions. As I'm constantly telling my fellow writerly type mates, a book won't sell while it's sitting in a drawer... What I need is another me. Or two extra arms, and three more days in weekend.
Have a snip, because I never give you snips.
"My Da…father would never let me."
"I'm not giving it to him. In fact – I'm not giving it to you. You can use it and when you're fed up or your wife makes you pack it all up into boxes, then you can give it back."
Alec seemed to give up, and he smiled. The cloud, beaten at last by larger odds, gave up in tandem, vanished into the blue-white sky and the sun streamed back into the conservatory. The light hit Alec's hair and I think that's when I saw him, the way I should have seen him, if life were a book, the first time we’d met.
The tightness in my chest increased and I had to stand up and move into the house. "It's too hot in here," I said hurriedly. "Come through to the kitchen." I was shocked; my legs literally shook. I felt like I'd been drained of blood and my heart thudded erratically in my chest.
I'd looked at him and found him beautiful.
Up to then he'd been the boy next door, nothing more, no matter that that sounds like the worst kind of self-deception.
I was not. Am. Not. Not the sort of man who had ever looked at a teenager in that way. I'd never looked at a man in that way. I'd never appraised my work-mates in the light of what Phil and I indulged in. I'd not even considered the aesthetics of Phil, although I knew that he was tanned and blond, and I knew he wasn't ugly. But I'd never considered his attractiveness. I didn't find myself staring at him and thinking of his looks in that way. He was... just Phil.
In any event, I remember thinking that day, as I pulled open kitchen cabinets with one hand, whilst with the other I dug my nails into my palm hard enough to draw blood, men were not supposed to be beautiful. It wasn't a term that one applied. But as I turned with an empty glass in my hand and told Alec to help himself to more lemonade, I felt preconceptions that I'd clung to slip away from me like seaweed falsely saving a drowning man. I knew I was wrong. My stomach was alternately sinking and fluttering and if he hadn't've taken the glass at that moment I probably would have crushed it.
He was beautiful.
And can you say cock in Swedish? Standish hits Scandanavia!!
My poor Tagonist (I can't really call him a PROtagonist) is so far up De Nile he's likely to find Stanley and Livingstone any time soon.
What I really NEED to be doing is rewriting Transgressions. As I'm constantly telling my fellow writerly type mates, a book won't sell while it's sitting in a drawer... What I need is another me. Or two extra arms, and three more days in weekend.
Have a snip, because I never give you snips.
"My Da…father would never let me."
"I'm not giving it to him. In fact – I'm not giving it to you. You can use it and when you're fed up or your wife makes you pack it all up into boxes, then you can give it back."
Alec seemed to give up, and he smiled. The cloud, beaten at last by larger odds, gave up in tandem, vanished into the blue-white sky and the sun streamed back into the conservatory. The light hit Alec's hair and I think that's when I saw him, the way I should have seen him, if life were a book, the first time we’d met.
The tightness in my chest increased and I had to stand up and move into the house. "It's too hot in here," I said hurriedly. "Come through to the kitchen." I was shocked; my legs literally shook. I felt like I'd been drained of blood and my heart thudded erratically in my chest.
I'd looked at him and found him beautiful.
Up to then he'd been the boy next door, nothing more, no matter that that sounds like the worst kind of self-deception.
I was not. Am. Not. Not the sort of man who had ever looked at a teenager in that way. I'd never looked at a man in that way. I'd never appraised my work-mates in the light of what Phil and I indulged in. I'd not even considered the aesthetics of Phil, although I knew that he was tanned and blond, and I knew he wasn't ugly. But I'd never considered his attractiveness. I didn't find myself staring at him and thinking of his looks in that way. He was... just Phil.
In any event, I remember thinking that day, as I pulled open kitchen cabinets with one hand, whilst with the other I dug my nails into my palm hard enough to draw blood, men were not supposed to be beautiful. It wasn't a term that one applied. But as I turned with an empty glass in my hand and told Alec to help himself to more lemonade, I felt preconceptions that I'd clung to slip away from me like seaweed falsely saving a drowning man. I knew I was wrong. My stomach was alternately sinking and fluttering and if he hadn't've taken the glass at that moment I probably would have crushed it.
He was beautiful.
And can you say cock in Swedish? Standish hits Scandanavia!!
