This Is How Accidents Happen
Yesterday I was driving home and I saw the most beautiful man in the world riding his bicycle.
No shirt, longish curly hair, a big stupid hipster cap, some weird man-necklace, those awful pants cut at mid-calf that hipster bike commuters prefer.
But damn, the most beautiful body EVER. Super tall (being tall levels you up to Save The Princess as far as my libido’s concerned) and lanky but muscles EVERYWHERE. Not like Men’s Health Beefcake Muscles. Surprise Muscles: the kind you wouldn’t know were there until he removed his shirt (the awesome kind, basically). Divots and dips in all those interesting places, that ridge between the shoulders, that flurry of dents around the navel.
Sweet water-walking Jesus.
Still, he was clothed in all that hateful fixie hipster accoutrement, and sailing across the crosswalk in front of me like nothing could harm him. Why did he get to have such a flawless body? The level of libidinal cognitive dissonance here was off the charts.
If I my mouth hadn’t been frozen open in a dribbling “O”, I might have shouted something at him. For being so beautiful and wretched at once.
Might have said something like, Fuck you, Dipshit Biker Dreamboat.
You wish, Suburban Cougar Dirtbag, he might have said back.