I find all sports tedious in the extreme, so it was nice to come across one sporting event I'd actually pay to witness. It has nothing to do with the sport but everything to do with the participants. These boys are Turkish oil wrestlers. The lad on the left has amazingly beautiful eyes, like a young man in the Fayum mummy portraits, but it is the lad on the right who is almost my fantasy made flesh; beautiful eyes and the hint of rough lent by the stubble make a combination that has always caused me to lose myself completely in their owner's beauty. I gawp and am unaware of gawping, as if I had disappeared. I am at once disappointed and relieved that the photo is not more revealing. I imagine packed muscles, hard and dense rather than bulky, some soft dark hair on his sternum and round his nipples, legs rough with dark hair, thick dick and a sturdy pair of bollocks. I will never be able to confirm any of this, but will be able to create it mentally every time I gaze at him, gobsmacked.
I am just emerging from a month or so of depression, when all emotion just switches off. A period of purest lust usually heralds the return to life. Hallelujah! And Thank God for Men! (A slogan that ought to be carried by protesters wherever the appalling Westboro Baptist Church hold one of their foul pickets.)