I have met a people collector. Not surprisingly we met online. He collects people there. His websites, and he has several, all feature in his friends section beautiful women. He states his quest is to open the sexual door of communications. Not the other way around. He appears to have many people coming in for the conversation.
It is like a circus signing in to one of his sites. The vibrant colors and banner ads flashing like a tawdry blinking marquee at night. The crowd of faces that light his “friends” section is extensive and gorgeous. This collector has the finest of the web into his site to see the show. Most everyone is allowed entrance I’m sure. The faces displayed would get past the ropes at Studio51 and any other big city hot spot. In this virtual circus I believe I have been accepted to the club.
The circus club is complete with lobby area to read the latest happenings displayed in movie poster locking frames. The lobby walls are posted with the latest pics of recent visitors. Yes, I have been collected. I have gained entrance to a truly elite group of lovely sexually forward thinking people. And the circus begins.
The lights go down, the lobby disappears and I smell the sawdust strewn floor as I am plopped onto the hardwood bleachers under this big-top tent. The drum roll is booming out all other sounds. The spotlight flashes in on the center of the ring. The cymbals crash. Our most beautiful master of ceremonies, or host and purveyor of fine sexual open-mindedness is resplendent in all his glistening skin. He wears the Emperor’s New Clothes with panache.
He sways from side to side on the imaginary cat walk. This ring-leader and star saunters slowly to be sure the light hits just right as he proudly displays a full and glorious manhood. It is glorious. It is full. I feel a movement to reach for these jewels, to feel their weight and their heat. I would prefer to be running my hands along the muscles that are his thighs and buttocks. He is in the spot-light. For godsake he IS the spotlight. This is his show. This is his ego. It is beautiful. I feast from my seat on his rippling abs. I am enamored with the strength displayed in the smooth, pulsing pump he holds in his hand. I can imagine feeling it’s heat. This performance is in high gear.
This well-groomed, solid packed, fine definition of a man strikes several poses for my eyes; for my imagination. Surrounding him appears switch grasses and chapparel. He moves his body and he is among the waves and the wet rocks near the shore. His face turns to look at me from another angle and he is being pensive and sensitive on the sofa. As he smiles big with a boyish innocence he is in his ball cap and nothing else. The audience lights come up.
I am startled that it ended just then. I can only smile and shake my head. Nice show. The price was right. As I walk out I see have been alone in the audience. The dazzling pre-publicity looks like cardboard cut-outs now. It doesn’t change that I have entered of my own free will for a lovely porn show by an amateur of some talent. It was quite authentic and gripping and left me wanting.
Payment is expected after all. I am hounded on the way out of this cyber circus. Hounded by the publicist, hounded by the ring leader and the star. They have followed me out of the portal. They have found me where I usually reside with my peaceful lounging fantasies. Again I hear from all of them in my lesser known cafe. Each of them carring notes, surveys, critiques. The paperwork is overwhelming. The price, I’m finding, is time.
I wrote the thank you note. I submitted the letter of recommendation. I published the “critics corner” review. I spray painted three bathroom stalls with his address. It was worth it. It was clean and dirty. It was amateur and personal. It was a feast for my starved lackluster web life. If I could sneak back under the tent undetected I would. If I could hide under the bleachers to watch this collector parade again his beautiful body replete with his heavy heated flesh again I would. As the craven voyuer I am, please let me watch. Please, don’t make me tell.
