tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1244406279182422027.post6761897298340776829..comments2023-08-24T10:59:21.079-07:00Comments on Boys in short shorts: Hottie in white sports shortsDanielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07573016930055703373noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1244406279182422027.post-40518274846920258842011-07-13T22:31:21.788-07:002011-07-13T22:31:21.788-07:00It must be “Wimbledon Fortnight” again
As one mome...It must be “Wimbledon Fortnight” again<br />As one moment the weather is lovely, warm and sunny,<br />And the next it is horrible, cold and wet,<br />Causing both coach and player, as well as commentator and spectator alike, to fret;<br />And curse that “rain has once again stopped play”,<br />If not stopped one beholding the beauty of the male thigh<br />Almost as quickly as one downs vast quantities of strawberries and cream,<br />As one rolls one’s eyes upwards to God in Heaven to ask why.<br /><br />“Why do I have to sit in this dreary room”<br />I would often ask myself as a child at school<br />More interested in the boys playing tennis on the courts outside,<br />Than what my then Music teacher, now loyal friend, Derek W MBE appeared to be pontificating about from his backside;<br />Wishing, instead, that Sir would amplify<br />More about how a younger boy should blow an older boy’s horn or, at the very least, about the relationship between Benjamin Britten and Peter Pears<br />Than the volume of his recording of Britten’s War Requiem, if only to capture my interest and imagination as much<br />As the boys playing tennis outside be they the good, the bad and the ugly, or should one say the incorrigible, the effeminate and the butch!<br /><br />So as I sit and watch the televising of the men’s games at Wimbledon today,<br />Trying hard not to drool too much at the pretty ball-boyz as they stand there so disciplined not unlike soldiers on parade standing “at ease”,<br />One mentally nibbles their sausages, their balls and their macho meaty thighs, <br />But stops short of breaking one’s teeth as one desists from attempting to chew the bone of their rather knobbly bronze-coloured knees, <br />One is mindful that it was probably just that which, in my youth, almost certainly gave me away,<br />As when the guys stopped playing and the dolls came on court to play,<br />All too soon one would find my interest in tennis would soon go away,<br />As I would always find other things to do and leave the room and duly leave others to comment<br />I don’t know about you but I’m sure Lukey Boy is quietly gay!<br /><br />How perceptive they were, as even then I only ever fancied boys and men,<br />Albeit it was John Lloyd (not Chris Evert-Lloyd), along with Buster Mottram, who possessed my thoughts then,<br />And whom, rather than the girls or the Wombles of Wimbledon, I mentally sought to chase,<br />With all the enthusiasm others have when they score an ace!<br />Even today I still find those guys quite cute, even though they are now obviously much older,<br />Whilst I find myself less taciturn about my ways, even if my other means of showing it in other places, appear less bold than they were then;<br />Although thoughts of Bjorn Borg or John McEnroe in their tight skimpy shorts still make me delirious,<br />And afore ye or the ref call “Game, Set and Match”, I should perhaps affirm for McEnroe’s benefit I am definitely serious!<br /><br />Today I again roll my eyes to Heaven and ask God why; <br />“Why was I born without the eye-hand co-ordination to serve, let alone return, a ball?<br />“Why was I born without Tim Henman’s boyish good looks,<br />“Or such fast-acquired talents as his, with which to earn a few more than just a few bucks?”!<br />But then I ask myself if, indeed, that were the case,<br />Would I be any happier for it than I am now,<br />When I feel out of his league, If not, entirely, from outer-space,<br />As I ask “Anyone for tennis” and reply “I don’t really care but I would certainly have Henners”!Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com