Adam was an art graduate from West Coast Art of Design academy, and illustrated three story articles I had written for the local arts magazine in the early nineties. I was a new writer and he was a series painter with real potential. Adam had it all he was 6'4" 215 lbs, blonde hair, light green eyes, I remember everything about him. I remember the first time we kissed it sent sparks down my spine, He was utterly beautiful in every way.
My mother always instilled in me an appreciation of fine genes and his were the best fir genes I could hope for. Perfect teeth lay inside a mouth framed by pouty lips and killer tongue it was soft and sweet and his hands where gentle yet firm. His massive pecks flowed down into a flat stomach that wasn't ridged or hard at all but warm and inviting. Arms that extended around to envelop your entirety, and a piece of meat that could rip the siding off a ten ton trailer. His looks were such a spectacle of romance and giddy school fantasy but I was there.
A versatile and private man, I worked at Adam for three months and four days before he agreed to stay over to go Christmas shopping in the morning. It was the life I imagined always imagined. I didn't dream of waking up in a puddle of my lovers fresh urine. Adam was not yet bed trained, a long hose with one talent. I acted as if it wasn't a big deal (really I had washed worse out more often) but after Christmas I stopped calling and Adam took the hint.
I picked up a Vogue Magazine a few years later to find Adam had became a serious art critic and photographer. I was proud not sad, I called him and we talked but never had the same connection. I think the mind paints a better picture of perfection of love.