I officially put the 37th year of my life behind me this weekend.
And started number 38.
Life is a process. Constantly changing and growing and moving.
And with it, so are we.
Over the years I have fallen into a sort of birthday morning ritual.
I get out of bed, and before I do anything else (except maybe take a piss) I stand in the mirror.
Naked as the day I was born, I examine the man I have become.
The most obvious assessments are physical.
While the years have gradually slowed my metabolism just enough that I’m not the bean pole I had been for three-fourths of my existence, they are still a long way off from effecting my posture.
I still stand tall and strong.
In every sense.
I still have have big ears. But there’s more gray in my beard.
From a spill I took at work, my left shoulder now has less range of motion than my right.
And I still don’t have much of a chest.
But the internal stuff is harder to nail down.
How far along am I on the way to where I’m supposed to be?
Determining that is kind of like those equations where two trains head toward each other at different speeds and you have to figure out where and when they will cross.
The ultimate destination isn’t as important a factor as the points along the way.
That hit me later that afternoon while I was floating in The Attorney’s pool.
I was watching him pull himself out of the water, his wet trunks digging so deep into his crack that I wished they were me.
How did I ever come to this place in my life? To not only have access to a such a sweet, loving, devoted, handsome, and sexy man who can soften my heart as easily as he can harden my cock, but to also be able to call him mine.
I can’t solve the equation.
But I do know that somehow, traveling along their respective lines, those trains didn’t just meet.
In an intense and explosive crash that left a beautiful wreckage so entwined that the strength of a thousand men will never pull them apart.
[ fin ]