Sunday, January 22, 2006
"Happy Trails" to You
What can I say? Yes, I find this photo sexy, there is just something about a guy with that beautiful tuff of hair leading down from his navel. . .it warms my heart and fuels the imagination of what lies hidden. I guess it comes from some of the earlier images and the realization I discovered from growing up in the tobacco fields of the South. It was early in the morning when my Dad would go around and pick the workers up, crowded together huddled down in the back of the pickup truck, usually teenagers out of school for the summer needing to earn extra money. Boys for the cropping and girls for the stringing. Mind you, this was in the early days of tobacco harvesting, but long after Grand Dad's days of pulling sleds with mules through the rows of tobacco while the men walked and cropped and the girls waited back at the barn to string the tobacco, things now was modernized. Tractor drawn tobacco harvesters, two storied, at that. The boys would sit on the lower lever, two on each side and crop the ripen leaves of tobacco off the stalk and then place two or three leaves at a time in a chain which carried it up to the girls stringing it onto tobacco sticks on the second story. In the early mornings, the leaves of the tobacco would be wet and sticky and all the boys would remain shirted, keeping on their shirts of long sleeves to keep the dirt and grim off, but later in the day, when the hot Southern sun came out, often times the shirts would come off. I guess, it was during this time I realized things were a little different. For some reason, I could not help myself from looking, there was something about seeing hot, muscled, half naked. country boys with sweat glistening off their bodies and it was "this" something that was causing "this" tingle I felt inside. Especially, the one boy that lived down the road, he was tall, lean, and had a light dusting of hair on his chest, but leading down from his navel it was thick and full, downward it grew, hidden from my view by his tight worn jeans. Yes, I knew . . .there was no denying it . . .especially after what happened later that summer.