Monday, August 01, 1994

Diary: Dipping a Toe in the Pool

I am beginning to understand what I must do.  I do have a style, and I must be merciless with it.  I need a copy of Strunk & White.  I must explore my own depravity, and put it through the scrutiny of my writing style.  If only I had something to write about. . .

I can try writing about cats.  But that would get quite dull without context.  I could also write about women, and sex, but I might arouse myself so much that I would never be able to complete it.  Ah, yes, women.  They are the most puzzling feature of life.  And I am not talking about relationships.  In fact, I am not even talking, I am writing.  However, I need privacy if I am to do this.  I simply cannot do it with anyone around.  There!  Now let's Go.

What an odd sensation, to see a perfectly formed human female strut by in her summer clothes.  Hormones pump into my blood and make me sweat.  This past weekend, I saw many beautiful women,  particularly at the concert, but none were as shockingly attractive as the one I spotted on Yonge St. during my first trip to Area 2.  She emerged from Hayden St. or some other, and my eyes immediately popped out of my head.  She was the perfect specimen of human femininity, yet she lacked the single feature which usually affects me the most.  I shall explain (and reword) later.  She was fairly tall, but not towering, perhaps five foot eight.  She wore the summer fashion of the day, which any red-blooded male must appreciate with a religious fervor: denim shorts caressing only the curves of her buttocks, hanging loosely on her hips and exposing her deliciously smooth thighs  and navel to every roving eye, and a tiny little t-shirt exposing the belly all the way up to the ribs.  Her shirt was black, like her hair and sunglasses, and her skin tanned brown and fluid like Canadian Maple Syrup.  Her incredible legs carried her quickly and confidently around the corner onto Yonge.  Her shorts seemed to hang on her hips just below the waist, just hang, as if they were suspended only by a desire to feel her smooth creamy skin, and her waist, slim and as curvaceous as a Cosine, made her skin appear liquid, as delectable as root beer.  Fuck, was she ever hot!  And there's more, and I'll get back to this!

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