Virgo

Introduction: I wrote the first draft of this manuscript in 50 minutes. I was inspired to write it from seeing a social media post from a very cute guy I'm following who's a model and a musician (singer). It happens he was celebrating his birthday the day I wrote this, and as it's in the closing days of Virgo season, I decided to name it as I did.

I will never cross paths with the beautiful guy who stirred me, so this was the next best thing. Happy Birthday, you beautiful Virgo man, wherever you might be celebrating.

It's close to closing time at my favorite coffeehouse. It's nearly 10 o'clock. It's been a chill night, and the place is pretty much empty, except for the stirring of a lone barista cleaning up and prepping to shut down.

I come to this place to get out of my one-bedroom apartment. I like it, but sometimes the walls can close in at times. Besides, I need people. I need gay people, especially. Especially pretty gay guys. As I work remotely these days, I don't see many of them the way I used to. So places like this have lots of eye candy.

I happened to be reading a self-help book on the universe - the metaphysical one, not the physical one out in space - when I heard the front door swing open. What I saw was so visually arresting, I had to remind myself not to stare.

He was probably around 21 or 22 years of age. Very dark brown hair, nicely toussled. Pert brown eyes and a handsome face reflecting an energy that was equal parts confident and just a hint neurotic.

On his body was a white crop-top shirt - not a T-shirt, but one of the more fashionable ones, more like a polo shirt, but stopping three inches or so above a lovely, fleshy, large outie bellybutton. His bared midriff was hairless, flat, unrippled by muscles, without tattoos, piercings or other visual devices to distract. His lower half was a comfy looking pair of deep blue denim jeans, encircled by a belt the color of coffee with cream.

I was immediately captivated - naturally. Lust does that to a guy, especially one who hasn't seen much action in recent years. The gay community being what it is - savagely judgmental and non-inclusive - I don't feel much like playing on the playground anymore. I'm quite aware of how vapid and empty most pretty boys are, especially with the advent of social media, which tightens its strangehold on modern culture more than ever.

And yet, I've come to the conclusion that the hill I'm going to die on is chasing hotties. I'm always encouraged to read about age-gap relationships online, but I'm always skeptical. People in the modern urban world can be incredibly mean. They may say they don't care who's with whom, but in secret they start whispering campaigns to paint one or both partners as creepy, golddiggers, psychos, nymphos, or a host of other unflattering adjectives.

There's just something about an all-around nice-looking guy that does something for me that, quite honestly, nothing else can. That many such guys are vapid and devoid of depth doesn't stop me from noticing how beautiful they are.

Awash in all this philosophizing, my eyes again returned to this dark-haired beauty who, if I had to guess, was of Italian ancestry. Such lovely, rich, thick hair. Such pert brown eyes. And the intangible of energy, of emotion.

He paid for his order - an espresso drink flavored with caramel syrup - and sat at a table a few away from mine. I diverted my eyes, hoping he wouldn't see me ogling him. But in the corner of my eye, I noticed him furtively stealing looks at me, too.

After he sat, I dropped my book slightly, to get a better gaze at him - again, without staring, using my peripheral vision. One word formed in my mind.

Virgo. This beautiful guy was a Virgo.