By Morgan Karpiel
As a romance writer, I admit that I peruse the"hot men" photos and videos on YouTube for certain "character building purposes". Lately, with all the tragedy and war in the news, I've been hitting it pretty hard. Let the endorphins flow, let that hazy, lusty "I want that" take over for a few minutes. The only problem is the mood killers. You know...the photos that jar you out of dreamland and put you smack in the middle of 'what the---?' territory.
And part of it is my fault. I just can't help wondering how the half-naked naked guy tore his pants to shreds, or how he ended up hanging from ropes, all greased up like that. The storyteller won't leave well enough alone. Shouldn't I be able to simply take it for granted that naked men can occasionally get themselves into a spot of trouble by reclining themselves at odd angles on the couch, or by choosing the wrong accessories?
Could happen to anyone, right?
I just can't leave it alone. Like the Absolut Hunk. I should be thinking all kinds of things, but I'm only thinking that he obliviously doesn't like his vodka chilled. And maybe he strikes a better pose than I do, in the morning, in my ultra-white apartment, on my gleaming linens.
And bubbleman. Loves bubbles. So happy by himself that he doesn't need me.
And then, there's always the trap of thinking about what the model is thinking about. Taxes? Superstring theory? The plight of woodland owls in deforested areas? Who knows?
Perhaps, for a writer, the real eye-candy is the kind that has a story in it. Maybe it's pointless to resist. Maybe, I just should just go with it. Lots of story here.