When I was in middle school, I remember crowding around a Cosmopolitan in the locker room before gym class. (I cannot recall if the cliched trappings of the anecdote evolved in my mind with the passage of time, or if the anxious sexuality of junior high was really that obvious). Inside, there was a photo of a tanned, ab-prominent male model, his hair slicked back, a white towel wrapped low around his waist. I remember having no interest in whatever was lurking underneath that towel. I wondered privately if I was gay.
If Bradley Cooper had been named the Sexiest Man Alive that year, I would have been convinced of it
-
live-a-little--love-alot liked this
-
curator-of-curiosities liked this
-
channingkennedy liked this
-
cordjefferson liked this
-
amandahess posted this