I read somewhere online today the phrase “indulging in homosexuality”, its speaker no doubt riddled with secret depravities.
I pictured myself chatting with an acquaintance, perhaps while swirling a tumbler of Ardbeg, the other hand demurely smoothing the front of my cocktail dress (why is it that in all of my daydreams I am wearing a cocktail dress?). My acquaintance would bring up their fondness for rich cheeses. “Many might find Brie to be on the thicker side of decadent,” they’d confess, “But I find I must indulge, on occasion…. excess in moderation, is what I always say.”
“Quite,” I’d reply, now fondling my string of black pearls. “Normally I eat well, work out daily, keep up with current events, care about the poor and recycle my yogurt cups. But now and then I like to throw caution to the wind and enjoy a cigarette, perhaps a gelato. Yes, and I bury my face in between a woman’s thighs.”
A hearty chuckle would follow.
