Fair View Welcomes a Whopping 3 New Links!

You heard right kiddies! Three, count 'em, three new links!

The first one is Blobby's Blog. Here is Blobby wearing the wool cap, hand knit for him by his beloved Dith. Don't be put off by his menacing look, he's a pussy cat inside. Really.


Speaking of pussy cats, here is his adored kitten, Sophie, playing with wrapping paper on her first Christmas:


Isn't she cute? You must know my theory on bloggers that post photos of their pets by now. They can't be all bad. Anyhow, Blobby leaves unbeatably clever comments all over the blogshpere, maybe you have seen some? His personal blog is witty, worthwhile reading for the same reason. But you better head over there quick, before he quits to become a professional semen washer.

The next two links are the finds of Shaney from his new blog The Pride Place. Oh, by the way, Shaney's new blog is worth a look if only for the graphics that I think are very clever and colorful. So, here we go...

The second link is About a Boy and His Briefs, which I have linked as A Boy. Meet the author, Chris:


Here is his dog Moxie (left) with her doggie roommate Elliot:


Chris is a self described gippie from the midwest, relocated to New York City, who enjoys yoga, hiking, teaching, visiting his adorable niece and doing good deeds. Follow him in his daily life as he deals with everything and shares it with photos and his unique almost poetic view point.

Last, but not least, is Stunning Sexy Guys. The author calls himself GoldeneyeUK, but I have shortened it to Goldeneye on my sidebar. His real name is Ryan. He uses the flag of St. Andrews University in Scotland for his avatar, and get this, this blog is Fair View's first ever in Scotland!!!


The reason I was eager to link with Goldeneye is that his eye candy represented a unique perspective that was different than any I had seen, yet totally hot. At the time he was running some screen shots from the UK version of QAF, which I own but had totally forgotten. If anyone hasn't seen it, it is really worth the rental. The US version, while having its own attributes, really ripped off the plot in the UK one. But one star in the UK version, played by Charlie Hunnam is a rising Brit star in his own right, was totally hot. Look for him in Children of Men with Clive Owen, which opened in NYC on Christmas day. Anyhow, I digress. I thought it would be super to share his blog's perspective with my readers. I contacted Ryan and he agreed to link right away. He was so nice and polite. He has another site, Stunning Sexy Guys X-Rated, but he has a link for it available on his blog.

So, please check out these new sites and HAVE A HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

Friday Fantasy - What was under my Christmas tree

So, I came downstairs Christmas morning and there was this huge box. I mean like big enough for me to fit in big. No, bigger. It didn't even fit under the tree. So I riped off the bow and tore into the wrapping paper and look at what it was! Life size toy dolls!

Photo credit: So Slowly

Holy cow! None of my dolls looked like this when I was a little girl. Santa was really good to me this year. I must have been a very good little girl. Imagine the hours of fun I will have playing with these dolls. No batteries are needed either!

Bookfield, Home Again - Part 2

I felt the drabness of the terminal closing in on me. A solitary passersby eyed me with sinister or maybe just a hungry look. I was scared. Where was Mom? Why was she so late? I could easily rationalize a one hour traffic delay, but now it was coming up on two hours. Images of terrible car accidents came involuntarily to mind. I clenched my teeth for strength and resolve. I had been through a lot this summer; surely I could over come this. I walked to a bank of telephones and put in a quarter. I telephoned my father’s house in Massapequa, collect. When Dad answered, I burst into tears.

“Dad, I’m at the Greyhound terminal in New York. Mom was supposed to meet me two hours ago and she’s not here. Have you heard from her by any chance?” I stammered.

“Calm down honey.” he crooned. I was reassured just by the sound of his voice. “I’m sure she’s okay. Its probably traffic; I’m sure she’ll show up soon. I tell you what, if she isn’t there in another half hour, I’ll come get you.”

“Thanks Dad. I’ll let you know when I get home, or whatever.” I conquered my outburst. I hung up the phone, did an abut face, and returned to the television circle. Another fifteen minutes passed, and I saw her blond hair and colorful jacket. Relief, accompanied by emotion overtook me. I stood up, but she didn’t see me right away. Finally her head turned in my direction. Her face looked at me sternly. I rushed to her with my arms outstretched, “Mom, you’re alright! I was so worried.” She withdrew from my attempted embrace.

“Not now Susie. I was worried too. I’ve been here for over two hours looking for you. You could have been dead, or you didn’t wait where I told you to?” she said in an edgy pissed off voice.

“I’m sorry, but you must have just missed me by some incredible coincidence! I did wait in the circle from time-to-time, and just outside of it over there” I pointed, “because I was scared and there was a transit cop. I didn’t think you could miss me just right there.”

“I don’t want to talk about it right now! I told you to wait there and you did not do what I told you. Let’s get out of this place.”

I insisted on calling Dad back before we left to make sure he didn’t worry, not hearing from me while we drove home.

“I told you she was okay.” he cooed. He was so supportive. Mom had waited impatiently.

“None of this would have happened if you had waited where I told you to!” she admonished again.

We turned to walk towards the exit. I couldn’t wait to get out of the terminal. Meeting my Mom certainly hadn’t gone as planned. I felt my sadness starting to break as I approached the large exit doors and saw that the sun was still shining brightly. The street looked inviting, even though it was Eighth Avenue, a terrible neighborhood. I walked slightly ahead of Mom to open the door for her. This would all pass and the ride home would be more like I had in mind. I sure had a lot of stories to regale her with.

Suddenly, blinding pain seared across my right temple. In a flash, blunt pain moved through my head from one side to the other. My eyeglasses flew off my face, cutting the bridge of my nose. My head pivoted sharply left. She had punched me. I never saw it coming. She had blindsided me with a sucker punch. Tears instantly came to my eyes, and it took me a few moments to recover from the shock and pain. But the physical pain was hardly a match for the emotional pain I immediately felt. I turned and faced her, looking shocked and distraught. There was no remorse in her face, rather this flushed and scary look that had me thinking that the attack might just continue. She looked right at my face with cold clear eyes and witnessed my pain. Still her face was angry and impassive.

“Let’s go.” she said. No one had seen her hit me. It was the first time in public.

I wept openly as I retrieved my bent eyeglasses from the floor, and tried to examine the cut on my nose. I imagined how Sam would have reacted if he had stayed to wait with me (as he had offered). But I didn’t wish he was here to see this. No, I felt totally humiliated. I wouldn’t have wanted anyone I knew to have seen me then. I felt pathetic and ashamed in my humiliated condition. Every scrap of confidence and self worth I had gained during the entire summer was sucked out of me instantly as if a black hole had appeared in my soul the moment she hit me. I was not independent, or even adult. Who was I kidding? I was that small child again crying for mother’s love, and receiving only contempt. Why? Surely I was the most worthless being on Earth. After all, it was my fault; I had not waited where I was told. The hurt was big enough to crowd out any anger, for I felt none. I was empty of any positive feelings about myself. I felt just plain empty. She opened the door and I walked out mechanically. She looked at me again, but didn’t acknowledge anything with her glance. Overwhelmed, my mind went blank. We drove home, not speaking to one another.

I don’t remember how long it took for any spark of rational thinking to reignite again in my brain. But somewhere, on the Long Island Expressway, out from the total darkness of my thoughts came the idea that it was definitely not right for her to punch me.

Nothing I could ever do would make it right for her to do that to me. It was the only thing I could be sure of at the time. I was way too afraid of her to share my thoughts. I watched her as she drove, looking ahead, never at me, as if nothing had happened. That renewed the hurt, and I sobbed quietly. I began to see her attack as another situation, not unlike those on the bookfield that one must survive. I knew that I could never rely on changing her true nature. She could easily try to hit me again at any time. But I made a vow to myself. I would never, ever allow her to lay a hand on me again. I would watch her like a hawk every moment she was near. She would never have an opening like that one, or any undefended opening again. I promised myself. I was the only one who could prevent her attacks. Never would I allow myself to be physically hurt by her again.

I clung to that thought like a drowning person to a life saver, keeping her in view out of the corner of my eyes. I breathed in deeply as if coming up from a great depth, and being starved for air. I muttered under my breath, “never, never, never!” And in that one moment, I was an adult.

THE END

Boat Shmoat, We're Going to Paris - Part 5

So, travel plans were made. We would go to Paris for a week, leaving on Sunday March 16^th and returning on Sunday March 23^rd. Our hotel was arranged, and interviews set up for me and Sean (to help him find employment). The vice president of Intercontinental Clinical Research, Dr. P, whom I had known and worked with for years, invited me to dine with him and his wife at a restaurant in Paris since they would be there too. His wife just happened to be Parisian. Sean and I were too excited for words about the whole trip.

Finally the day arrived and we were all packed and waiting for the car to get us and take us to John. F Kennedy International Airport, which is about 2 hours drive away from our home. The car came right on time and we loaded our bags with the driver’s assistance. Sean had traveled with me on domestic business before, but had always paid his own way. Now, we were leaving on foreign business and the company was paying his way in full. I felt that it really demonstrated the company’s commitment to me and to this assignment. I really felt the pressure to do my best.

We arrived at JFK with plenty of time to make our flight. We were flying coach, because there were two of us. If I had been going alone, it would have been first or business class. The flight took off around 7:00 pm and dinner was served later. I was just too excited too sleep and could not get comfortable. I don’t do well when I can’t sleep. Then there is the jet lag of going to Europe from the US which totally sucks.

We landed at Orly, just outside of Paris, at 8:20 am and it was gray and overcast. Orly Airport struck me as a bit crowded and claustrophobic.

We collected our things from the baggage claim area and headed out to the taxi stand. This was the acid test: would my massively unused French carry the day? I had studied French for 3 years in high school and one semester in college but it was so many years ago. I haltingly was able to communicate with the cab driver, but believe me; he made no extra effort to understand me. He did seem pleased, however, with my efforts to speak his language. I was glad that I had the hotel address written down to hand to him. The area around Orly was your typical urban sprawl: apartment buildings, small companies, gas stations, etc. It was very depressing. Or maybe it was because of the jetlag. Finally we got into Paris proper and to our hotel. We paid the driver and he seemed pleased as he helped unload our luggage. The hotel was off of the Avenue Charles de Gaulle near the Palais des Congres de Paris. Our room was not ready, but we anticipated this since it was very early, so we checked in and left our luggage there and struck out for breakfast IN PARIS!

It was just dawning on us that we were together in Paris and we had the whole day together by ourselves to do as we pleased on the company’s dime. We began by walking down the Av. Charles de Gaulle, towards the Arc de Triomphe and we didn’t have to go far before we spotted a café. We sat at one of the tables in the glassed in area and waited for the server while we looked at the menus which were in French. We were sure we wanted coffee and ordered that and were very pleasantly surprised with the quality and presentation. It was a heavenly dark and aromatic blend and was served with a tiny bar of dark chocolate on the side and a stick of crystalline sugar too. Heaven! Sean ordered a croissant with ham and melted brie inside and I ordered a salade niçiose. You know, when in France, do like the French. Of course, the food was fabulous.

Click on any photo to enlarge

Reenergized, we hit the streets again. We continued in the same direction on what was now the Avenue de la Grande Armée, towards the Arc de Triomphe. We proceeded slowly, examining everything in shop windows, and the shops themselves. Finally, we made it to the Arc de Triomphe. The Arc is in the middle of a busy traffic circle and you have to take your life in your hands to get to it. I had been there in 1965 as a little girl and remembered it well. Back then they let you climb up the stairs inside to get on top of it and look out at all of Paris with the streets going out like spokes from a wheel.

It is said that Napoleon did this so that he could see his enemies coming from any direction. But now the top was not open. Sean and I walked around the Arc and admired its neoclassical roman architecture. This was certainly a place of power, just like the St. Peter’s Square in Rome. The Arc is 51 meters tall (165 feet) and 45 meters wide, construction was completed in 1836 and it is the second biggest Triumphal Arch in the world.

Click on photo to enlarge

Underneath it is the tomb of the unknown French soldier from World War I, placed there in 1920. There is an eternal flame for him and when President and Mrs. Kennedy visited, they noted the flame. After President Kennedy was assassinated, Jackie remembered the eternal flame and asked that her husband’s grave at Arlington National Cemetery have one. Charles Godefroy flew his Nieuport fighter through the Arc de Triomphe in 1919 three weeks after the WWI victory parade. He did it as a salute to all the airmen killed in World War One. Now that must have been something to see!

We had to choose a direction to move on, but there were so many choices. So, we decided to walk down Avenue George V, towards the Seine. George V is supposedly the most chic shopping area in Paris, so we ogled the store windows the whole way down to the Seine. We went into some of the clothing design shops for a hoot and looked at the prices, which at that time were in francs, since 1997 was before the euro. You had to either laugh or cry at the prices, they were so ridiculously high. Nice threads, though. There was this one scarf...

The corner building at the Arc and Av. George V

Next time: we ride the Bateaux Mouches!

Seasons Greetings

Photo from Aussielicious

Stay safe, warm and bright this holiday season. Cheers!

Friday Fantasy - Speed Skaters

So I was skating at my usual boring rink the other day when a several speed skaters blew by me. They were skating in a line to best use their slip stream. You would not belive how fast these guys go! Afterwards, I got to talking to them and invited them back to my house. They followed me home and were really friendly and somehow I coaxed them all out of their clothes!!! Let me introduce:


Dennis Kalker from the Netherlands,

Dmitri Deboel from Belgium,

Jan Bos from the Netherlands,

Sebastian Falk from Sweden,

and last, but not least, Kip Carpenter from the United States. Wasn't it nice of them all to strip and pose for me? Don't ask how I got them to do it. Since Kip was the only one who spoke English fluently I found out that he is 5'10" and was the 2002 500 meter Bronze Olympic Medalist. Good going Kip!!! Hence the tattoo.

He also owns an Italian Greyhound that he named "Swift". Isn't Swift cute?



Kip's favorite movies are Fight Club, Interview with a Vampire, Minority Report, and The Matrix. I think I have a bit of a crush on Kip now. But, you have to trust me. With all these fit, hot naked young men at my house, nothing out of sorts happened. I did not lay a finger on any of them. You do trust me, don't you?

Bookfield, Home Again - Part 1

The Greyhound bus departed early in the morning from the tiny one room station in Cayuga, New York, bound for New York City. I had to go home to Nassau County, briefly, to pick up my winter clothes for the semester ahead. It was a gorgeous late summer day in the country. I sat in an aisle seat next to a young man, whose face I really couldn’t see at first. He turned out to be cute, though. Dark brown hair, ivory skin, brown eyes, I liked him immediately. His name was Sam, and we seemed to have quite a lot in common. He did gymnastics in high school as had I, and was also biology major at Cayuga, but a freshman, on his way home to Riverhead, also on Long Island. I told him that I was a junior. We chatted the whole 6 hour drive to the city. He was entranced by my southern accent. At one point I was sleepy and put my head on his well muscled shoulder. He seemed happy enough with that. He gallantly offered to wait with me for my mother to pick me up, but I declined politely. We decided to get in touch when we returned from home. I felt pretty confident that we would date (and we did) and my spirits were high.

I was an adult returning home. An adult who had made it through the summer against difficult odds, doing a job that proved my independence, and tenacity. The demanding hours and personal sacrifices surely illustrated my ability stick-to-it when the going got rough. I felt confident that I could do anything. I couldn’t wait to greet my Mom, as a new adult me.

We arrived at the Greyhound bus terminal on Eighth Avenue, NYC in daylight. The terminal was notorious at that time for sheltering panhandlers, drug dealers, muggers, and other unsavory characters. Sam and I said our farewells and he was quickly lost from sight in the crowd gathered to meet the bus outside. I entered the terminal. There was no natural daylight as I walked further in. The institutional gray cinder blocks were dimly lit by weak fluorescent bulbs. The floor was filthy, and smells of urine rose in waves while a general stuffiness predominated the air. God knows what the bathrooms looked like. I never would have dared venturing into one.

I had been instructed to meet Mom in the terminal’s television area. The area consisted of a raised circle of molded grey plastic chairs with coin operated television sets attached to one arm of each chair. I stood inside the circle of chairs trying not to look conspicuous, and simultaneously checking out the people around me, for about twenty minutes.

‘Mom should be by any time.’ I thought to myself while I waited.

A small group of young unkempt black men was loitering in the circle. They asked me for change for a television, and I told them I didn’t have any. They kept looking me over, and I didn’t feel that staying in the circle for a prolonged time was a good idea. I waited there for another few minutes, even though I felt more concerned as each second ticked by. My eyes followed a transit cop as he made his rounds just past the circle. I left the circle and followed the cop. He only walked about ten or fifteen feet from the circle and stood his ground as if it was his post. I chose to stand behind him, up against the wall. I was still plenty close enough to the circle to be seen, and to see anyone else who entered the circle. There I waited until I had waited for abut an hour total. The station was emptying out by then. Soon all that were left were people who appeared to be loitering, or confused. The transit cop was on the move again. I really felt insecure, and so I followed him a little bit, thinking about reasons my usually punctual Mom could be late. I concluded that traffic on the Long Island Expressway was most logical. ‘She’s probably here by now’ I thought as I returned to the circle again. The loiterers had split. I sat in one of the television chairs. I didn’t have enough coins to watch, and by now I was kind of worried about Mom and wasn’t interested in T.V.. I noticed how the floor under the circle of chairs was raised, like a stage, above the surrounding flooring. This made me feel exposed, like the one animal in the pack that is straggles behind, and is therefore more likely to be singled out by predators. I returned to my position by the wall. More time passed by. Where was mom?

Boat Shmoat, We're Going to Paris - Part 4

When I got home, Sean was at the dining room table reading the paper. Without saying anything, I handed him the two sheets of paper describing the job I had just applied for. He looked at it and grinned and said, “Did you apply for this?”

Timidly I replied, “Yes. I was worried that you wouldn’t want to move because of Summer Camp.”

He said, “BOAT SHMOAT, WE’RE GOING TO PARIS!”

He stood and we did a little happy dance together, while we giggled with glee. He told me that he didn’t see how anybody could beat me out of getting this job. We chanted together, “We’re going to Paris, we’re going to Paris…”

So, back at work I waited for word on my application. Time passes so slowly at big companies. They move like molasses. When I am waiting like this I think about outside candidates who are waiting to hear from us and don’t understand why it takes so long and eventually give up hope. Bureaucracy is a deadly thing. But, eventually I got a call to come to New Jersey for an interview with Ms. S of Human Resources. I took the train there to make my appointment with her.

She met me and she had the most wondrously manicured nails, which I complemented her on. She became Ms. S of the manicured nails. She acted like the cat that ate the cream as she showed me into her office and treated me like royalty. She explained that if I got the job I would get the full ex-patriot package that would include a car, sizeable salary increase that may even cover my husband’s salary, money to cover my mortgage at home and help for my husband to find employment. I would be flown to Paris with my husband to go house hunting (in Paris, eep!) where a real estate agent would accompany us, and we would meet with a lawyer to begin work on my work visa, plus my husband would meet with connections for a job all at the company’s expense. I felt as if I had won the lottery or something, if only I could land this job. So, I shook hands warmly with Ms. S of the manicured nails and made my way back home.

More time went by. I was contacted by Dr. A’s administrative assistant here in the US and told that Dr. A would be in town and could I come meet with her? But certainly, of course I could. Arrangements were made. I managed to get on the helicopter there. When vice presidents are over from Europe it means there is a big meeting going on and I usually get to fly on what ever is going.

Our company has several of these babies that seat 5 passengers

The thing about the company helicopters, jets and planes is the vice presidents can order them, but then they need to fill them with bodies to keep them, or another vice president with more people can take priority (and the chopper). What I did is make friends with the administrative assistants of all of the vice presidents at my location so that if there was a helicopter going south, they would call me to see if I needed a ride. Few others at my level knew this and of those that did, they did not feel it was their place to be on company air transportation. I say to heck with that. I’m flying! I got to know many vice presidents this way too.

So, I got there, fresh as a daisy and ready for my interview. Dr. A, vice president of Europe and the supervisor for the position I was applying for, was a cardiologist and widow, in her early forties. She was a handsome Parisian woman and always dressed at the cusp of style in clothing and jewelry. I complemented her jewelry even though I thought it was ugly. It was striking though. She thanked me and told me who the artist was that designed it.

Then she put me through my paces in the interview and I passed with flying colors because the initiatives are my job. I had no trouble seeming eager to travel and meet people of differing nationalities, because I already had. She seemed pleased and stood when the interview was over and we shook hands. But, I still had no idea if I had the job or not.

More time passed. I mean like weeks. I put out my tentacles to gather information on other candidates and my competition. All I could find is that it was between me and one other guy from Spain. (Spain?) Finally, Ms. S of the manicured nails called and told me that there would be a final interview in Paris for the last two candidates, myself and the guy from Spain. She said excitedly that Sean was invited too and we would be going for a week. I almost fainted from joy. When I got off the phone with her, I called Sean and told him right away. He was also uber-stoked. I couldn’t contain my joy. How would I wait until it was time to go? The way I usually waited, I shopped for clothes to wear!

Christmas Meme & Happy Holidays!

Here's wishing all of my readers Season's Greetings and a Happy 2007. I found this Christmas meme on LargeTony and thought I'd give it a whirl.

1. Eggnog or Hot Chocolate? Eggnog with plenty of rum or brandy to ensure a very merry Christmas.
2. Does Santa wrap presents or just set them under the tree? He just sets them under the tree, silly.
3. Colored lights on tree/house or white? Both. Depends on my mood. This year we have colored on the house and white on the tree.
4. Do you hang mistletoe? No. In actuality mistletoe is a very unimpressive saprophytic plant. If I want to plant one on somebody, I just do it.

5. When do you put your decorations up? Traditionally, the night before Christmas, but this year we needed some cheering up and did it the second week of December.

6. What is your favorite Christmas dish? Honey glazed ham. Yum.

7. Favorite Christmas memory as a child? When we were little kids, we snuck downstairs to wait for Santa to bring our presents. We hid under the living room couch and tried to be very quiet. We fell asleep and when we woke up, the gifts were there! What had actually happened is that mom and dad had already put the gifts there before we came down but it was too dark to see them. But, we ended up still believing in Santa.

8. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa? I don’t specifically remember, but probably some kindly kids at school enlightened me.

9. Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve? No. In my family we rarely wait even that long. LOL

10. What kind of cookies does Santa get set out for him? When we were kids we used to leave him Viennese Crescent Cookies with walnuts in the dough.

11. Snow! Love it or hate it? Love it. It is so pretty and I can ski on it.

12. Can you ice skate? Absolutely. Skating was a passion for my father and he shared it with my family.

13. Do you remember your favorite present? A bicycle that I got when I was a kid. It was metal flake green and I named it Dunbar. Don’t ask, I was just a kid. Of course, my brother took it out for a spin and crashed and warped the front wheel on the first day I had it. Eventually I was able to stand on the seat with no hands. I rode that thing all over Long Island with my brother.

14. What's the most important thing about Christmas to you? Not Christmas itself, but the whole holiday season. I am not religious at all, but all faiths celebrate something this time of year and the primary theme is peace on earth and good will to all men. That is the most important thing of all.

15. What is your favorite holiday dessert? Viennese Crescent Cookies

16. Favorite tradition? Trimming the tree with our favorite ornaments.

17. What tops your tree? A star.

18. Which do you prefer – giving or receiving? Receiving. Just tell me where and when and I will arrive with my husband’s truck for pick up. Oh, that’s not the right answer? GIVING, nim nuts. In our family Christmas is for the kids and only they receive gifts. There is nothing like a wide eyed child getting a gift at Christmas. Christmas is also a great time for donating to the needy.

19. What is your favorite Christmas Carol? I just love Christmas carols, even the religious ones. To listen to: Sleigh Ride. To sing: The Christmas Song. When I’m blue: I’ll Be Home for Christmas.

20. Candy Canes? They look awfully nice on the tree, but my dogs would eat them, so no.

Sunday Comics - Oliver Frey Encore

Here is yet another masterful work in full color by Oliver Frey, courtesy of Pete of Finland. The full image can be seen here. And the encore here. Enjoy!

Friday Fantasy - A Night at the Ballet

When I wrote the Nutcracker post, I had to keep it G rated so that my 13 year old niece could read it. Typically she is not allowed to read her Auntie’s blog, for reasons I am sure you can understand. Here is the real dirt. In one of the dances, the male dancer was bare-chested, even showing a bit of trail below his navel, and the female was wearing a harem-type outfit (but who cares about her). As my sister whispered to me, “Lose the skirt.” The whole dance was so sexy and seductive, to quote a fellow blogger, it made me feel funny in my pants.

When Evie and I went back stage, that dancer was still shirtless with all of his male buddies all around him and having his picture taken with female fans. Still your hearts guys, he has a girl friend. We were about to head over there, when our husbands showed up. So close, and yet so far. Although, it would have been really bad had we been caught. They also had two West Point Cadets in the performance that played the soldiers and they were just adorable. One was blond and one was brunette. At the cast party the next day, they showed up in tight tee shirts and were both very muscular. The brunette knew the samba, and danced the salsa with the 60 year old wife of the company owner. He was running his hands all up and down her front and back and I guess it was quite a thrill for her. Who wouldn’t it have been a thrill for?

So for this week’s fantasy, I offer a male ballet dancer. Ethan Stiefel came to my attention in the movie Center Stage. I have always liked ballet because there are men in tights and you can just see everything. Little is left to the imagination. All the muscle groups are readily apparent, buttocks, quadriceps, and calves, just everything. Then there is the bulge. Yum. Nothing is better than that. So, without further ado, here is Ethan:

Click on any image to enlarge

I thoroughly enjoyed Center Stage and if you like oogling the men of dance, you might like it too. Another movie with ballet dancers you might like is The Turning Point with Mikhail Barshinikov. So, check out these two movies and spend a Friday Fantasy night at the ballet.