Today is Elton John’s birthday.
I remember this because there was a time- a very long time ago- when I would fantasize about that man on a daily basis.
And when I say “fantasize”, I mean exactly that.
I even wrote an essay about it- “Discovering Your Sexuality Through Hairy Gay Men”.
Elton John happened to be the dude I fixated on when my hormones were ragin’ and my nose was growing disproportionately to my head.
This maybe explains a lot about who I am.
Or at least I’d like to think that it does?
Or maybe I’m desperately hoping that it does…?
So in honor of that sexy pile of pasty man dough, I’m reposting my little love letter to Sir Elton John.
Remember that age when you started discovering your sexuality?
That awkward, dreadful time when you didn’t understand why your male friends suddenly felt the urge to show you their penises while you were trying to reenact “X-files” episodes in the basement of your house, or why you got that funny feeling when you climbed the rope in gym? When classmates started throwing around the words “pink”, “taco”, “tossing” and “salad” and you still thought they were talking about food, and your class president got detention for receiving something called a “blow job” on the 8th grade school trip to D.C.?
Then there you were. Clueless and wearing a sports bra. Fantasizing over a picture of a shirtless Elton John from 1972 hanging above your bed.
I wish I could say it was 1972 when I would gawk at said picture. That would make a little more sense.
However, it was 1997. While all my friends carried pictures of Leonardo DiCaprio and Gavin Rossdale in their text books, I licked my lips over a twenty-five year old image of pudgy, gay piano-player.
Elton walked with me hand-in-hand through the threshold of Puberland.
We all know what Elton John looks like, but I’m going to paint you a portrait anyways. Here was a picture of quite possibly one of the most flamboyantly gay performers in history of the world with a pasty, doughy body covered in what looks like bear fur, standing in his shoe closet, wearing glittery high-waisted pants with suspenders and no shirt. He had a shit-eating grinning on his face as he showed off his favorite pair of bejeweled platform shoes.
I was transfixed. At thirteen years old, I thought this was what my future husband was to look like.
I have mostly likely sealed my fate by marrying a closeted homosexual who enjoys collecting shoes and Bedazzling his clothing.
Anyways, I just tried Googling “shirtless Elton John” and “Elton John with no shirt”, but I’m guessing that’s not a popular search item. In fact, the only images that come up are pictures of people one should normally lust after like, Hugh Jackman and Zac Efron.
…Gosh, I really wish I had that picture right now…