My eyes are glued to the televison screen. There he is. Him. That perfect, beautiful, wonderful man. I sit close enough so I can touch the screen, tracing my fingers over his image. He's perfect. Absolutely perfect.
I listen as he speaks. I laugh at his clever words, then scowl as the others make fun of him. They shouldn't do that. He's a champion; a hero. It's wrong from them to treat him that way. If I knew him, if he were mine, I'd never mock him. Never ridicule him, like they do. If only he were here, with me, I would wish for nothing more, ever again.
I went to a taping a few weeks ago; I had front row tickets. I got that seat so I could see him, close, right next to me. He was there; he walked right by me. He looked at me, and he smiled at me. I've been completely lost ever since then. I love him; I want him; I need him.
I've written him letters, and I've sent him gifts. He likes men; it's obvious from the way he acts. The way he moves. I can tell he just loves sinking down to his knees, and...
My eyes drift closed as I imagine him kneeling before me. God how I want that. God how I want him. I want him here, with me; I want him in my house; I want him in my bed. I want to hear him gasping for air as his body writhes beneath mine. I could be the best lover he'd ever had, if he'd only come to me. If he'd only give me a chance.
But he hasn't replied to anything I've sent him. Understandable, I suppose. I'm sure he's a very busy man. He is a champion, after all. He works hard all year round, even during Christmas. He's a superstar, and I'm just a fan. I can't ask for more than what I have now; watching him on tv each week, looking over all the pictures I've gotten off the internet, watching his video, "It's true, It's true", time after time.
I suppose that's all I can ask for. But I still want more; I want him. Even though I can probably never have him, I love him. I love you, Kurt Angle.
THE END