Remembrance of cubs past

I was unhappy to miss a local Beltane celebration last weekend because of a sudden attack of food poisoning, and the hours of misery and incapacitation that always accompany these. The sabbats make up about half of my socializing these days, since I am determined to leave Texas for Chicago and have fled all cat rescue-related events.
I stayed home from work Monday, not because I was still violently ill, but because I was having trouble rehydrating and was feeling awfully beat up. I was clearing old files off my eight-year old Macbook Pro and I came upon one of those hidden folders within another folder. I had carefully saved all my photos of the Cub*.
For new readers, the Cub was the object of my carnal affections for the most part of a year. The sex was some of the best I've ever had, which makes me nostalgic for it at times. But we never discussed our sole threesome afterwards, which made me unhappy as I really wanted to find out what it had been like for him. And then he had no need to visit my neighborhood on business any more. It's been almost exactly one year since I last saw him.
It's too bad I cannot publish a Cub photo here. He had such tantalizing blue eyes, and knowing of my fetish for men in glasses, would go to the trouble of removing his contact lenses when I was en route to visit him. He always wore such lovely shirts and shared my fondness for Ferragamo footwear.
If business brought the Cub back to my neighborhood one day, I wonder if he would want to reconnect. I would like to share at least a drink or two with him, even if things went no further. But so many things in life simply cannot be resurrected.
* See The Usual Suspects.

