Date: Thu, 10 Jan 2002 18:36:59 -0800 (PST) From: Wade Murphy <email@example.com> Subject: Meeting Ryan-1 This story is story is fiction and is not intended to imply anything about the true sexuality of the celebrities mentioned or any personal knowledge about their private lives. _______________________________________________ I've noticed you for the longest time. I tried to put your image from my tortured mind, creeping slowly to me through whatever defense I managed to erect. Like smoke seeping through a windowpane, you flew to me on the air of my dreams. I've seen you in my mind more than you've seen yourself. I've watched you and studied every casual movement, the involuntary flip of your arm, the lazily chipper way in which you walk around. It's like algebra to me; I know every equation. It was that first day I'd always remember. The sun was at that brightness that causes a gentle glare off of every surface, but doesn't quite offend the eye. I had a simple brown shirt on, buttoned up, to compliment my rather dull slacks. I noticed you from a bit of a distance, zipping ever nearer to where I stood. "Is that him?" I asked. I didn't wait for the slight nod; I could recognize you from miles away. The intensity of that strange little feeling inside of me grew stronger with each inch you approached me. Like the beeping of a metal detector, I could gauge your every move. Suddenly I was very self-aware. I fell into that state of frantically wanting to make myself presentable, but, yet, I didn't want to seem as if I was changing anything. I decided to settle for casually throwing my hair back with a hand moving along my head, the other dangling beside me. I looked up, trying not to notice the car approaching faster at every moment. I saw the sun, almost blinding my vision temporarily, so I shut my eyes and just let myself feel the heat burning through my vain veil. I concentrated on that angrily red and orange blur growing quickly on the inside of my eye. I was in suspense as to whether it would take over me, and then I felt a presence nearby. I tried to feel the heat take over my body again, but I couldn't ignore that feeling. It was as if someone was right there, wanting to say something to me, but not sure how to go about it. Like sticking your head in a lion's mouth, I suppose. I've not always intimidated people, and it's a gift I've learned to enjoy. I suppose it's most amusing because I'm the easiest person to approach, the least fierce, the most caring; and I never thought myself something to intimidate someone. I've always thought I should be intimidated of everyone else. I waited there, just feeling the sunlight bounce off of the studio wall I was leaned against. A trickle of sweat had just begun to form on my brow, when I heard a voice. It was somewhat haughty, in an almost British sort of way. I imagined he had something in his throat that he just had never been able to swallow, but I found the sound of it very appealing in a strange sort of way. It was like he was an amazingly developed, charming man living inside of the still budding potential of that glamorous vision of an actor. Someone who I still imagine becoming a throw back to the golden age of Hollywood. I can see him sipping Champagne with Marilyn and asking Rock Hudson about his summer home. "Excuse me, I-I'm Ryan Phillippe. It's fucking great to meet you." It was simple, stuttered. The utterance of it made me forget what I was doing, disoriented me completely. Just a quick sentence of introduction and all of my preparation was out of the window. I opened my eyes and felt blinded by the full force of daylight for a moment. I caught myself, after what seemed like hours and existed as moments. "It's nice to meet you, too, kiddo." That was our first meeting, Ryan Phillippe and I, Benicio Del Toro.