lj idol season nine | week 19 | 630 words
Even in high school, I was a fan of male/male slash fiction. This was before the Internet, so the offerings amounted to occasional gay novels bought in bookstores. "The Fancy Dancer," with its secret affair between a priest and a local Native American man had some clichés, but wasn't bad. "The Front Runner," by the same author, developed a surprising second purpose completely unrelated to its appeal as erotica.
I went to college in Eugene, and I was an on-again/off-again runner during those years. The "off" season was winter, because of its frequent, heavy rains. Nowadays, running in the rain isn't pleasant, but it won't kill you and then it's over. In college, things were different. I didn't own a blow-dryer, the nearest clothes-dryer was at a distant Laundromat, and my rented house was like most student housing and had no central heating. If you got drenched while running, you'd stay wet for hours, and it could be a week before your shoes dried—possibly after sprouting a mildew colony or two.
When the rainy season started, running went on hiatus until the spring. Once the weather turned promising again, "The Front Runner" was what I used to find my motivation.
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