Stuart Wakefield

Okay, okay, so I missed Weak-kneed Wednesday.

I was too busy getting trashed on Bombay Sapphire but I did finally settle on who I wanted to blog about.

I’m just doing it today…

I’ve been a lifelong fan of Superman–reading the comics, collecting the figures, and watching the movies–but I’ve never–you know–fancied him.

That all changed when Supes was given some contaminated Kryptonite and turned evil. For me, when Supes is good he’s very, very good but when he’s bad, he’s better.

He becomes depressed, angry, destructive, and lustful.

I can relate to all of that.

Supes is suddenly more human than he’s ever been and, for me, that makes him way more attractive.

When he splits into two, Superman and Clark, a massive brawl ensues and Clark wins out.

But it’s too late – I know that Supes is just a bad boy trying to be good. . .and he’s more interesting for it.

I think it’s fair to say that the X-Men movies revolved almost exclusively around Wolverine until X-Men: The Last Stand.

By then I’d written off Cyclops as a mildly irritating secondary character who got in the way of the Wolverine/Jean Grey romance. Sure, he represented conflict but that was about it.

My opinion changed during the third movie. Now I saw Cyclops as a sympathetic character, genuinely grieving for the loss of his partner. It also dawned on me, now she was out of his life, and he could no longer see her, that he’s never been able to truly see her. If he took his glasses off he’d fry her to a crisp. Jean has never been able to look at him, either.

I can’t imagine the torture of not being able to look into the eyes of the man I love.

I treasure those little moments when you look into your partner’s eyes across a crowded room and convey whatever you’re thinking. It could be a joke, a plea for help to be rescued from the dreadful bore that has you cornered, or the look that says “I’m so proud to be your man and that you’re mine”.

In the movie, something wonderful happens and it’s at this precise moment that my knees went weak.

Jean comes back from the dead and persuades him to remove his glasses, the same ones that keep his laser vision in check. He protests but she insists she can control his power and removes his glasses. He’s standing in front of her, terrified, but she gives him the courage to look at her. His laser vision retreats and she’s finally able to look directly into his eyes before kissing him.

*sigh*

I think it’s a beautiful scene…

…until she kills him.

A change of pace this week. I’m not going to blog about a character that makes me go weak at the knees. Instead, I’m going to blog about a very simple act: kissing.

Anyone who knows me will tell you that I’m a tactile person. Depending on the situation, this can be a positive or a negative. For example, a female colleague with whom I’d normally shake hands was mortified when I hugged her on a night out after work. (I never did it again!)

I’m also a die-hard romantic. (This is official because I’ve just take the “Are you a die-hard romantic?” test over at funquizcards.com.)

And I kiss my friends.

A lot.

To me, the kiss is an extension of the hug. Having worked in the theatre for many years, the “air kiss” feels as natural as shaking hands but I’ve trained myself out of that. If I kiss you on the cheek when I meet you then you can be sure that I’m genuinely pleased to see you.

But when things get romantic, the tactile me and the kiss-friendly me unite in shared weakness at the knees.

It’s no secret that I bond with people quickly – sometimes too quickly – but I never take the romantic kiss lightly.

I’m not going to tell you how long my longest kiss was, or who with, but I think you’ll be surprised. (We might have stopped for tea at some point – I practically run on the stuff.)

Here are one hundred gay kisses for you watch over a four minute period. Some are a bit wet for my liking so pay attention to the honest, loving, romantic kisses and you’ll see what I mean.

*sigh*

Although I’d never judge someone by the colour of their hair–I believe judging anyone says more about you than it does about them–only 20% of my boyfriends have been blond. (That’s 1 in 5 in case you’re wondering.)

So I found myself surprised to have my eye taken by Number Four, the alien on the run in I Am Number Four.

He’s hiding from his race’s mortal enemies who have tracked him and the other Numbers (there are nine in total). The Numbers can only be killed in numerical order. Number Three has been killed so Number Four knows he’s next.

He dyes his hair blond when he changes his identity yet again in order to cover his tracks.

Things start to get complicated when he falls for a good woman who has dreams far bigger than the town he’s picked to hide in.

Tired of running, Number Four attempts to create a life for himself and it’s this decision that attracts me to him. He’s willing to reevaluate his life and his mission to be with the woman he loves, despite the very real danger it puts him in. To me, that puts him firmly in the keeper category.

I’d just keep him away from the peroxide in the future