You know how they say that your vision is often skewed because lust blinds and warps the image?

Well, thank heavens for that!

Sex Gods: Harry Potter

Who is Harry Potter? I mean, really…

A slight boy with stunted growth, deplorable hair, dorky glasses, geeky clothes, uncomfortable smile and awkward gait. He has black hair, green eyes and a scar on his forehead. He is an unfortunate dancer, a boring conversationalist and a pisspoor kisser,

But Harry Potter as a sex god?

Slight as he may be, Quidditch makes up for it all by giving him spectacularly soft abs and toned biceps. His limbs may be thin, but they sure as hell aren't weak. His sexed up hair is unworthy of being raked by any fingers other than… um… ahem… Draco… cough… Malfoy's… cough, cough. His glasses slide off his nose with such adorable innocence that you just want to gobble him up. His clothes are worn and baggy, giving him a modest and carefree appearance. And when he smiles, the world swoons because of the faint dimple on his right cheek and the thing he does with his shoulders that is kind of like a shrug but not really. He never knows where to put his hands when he walks, so he keeps them in his pockets. At least that way he can reach for his wand if need be.

His raven hair is lustrous and full, lifting up effortlessly in the breeze. His emerald eyes peer out from behind the spectacles, shy and sweet. His scar is his birthright, his destiny.

So what if he is an unfortunate dancer? His form on the broom is magnificent. His sharp turns and twists leave you breathless. His brilliant grin when he finally catches the Snitch brings a laugh out of you. He moves through the air as does a fish in water, fluidly and with beauty.

He never knows how to speak. He stumbles over his words and trails off into nothing when he realizes that he isn't making any sense. Draw him out and he will listen to every word you say. He will lend an ear, a shoulder or a hand. He will hear your troubles but keep his worries to himself.

When he kisses, he is uncertain. He wraps his arms around you with care and unhidden awe. He breathes with you, trying to mirror your movements. He parts his lips with the guile of a blossoming bud, letting your coaxing tongue in without protest. He tastes of sweet honeysuckle. He feels like a warm summer rain. And he will hold you as though you are the only person he would need in his life.

How do I see my beloved witches and wizards now that I have transformed from an awe-stricken ten year old into a hormonal nineteen year old?

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