Sometimes it hits me that all those moans and sighs and erotic pitch-twists at the ends of words were recorded in a small box with no other sounds happening. Headphones or an ajacent room providing sound directly to him, but not in the vicinity of his microphone, so a clean recording could be made. A man and a mic and whatever comes out of his mouth, and an otherwise silent little cubicle.
Basically the sexiest thing about him is that he can stand by himself in a little box, with his mouth up to a microphone and people watching, and just produce these noises on cue like it’s no different from reading off a grocery list.
And then I wonder when the embarrassment will stop, and when I’ll be able to listen to some of the songs without mentally doing a nervous laugh. Even alone, I hold back and pretend I don’t enjoy it as much as I do.