You meet this guy. He's stunning. From the outside. His face is extraordinarily beaut, perfectly proportioned, symmetrical, something you're glad to gaze on all day. His body muscular but not too muscular (like my thong wearer), his cock fat and long, just the sort of proportions to make you turn bottom.
You see him across the room, you are magnetically drawn into his orbit, you talk to him, everything in you responds and wham! You're in love.
But then you get to know him. You discover that he has yet to get over a deep and long-lasting love affair --- with himself. That later on in the evening at parties, he always takes his shirt off, even if everyone else is wearing a jersey because it's so chilly, because he just loves showing off his perfect torso and his six-pack and his shoulders like cannon balls. When you talk to him, the conversation always veers back to the most important topic ever: him. If you are lonely or unhappy or sick, he shrugs it off: no one can ever be as lonely or unhappy or sick as he is or was. Diddums. The trials of his job are are always greater than yours. When you make love, he falls asleep as soon as he's come. You have to take care of yourself.
And so on.
It fact, it turns out that he is an arrogant, solipsistic, self-obsessed, selfish, boring, tedious, up-himself prick. And when you've fallen out of love with him, you can watch unmoved as his new conquests make the same mistake you did. Stars in their eyes, they wander around already half in love -- with a revolting, odious arsehole.
And one day Mr Beautiful gets old and flabby, his tan turns to skin tags and moles and icky crusty bits, his six-pack gets covered with a layer of fat, his hair thins until his head shines like a supernumerary moon in the moonlight, and his soccer-ball shoulders deflate tragically. So very sad. And now, bereft of physical beauty, his inner charms make him the dreary loser at parties, pathetically going from one group of younger, prettier people to the next, unable to believe that no one is interested -- in him.
Yep. We are all in thrall to beauty. I was, too. Yet -- and it's a hard lesson -- in the end what lasts is inner beauty. And when you find someone who has a sense of humour, is kind and thoughtful, who cares about you, who loves you and finds you hot and sexy, you have found the perfect man. Even if he doesn't have a six-pack or cricket-ball shoulders.
[This post was inspired by comments and discussion on an earlier post which you can read here]
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