At the barre

 

Attraction

I can't help looking at this guy and thinking, hey, he's nice.   I wouldn't mind if ....

And yet, how many apparently handsome blokes do you find who are arrogant and selfish and narcissistic?  And whose looks are spoilt because of it?  In the end, looks go away; you get old and your flesh sags and you lose your hair and your face gets lined with the travails of life.   But your character remains: whether you are kind and generous; whether you have a sense of humour; whether you are a pleasure to be with, even when, especially when, you aren't in bed.  Those things last, and as I get older I find that they have become more important to me in the ppl I connect with.

Tough

Majorca Flats -- 101

Jason felt quite proud of being able to introduce Graeme to Esmé when they all went next door for coffee. Graeme had a distinguished air. He'd dressed conservatively, rather than in the worn grunge that so many of the clients of The Lord Grey affected, in a tasteful sports jacket and expensive designer-label jeans, and Jason was startled to realise just how attractive he was. No one would have said he was handsome, not in a world where images of male models plaster every surface and fill every screen. Yet he had an indefinable air about him. He had class. He was sexy and desirable, even with grey streaks in his hair, lines on his forehead and the absence of a washboard stomach.

Keith was still bristling somewhat at Graeme, and Jason was amused at Keith's possessiveness. After all, he'd only known Jason a few days more than Graeme had! But Graeme remained polite and Jason saw the moment when he began to charm Keith, and watched as Keith responded. Yet Graeme didn't ignore Esmé either, and his low-key appeal and obvious niceness soon melted her reserve.

By the end of the evening, it was obvious that Graeme was well-liked by both of them, and Keith had even started to flirt with him.

As they were leaving, Graeme said quietly to Jason, “Shall we have lunch tomorrow? When do you start work?”

“I'm on the evening shift. I start at six p.m. Yes, I'd be delighted.” Immediately after he'd made this reply, Jason cursed himself for sounding so upper-class, so damn English.

First Majorca Flats post      Previous MF post (#100)       Next MF post(#102)

Majorca Flats Episodes 1 to 10

Majorca Flats Episodes 11 to 20

Majorca Flats Episodes 21 to 30

Majorca Flats Episodes 31 to 40 

Majorca Flats Episodes 41 to 40 

Majorca Flats Episodes 51 to 60 

Majorca Flats Episodes 61 to 70

Majorca Flats Episodes 71 to 80  

Majorca Flats Episodes 81 to 90
Majorca Flats Episodes 91 to 100

Ordinary Blokes

The whole gay scene -- real life, art, stories, photographs, porn, you name it -- is about perfect men, with shoulders from here to here, waists like a girl's, perfectly proportioned features, bubble butts, muscled torsos, and naturally, cocks as long as a ruler and as thick as a beer can.  Well, OK, I write fantasy too.  So let's face it:  99.9% of men do not come anywhere near this standard.  They're just ordinary blokes.

While trawling the internet for pics for Majorca Flats I came across these two lovely guys.  Ordinary, but still very yummy.  Now let me say at once, just in case they ever see this, that I do NOT imply, because they appear on this blog, that they are gay.   But a cat can look at a queen, no?

The first one is Mark Watson, a British comedian.  Such a lovely smile!  Kind, funny, laughing with you rather than at you, slightly mocking, with a hint of his own wry knowledge about the vicissitudes of life.  I found him here, and thoroughly enjoyed his comments about Australia vs Britain.

The other is another Brit, this time a TV journalist, called Dan Snow.
 
I love the contrast (on a man or a woman) of blue eyes and brown hair.  And his eyes are beaut, blue with a gorgeous shading towards indigo at the edge of his irises.  The gaze is intelligent and thoughtful, even challenging.  I feel he's looking into my heart and seeing truths there, some of them uncomfortable.

I found him here, where he talks about a disconcerting discovery concerning a famous (though perhaps not illustrious) ancestor.

Two ordinary-looking blokes.  But attractive, sexy, likable.

So I see it, anyway!

Male Beauty

The classic image of male beauty: broad shoulders, narrow waist, defined muscles. As long as it's not overdone. Even with older blokes this standard holds true, and I suspect the main reason older guys aren't considered sexy is because they've let themselves go, and their waists are bigger than their shoulders.

I wonder why we think this is beautiful? Is it conditioned? I know many women don't like this look, preferring someone a little slimmer, less muscular, more like the last picture in this trio. But even there, the basic ideal I stated above remains.

I remember once listening to some women describing the things they found sexy in men, and the things they didn't. They found men working with rolled up shirt-sleeves sexy; they found men with shapely bums sexy; they found men who were strong yet kind and compassionate very hot. They hated men who were "slobs": unwashed, dirty clothes, bad breath, and (gulp) overweight. How muscular they were didn't even enter the equation. I suspect men (even straight men) build muscle to impress other men. Women, in my experience, don't care.

There are many classically beautiful men I am not even slightly attracted to, and many guys who are far from the ideals pictured here I find very sexy. I reckon it has to do with whether they find you interesting; whether their smile is for you; whether they have a sense of humour and compassion; whether their smile lights up their eyes. Beauty is not the same as attractiveness.

Hot versus Lovable

I've got heaps of thoughts on this, but no time to elaborate. So let's take just one. Why does our body betray us into thinking someone hot when they aren't particularly likable, never mind lovable? I don't think it's just a male thing, but I think we're much more prone to it than women are. Take a look at the pic. I find that so erotic, the body warm from the sun, the curve of buttocks, legs and doings, the contrast between the white and the tan. Yet for all I know, the guy is a total arsehole, up himself, arrogant, selfish and stupid. Yet.... something atavistic in me makes him so fricking hot. It's a bit shaming actually, that at my age I still sometimes think with my gonads not my head. I mean, he may be the nicest and most endearing bloke around. But I don't know, do I? And part of me doesn't care.