The Curse Of the Handsome Man

Don’t Hate Me Because I’m Beautiful

“Can I help it if people are mesmerized by my eyes?”

I’m often told how handsome I am by women who won’t sleep with me, as if I were being granted a consolation prize; a lovely parting gift. This leads me to suspect that average-looking guys get more sex than us tall, dark types. I mostly get ephemeral flirtation or hard-to-get games, neither of which I have much patience for.

I’ve been told by female friends that women find my appearance intimidating. They take one look at me and assume I’m a womanizer. Then there are the more aggressive types who assume I’m a womanizer, and are disappointed to find out that I’m not.

I’m told by my womanizing male friends that extremely good-looking women are often the easiest to get into bed, because most men are too intimidated to approach them. Consequently, these women are more grateful and giving when Mr. Confident comes along.

Me? I’m picky. I cling to the kinky notion that a woman worthy of my carnal affections should first be able to give me good mind. Perhaps my standards are too high.

I tell women that I am just as interested in conversation as sex. They never believe me. I can see it in their big, blinking eyes. They assume I’m just feeding them a line. Either way you look at it, I’ve spent the preponderance of my virile days longing for both and getting neither.

In fact, it really doesn’t seem to matter what I say when I’m interacting socially with a fertile woman for the first time. Everything I say, no matter how simple, is parsed for my supposed womanizing agenda, as if every sentence were taken from my “Handsome Guy’s Guide to Getting Laid” manual. I could say something as straightforward as “I like sushi,” only to be met with a suspicious “I’ll bet you do,” or “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Maybe I expect too much from women. Why should a woman have to put out mentally before I put out physically? As an ex-girlfriend once told me, “Greg, I don’t feel like talking tonight! Can’t you just fuck me and go to sleep like a regular guy!?”

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I cling to the kinky notion that a woman worthy of my carnal affections should first be able to give me good mind. Perhaps my standards are too high.
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Don’t get me wrong. I get erections when beautiful, unknown drunk girls touch me and tell me I’m hot. But I also achieve a more lasting kind of tumescence on those rare occasions when an attractive woman takes a genuine interest in words I’ve written and music I’ve composed. This typically triggers in me an emotional priapism that lasts a lot longer than four hours.

Oh, boo hoo! Poor me! Right? Can you hear the violins underscoring the sad tale of the lonely handsome guy who spends his nights composing anecdotes and tending to his cats?