Muscle Mary

One of the all-too-true stereotypes of gay men is the "Muscle Mary", a quite well built man whose manner is effeminate. Why, I wonder, do guys like this irk me so?

Part of it is envy, pure and simple. I am in good shape but I have to work hard at it, and I do not have the genes of a mesomorph or access to a roid supplier. I look good, but I will never look that good.

So to see a beautiful man at my gym, for example, then enact not his own natural feminine aspect but some third-rate version of a teenage cheerleader....it burns me...that something so potentially wonderful is being wasted on a bad joke. And the implication is that I could have done a much better job with what he's got. Boy, could I.

For a hetero male, beautiful women are numinous. They are their own justification, need no argument. No one questions this. Well, for this uberhomo male, beautiful men fill the same bill.

I can read God's resolution in Genesis ("Let Us make man in Our Own Image") pretty literally. A beautiful man is godlike. And I am by nature a pretty religious fella. But one of my ideas of physical beauty in a male is not so much Michelangelo's boyish David (I much preferred the Slave statues in the hallway)
but more in the neighborhood of Bandinelli's Hercules and Cacus, which stands opposite the David-copy in the Piazza della Signoria in Florence.



I don't need a man to act like a lug. Though lugs can be loveable. A sturdy guy in good shape who's...well, a guy...does it for me big time.

The ghyrls can go elsewhere. What a waste.