I entered the room and immediately noticed that it is only I and the famous guy in there. He is quite at the top of his game in his field and he is openly gay. From where I was seating, I can see him dressing up while I am preparing for a run. As he moves, he glances at me through the mirror once in awhile and I look back. I noticed his towel was getting too low that half of his behind is showing up. I can’t help but take a look at his face and perfectly sculpted body. It is something to be envied, I thought. Until the towel was too low that he slowly, sensually, while looking at me through the mirror, opened the towel exposing his nakedness and fixed the towel.
I felt awkward and in shock so I continued what I was doing and ignored him. It was a good sight to see. Strangely, I felt nothing. It was too perfect for me. He is too perfect that it is almost like a porn star I am looking at. No hair everywhere and he looks like a mannequin.
He is like a sunny side up egg. Sure I’ll eat the perfectly shaped fried egg you can get from a fast food restaurant; but I’d still go back to the usual home-cooked ones I have grown to love.
Too perfect is boring, I’d settle for the beauty of imperfections.