A few weeks ago, Samantha Brick wrote an essay for the Daily Mail about the perils of being a beautiful women. But she has no idea what a tough life is really like:
On a recent flight to London, I was delighted when the attractive women seated beside me started rubbing my crotch. “Will you need some help with that?” she coyly asked, when I glanced in her direction. You’re probably thinking ‘what a great surprise’. But it wasn’t. Not a surprise, anyway. At least, not for me.
Since the age of twelve, I’ve had females of the species pursuing me. There have been too many taps on the shoulder in bars from the admirer’s best friends to count. The stack of high school love letters left in my locker would fill a studio apartment. And forget about the blatant propositions from college co-eds at frat parties—from shaking my hand and asking if I’d like a blow job, to just shoving their tongues down my throat, I’ve experienced it all. I’ve taken it all in stride, and if I decide to get to know these women, I ask them what prompted their interest. They all say it’s my handsome face, easy smile, and magnetic personality.
I’m not exactly Brad Pitt, but at 6’2’’, with a chiseled physique and ruggedly handsome features, my smoldering eyes are merely the icing on the cake. I know I’m a fortunate one. But there are downsides to being such an Adonis.
If you’re a man reading this, you’ve probably already formed your opinion about me and it’s not a flattering one. For while my overwhelming good looks and magnetic personality have given me many opportunities; as if in a cruel, Greek tragedy, they have also taken many away.
I’m very humble, and often think of others, but over the years I’ve lost countless buddies when they, if I’m merely in the same room as their significant other, feel threatened by my raw sexuality. When their girlfriends—faces blushing, eyes adoring—actually got up the nerve to speak to me, a cold December chill would blow into the house. Read more »