I saw the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in real life last night.
Yesterday after work I felt decent- like the best I’ve felt in a week and a half. So decent, in fact, that I opted to do a light workout at the Y.
After the workout, I was heading to the showers… minding my own business… when suddenly a god stepped in front of me.
A god in a speedo.
The swimsuit was actually what drew me in, as I always like to size up my swim workout competition. Its an old habit. Plus swimmers generally have excellent bodies.
He was quite obviously an upper echelon swimmer as his suit and his physique suggested. He was sporting a squarecut, loose fitting speedo drag suit. And the giant “Speedo” brand name was emblazoned in a gorgeous arc across the mounds of his ass.
He stepped into the gang shower area, and as luck would have it, I ended up two shower heads from him– with nobody in between to obstruct my view.
The man was simply put… flabbergasting.
He was probaby in his mid-twenties and his body was flawless in every sense of the word. It was as if Michelangelo’s David broken free of his marmoreal pedistal and strolled in for a quick rinse. I actually found myself marvelling at his proportions.
He had wide shoulders, but not TOO wide. A well muscled back, and nicely developed arms– but again not TOO developed. Squared-off pecs with perfectly proportioned nipples and yeah, he had a full set of abs (including the obliques). But not the fakey, overly puffed Soloflex abs of a creatine-laden bodybuilder. This guys abs were merely present– even in his totally relaxed state.
His torso “V’d” perfectly to his waist, and then his hips swelled ever-so-slightly… just enough to give him a glorious ass and thighs. God, his legs were incredible! Muscled, but neither overly wrought nor underdeveloped. Even down to his calves, which were muscular but completely natural and in total proportion to the rest of him.
Usually on really well-built guys you can find some flaw and focus on it to make yourself feel marginally better. Like when a bodybuilder has stick legs, or if a guy’s torso and legs are misproportioned (long legs, short torso), or when a guy has no ass, or a flabby ass, or loose back skin, or “back-ne”. Something that lets you know that there is a god and he’s sort of on your side.
But not this time. God just left me twisting in the breeze with this one.
Everything on him was taut. There was not an extra fold of skin to be seen. There was no sagginess, no fat. No scraggly hair. No muscle group that stood out as cartoonishly or asymmetrically developed. No misproportion at all.
And no blemishes either. His skin was smooth and fine like marble.
Oh, and no tattoos. Had there been any, I think they would have been totally out of place and actually diminished the perfection.
Since he showered (full soap up and rinse) I had plenty of time to let my blasphemous eyes take in every gorgeous inch of his body.
I eventually made it up to his face which merely added to the unfairness of it all. He was, once again and as expected, perfectly handsome. Moviestar good looks. Jet black hair (slightly wavy) framing a beautiful, square-jawed face. The sought-after aqualine nose. He even had oh-so-masculine 5 o’clock shadow that is so heavy that it shaded his jawline blue.
When he did the shampoo commercial hair rinse (head tilted back, water hitting face, hands helping to rinse the soap away) I nearly lost my balance.
Eventually the speedo came off, and I was treated to the rest of him. And I know everyone almost expects me to say here that he flopped out nine inches of prime, uncut, flaccid meat… but he didn’t. His penis and testicles were as perfectly in harmony with his body as the rest of him would imply.
And his ass would’ve made “David” get up and go do some squats at the gym.
All too soon Mister Speedo was finished showering. He casually picked up his suit and goggles, wrapped a perfectly white cotton towel around his lower half, and sauntered away to the dressing area. And I was left alone, to rinse away my thoughts and my stunned expression.
His absense left a powerful after-image of beauty in my mind. Like when you stare at an picture too long, and then you see ghost images every time you close your eyes or look at a blank wall. And then maybe you find you can’t remember the minute details of the picture so very well anymore, but the overall impression of it has been left on your core.
I was never in danger of getting a hard-on while looking at him. There were no sexual thoughts coursing through my brain, only thoughts of appreciation. It was more like observing a work of art. But a living, breathing work of art that gave me butterflies just from being so close.
Even as I type this, the experience seems somehow unreal and I find myself longing to see him once more. Just to prove to myself that he truly existed.