A long time female acquaintance who lived with me off and on as a "room mate" when she was going through lean times came into my bedroom one morning. I'd brought home an old friend I'd known in Ewetaw who, unquestionably, was very scenic. We'd met at the tubs and stayed glued to one another into the wee hours so long that it was obvious we'd be happier at home in my bed and continue with an excessive brunch later.
What threw me for a curve, is my female friend later questioned me about the guy I had brought home and didn't bother telling me that he was far too handsome for me and who did I think I was kidding? This was a new experience; being told by someone I had no physical or sexual interest in telling me how I rated on her scale of attractiveness.
I've never thought of myself as a great ethereal male beauty, but I'd never considered myself unworthy of enjoying the company of the many good-looking men, (and there have been hundreds of them), with whom I've had the pleasure of getting down, dirty, and out right nasty. That same old friend from Ewetaw, who really was visually stunning, always called ahead letting me know he'd be in town whenever he visited San Francisco and made sure I cleared enough room on my dance card for him. We had a couple of strong suits in common: he was a major pig bottom and I was a major pig!
As for worrying about whether or not my female acquaintance might be privy to something about my physical appearance that I might not be aware, I quickly got over the initial shock. She had always been considered a "great beauty" for her time and fucked a good number of flabby middle-age wealthy men to keep her in the style to which she wanted to remain accostomed. It seems that during most of the 20th Century a man had to trade his physical health and good looks and become out-of-shape and old before his time to become successful in the board room. I hope that has changed.
I still don't regard myself as a gracefully aging Cary Grant. But I do OK. I learned a long time ago not to over analyze why The Squeeze fell in love with me. He's turning into a major head turner as his thick head of black hair lightens to silver gray at his temples and he has an obvious curled forelock of silver white hair sprouting at the front of his hairline now that he's given up diligently plucking all of those particular hairs out every day. In comparison, I'm somewhat invisible. I'm a taller, muscular and definitely more rested looking version of a slightly younger Anthony Hopkins. Of course, I do have my mornings when I wake up and definitely see an off putting Hannibal Lector staring back at me in the mirror. But not once have I ever considered "playing doctor" with The Squeeze as an act of pity on his part.