Back in the ‘80’s I attended a college in Florida that came with an outdoor swimming pool. I probably would have lived in that pool except for one thing: it seemed to come with a bodybuilder guy. I thought he was creepy and intimidating.
He was always (and by that I mean always) there, lying on the edge of the pool as if posing for a centerfold. He never spoke to anyone. He never got in the water. He just lay there, bronzing his grossly over-developed, veiny muscles while he metabolized his steroids. (That body just wasn’t natural. No way.)
All the girls used to stare at him. I’m sure he thought they liked what they saw. In truth, most of us thought he was a disturbing freak of nature. (Why do guys think women are attracted to that body type? I don’t know any who are. Truly. I was repulsed just looking for a photo for this post.)
The weirdest thing about this was that I don’t even know if he was a student. I never saw him anywhere else on campus. No one seemed to know his name.
I used to wonder about him. Was he intelligent or a stereotypical meathead? What was he studying? Was he full of himself or insecure? Where did he come from? Where did he live? Did he have any friends? Did he want any? Was he lonely? Was he happy?
I would have loved to know these things, but I couldn’t break through the creepily muscled wall to ask. I wonder what became of him. He’d be in his 50’s now, and if the steroids didn’t kill him, all those muscles have probably turned to fat. I wonder how he copes with that. I wonder if he ever learned that there is much more to life than body shape.
Nothing bugs me more than a story without an ending.