Hugh, Male Model

a character study by Tommy Paley

Tommy Paley
Jul 20, 2017 · 6 min read
pexels.com

My name is Hugh and I am a male model.

Before you jump to any stereotypical conclusions, or enjoy a long breathless glance at my impeccable torso, I am not who you think I am.

Now you can enjoy your glance.

You’re welcome.

Yes, I spend much of my time wearing nothing but tight shorts or suggestive outfits; and yes, my toned, perfect, muscular body is often greased and flexed; and yes, I have both unblemished skin that looks airbrushed at the worst of times and hair that is never out of place even when there is a breeze, but I am still not who you think I am.

I am also fully aware that I don’t look at all out of place on a construction site lifting random heavy objects appearing like I am helping build something of consequence which is causing many of my muscles to ripple and shine in the sun for all to see because, naturally, I pretend to perform construction work wearing only overalls with the straps down with lots of people taking photos.

No shirt is required.

But this is not me.

I get it!

I know what you are thinking.

Because I fit in on a runway; look at home on a catwalk; and can stand perched with scantily-clad waifs of females draped all over me for hours and days at a time then, using your logic, I must be a dim bulb (and not the energy-efficient kind), a particularly well-groomed neanderthal, a man whom women swoon over completely and totally only because of my other-worldly pecs (I’m always having to explain that they are of this world) and never for my smarts or my personality.

Imagine how it feels to be so physically hot that people just assume you are dumb. Imagine how it feels when no one cares at all about my opinion because they are too busy figuratively and literally drooling over me. Imagine how it feels to be alone at night, or as alone as anyone could be when surrounded by incredible babes around the clock, with your deep and complex feelings and believing that no one really understands you.

That is how I feel.

No one seems to care.

Just because I spend much of existence posing, flexing and looking off into the distance feigning meaningfulness should not indicate that I am only a sum of those parts. I have deep thoughts, complex feelings and I not only have an up-to-date library card, but I use it on a regular basis and not only to take out periodicals, though I do enjoy them as well. I went to school and that is not only an expression. I am playing with a full deck and not only when playing Old Maid or Go Fish.

I love to talk deep into the night over coffee about philosophy, psychology and our existence. I also like to do a minimum of 50 bicep curls before dropping and giving 20 to random passersby on the street. Why can’t I be face-slappingly attractive and also be deep? Why must others assume that I am so one-dimensional when I am quite obviously at least three?

I will be honest with you — I love that heterosexual women and both homosexual and bisexual men salivate over me (I would feel quite different if it was actually on me). I also love that I at least double the amount of inner conflict and confusion that heterosexual men feel when they see my picture (and start to instantly sweat) on a billboard. Women want me, guys are-not-quite-totally- sure-what-is-going-on-anymore and animals of all shapes and sizes want to rub their furry and scaly bodies all over my extremities on those rare occasions when I am lying down in the forest or near a stream.

I often escape into nature.

It just feels right.

I hugged a bear once.

A stuffed, teddy bear.

I just flew in yesterday from the sunny shores of Hawaii where I finished wrapping up a nude shoot on a beach where I spent much of my time behind well-positioned rocks and waves and surfboards all in an effort to sell the product while also hiding my manhood. Those rocks and waves and surfboards are my prison. In many ways I felt trapped behind or under these props. They weighed me down as I posed for the cameras just as I have felt weighed down so many times in the past.

I want so badly to be free of this life I chose! I want to be known for my mind and my thoughts and as a sensitive guy who the right girl could cuddle next to and maybe cry on my shoulder. I want a woman to fall for me and not just be rendered speechless at the sight of my body. I’d like her to like my body, but be able to talk about it. Speechlessness is not all it’s cracked up to be. I want to feel real love and not just be idolized by the masses.

At the risk of sounding cliched, I want the girl next door.

Really.

Her name is Sophie. She is sweet and kind. She treats me like a normal human being and I love her. I want so badly to ask her out, to make her tea and sandwiches, to playfully stroke her hair as she sleeps on my chest. I want to hold her, be held by her, maybe buy a puppy together. I want to leave this vapid life of male modelling behind me. Say goodbye to it. But, I can’t. I am trapped beneath the weight of expectations and contracts and agents. I am too good looking and too popular and too rich to throw this all away I am told.

Am I?

I just don’t know any more.

I am so confused.

The male modelling world that I first became a part of 10 years ago when I sent my photo to the agency on a whim is no longer where I want to be. I want to return to school. I want to get married and have children. I want to visit famous cities around the world and not just to pose semi-nude on their beaches. I want to learn to cook.

I want Sophie.

She is so sweet and so perfect and I wish she were mine. If only I didn’t feel trapped by the rocks and the cameras and the money. If only I could break free and run away with her. What a life we would have! If only I could do that and prove to everyone that I am not just a hunk of a male model. If only I could.

I’m looking at myself in the mirror. Man, am I hot! I am going to march next door, maybe with a shirt on, and ask her out. I need to do this! I can’t stay trapped in this world where I feel incomplete and frustrated, or as incomplete and frustrated as a man can when there are always grapes being fed to me or muscles being massaged. If only I could have it all! The best of both worlds. Maybe she is the key! Maybe she can help me! Maybe she is the answer to all of my problems!

There is only one way to find out.

Here I come Sophie!

Here comes the guy next door.

Here comes Hugh, the male model who is not who everyone thinks I am.

The Haven

A Place to Be Funny Without Being a Jerk

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Tommy Paley

Written by

I write creative non-fiction, humorous and random short stories, unique and tasty recipes and fiction involving odd and funny relationships. I also love cheese.

The Haven

The Haven

A Place to Be Funny Without Being a Jerk

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