Monday, August 14, 2006


[Note: This soccer player looks nothing like J.C., but I haven't been able to find a pic of someone who's as gorgeous and blond as J.C. yet, so this is just eye candy filler.]

"Why don't you go fuckin' nail yourself to the wall, if you can't nail the ball, you fuckin' fuck-up." J.C. said, with perfectly shaped, full lips and a scowl on his flawless face. This said after a team member missed smashing the volleyball into the opponents arena.

He was one of those German/Scandanavians, who's so blond, their long eyelashes are invisible, as are their shapely brows. Nearly albino, his short, but full head of thick blond hair was silvery in sunlight.

Provoked at any real or imagined sleight, this freak of nature would yell in a deep voice, puff up his pectorals, fist his hands and get in yer face. You thought he was about to punch you in any given moment. But he looked like an angel.

He was heard to have said, "I'm the smartest guy around here," and chose a new person to pick on every few days. I used to watch him stretching during warm-ups, in his shorts and tank, marveling at his smooth, small-pored skin and blushed-ivory skin. I drooled over his Men's Fitness body; his shapely thighs that ended in a rounded, fuckable butt. When he leaned back on his arms, I enviously admired his defined triceps and biceps. Doing sit ups I imagined the abs underneath his wife-beater, and the square swell of pectorals with tongue inviting rose-colored nipples.

He liked to loudly proclaim how rich and important his father is, how big their country home is, how many boats and Rvs they owned. Although he gave me many reasons to not like him, I couldn't help it. I saw him as a young kid (23) who simply hadn't grown up yet. J.C. overheard me talking to someone about my history, and after thinking for a while, he came running over to me. He had a habit of standing too close to people, then speaking loudly and gesturing aggressively.

"How old were you when you went to university? 8?" His silvery green eyes looked at me widely. "How old the fuck are you?" His index finger stabbed me in the chest when he made his point.

Immensely complimented, I told him, and he replied, "Holy shit, I thought you were fuckin' just a few years older than me, maybe ten. I didn't realize you could be my fuckin' father!"

After being at the retreat for a week, I never saw J.C. in the weight gym. I realized he didn't work out. He played sports with us, but I never saw him working on his perfect body. I eventually approached him, and said:

"I never see you working out in the weight room - don't you lift weights?"

"No," he said sullenly.

Mirroring his language, I said, "Holy shit, so you look like that without working out?"

J.C. smiled bigly when he realized I was stroking his ego, and said, "Yeah."

I said, "I didn't even know there were people like you…am I ever envious!"

"I guess you and I both have good genes." J.C. said.

Just at that moment, another guy, Cody from Vancouver, came walking up and saw our interaction and said, "What you talking about? Did Intertextual just tell you you're cute?"

It must have been obvious that I was flirting. I was embarrassed, but J.C. seemed non-plussed and laughed, shaking it off.

Cody said, in a joking tone, "Well you are J.C."

As a result, I didn't have to deal with being the object of J.C.s anger management problem during my vacation.

J.C.s bravado must have been masking a very sensitive nature, because he was one of the few guys who broke down and cried when we all said goodbye.

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