All Eyes On Him

He can feel the eyes peering into his back, slightly prodding his nape to keep looking forward, chin up, don’t swing your arm like a girl, stop raising your chest like a bouncer and for goodness sakes don’t trip over a stone or walk into a lamppost.

He always dressed up for not only the ladies but the guys too, it had to be said or thought by all and sundry that he looked good, better still smelt nice too.

He could tuck in his shirt a gazillion times within the 8 working hours of the day, or for as long as he had to have it on. At age 10, in elementary school, he won the award for the tidiest boy, he would always, undo his belt to tuck his shirt in properly, even on the corridors, it was a helpless ritual. Thanks to his mum, it has followed him to today. He would excuse himself to use the bathroom because he wanted to be sure he was in order, and couldn’t understand why guys would not notice that their shirts were jumping out. For the records, he hates to wear shirts that have to be tucked in for the above reasons. Secondly that he’s not particularly a slim person, a slightly thickset lower abdomen and a very fleshy bum *yea very grabable*.

He would look at every mirror he walked past, clear image or not, anything that would show a recognisable reflection, even his phone. He can be unbelievably vain. Some women cannot compare to him, not even with number of perfume bottles owned. He brushes his eye brows too. He can't totally be blamed, he’s good looking and people confirm it almost on a daily, even guys. He admits compliments massage his ego and he loves it, that’s why he wouldn’t want to let anyone down.

If there was time, he would ensure that he knew exactly what he was going to wear to whatever occasion. He tries to be careful. With other things, he could be said to be suffering from that kind of OCD, just like Beckham.

In spite of all this, he loves wearing t-shirt and jeans with slippers *not flip-flops please*, palm slippers, thank you. He selects undees that have waist bands that make statements. His painstaking selection makes regular clothes look like a million bucks. He makes NEXT look like Ted Baker, or so he would love to think. He’s not rich or so much of a spend thrift but he’ll pay for it he wants it dearly, of course the Jaegers and Ralph Laurents are reserved for those occasions. He can’t afford to look like everyday.

He has only just recognised that the entire world was not out with binoculars like it was the Ascot Racing, watching his every step on the streets, maybe indoors, yes. It has occurred to him that he’s just a guy with regular clean clothes like the rest of the world. His jeans are shredded at the bottom and scrapes the ground on which he walks, one other has a gash somewhere.

Yesterday to prove to himself he stopped in the middle of Oxford Street and pulled at his crutch to adjust his underpants that had gotten twisted his pubic hair and was causing discomfort. However, he would rather die than try that anywhere in his home country, least of all, city centre. He strives for sophistication amidst his spontaneity, even speaks of himself in third person.