Sunday 29 June 2008
Things which irritate me: still not having a fucking clue.
So after a mostly uneventful day-shift at the restaurant today with a couple of waiters I had never met before and who weren’t here when I was working during the summer vac, I gymmed alone this afternoon with all the regulars of the Sunday Old Farts Club. I have a love-hate thing going with the SOFC. On the minus side, they get in the way and they do fuck-all at the gym. The heavier ones just come to the gym to float in the pool – no actual swimming, just floating on their backs for half an hour, taking up valuable lane space – and sit in the steam-room, and the rest just come to sit in the steam-room and scare off the young guys by insisting on hanging around naked for hours on end for no good reason, making the kids (anyone under, like, 40) terrified that they’re being sized up for rape. I dunno, I guess they enjoy being naked and their wives don’t want them doing it at home, but do they have to do it here? It’s a gym, not a nudist resort. Sorry you can’t do this at your own place, but do you have to just hang around here? Get clean, and go home.
Also, they always want to talk about random shit because they’re clearly bored, and if it’s a white guy (hint: it is 99% of the time) it always devolves into the failures of government – which is fine, our government has not covered itself in glory in recent years – but this is always basically them trying to get you into a game of Let’s Be Passive-Aggressively Racist, which I don’t have time for. But I’m too polite to just not answer in the first instance, and I’m too polite to just be monosyllabic when I answer to put them off, and this is then always taken as a willingness to engage. It is absolutely not, and I need to train myself out of it.
On the plus side, since the buff Monday crowd and other in-shape kids never ever come through when the SOFC is in attendance, I am like the guy with the best body there on Sundays, which in itself is a terrifying thought. Bearing in mind my shape is maybe slightly above-average at best, given my lack of tone and slight love handles, but you can see the nostalgia and wistfulness in their eyes when I get into the pool or enter the steam-room. I am not even in the Top 100 on a typical Monday night, unlike Next-door Trevor who is probably Top 10 easily, but I rule on Sundays; and for the ego if nothing else it is very good to be the king.
Anyway, after my session doing a short run and some legs in the weights area, there was a youngish hottie in the steam-room. Not going to complain about that at all; it was a welcome and very pleasant change to the usual. Quite chatty, surprisingly open about not wearing a towel and having his bits on display which obviously I snuck a peek or two at, and he seems like a nice guy. He took the shower across from me when he came to shower, exiting the steam-room about a minute behind me, and he showered with his door open and chatted to me the entire time. We also dressed together, him right next to me. We were wearing the same brand of undies – Soviet, my go-to stuff. He’s kak hot in his, yowsers, because a reasonably large uncut floppy makes for a delicious bulge and no mistake, and he said I looked good in mine, which was flattering. He goes by Marcus, and said he hopes to see me again sometime soon.
Of course it was only when I got home did it occur that perhaps he was actually flirting, and that I was maybe in with a shout… useless fucking gaydar. theatrical sigh
-C
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