Cruised or not cruised?

Boy have I got a story for you. I can barely believe it myself.

Let me begin by reminding you that the town in which I live is tiny. So tiny in fact, that we have only one gym. This means it cannot be referred to as a "gay" gym, as so many gyms appear to be in hip-n-hap'nin towns like London (see Muscler's review of these). Therefore, the jocks that frequent this gym can safely be assumed as straight, rugby playing types.

This I don't mind, and I have perfected the art of muscle-watching without letting my drool get out of control, and I think I do a pretty fine job of appearing 100% focussed on the iron while covertly appreciating the beauty before me.

Last night there was a particularly fine muscle-bound boyo in the gym, so fine in fact, that I really struggled to control that drool. But I did, and I was propelled into what turned into an excellent arm workout.

Tonight, off I toddle to gym, when lo' and behold, fine-boyo appears. Tonight is shoulders for me, there I am perched under the smith-press covertly spying the boyo through about three mirror reflections (no one will spot me staring that way!) Next minute, over he comes and asks me to spot him - doing triceps. I manage to splutter out a garbled "sure" - garbled because I cannot believe this vision actually chose me out of everyone there, but mainly because who has heard of a spot on triceps? Am I missing something?

Off I go, I am the most awesome spotter ever! "Come-on, one two, it's all you! Nice work" etc etc. And I catch myself with a grin as I head back to my bench. I enjoyed that. Back to the feigned-focus-on-iron. Can you believe it, not twice, not three times, but FOUR more times he asks me to spot. On the third he introduces himself, and in the most jock-like voice I could muster without spluttering garble again, I manage to produce what sounded like my name.


The last time I get asked to spot, he informs me that its a really tough workout, and he is going to have to give up soon. Ha-ha I laugh, knowingly and in complete sympathy - not really sure why he telling me this. Of I go.... iron-focus-etc. I finish up with me shoulders, and head off to the showers, because I am going to a concert this evening. I don't usually shower at gym, but there is no time to head back to the farm.

As I exit the shower, who shows up? The vision, wrapped in only a towel. I nearly faint on the spot. Never have I seen a such a sight in real life before (of course, on the internet such visions are prolific).
"Calling it a day" he says to me, as he slides passed me into the SAME shower from which I have just emerged. Holy mother of all things holy! "wkfrst" I reply while my alter ego in another universe is saying "Nice pecs man, how did you do it? Need help lathering up?"

I went to public school, there was no physical education, and so public nudity is not common for me. I have heard that jocks who went to private school have less of an issue with this (post rugby shower-ups etc), so this is probably what is going on here.

He begins to shower, and I get a full view of his huge back and amazing butt, and I am hearing moaning sounds obviously from his enjoyment of the shower. I sit there putting on my socks, wondering crazily if this is for my benefit, or if this is one of the incredibly frustrating straight jocks that mess with poor gay guys' minds. Is this an invitation to join in, flirt a little, get his number perhaps? Who knows.

It takes me an inordinate amount to time to put on my socks, and in the meantime I am gloried with the blurred vision of his frontal nudity through steamed-glass. Pathetically I eventually have nothing left to clothe myself with, and am forced to pretend I am fixing my hair, drink my protein shake while I wait for him to exit the shower so I can get one last glimpse. Which I do, uttering once again "wkfrst" and a garbled, "see you around".

This kind of thing has NEVER happened to me before. So I implore all you experienced comrades out there. Was this a cruise? Or was this just an innocent straight guy, washing up after gym. Either way I enjoyed it immensely. But if this was a cruise, have I completely missed my chance at what would be my first encounter with the sexiest man alive, because of my immensely eloquent "wkfrst"?

The most burning question of all is, is this guy local (in which case, chances are good I will see him again in this small town) or is he only around for the festival (see previous post)?

Moral of the story:
"Wkfrst" is not a pickup line. Remember to practice an alternative. 20 times an hour, for the next 12 hours.

Right, off I go to see if he is out at one of the four bars in the town... here's hoping.