Mar 24, 2017

A Hookup with the Surly, Crazy-Eyed Guy with the Mortadella+


Philadelphia, March 2013

I'm at the gym at my job in a small private college near Philadelphia, having a bad day -- most days in Philadelphia are bad.  And now the guy on the butterfly press is just sitting there, playing with his cell phone.

You're supposed to rest about a minute between sets, but not on the machine.  Get up and walk around, or better yet, go do a set for another muscle group.

But the undergrads at the campus gym often just sit there for 5 minutes, rendering their weight training useless and jamming up everybody else's work out.

It's annoying.  Besides, I like to do my sets in a specific order, alternating upper and lower body, and working down from the big to the small muscle groups.  So I always walk up, motion for them to unplug their earphones, and say "Can I squeeze in between your sets?"

They always get up and let me "play through."

But today the guy on the butterfly press glares at me, eyes wide, teeth set.  "I have two sets left," he growls, ready for a fight, daring me to make a move against him.

Nobody ever has had that reaction before!  This guy must be crazy!

I should probably retreat, but I'm annoyed by the territoriality.  "Well, how about if I squeeze between the sets, while you're resting."

He grumbles...but says ok.  He jumps up and stands there glaring at me while I move the weight to double what he was doing.  And keeps glaring during my set.

You're supposed to walk around, or at least look away.

So after my set, instead of walking around, I stand there, getting in his face.

He's an older student, senior or grad: mid-20s, tall and thin, tattooed, shaggy black hair, short beard, deep-set eyes.  Crazy eyes.  Wearing a black t-shirt and silken gym shorts that show no basket.

Suddenly I find him very attractive.  

He's not at all my usual type.  Maybe his surliness is attractive -- you're into guys who aren't into you.  Or maybe it's because I'm approached by twinks all the time.  Finding one who doesn't cruise me, who displays no interest, is refreshing.

Or maybe it's just the challenge.

He says "It's all yours," jumps up, and moves to the preacher press.  I finish my next set and move to the calf press next to him.  I put on four 50-pound weights.  He pretends not to see me.

The full story, with nude photos and explicit sexual content, is on Tales of West Hollywood.

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