Tuesday, May 01, 2012
There's this very cute, petite Japanese guy at my gym, who always wears the tiniest little running shorts to show off his perfect runner's legs. He's at least forty, but he's in such good shape that his age just adds to his charm. Of course, I do everything I can not to check him out when he's there, but I'm not always successful. Especially when his back is turned.
I saw him last Friday, going through his usual routine of light dynamic lifts, as runners do. Just as I came up from a set of chest presses, he bent over to load some weights onto the bench press. And I got a full cheek. Creamy and muscular and unadulterated by any scrap of cloth.
I only managed to hold onto my weights by turning away and taking a deep breath. I did my last set and moved on to dips, trying to stay focused on my workout. But during my first rest period, he actually came over and spoke to me.
"Can you spot me?"
I'd never spotted anyone before, but I knew the basic idea. I got into position, had it suddenly occurred to me that people's lifting faces strongly resemble their sex faces. I'm pretty proud of myself for keeping it together. He started shaking and turning red on his last rep, and I just cast around for some broish words of encouragement, which actually did seem helpful.
He finished and thanked me, and we went our separate ways.
I realized later that that was the *only* heavy lift I'd ever seen him do, ever.
HE WAS TRYING TO FLIRT. WHY DID I NOT INTRODUCE MYSELF? WHY DID I NOT ASK FOR HIS NUMBER?