I’m in the gym in between exercises, sweating. I’m sitting on the Leg Press, the next machine for me to use. I see the other guys on their phones in between reps and wonder at what they are looking. So, this is my version.
There’s a couple of muscles queens here with me. Mid afternoon workout. I don’t if they suck dick, or lick snatch, truthfully, of course, but all men in the gym look gay to me. It’s a very gay place. The shorts, and the exposed flesh, and the sweat. The dance music pumps. They are grunting and sweating and wandering about.
I'm just sitting here questioning my life choices, watching a big lad on his knees pulling a lat pull down cable over the back of his head, over his shoulders, I guess. I'm watching his eyes squint, and his guns tense, his moves ever so reminiscent of ballet, but that's alright, when I am sweating and puffing and panting and my t-shirt is wet and stuck to me, in the gym, I am always questioning my life choices.
Of course, I imagined him in tights, his short shorts gave me a good idea what that would look like.
I laugh to myself at the thought of using mind power to make him get up and dance like a marionette. There would be ambient Japanese music playing, for a lyrical performance.
The walls are painted dark blue, and there are virtually no windows, I wonder if that is deliberate, or just a matter of circumstance?
I look around the room. I wipe the sweat from my face with my towel. Does it work like a captive cell?
Anyway, shake my head, this Leg Press isn’t going to work itself. Gotta go.
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