06 September 2007

Nobody's Bulletproof

A knuckle-biting experience, both exhilarating and unnerving, which I had last week and briefly referred to in my entry about Office Store Boy breaking my heart:

The lockerroom, which used to be a den of anxiety and terror to me, is now a normal part of daily routine that holds little trouble or temptation, despite the occasional pleasant view I may acknowledge as a thing of beauty and from which I then move on (hey, it's a benefit of being the way I am--what am I going to do? Use the ladies' lockerroom? Run home, 15 minutes away, just to shower? I don't think so). Anyway, most of the time, I don't feel particularly "gay" in the locker room. It's just part of working out. So you straight guys out there who are getting all weirded out, don't. Chances are you do nothing for me anyway. Most don't.

Eh, if you just found great comfort in those last two lines, you may want to stop reading here. Every once in a while, yes, you're bound to be checked out by some homo. Let's just get that out in the open. Deal with it. Straight guys are even often glancing here or there for whatever reason, I've noticed, so you're not fooling anyone but yourself if you think only homos sneak peeks. Even so, I sometimes catch some guy checking me out, and it most often grosses me out to be looked at that way. So believe me when I say it's a little awkward to continue describing this experience, but the show must go on for the benefit of humanity.

The story (as written the night of the encounter):

At the gym tonight, I left the shower to go back to my locker, unsuspecting of what I was about to experience. I was walking along in my towel, humming to myself like I tend to do when life is mundane or blandly content. As I rounded the corner by my locker, I faced initial dismay and a moment of frustration at one of the more annoying, sometimes horrific, lockerroom experiences: the naked man bent over right in front of my locker.

Generally speaking, no guy wants to find some drippy butt toweling off between him and his locker. Especially the kind of nasty, hairy butt which suddenly makes manflesh remarkably repulsive and makes you want to grab a woman and kiss her as soon as humanly possible to try to seal some of the newly-sparked hetero inside before it has a chance to wane.

However, my dismay immediately evaporated upon realizing this was no such butt. This butt was young, probably early-to-mid twenties. It was surprisingly well-shaped. Smooth. Grabbable. It was attached to a tall, lean swimmer's body with beautiful skin. At the top was a very pleasing face and silky brown hair that screamed to be tousled vigorously.

Normally, I have little trouble maintaining composure or minding my own business, even in the face of remarkable beauty or, dare I say, hotness. And I haven't been especially hot to trot lately. I've been in kind of a downswing, actually, where the old hormones are concerned. But in this instant, as I choked on the "Pardon me" I timidly squeaked out to this example of pure physical beauty, and he said a quiet "sorry" and moved his stuff out from in front of my locker, I actually felt weak in the knees, and I forgot that I wasn't hot to trot. I actually thought about sending signals to let him know I was impressed...you know, just to see if he was "family".

Of course, the thought of actually finding out if he's family is strangely pointless because even if some part of my mind fantasizes about him being flattered, I'm not about to do anything about it.

But in that moment, I wished I wanted to do something about it. When he lingered in his nakedness, seemingly giving me every opportunity to take in the beauty before me, I wondered why I should deny him the satisfaction. But no, it's creepy to stare, and this is exactly what everyone dreads in the lockerroom: having somebody actually lusting after you when all you want is to take care of business and move on with your day. ...but he didn't seem to be moving with any haste. Maybe he wanted me to look or at the very least didn't mind at all. Maybe he wanted to send a subtle signal, standing there in all his glory not two feet from me and seemingly oblivious to my conflict. He was patting his towel on his neck and just leaning his pelvis on out there, accentuating his...abs.

I suddenly felt very out of my element. I felt a little ill-equipped to withstand should it become clear he was interested. What if he did do something to indicate an interest or struck up a conversation? Would I have the strength and willpower to resist the drive I was feeling? I told myself 'yes, of course,' but I'd never been so unsure. It was unnerving. I warned myself in my mind, "See? This is how it can start. This is how people get into trouble. Are you so strong as to be impervious? Are you invincible?"

Don't get me wrong, I can't even fathom hooking up with some random guy, no matter how beautiful a physique he may have. But were he to strike up a conversation, and were that to lead to another conversation, then to going out sometime or him teaching me some swimming methods or whatever, and then if I found out he was family, then hanging out alone...at what point would I put the brakes on and decide this was going in the wrong direction?

Fortunately, I think I must generally send strong enough "Don't even bother" or "I'm ultra-repressed and unaware of my own sexuality" signals that people don't try. I have heard about guys meeting and ending up making out the same day, but I just don't get that mentality. ...but tonight was a glimpse into it, perhaps?

I suppose what I'm getting at is that I have rarely felt that way, so tempted to give in to lust if the opportunity had presented itself. So vulnerable and caught off guard. So seduced by physical beauty. So uncomposed. I still can't imagine anything happening, even if it should happen again. And I imagine if there's ever a next time, I'll be that much more ready to handle it. But that's because I care about determining boundaries and triggers because, as tonight's experience has reminded me, nobody's bulletproof, and though mistakes and learning processes are a part of life, I'd rather not do something in the excitement of a moment on which I would later look back with regret...but if you're going to regret something, regret something with a stud like that! ....no, bad me!


Abelard Enigma said...

This post brings back memories. After I joined the church in college, I truly believed I was 'cured' and continued to believe such as I went on to serve a mission and then got married in the Temple. But, a couple of years into my marriage, it was almost the same exact scenario that you described, in a locker room, that brought home the fact that I was, in fact, NOT 'cured' [sigh]

Kengo Biddles said...

Thanks for the reminder, O-Mo; you're absolutely right on the money with this one.

the new kid said...

What are you trying to do?! That read way too much like erotic fiction. I kept telling myself, "I'm preparing for a mission, I need to stop reading this!" I think I need to block your blog. Just kidding, but you crack me up.

-L- said...

Especially the kind of nasty, hairy butt which suddenly makes manflesh remarkably repulsive and makes you want to grab a woman and kiss her as soon as humanly possible to try to seal some of the newly-sparked hetero inside before it has a chance to wane.

Hilarious. Too hilarious.

This is so completely familiar to me, I could have written it myself. Except that it wouldn't have been funny my way. ;-) You are fun and easy to read.

SSA said...

Wow. That was really refreshing honesty. It has me thinking about the way I act in the locker room. It also has made me realize that there is "family" all around me wherever I am. Even in the RB. I'm not sure how I feel about this.

Kengo Biddles said...

I generally just tell myself they're all non-family, and shower and get out as soon as I can.