Wednesday, September 14, 2005

I Spy Rectus Abdominis

We are all creature of habits. And as a gay man in the Navy, you never looked at a guy for too long. If you would see someone attractive , you would quickly look away to something else. So it's hard for me to look at a guy and just stare at him. It's not right. And in the gay world one of the big things is eye contact and I really suck at that.

But I'm getting better.

During the bike trip at one of the stops we made, we ran into another biking tour group (they were camping instead) and we started talking to the tour guide for that other company. He was tall and skinny, like most bikers, with curly, messy black hair. He was of course wearing the requisite biking shorts and a biking jersey. But because of his tall, long body, there was maybe a 4-5 inch gap between the jersey and the biking shorts which almost looked like low-rise biking short if there is such a thing. So there was this tiny bit of exposed lower abdomin. It was tight, pale, and it had just a little bit of fur on it. And I COULD NOT STOP STARING AT IT. Thankfully other people were talking to him and I just stood there looking at it. And I kept thinking, look somewhere else, anywhere else, MUST STOP STARING. But I couldn't. He finally turned to walk back to his bike, and while his derriere was amazing, the spell had been broken and I had control of my facilities again.

Tonight, I went to the gym for my workout with my personal fitness nazi. Tonight a new guy was there working out. Tan, dark hair, little bit of a gotee, really nice biceps. But I really try not to be the typical gay man and cruise guys at the gym so I reverted back to my Navy days. Eyes in the boat. But for some reason, we would move to do different exercises and he and his trainer would follow us. At one point he was laying down on a bench and via the mirror I could see that there was this little gap between his orange shorts and the tight little white tank top he was wearing. And again I sort of froze. My trainer thought I was resting, but I was again paralyzed looking at his tight, tan, and a little furry lower abs. My trainer rescued me when he dumped a 60 pound dumbbell on my leg and said, "Inclined Presses." Gee, can't I just sit here and look at his pretty abs?

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