Working Out Issues: Meet the Meat

After noticing him a couple weeks ago, I finally got up the nerve today to talk to the cute new guy at gay church, aka the gym. Actually, meeting guys at gay church is fraught with some of the same problems as meeting them at regular church (though I've never found this latter venue particularly cruisy).

Primarily there is the problem of malfunctioning gaydar. False negatives: this is rare, but some gay guys hide their homosexuality really well; some don't have to "conceal" it at all, because they simply don't exhibit any of the typical tells. [Sometimes I code switch unintentionally at the gym from a slight gay drawl (nasal tone, higher pitch) to the most masculine voice I can muster. This is accompanied by a shift in my diction as well: instead of "no, go right ahead. I'm not using those weights," I might say, "naw. Naw, dawg, it's coo." (I think this stems from a subconscious desire to fit in with the all the macho gym rats.)] So some guys don't always show their true colors (pink and lavender). False negatives are basically missed opportunities.

False positives: this is more common (for me, anyway), but a little more dangerous. Because I desire for every attractive guy with a beautiful body to be gay, I often see signs where there are none. E.g. "Is he checking me out? I really think he's staring at me." (He probably is staring, but only because I was staring first.) Or maybe a guy seems to be following me around the gym, but this is only because he's working on the same muscle group that I am, and therefore requires the same machines. Or maybe a guy's leg is a little closer to mine than most heterosexual guys would be comfortable with. Etc. Pursuing a false positives has the potential to be very embarrassing, so it's best to leave a guy alone, unless you're pretty sure about him.

Anyway, this new guy was in a tight white tank top and black basketball shorts--and very stylish black Pumas, which gave me a sliver of hope. Because of a ridiculously--and enviably--low body fat percentage, every fiber of his shoulder muscles were visible; they emerged from his tank top like a pair of the most delicious grapefruits I have ever seen. Smooth, creamy skin; long eyelashes; straight, dark hair. Totally hot.

I approached, and asked in my most masculine voice about the effectiveness of the oblique exercise he was doing. (Inquiring about particular exercises or garnering workout advice is a fairly standard tactic of mine.)

"Try it and see," he invited me. Things were looking good.

I did a few reps, and could definitely "feel the burn" in my obliques.

Jonathan introduced himself, and said he was a new trainer at my gym. He asked whether I were interested in a free 30 minute trial session. Then he whipped out the big guns (no, sadly, not that big gun): he smiled. Half an hour of exercise with a personal trainer, plus one-on-one attention from one of the most gorgeous men I'd ever seen? Yeah, this would be a decision over which I would have to labor.