I've never really written about unrequited lusting after straight men before, unlike some other bloggers, as I've always felt that a compliment that travels in one direction only, as it were, is a waste of time.
Well, sod it. This one deserves a special mention.
Since I joined the gym in Brighton, I have, not unsurprisingly, crossed paths with some fairly juicy men in the weights room. There is, of course, one that I've been taken with more than the others. His build is not the traditional big hulk type that I normally like, it's more sinewy and 'neat', if that makes any sense. He's tall, dark, swarthy, and very handsome, appalling cliché completely deserved. His course of study indicates that the right side of his brain is active (always an attractive quality in a man, I find), and his accent (foreign) is quite musical. Whoever it is that gets to have sex with him is the envy of me. I'm normally loathe to use the word 'smouldering', as it sounds like such a sub-Mills & Boon expression, but in his case it works perfectly.
I generally wouldn't describe myself as a shower-room stalker, or at least I'd like to think I'm not, but if a straight guy was unquestioningly allowed into a woman's changing room, he'd need to be dead from the waist down to not be tempted to check out the other girls getting dressed.
So it goes. All year, I generally only had fleeting brushes with this guy. He's the only one I enjoy waiting for when he's using a bench I need as it means I get to look at him, and as a person who doesn't like staying in the gym longer than is absolutely necessary, that's saying something. However, the time that I spend in the changing rooms has never coincided with his showertime.
That is, until last night.
God Day-am!
He looks amazing with his clothes off!
So with that tasty picture in my head, I went off into town to get bladdered.
(He was right behind me earlier when I first sat down here, but now he's gone. Eye candy, come back!)
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