Close Encounters

This morning, I dragged my ass to spin class – obviously looking stunning with no make-up and a sweaty back. I was just thinking that it was the perfect time to run into a former one-night stand, when it happened.

Well, shit.

If you recall from my original post, sexytime with this gentleman was not the best. Actually, it’s hard for me to truly evaluate since my “sample” only lasted about two minutes. I am still baffled at how he was taking an advanced spin class, but had such little endurance where it mattered.

I sat in the back of the room and looked at his screen so that I could judge him when he wasn’t going as fast as the instructor told us to. Mostly because I’m bitter that he never gave me my earrings back. It’s not like he’s wearing them or anything.

Suddenly, everything the instructor said took on a sexual meaning. She walked around the room monitoring our resistance and cadence (RPM), as only the most pushy and annoying of instructors do.

“Watch that cadence!” she said as she checked his screen. “Get it up!”

My thoughts exactly.

As class ended, I sought refuge in the locker room. I hope this isn’t going to become a daily occurrence, because that could be problematic. Boys should really come with a disclaimer on which gym they work out at. Sigh.

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9 thoughts on “Close Encounters

  1. WHBM says:

    Dear RFTL,

    My first official response to your delightfully tenacious blog! As promised, I shall shine some West Hollywood insight into what is, after thorough perusal of your writing, the life of a sassy gay man with a penchant for baking wrapped in the guise of a jilted, but ultimately triumphant, beautiful young woman with a talent for online Carrie Bradshaw-ing.

    Though we may or may not be unequivocal soul mates in unfiltered banter in real life and we may or may not share intimate relations with a certain “Bang Bang” harbinger of sparkling perfection (did she ever tell you her hotmail account moniker was ‘party_priss?’ I know, I just vomited a little too), I shall pretend like I have never met you for the sake of journalistic objectivity.

    Your predicament is a daily one in WeHo, as practically every man who attends the gym is gay/gay-for-pay/gay-looking, and if one is capable of direct eye contact and has proper access to a penis, one surely has a multitude of one-night stands populating one’s abs class. All stereotyping aside, I personally keep the goodies under strict lock and key but can shine some light from tactics shared with me by friends who work-out in the midst of their little black books:

    A very close amigo of mine who we shall call “Ice” hooked-up with this insanely ripped Australian hunk of meat but, as he is prone to do, dismissed him as a “mindless, slutty LA drone.” Pot calling the kettle black, of course, but as Ice is MY plastic friend, I go along with the delusion. They routinely attend a spin class together – I inquired if that was awkward, to which he responded…

    “Well, yeah, but here’s what you do. You make sure you arrive earlier and take a bike in front of him because your ass and thighs always look amazing in cycling as opposed to him turning around and seeing your sweaty, red face. Plus, spin room entrances are normally situated toward the back, so it’s on him to feel weird since he’ll be bound to choose his spot after you and quickly leave before you. If he doesn’t, you have the power to casually notice that he’s there and prepare a stinging, nonchalant glance. It’ll be on him to say something or not.”

    Apparently there’s a science to all of this, because Ice helped write the inane manual, but it’s all appallingly effective. I just texted him in regard to this post to clarify if the situation called for adjusted tactics being for the female variety. He replied…

    “Um, it works even better because straight men are even more predictable and stupid than gay ones. A girl can look like complete shit at the gym but all he’ll remember is that she has a vagina and he wants his dick in it. If I was a girl I’d just skip the class and eat a fuckin’ croissant in front of him. I have a pussy, so I’m in charge.”

    Gay logic – honest, though not sure how practical it is in your world, RFTL. My advice: always remember that a gym is essentially a church for body worship, and regardless of the state of your dress or demeanor, you can always find a warranted excuse to look hot for no reason when running into an ex, especially if caught in a flippant conversation. Men tend to situate themselves near the bench press or free weights when engaging in sporadic small talk; for women, I’d recommend retreating to the stretching/abs area or anything involving lunges or squats if you’re one-night stand enters the vicinity. I’ve found myself inexplicably hypnotized by girls bending and contorting their limbs and I don’t even like that type of cuisine.

    In conclusion: gyms are like Halloween, the only place you can be overtly sexy without having to explain yourself. So hold your head and breasticles up high and let him be the self-conscious one.

    Cheers,

    WHBM (West Hollywood Brother from another Mother)

    • How do I even BEGIN to reply to this?? I am so glad you have broken your silence and decided to comment. And so glad you are willing to divulge embarrassing details of out “Bang Bang”s past.

      The guy got there first this time, but I am going to have to plan ahead from now on. And maybe get a tighter ass for him to stare at. Maybe if he’s lucky he’ll catch a glimpse of side boob mixed in, too.

  2. Baker Bettie says:

    HAHA! I can’t hear about spinning classes without thinking of this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V9–CwUk70Y

  3. zkhei says:

    Ugh this is too funny! Bumping into an ex when im looking like crap is one of my worst nightmares hahaahaa

  4. Miss Tasty says:

    Your blog cracks me up! Love the honesty

  5. Haha- love this! This is exactly the reason I never went to the gym while I was at university. Well that and the fact that I was too lazy.

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