Gym Slave

1: Incident

I was sitting outside, in the front patio of a favorite restaurant, when the incident happened.

I had been casually regarding two men at a nearby table, thinking how attractive they were. My friend Carmen, seeing my look, had leaned towards me and murmured, “I think they’re straight.” I decided she was probably right, but still held out some hope.

“I can still look,” I replied, continuing my evaluation of their physical attributes. I decided that it was their airthat made them most attractive—their confidence, strength and easy-going miens, their sense of goodwill, all of which were distinctly masculine. Further, these qualities were not out for display; they merely were there, quiescent—and thatmade them all the more alluring.

One of the men was more or less facing me, but looking along the sidewalk, watching the passing pedestrians. Suddenly, his energy changed. He leaned forward and nudged the elbow of his companion, who turned in his seat with a deliberate casualness to look, and I saw hisenergy change too.

I turned my head, and saw a truly stunning woman walking along the sidewalk towards us. I glanced back at the two men, and saw that they were still entranced. Then I looked at the woman again—and it struck me that there was somethingthe three had in common, though what that was wasn’t immediately evident.

The woman was pretty, yes, and attractively proportioned: long legs, an hour-glass figure, and what is called “stacked.” She wasn’t elaborately dressed, but her clothes did emphasize her figure: shoes with a bit of a heel, tight jeans, and a similarly tight sweater. But, more than that, like the men, it was her air that put her, so to speak, over the top attraction-wise.

The heels gave her movement a certain elegance, and she moved with a definite bounce and confident air, aware of how good she looked. But she wasn’t arrogant about it; there was a sense of what was, if not playfulness, then an openness and slight willingness to tease, as if she were saying: Okay, boys! Go ahead, take a good look!

I looked back at the two men, and saw that the “boys” were definitely doing just that. They were gazing appreciatively and with the same air of openness, but with a definite eagerness too. If they had been dogs, their tongues would have been lolling and their tails wagging fiercely. In fact, the man facing me did have his mouth slightly open. I almost laughed aloud.

Nothing further happened. The woman continued walking, came abreast of the patio, and passed on without a pause in her step or so much as a glance at the men, as far as I could tell. And the men, they simply turned as she passed, following her like compass needles, without making any remark. When the woman was gone, they both reached for their drinks and grinned at each other. And that was it. Yet the effect on me was such that it almost broiled my brain. It really opened my eyes to the intense richness of the traditional heterosexual activity that used to be called girl-watching

I saw, or rather felt, as I never had before, just how intensely pleasurable that sort of thing was, for both parties. The woman evidently enjoyed being admired and the men delighted in the act of admiring. It was a stunning example of the great heterosexual dance—from which I, being gay, was excluded. And so, after the initial excitement of witnessing the incident, my thoughts and mood gradually turned to a somewhat somber and even slightly bitter sense of envy.

As I gazed at the two men, again taking in their attractiveness, the guy facing me happened to notice my gaze. He looked at me, his expression slightly puzzled. For a second or two he seemed to take me in, then he dismissed me, entirely without hostility or judgment—but also without anything in the way of interest.

I felt myself flush at this, and looked back at my friend, who was regarding me through slightly lowered lids—her practice when she was really studying something or someone.

“What?” I said, somewhat challengingly.

But she only raised an eyebrow defiantly, and shook her head.

“Don’t pine after what you can’t have, Marc. You won’t find happiness that way.”

I took a sip of my drink, and then asked, “And how willI find happiness?”

She studied me for a few seconds. “Well, not by sleeping around the way you do.”

I flushed again.

“It’s not my fault,” I muttered, taking another sip. “Gay men don’t tend to settle down.”

“Some do,” she replied and, reaching out, put her hand over mine on the table. “And you need to.” She gave a slight smile. “You need a husband, Marc.”

I frowned, then asked defiantly, “Why’s that?”

Carmen looked at the two men and then back at me, considering.