And then he flipped over, supporting himself on his palms, his obvious erection filling the front of his shorts.Īt that point someone else walked into the sauna, a middle-aged Asian woman who took a seat and studied her lap. How could I not? He was clearly performing for me. Then another sideways glance, just to see if I’m looking. He flexed his taut buttocks, the fabric of his silver shorts perfectly cupping his glutes. And then he started doing pushups, balancing himself on a wooden bench, the pushups intensifying as he propelled himself off the bench to clap his hands and then back down again, pressing himself into the wood. Sauna etiquette - in this mixed-gender, suburban gym - dictates that I turn away, look elsewhere, study my fingernails, and I did, but he was hard not to eye aslant he was just that good looking. We were alone in the sauna, and he started pacing a bit, periodically catching my eye. Slightly tanned, very toned, his sauna-induced sweat riding the curves of his muscles, wending its way down valleys left vacant by the readily apparent absence of fat. I say “kid” for he must’ve been in his early 20s, so a kid to me. And then the even stranger come-ons from young men, at times actively pursuing conversation at, say, my hipster barbershop, then asking for my name while perusing my body up and down, giving me a good old-fashioned look over.īut perhaps the biggest surprise came when, lounging in the sauna one evening after a workout at my gym, a young shirtless blond kid started cruising me. But really, I was more perplexed than anything. “Oh, thanks,” I muttered as I returned to my bicep curl.
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“Hey, that’s a heavy weight - you’re making great progress! … Hey, looking good! … Hey, I’m keeping my eye on you!” I didn’t know how to respond so am afraid I came across as dismissive. At first, it startled me, the somewhat blatant commenting on my body at the gym, such as a middle-aged woman’s frank interest.
Other people seem okay with it too, or at least I surmise as such from the uptick in interest I’m experiencing. I’m not done yet, I tell my body - keep moving. I exercise to keep myself flexible, for, as we age, the body tightens, the joints wanting to solidify. Instead, I will always be something of a bear (a larger hairy gay man, for those not in the know). I will never have a slim figure my teen twink days are long gone, and I won’t do what it takes to get them back, no matter how over-valued such a body type is among some gay men. And I go to the gym regularly, but not because one of my closest gay friends, another middle-aged gay guy, says I should.
But I’ve held my own, now married with my partner of over 20 years.
I do not recognize myself in our glossy magazines or on the television shows that desperately pitch gay stereotypes, however gorgeous, to a public looking for decorating tips. I am not, given the particular standards and values of the gay community, a looker. My head is large, my ears protrude, my eyes cross, and my paunch wages a constant battle with my inner thin man for control of my somatic psyche. I have been a very unconventional looking gay man for the majority of my life. Yes, an unusual experience, for many reasons. (But perhaps he protests too much, you might think. I have found the experience largely amusing, perhaps even a bit unsettling.
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MY MIDDLE AGE has been full of surprises for me, not the least of which has been unexpectedly becoming the object of some sexual interest.