Working Out in Str8Land

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Now I live in Fort Lauderdale and go to probably the gayest gym in town not for the sights or because I feel more comfortable being surrounded by my bros – seven of out 10 are 40+ and more there to chit chat and see and be seen than lift – but because it’s one of only a handful of gyms near me that comes free with my health insurance.

Well, as you know, if you follow my posts, I spend my summers in rural PA in a small town which borders on rural upstate New York, as alien to Fort La-de-da as the Amazon Rain Forest is to Pluto’s ice-encased moon. And Planet Fitness, the top notch gym I go to about 20 miles away in Port Jervis, New York when I’m up that way, couldn’t be straighter – or at least more straight appearing.

The young male eye candy is enough to put you in into a diabetic coma, but what intrigues me is watching these older guys – no, not the ones who were ordered to exercise by their docs or else dig the hole and sit in their lawn chair and wait – no, the over 50 guys, some in decent shape, others wearing sweats from their high school or college glory days that don’t fit them any more with their baseball caps turned backwards, strutting around like jocks seeking conversations with these young perfect specimens of manhood. OK, some may be their coaches or family friends, or maybe even their dad or uncle, but what about the rest?

Now, I think, gay or str8, some guys who wanna talk to kids old enough to be their sons or grandsons do it to feel young and relive, in their own shitty little way, the days when they were that kid. Hey, isn’t this whole fucken society focused on the young, and those of us no longer young on nostalgia?

But then you’ve got the guys I wonder about. In the gay gym, it becomes pretty obvious by the body language and perpetual grin and stalking eyes that the Old Man would like more than just a conversation about the Cher concert with a twenty something that needs the abs machine like Marilyn Monroe needed bigger breasts. And on occasion it works. The Kid is looking for a daddy (mentor or moneyed.)

But what about these fifty plus gray haired men I see at Planet Fitness with these glued on grins and jockey stances as they chat with Pretty Guy? Hey, we’ re in Rural America where , from my experiences in trying to make a guy online, is as closeted, understandably, as you can get. Is this the way some of these “latent” homosexuals, gay men or befuddled bi-guys mentally get their rocks off? Not just gazing at all this male beauty than surrounds them, but actually making contact with one of them?

Could some secret liaisons actually come out of all this? (Who the fuck knows.) Or is it just all genuine jock talk?

Or, maybe, am I jealous I’m not talking to them too?

2 thoughts on “Working Out in Str8Land

  1. Sounds like you don’t have too much experience living in rural ‘Merica, cityboy ;). In places like FTL and NYC, etc, you don’t have to worry so much about hiding it, especially these days. But that town in PA sounds pretty much just like it is out here in the (mostly) sticks where I’ve spent most of the last 40 years of my life, and from what you describe in this article, that is exactly how you go about making a date on the down-low. Gay men are everywhere, but in most of the US there is no such thing as “out – n – proud”, or even just plain ole “out”. Openly hittin on a guy, especially in a place like a public gym, can still get you killed ’round these parts. Or at least beat to a pulp in the jon or locker room, and not just by the guy you was hittin on, but could be anybody that might have noticed and catches you off yer guard. It don’t matter what your state laws are, that shit ain’t cool out here. Even another gay dude – maybe the one you was tryin to make – will help kick yer ass, just to cover his own. That’s just how it is, there aint no changin it. You gotta learn the language, and it ain’t nothin like the language ya’ll city boys have. I’ve been to those cities, lived in em, don’t want nothin to do with em. No where close to bein the same and I prefer it that way. Keeps the pansies an sissies out. They don’t call Texas Beers, Steers an Queers just cause it sounds funny. Learn the language. 😉

    • Next time I’m man-hunting south of the border, I’ll hire you as my mentor/body guards. Seriously, the gay boys in the states who think everything is wonderful should spend a day your way for a little reality wake-up call. Thanks for the insight.

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