Very few straight men find amusement in encountering another living, breathing male who happens to be completely naked.
Whatever the circumstances — cinematic, theatrical, sociological, social, personal, and worst of all, sexual — no straight male in his right mind, no matter how liberal, has relished the idea of being in close proximity to a man in his birthday suit.
Although always delighted by the sight of young and pretty females — especially those who show off more skin than usual — many men remain uncomfortable when confronted by a fellow male who has chosen to trump your garden-variety tabloid centerfold by displaying his willy willy-nilly.
This unfortunately pretty much describes my recent experience at the low-end gym I patronize.
While performing the second set of my elevated leg raises — an exercise which I am forced to do inside the men’s locker room — a fellow gym buff sideled up to my right, took a deep breath, and took all his clothes off, underwear included.
He then scoured his bag for a towel which he, perhaps by force of habit, proceeded to sling over his shoulder, oblivious to the fact that his crown jewels were within the visual range of everyone, including obviously myself.
Despite the easy accessibility of his package, I — with my unblemished record of staunch heterosexuality, to borrow a Seinfeld phrase — was not particularly interested in inspecting his specifications.
After all, everyone in the locker room possessed essentially the same biological configurations except that he couldn’t — and wouldn’t be able to — examine ours in the same way we could his (that is, if ever we intended to do so, whether individually or as a group).
And so, like all males pretending to be sophisticated enough for this sort of thing, I closed my eyes, praying that by the time I opened them the surreal penile apparition would either be restrained by cotton underwear, covered by a towel, or for lack of other options, relocated somewhere private, free to roam around without causing injury to anyone or anything and/or sustain any damages.
Unfortunately, this proved to be complicated.
Halfway through my exercises — with my eyes looking straight up — the subject in question emerged from the shower room, still unaware that slick willy resulted in everyone else’s discomfort.
As a result, I lost count of my leg raises, ruining the beginnings of a great workout, no thanks to a man in a birthday suit.
(Originally posted October 20, 2007 in a separate blog)