The Parasocial Network Ch. 03

I start off on the ab abductor and then work my way back through the machines.

Nowadays I'm getting better at not giving Ivan any of my attention. It has been a few weeks since that night and we still haven't spoken which was beginning to burn a hole inside of me.

Ivan was training another older man, named Daniel, who would shave his genitalia by the sink and sit legs akimbo in the sauna. I'd begin becoming familiar with all the old pervs in the locker room, but didn't want any of their reputations to rub off on me, so we didn't flock together. Daniel would follow Ivan around from machine to machine with his begging puppy dog eyes and I couldn't help but think how obvious and pathetic he looked. There's no way I ever looked that desperate.

Mid-day and the gym isn't really active. Couple of housewives squeezing a workout in before picking up the kids and night shift grunts expelling the last of their energy. The locker rooms are barren aside from the sounds of a few shower heads spouting. I strip down to my sagging flesh and wrap a towel around my shrinking muffin, grabbing my toiletry bag and heading towards the showers. Two men were already occupying the space. One massive black dude and another clearly worked-out, but not as defined Latino, standing under neighboring streams, despite the abundant vacancies. They both turn and look at me when I walk in and then look back at each other, so in an attempt to not fit into the stereotype, I take a shower next to the entrance, facing opposite of them.

I captain the faucets until the heating is preferable, and begin scrubbing off the dead layer of epidermis. To be honest, I didn't even think much about Ivan at this point. Or, at least, I didn't think as highly of him as I once did. He was incredibly flawed and jejune and it was only a matter of time before that high horse he was perched on Christopher Reeve'd him.

I turn around to rinse the suds off of the back of my neck and see the Latino kid, bent over sucking off the black man -- his hands, interlocked between the sopping strands on the back of his head as the water bounces off of his coils.

The Latino guys brown pupils oscillate towards me and he pops up. I do a 180, facing back towards the faucets. Under the high pressure of the water beaming, I hear whispering behind me. My mind is telling me to leave, but I'm frozen in place. I feel a pulse beating in my lowest organ. I'm fixated.

I turn my head slightly, and in my peripherals, I can see that the Latino is bent over again, with a mouth full of black cock.

You read about these things happening and hear the same stories, but in my sixty-five years beating on this earth, I'd never experienced something so... overt. Sinning with flair. A heat frays my veins. My body is flushed of anything pure that may have existed inside of it. I don't even notice that I'm staring rudely until the black man, in a pinched-yell tone, says: "Hey, old man. If you're going to perv, at least be on the look out."

I wanted to point out the hypocrisy of him calling me a perv, but you can't really complain when you're standing in a buffet line. I lamely look out of the entrance checking that nobody is approaching and give a weak head nod. With this new trust system set up, the Latino guy finally squats down and goes all in, and I shake my anxiety about being a creep and give them my undivided attention, pulling at my weak erection. The black fellow stands as tall and erect as a statue, as the Latino worships at the alter and I play tourist.

A couple of teenage boys walk in with the rap music playing so loud under their headphones, you can hear if from a mile away. I clear my throat and we all fumble under our shower heads. A couple of lockers closes and I hear the music fading and fading. I peek out the entrance and see the last one's basketball shorts sagging towards the main floor. I give a nod and they give each other a nod.

The Latino runs under the neighboring shower head and puts his hands on the wall, sticking his ass out. The black guy grabs a bottle of body wash and squeezes out a generous amount. I can see sloshes of it splash between his legs. He thrust his waist and I hear a covert exasperation of ecstasy en Español.

¡Ay papi que rico!

The men begin pumping rhythmically, at a pace which almost seems choreographed. The flesh clapping and water squishing begins causing a clamorous friction, competing with the omnipresent pop music blaring throughout the gym. The more they get into the less concerned they are, which makes me worry even more about getting caught. I peek out the entrance and nary a soul had decided they needed changing. The moans get louder and I begin to shush the guys but they're lost in their nut. I clear my throat again, but they continue pounding away.

¡AY PAPI QUE RICO TU PITO!

I clear my throat again, but I don't exist at this point. The clapping gets louder and the squishing gets messier, until we hear:

"YOU FUCKING GUYS CUT IT OUT IN THERE!" somebody yells from the bathroom stalls. "GOT FUCKING KIDS COMING IN HERE!"

The two men look at each other wide-eyed and then turn their embarrassment towards me, shifting the blame of their recklessness towards me. I slink out of the showers towards my locker, fumbling to thumb my combination in the lock.

"FUCKING CALL THE COPS ON YOU SICKOS!" I hear from the stalls.

I put on my clothes in record speed, forgoing moisturizer and deodorant as the cotton sticks to my wet skin. I realize I left my toiletry bag and decide that it would just have to be more detritus for the lost and found bin.

When I turn the corner out of locker room entrance, I bump headfirst into Ivan's rock hard tit and stumble back, dropping my unzipped gym bag which sends a couple of bottles of supplements rolling around. Ivan squats down to help me collect them.

"You know these are a waste of money," he says, holding up a bottle of fish oil. "A step up, at best, from being an actual placebo. Better off just eating the real thing."

"They help me feel like I'm taking control," I say, grabbing it out of his hand and stuffing it back into the bag.

"Whatever help trick you," he responds, walking off. "Enjoy that fish burp."

"Hey!" I call out after him. "I've been meaning to talk to you."

He turns to look at me.

"It's just... You know, we haven't spoke since... How have you been?" I manage to finally mumble out.

"Great. Fantastic," he says, raising his eyebrows and nodding his head. A moment of silence passes through. "Is that it?"

"No," I respond desperately, not wanting that to be the end of it. "We haven't spoken since that night. I just wanted to know how you were doing?"

"Great? Fantastic?" He answers again.

"You just seemed really sad at the end of the night, I just wanted to talk about it--"

"I honestly don't remember that night," he cuts me off. "I guess it reconfirmed that I'm not a brown drinker."

"Oh c'mon, man. I've been drinking for the past fifty years of my life. I know that game."

"Then it sounds like you need to supplement these workouts with an AA meeting if you're serious about taking control."

"Jesus Christ!" I exasperate, probably a few decibels too high. "I literally held you in my arms as you were crying--"

Ivan grabs my arm and pulls me further away from the soccer moms power walking on the treadmills.

"Will you keep your voice down," he exhales angrily. "It wasn't a real cry. It was a drunk cry. The kind you wake up in the morning feeling ridiculously stupid about."

The two guy that were fucking in the showers pops out of the locker room entrance with an urgency. They spot me talking to Ivan and shoot me with furrowed brows all the way until they're out of the door.

"Ivan, I think we touched on something that you've been suppressing. I think you really need to talk to somebody about these things and I just want you to know that I'm here if you--"

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" he asks, moving in closer. "You're not some angel that was sent here to save my soul from eternal damnation. You're just a horny, old man who laid eyes on me and wanted to fuck, and now you got what you wanted, so what more is there?"

"It's means more than that with me. Look, I've been around for a long time. Hell, back when I was young, we didn't have all the privileges being gay that you guys do--"

"Congratulations, do you want a senior discount at Andrew Christian or something?"

"I just wish I had somebody to talk to," I say, ignoring his swipes.

"Well, you're right, I do have more privileges." he agrees. "I have hotlines, people telling me 'It Gets Better', corporations telling me how important I am every June, Lady Gaga, and all that. If I needed to talk to somebody, there are plenty of people willing to listen."

"But, I--"

"I'm not a kid. I know exactly what I'm doing with my life and I enjoy it. And if I end up having to bump my head a few times, well, that's life. That how you learn." He turns and to begin walking away, but looks back at me. "By the way, this is the best you've looked since we met. You're doing a lot better without me."

I sigh as he bounces into the locker rooms.