Since the online man-products in my life have been so disappointing lately, I’ve found myself obsessively crushing on men at the gym. And when I say “obsessively,” I’m not exaggerating in the least.
But he’s adorable enough to get any lady’s fallopian tubes in a knot. Since he’s one of the trainers, he has a flawlessly sculpted body that would’ve sent Adonis running to his plastic surgeon for a touch-up. And now that I’ve worked out which sessions that he runs, it pretty much determines my gym schedule, my social schedule AND my work schedule.
I am always there.
Stalkerish? Yes, I know. Creepy? Undoubtedly. Sad? Well… a little bit.
I just can’t help myself. He’s GORGEOUS.
He is exactly what his nickname suggests.
While my passion for chocolates is lukewarm at best, caramel has always been a weakness of mine. And if caramel au beurre salé were to take on human form, it would look exactly like this delectable young man. His skin is just… divinely caramel-like.
But try as I might, I can’t seem to get his attention. He is apparently immune to my standing stretches, most of which entail my bum being on display for all the world to see. So far, my inept eye-flirting has only succeeded in freaking him out a bit. And when I tried to strike up a conversation with him the other day, he just looked terrified and scurried away toward the treadmills.
It’s always nice to know that a man finds you abhorrent.
The Dance Instructor
I’m not talking about ballerinas, tutus and cotton candy pink.
This man is well-versed in the art of street dancing. Hip hop HOT, I tell you. He just oozes coolness. Those baggy trousers… that bangin’ upper body…
And white boy can MOVE, yo.
Which I find very, very sexy.
It also doesn’t help that he’s a big winker. Every time he winks, I drool a little. And sometimes I swoon a bit.
The other day, he was teaching us how to pop and lock to T-Pain’s “Take Your Shirt Off,” and he joked (with a wink, of course), “Hey, maybe I should.” He grabbed the hem of his shirt, as if he really was about to rip it off.
My heart stopped.
And even though he didn’t strip down (tarnation!), that didn’t stop me from picturing his naked torso and drooling all over the place as I bent over to catch my breath.
Then I slipped on the drool puddle when I went to grab my towel.
I’m irresistible, aren’t I?
There is a great benefit to being obsessed with my gym crushes. Thanks to them, I am motivated to hit the gym every day. And thanks to them, I look great naked. Too bad none of them will ever know that…
But despite that, my gym obsessions have made me realize the following not-so-flattering things about myself:
- I am a creepy stalker who trolls the gym for man candy.
- I still can’t eye-flirt.
- Like my grade school days, I still have a knack for making the lads run away in horror.
- I produce an inordinate amount of drool. I wonder if I should get that checked out.
My gym crushes have most likely come to the same realizations about me. And all three of them (especially Gay Lover-Boy!) are probably thinking the same thing every time they see me lurking around:
Gosh, it’s not so nice when I’m on the receiving end of that…