My girl recently got a new job (can you imagine? in this economic climate?) which offered her fantastic benefits. One of those perks was a dual membership to a high quality sports gym (in this city, that means one with a full-sized pool). For the past decade plus, i'd abstained from ascribing my monetary loyalty to a single center of recreation, instead staying fit and nimble through homemade methods. For both economical and rational reasons, i have avoided this atmosphere for the longest time. However, this offer was in fact too good to pass up.
A good portion of my perspiration is earned in the 'weight room' which is situated three floors above the cardio equipment. Almost exclusively, this weight room is the chief dominion of the male side of the species. This alone was the chief reason gyms quite repelled me.
I can't stand men. Plain and simple. Throughout my life, the mass majority of my social outlets have emanated from the fairer sex. I have very few close male friends as the interests that most men seem to attach themselves to offer very little to me. I do not watch football on Sundays (to those non-US readers, that would be the NFL and its upcoming "Super" Bowl). When caught in a conversation with a large number of XY-chromosoned fellas, i find myself saying little, and caring even less about what others actually say. Men in groups are lewd, thoughtless, and incredibly moronic. I've been witness to their remarks about an attractive female who passes by, lucky enough to survive with her panties in tact based on the slimy comments tossed her way. If given the choice, i would always choose the company of the delicate female creature.
Men in gyms are even worse than they are sitting at a table in a public park, people watching. They stare at themselves in the mirror as they curl the heavy weight in their grip, admiring the virility that bulges from every flexed nook and cranny. The huffing and puffing as they struggle to complete yet another body-shredding exercise stands as the single, biggest irritant i'm exposed to in this setting. I take this pageant of masculine excess as the main reason that few ladies venture up to the metal-pumping floor. Until just recently, this bothered me, feeling an inequality existed in the general fitness between both genders. And then, one afternoon, my sense of smell felt the need to weigh into this debate.
I have an incredibly attuned sensory system, with my olfactory skills exceeding all the other senses. I was squatting on the ground, performing repetition after repetition of what's known as the "Woodcutter's swing", which involved me tugging on a rope that was attached to a pulley further attached to a pile of weighted plates. In this position - legs spread, crotch front and center - i could clearly make out the dense, leathery scent of my musk. It wafted into the air, smelling exactly like it does when i'm engaged in some frantic, coital act. At first, i was startled - and very embarrassed. After all, i'd only been working on the resistance machines. There was no feminine stimulation that could explain my body's reaction. But then i began to piece it together. Watching these men grunt, gyrate, flex and heave, they were spending every ounce of testosterone they had in their bodies, and no wonder that someone doing this would give off the same perfume as someone who was mating.
With this in mind, it became very clear why this workout room was mainly a sausage party. Regarding the kind of behavior that takes place in this domain, I can clearly see the wisdom in those females who choose to avoid this overtly masculine cesspool.