Tonight I was in the locker room at the gym (so many of my blog entries seem to begin that way), when I noticed that one of the handsome young men who regularly frequent the gym was pulling down his underwear unexpectedly (rarely do the handsome ones show what we all want to see). So of course I was drawn to the sight. One could sense a flutter in the crowded locker room, as if the birds were stirring in the canopy of trees above, though I suppose that was imagined by me alone—my own private flutter. And so he did pull down his underwear, and I got a look at his nicely rounded butt as I entered the room and approached him from behind. I found an empty locker behind him and saw his full moon, nicely shaped, though tanned and completely hairless—two strikes against it, though it was still a fine sight to greet me. As no one had a view of me, nor of my wondering eyes, I was free to stare, and so I did as I loaded my things into an empty locker. When the young man finally covered himself, I looked up, and there in the distance, standing naked in the large open shower beyond the young man, was an older man staring at me staring at the lovely exposed ass. There was no way to cover my own greedy eyes. He knew what I was doing and what I was thinking, and he didn’t like it one bit. His eyes told me that. I don’t blame him, I guess. It seemed almost criminal afterward, what I’d done, the lurid gawking. I had to convince myself afterward that I hadn’t broken any laws, that it was unfortunate (that I’d been caught, that is), but that people look and are looked at sometimes. Big deal. I’ll no doubt stare again if given the chance. I half expected the older guy to tell the young man about me, so that I’d be confronted, accused, fingered, outed hostilely by one or both of them there in the gym. A part of me fantasizes these scenarios in which ogre straight guys confront me about being gay, and I admit it happily, or at least I admit it unflinchingly. (In fact, I sometimes also imagine situations in which women confront me with accusations of leering at them, or of being sexually inappropriate, and my brilliant retort is, “I’m gay.” What more needs to be said? Of course sometimes I do leer at attractive women, but they don’t need to know that – I’m simply gay to them and so couldn’t possibly find them sexually appealing.) Well, anyway, my approach to the situation was going to be to appeal to the young man’s vanity. “Yes, I’m gay. You have a great ass. How could I not look?” or words to that effect. Doubtfully effective if actually used, but for a second or two that was where my mind was going.