Chapter 11 - Gay Dave, Sunday

Blimey, last night was messy. I’m not surprised - it was an odd mix of people, and from the start of the evening there was a feeling that things were going to kick off. I just wasn’t expecting it to get so drunken so quickly!
Honestly, I felt like death when I woke up - dry mouth, dirty skin, gritty eyes, matted hair, aching limbs - there wasn’t one part of me that felt good. I’d have loved to have slept through the day, but Danny was wandering round the flat singing along to some girly pop shite. Cheery twat. There’s no need, especially not on a Sunday morning. But I guess 11 o’clock is hardly morning, so he had every right to. I tried hiding under the pillow for a bit - to block the light out as much as his cheeriness, but it didn’t work so I gave up and stumbled off to the shower.
The water felt good, washing away the dirt although it did nothing to relieve my tiredness. God I felt rough, it was going to take more than a fry-up to bring me back to life! I could hardly look in the mirror as I cleaned my teeth and rearranged my hair - the light was too harsh, and made the bags under my eyes look worse than they were. So I concentrated on my teeth, letting the mirror steam up and doing my hair my touch. In truth there was nothing to it - wax on hand, warm it up, slap it on my head and push it round till it looked artfully mushed up - bed hair really, which is ironic as that’s what I’d had before I got in the shower.
I headed back to my room, dressed only in a towel, which got an appreciative whistle from Danny. He was taking the piss of course, I was no more his type than he was mine. He had a thing for tall hairy blokes, which ruled me out since I started shaving my chest. God, the grief he gave me when he found out, you’d think I’d murdered someone! I only did it as an experiment - some bloke at the gym mentioned it, said I’d look more toned if I lost the hair. I thought it was a chat up line to be honest, and after having seen him in the shower I rather hoped it was, but things never progressed any further, even after I’d taken the plunge and done away with my fur. He gave me a big smile when he saw it, but we’ve not really spoken since. So much for a chat up line then. He was right though, it makes my pecs look even perkier, although that’s mostly due to the hours I’ve been putting in down the gym. I never thought I’d take to it like I have, but I’m pretty compulsive about things so as soon as I started I got completely obsessed - bought all the kit, read all the magazines, even started to eat a little better. Of course nothing could persuade me to give up the drink so a six-pack remains a pipe-dream. But it’s been good fun, and I actually feel a lot better for it too. And the looks I’m getting now certainly make me feel better.

Danny was preparing some complicated vegetarian lunch, involving more types of bean than I knew existed. He invited me to share it with him, knowing I’d say no, opting instead for the first part of my hangover cure: orange juice, a cup of tea, chocolate and crisps. It wasn’t lunch - just something to get me through the next couple of hours until my head cleared and I could make a proper food decision.
Ten minutes later I was dressed and ready to leave.

“Where you off to Dave?”
“The gym Dan, wanna join me?”

As if - Dan didn’t do gyms. He looked like he ought to do yoga and cycle everywhere, but I’d never known him take any exercise in all the years I’ve known him. Unless you count browsing in second-hand bookshops as a sport, in which case he was a world class athlete. He grinned at me, knowing how stupid my suggestion was.

“No thanks mate, wouldn’t want to cramp your style in the sauna”

Cheeky fucker. He had this idea that all I did was sit in the sauna for an hour cruising strangers! Did he think these disco tits grew themselves?! I’m not saying I never went into the sauna - on days like today it was a must - sweat the alcohol out of my body, by the time I got out of there I’d be a new man! And, yes, sometimes I did chat up blokes in there, although they were invariably straight blokes who were after someone to show them a good time while their wife looked after the kids. But I had a strict ’no married men’ policy - it honestly wasn’t worth it - the last one was so grateful for a wank he decided he loved me and started stalking me. God knows what he’d have done if I’d have actually slept with him! It was only when I threatened to tell his wife that he stopped bugging me, although sometimes I think I see him watching me in crowded palaces, which I guess is just paranoia.

“Not with this head mate, the last thing I want is a shag. A good fry-up and twelve hours sleep more like. And one of your neck massages if I’m lucky.”
“No problem, if I’m here when you get back I’m sure I can help you with that. You sure you don’t want food before you go?”
“Food, yeah. But that bean thing isn’t my idea of food! Right, I’m off, be good!”

As if he’d be anything else. Bad wasn’t in Danny’s repertoire. It’d be annoying, but he wasn’t smug about it, he was just thoroughly nice. He seemed like an odd choice of flatmate, but I was desperate to find someone to pay the rest of the rent, and cheery singing aside he was quiet and tidy. And he had some cool friends, who always seemed to be doing really odd and interesting things then coming back here to tell him about it. And once they started on the wine there was no stopping them - you’d think they were slightly worthy, dusty lefties, but get half a bottle red inside them and they’d be singing and dancing like everyone else. And they never made a mess!

The gym wasn’t that busy when I got there - Sunday lunchtime was a good time to go if you wanted to miss the crowds. Everyone else was at lunch or still sleeping off the night before. There were a couple of meat heads in the weights room, their necks thick as tree trunks but there legs woefully underdeveloped - somebody should have told them early on to make sure they worked out all of their body equally, but it was too late now and they looked like the weight of their necks alone would snap their legs. All that grunting as well, how stupid. And those silly little gloves they wear when they lift weights. Honestly!
I jumped on a cycle, slipped on my headphones and spent a happy fifteen minutes looking at the arse of the bloke on the cycle in front of me. It was one of the bonuses about the gym - lots of fit men in shorts! Next up the treadmill, so I switched the music to disco and ran for half an hour. By the time I was finished my shirt was soaked and my head had started to clear. I may even have been singing along, which is a bit of a gym faux pas, but there was nobody about anyway do it didn’t matter.
Then it was off to the machines - the chest press, shoulder press and then off to the mats for sit-ups. I closed my eyes and kept crunching until I couldn’t do anymore - I never counted, preferring to keep going until it hurt. Then resting and do it all over again. I’d never get the six pack I wanted, I just wasn’t disciplined enough. Perhaps if I’d eaten Danny’s bean stew it might be more achievable, but life’s too short, and until you’re naked who can tell anyway? Then onto the stepper for fifteen minutes, just to make sure I keep a firm bum. Don’t want that heading south now I’m getting older do we!
After a few stretches it was time to hit the showers, which were deserted - no surprise there. And then the sauna. The heat hit me as soon as I opened the door, taking my breath away. But once I’d sat down for a few minutes I got used to it. There was no one else there, so I took off the towel, it only made me feel hotter and sweatier, which hardly seemed possible - I could always hide under it if anyone came in, not that that was very likely.

I think at some point I must have drifted off, because I certainly didn’t notice the other bloke come in. Unless he appeared as if by magic. Neat trick if you can manage it. He was sat opposite, eyes shut, humming to himself. I took advantage of the moment to check him out - good arms, slightly flabby chest, bit of a tummy, but it was the shaven head that did it for me. Then he opened his eyes and caught me looking.
“Alright mate”
The grin on his face was more welcoming than you’d expect, and I suddenly became aware of the fact that I was naked and he wasn’t. I reached for the towel.
“don’t put it back on because I’m here. In fact I might even join you.”
This wasn’t typical straight bloke talk. Although actually come to think of it it was very typical of a particular type of ‘straight’ bloke. I checked his fingers, and there it was - the wedding ring! How desperately unoriginal it all was, and yet did I have anything better to do on a Sunday afternoon?