Dot in the Sky (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dotinthesky) wrote2005-12-27 04:50 pm
dotinthesky) wrote2005-12-27 04:50 pm
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Holiday Visit to the Swimming Pool
The swimming pool was closed for Christmas and Boxing Day. By last night, I was bursting with cabin fever energy which I hadn't been able to dispel with walks to Regent's Park or kamikazi missions into Whiteley's shopping mall. At night, I kept pushing my bedtime till later hours, doing 10-hour shifts in noddie land and waking up close to noon. Then it was that anticipation to slip on my swimming trunks, tuck my feet into my flip flops, slide the goggles over my head and strut to the "Fast and Furious" lane like there was no tomorrow.
Finally today, at 14:30, feeling flash, I shoved my membership card in front of the nice girl with penciled eyebrows, tucked my clothes into locker 978, douched, stretched and slid into water warmed by the piss of loners who despise Christmas. I cut the chlorine waters, back and forth, my left chest hurting because I was going to have a heart attack at the age of 30, and there was only half a baguette with butter and some clementines churning in my gut. I didn't mean to look so fast and cool in the pool, but there was nobody there to stop me. Three boys broke the rule and joined our adult pool; the lifeguard got a mosquito net and tried to fish them out; their spiderly legs hit back and forth as they dodged the lifeguards pole with their giggles and smirks that we all remember from when we were 14.
I finished my run, heaving, and up I went into the showers. A guy in the corner, taking his time underneath the hot water, looking for company and finding none in me. Classic case of gay man mistaking the circumstances and the situation. Harry buttocks, teddy bear fuselage sown into his chest, untrimmed everywhere and the eyes of Alec Baldwin. Later, when I had my glasses on and I was fidgeting with my touque in front of a mirror, I caught him drying after an hour-long spell in the tiled room. He looked downcast and resigned to spending his holidays alone.
Finally today, at 14:30, feeling flash, I shoved my membership card in front of the nice girl with penciled eyebrows, tucked my clothes into locker 978, douched, stretched and slid into water warmed by the piss of loners who despise Christmas. I cut the chlorine waters, back and forth, my left chest hurting because I was going to have a heart attack at the age of 30, and there was only half a baguette with butter and some clementines churning in my gut. I didn't mean to look so fast and cool in the pool, but there was nobody there to stop me. Three boys broke the rule and joined our adult pool; the lifeguard got a mosquito net and tried to fish them out; their spiderly legs hit back and forth as they dodged the lifeguards pole with their giggles and smirks that we all remember from when we were 14.
I finished my run, heaving, and up I went into the showers. A guy in the corner, taking his time underneath the hot water, looking for company and finding none in me. Classic case of gay man mistaking the circumstances and the situation. Harry buttocks, teddy bear fuselage sown into his chest, untrimmed everywhere and the eyes of Alec Baldwin. Later, when I had my glasses on and I was fidgeting with my touque in front of a mirror, I caught him drying after an hour-long spell in the tiled room. He looked downcast and resigned to spending his holidays alone.
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I tend to swim at leisure rather than olympic speed myself. This is 50% due to hardened disproportionate personal grudge; as I once tried to flirt with a girl who had actually swum in the olympics (by looking after her pet rabbits when she went home up north for christmas), but it got me absolutely nowhere in romantic terms. And 50% because I'm a crap swimmer.
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