“All I’ll be up in the gym, just working on my fitness…” And, getting hit on, apparently.

ATTENTION GAYS! A new sauna has opened in Covent Garden. It’s called Nuffield Health. OK, so it’s not actually a sauna. But it might as well be.

Sunday Morning: 1.15pm (well, that was morning for me)
At £65 a month, I was expecting bouji. And bouji it was. All kinds of equipment for muscles I didn’t even know existed, pool, sauna, steam room, jacuzzi. And no Muscle Marys to make me feel bad about myself. If anything, among the old straight men – I felt extremely hot. And its hard to feel attractive when you’re sweating like a bitch. An hour in the gym, half hour in the pool, then time to relax. I’m not being vein but I did notice that I was getting a couple of glances…
No, must be imagining it. This is Nuffield, Covent Garden.

*Walks in to the steam room.
Rapidly followed by a ratchet old queen. She sits in the corner facing me and I could feel her eyes penetrating my skin – she better believe that’s the only thing she’s gonna be penetrating. Then he ‘adjusts himself’ and shifts all 230lbs of himself closer. I don’t wanna look at him, ’cause err’body know that you be looking, and you’re sending signals. But I can see movement out the corner of my eye, so totally have to look in his direction. Yep, he’s groping himself. The the worlds oldest man, with the world saggiest tits, pulls down the world smallest speedos, to reveal… the worlds smallest cock. I’m not a size/age/fitness/fashion queen by any means, but I wanted to laugh. I covered my mouth, to hold in the raucous laughter and turned my head away, like anybody with manners would do. I mean, I knew it was autumn, but I thought acorns were supposed to fall out of the trees, not out of Santa Claus’ pants.

At which point he must’ve mistaken my yelp, for a gasp of delight, because he starts furiously wanking (with two fingers), and in the broadest Scottish accent you can imagine,
“Ahh c’moon therre’s nooo-one herre”. Yes there is, there’s me – and there’s a little too much of you. I want to crack a joke about how he should be careful getting hard because the rush of blood to his dick might make him pass out, but can’t bare to bring myself to such extended cruelty without at least two bottles of wine in my system. I wanna leave, but really want a steam. Hopefully, if I just ignore him his pride will be dented and he’ll just put his dick away, pick his tits up off his knees and leave. Nope. He edges over and reaches towards my lap. =|
…And, I’m gone. Not before telling him off first, obviously.
“This isn’t Chariots, where’s your decorum?” *salontro’s out.

This was moments before I was being cruised by skeletor in the jacuzzi. I don’t wanna unleash the inner bitch, but why, when you look like a wilting willow tree, are you gonna come to a straight health and fitness spa/gym, when there is a sauna bar 30 seconds away? Okay, there isn’t a place to sit or chez lounge in the Sauna Bar that isn’t littered with cum staines and packets of lube, but they do serve alcohol. And okay, the only bubbles in the Sauna Bar swimming pool are coming from the Sadam Hussein’s hanging hole but I’m assuming it’s okay to inappropriately expose yourself to boys young enough to be your son. And okay, Sauna Bar smells more like sweat, sex, shame and shit than it does of chlorine and cleaning agents, but you’re not gonna get cussed on a blog for cruising there. *Snap.