Today while I was jogging, walking, and crawling on the treadmill I saw the most beautiful man. He was riding a bike just in front of me and I could only see his face in profile. But dear Lord! He was scrumptious. And his calves were works of art.
I watched him finish his workout, stretch, and wipe down his bike. All the while my eyes were traveling from his gorgeous face, to his stellar ass, to his breathtaking legs. I can tell you every detail of the back side of the running shorts he was wearing.
As he went down the stairs and I wiped up my drool so I wouldn't slip, I suddenly realized something.
I forgot to check out his package!
Damn it. Damn it! So much for yesterday's resolution.
I spent the rest of my time at the gym looking for him. I was going to check out the front of those shorts if it was the last thing I did. But he must have left right after his bike ride and I missed him.
I now have more incentive to go to the gym than ever before.
I've discovered a flaw in my crotch-watching plans though. There is a very good reason women look at a man's face first. When you check out the package first, you can think to yourself, "Hmmm. Nice." But then you look up to see the face of the package owner and you think, "Ow! No! My eyes! My eyes!"
Men in their sixties with lower bodies that could belong to a much younger man, should not wear tight jeans to the gym. I mean, sure, kudos for him. He had the waist of a sixteen-year-old gymnast, but damn. I am traumatized.
I could have been checking out someone's grandpa's penis.