i got up four hours ahead of my 9 a.m. waking time in order to join my fitness instructor asian at the gym. this, despite not being able to lose consciousness around midnight as i preferred, right after greeting my friend dylan a happy birthday. i know what--rather, who--was sabotaging my pursuit for forty winks way past 1 a.m., but my masochism assured me that i'd love it when the guy unwittingly uses his wizardry on me. more on this charming sorcerer in the future blogs. the prospect of getting my baptism of fire at the workout station kept me quivering in anticipation since the previous day. okay, i reveal: it's more like, getting my baptism by a gym instructor. i have no idea who among the buff nurses, accountants, adpersons, ad infinitum i've had intimacy with in the past were also fitness teachers (last i heard from hotqt, he showcases his greek god torso to be able to land a job at any fitness center), but to be sure, asian is. then again, his calling card read to the effect of graphic designer-marketing hand. talk about double exposure of postmodernism: these guys i mention are not only multi-hyphenates, but also queers of varying sorts. some of the supermanly gay guys even take queerness to a liberating degree by fragmentizing the myth that gays follow no more than the swishy, transvestite, faggoty template. the visit to the gym, as i correctly guessed, was not the proverbial walk in the park. what does one expect with a grossly uncoordinated human like me? it was just an accident of nature that i was blest (or cursed, depending on whose perspective) with an actively metabolic body that never requires slimming. anyway, my hunky instructor, after a short stint of narcissism, had me perform a warm-up (in more ways than just the usual, hahahaha). i was made to struggle against a machine, sitting on it in different positions, twisting my legs and arms, stretching my back (if those acrobatic styles sound sensual, pardon my homoeroticism). finally, when asian inquired which bodily part i would like to enlarge, i cupped both hands on my chest, and half-expected him to laugh at my reference to silicon-type breast augmentation. he didn't get the joke, but he did make me pick up the five smallest pairs of dumb bells to flex my muscles with. i struggled with my first set of twelve counts, thrusting the equipment from my ribcage forward. my biceps were sorely trembling when i managed to finish all five sets. i complained of difficulty when my personal trainer (hahaha, an allusion to the bel-ami m2m's) asked me to repeat the chest exercise, only lying down this time instead of upright position. my horror became consummate when i learned that the horizontal position also required five sets, twelve counts using the same dumb, dumb bells.
comparative literature major from the state university, boyish-looking, 5'5", slim, brown, clean-cut, clear-faced, originally from nueva ecija and tarlac, hilarious, smart, flirtatious, literary-inclined, temperamental,in the brink of OC-ness. "'di ba, ako'y tao lang na nadadarang at natutukso rin...?" drop me a line at yahoo messenger: firstname.lastname@example.org; email: email@example.com;
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