Bloody life

Was it John Lennon who said something like "life is what happens while you're busy making other plans?"

If he was alive today he may well have said "life is what happens which then fucks your blog up...".

No, seriously - where has the fucking time gone? Do you know when life completely takes over and you just don't have time for anything?

I walked into the gym at 9.30pm this evening.

Since Monday it's been getting later and later because the pile of work has been getting higher and higher.

I have to tell you though - since Monday, for three nights out of three at the gym, I've spotted the same guy wanking in the showers.

You would have thought after the second night he would have packed it in and headed for the (non-gym) sauna?!

And speaking of packing it in - seriously, I would have said something or tutted, which I usually do, but bloody heck he had an enormous willy!

The first night I wandered in on him and another guy - opposite each other and I nearly applauded, it was seriously big. The other guy was not at all attractive.

Deciding to shower opposite him I glanced a few times (it's funny how you can sometimes be transfixed) but then left. The novelty / excitement of the gym shower communal wank has seriously worn off.

I reckon he's not yet 30 and also quite short which made the size of his member look doubly impressive. The word 'dong' springs to mind. It's enormous.

So onto the second night and he's there again with his powertool and then again tonight.

When I left the changeroom for the gym this evening I spotted him heading into the showers. An hour later I got to the showers and he was still there.

I felt like passing the hat around, to raise some money for him to take a trip to the Chariots (London gay sauna). With equipment like he had he wouldn't be short of suitors.

Which leads me to wonder if size is important? Can I admit something?

Okay, once I was with this guy and things were getting frisky and we were about to start interacting and I reached into his pants (though not before he'd reached into mine first...) and felt around, fumbled and... er, !

If I'd clenched my fingers his stiffy wouldn't have poked out past the top of my fist.

And you really try not to react because it's so obvious what you're reacting too and then your emotion turns to pity and the mood dies a death and he must feel like utter shit (again).

But god, do you know - there's a converse to this story too. Once I've plucked up the courage I'll tell you about it.