The shrill sound of Graham's alarm cut through the stillness of his dark hotel room. He groaned and flung an arm towards the nightstand in a poorly aimed effort to silence his phone. After a few loud thuds of his hand striking the varnished tabletop, he made contact with the phone screen and quiet was restored. His room was unnaturally dark, the result of the hotel's effective blackout curtains. Only a pale blue column of light glowed where the curtain panels met, letting in just a hint of the approaching dawn outside.
Without turning on the bedside lamp, he threw off the covers and dragged himself out of bed. He stumbled groggily into the bathroom, the fabric of his boxer briefs twisted from a fitful night's sleep – and no doubt from the strain of his slowly dissipating morning wood. He peeled them off and kicked them into the back of his closet, reaching into the built-in shelves to retrieve a pair of athletic shorts and an old t-shirt. He already knew today was going to be a rough day with the client, so he figured he may as well try to do something constructive before it all went downhill.
The fitness center was nearly empty when Graham entered at 6:15. Just one elliptical in the far corner was occupied by a young woman, her wavy blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She acknowledged him with a single nod, which Graham returned before walking over to the wall of free weights. He grabbed a set of thirty-five pound dumbbells and took a seat on one of the three adjustable benches that faced the mirror-covered wall. Setting the weights on the floor, he turned up the volume of his music, savoring the burst of energy the noise imparted to him, and began to warm up his arms and shoulders.
He felt the morning stiffness slowly lift from his upper body as he stretched. The music pulsed in his ears, drowning out any thoughts that might otherwise arise. Despite the early hour, this was usually his favorite part of the day, this pocket of time between his body rising and his brain fully kicking in. It was during mindless exercise where most of his worries or anxieties faded away – his job, his to-do list, the fallout from his collapsing personal life – and only the raw strength and careful movement of his body remained. It was somehow both peaceful and energizing, soothing and strenuous.
As he settled into his workout routine, he watched himself in the mirror with an uncharacteristic level of attention. Normally, in all of his routine trips to the gym, he hardly noticed his reflection, especially while out on the weight floor. He would sometimes catch a glimpse of himself in the locker room, appreciating the results of the recent pump, but he hardly ever watched himself mid-workout. He'd never been a particularly bold presence at the busy gym; he preferred to avoid drawing much attention to himself and he certainly aimed to avoid being that guy brazenly checking himself out in the mirror. He still rolled his eyes at those people, annoyed by their arrogance, puzzled by the shamelessness with which they took up space. That had never been him.
But here, in the nearly empty fitness center, he let himself indulge, let himself watch the ripple and flow of his muscles as he pressed the weights above his head; he observed his broad chest, which flexed and contracted as his arms opened and closed; he noticed the small strip of skin that appeared when he extended his arms, raising the hem of his shirt and exposing the light skin and dark hair of his lower abdomen. He allowed himself to watch his body in action, to imagine it as others might perceive him.
He found these observations strangely exciting, a welcome addition to the groundedness he already felt during his workouts. He always enjoyed feeling his strength, but seeing it in action was something else entirely. He wasn't sure why these details caught his eyes today, but as he picked up the dumbbells for a final chest fly, he heard the echo of a voice drift through his head.
“Looks like it's keeping you in good shape, though.”
Suddenly, he remembered Archie's comment, which had gotten lost in the remainder of the evening. He felt the flutter in his stomach as those words replayed in his mind. It was an innocent compliment – a generic reply to keep the conversation moving – and yet, Graham couldn’t ignore the impact that silly little statement had had on him. He pictured Archie's dark eyes, peeking out from behind thick lashes, looking at him, noticing him, seeing him.
It had been a while since Graham had felt seen by anyone. Recently he’d fallen into a habit of sulking around, of intentionally bracing himself against any unnecessary interaction. But Archie had pushed past that. He'd seen Graham’s gruff exterior and pushed right past it, looking him in the eyes without a trace of pity, asking him intentional questions about what had brought him into Archie's bar. Graham didn't know why that should have mattered, but he was running out of reasons to deny that it did.
As Graham returned to his room, his mind was unusually active – annoyingly so. Part of the reason he woke up early for a morning workout was the calming effect those forty-five minutes had on his brain and his body. But for some reason, today, they only seemed to rile him up. His mind flashed with images of flexing biceps and peeks of hairy abdomens, of tight black polos and pearly white teeth.
Frustrated, Graham stormed into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He peeled off his t-shirt and slid out of his shorts, standing naked in front of the mirror while he waited for the water to warm. As he looked at himself in the mirror, he was proud of what he saw. Since things had taken a turn, he had thrown himself wholly – almost obsessively – into a new fitness routine, a combination of powerlifting four days a week with two days of cardio. At first it had just been something to do, something to keep his body moving and his mind occupied, but when he started seeing some improvements in his musculature, his relationship to it changed. For the first time in his life, he’d allowed himself to want to be in shape, to want a body he was proud to wear around, to finally go out and get it. And after almost two years of this routine, the results were undeniable.
He still had a trim frame, but he'd outfitted it with a considerable amount of muscle. His arms were toned, his shoulders were broad and defined; his chest, while not huge, was sculpted and looked strong under a dusting of light brown hair; his stomach was toned, though he still retained a small, stubborn layer of belly fat. Brown hair, framed by the line of his obliques, trailed from his belly button down to a bed of thick pubic hair, beneath which hung a respectable, if not noteworthy, penis. (He'd had his own, separate insecurities about this part of his body, which he'd thankfully overcome with age.) His legs were lean and muscular, trained by countless miles he'd run, and – though he rarely acknowledged it – his butt had perked up into taut, round muscle that perfectly filled out a pair of jeans.
It was a good body.
It was the kind of body that, though he never admitted it at the time, he'd wanted his entire life.
It was an attractive body.
“Looks like it's keeping you in good shape, though.”
Archie's comment played in his mind again, and he felt a strange, sudden longing for Archie's approval of him here, now, naked in the bathroom. He'd missed out on the tight, trim body of his youth, he'd never had much to show off for his wife while they were married, but what he had now, he felt – he hoped – was still something worth desiring, though he no longer knew who the owner of that desire might be.
He looked at his left hand where the faintest echo of a tan line still appeared on his finger, visible only to those who knew where to look for it.
He hadn't yet given any serious thought to the idea of pursuing a new relationship, and the idea of dating again was enough to make him sick. Something about it seemed unnatural, untenable to him. As such, he remained in a cryogenic state of sameness, neither advancing nor regressing, content with early morning workouts and hypothetical desires, with a dormant sexuality occasionally stirred by quick foray into internet porn.
Normally, he was quite adept at keeping these questions at bay, and it irked him greatly that now, of all moments, that here, of all places, when he had gone to such extensive lengths to escape these kinds of existential musings, they should ambush him with such potency.
He stepped into the shower and felt the pellets of warm water hammering his skin. He closed his eyes and fully immersed himself in the spray, hoping the sensation would clear his head as it cleaned his body, but unfortunately his overactive mind was only spurred on by the rushing water. Behind closed eyelids, these abstract ideas took shape, adopting the form of flexing muscles and shirtless torsos. At first, he saw his own body, just now, standing naked in front of the hotel mirror, but as he ran his head under the faucet this image began to morph – he saw Archie in his bartender’s polo, the fabric pulled tight across his ribcage; he saw glimpses of men at the gym back home, half-acknowledged silhouettes of bodies in the locker room in various states of undress; he saw Logan, his college roommate, who seemingly refused to wear anything more than a pair of loose-fitting boxer shorts when lounging in their dorm room.
It was infuriating, this intrusion of confusing images. He scrubbed his face beneath the hot water in a vain attempt to wipe the pictures from his mind. Instead, he realized something which he had not noticed before: that the way he looked at himself in the mirror earlier, the way he'd snuck glances of men in the gym and other boys in school, even the way he observed Archie moving behind the way, were all the same. What that sameness was, he didn't know how to articulate, but there was something there in those furtive glances and stolen looks. Something that made him uneasy. Something he didn't want to think about this early in the morning.
Unfortunately, his body didn't want to cooperate. Under the warm water, his cock had started to swell, stalling at a distracting half-mast situation that wouldn't seem to go away. Graham didn't want to admit what had got him turned on amidst this swirl of confusing images – of men from his past, men from his imagination, his own reflection in the mirror. He blamed his travel schedule and the fact he hadn't relieved himself in several days, not since he'd gotten home the previous Friday night.
He turned around, letting the hot water massage his tense shoulders, and took himself in his hand. He didn't bother with any extra lubrication as he didnt want this to be about pleasure. No, he wanted this to be about relief, about giving his body the release it was obviously craving so that his wandering mind could get on track for the day ahead. He fell into quick, frantic, mindless strokes, his cock immediately springing to full attention, and tried to push the images from his mind with limited success.
As the pressure built, memories from Graham's life came rushing into his mind – his wedding night, his first time discovering porn, the first girl he kissed, his first orgasm when he was twelve, the first “purity talk” he ever got at church, the first time he noticed his pubic hair. The excitement, the confusion, the pride. It was an exhausting assault of ideas, accumulating into a powerful release that made Graham's legs a little shaky.
Afterwards, he stood there, breathing heavily, his hand still gripped around his subsiding erection. Emotion quickly drained from his mind, that familiar, comfortable numbness returning in its wake.
He finished his shower quickly and dried off, not wanting to unpack any of the thoughts or images that had filled his head in the last ten minutes. It has been a weird morning, and as he got dressed he could only hope for an easier day ahead.
The rest of his day felt like pulling teeth.
Though he’d hoped his morning release might have satiated him enough to get his mind back on task, he found himself almost constantly distracted: he stuttered when explaining processes, struggled to articulate effective questions, and totally glazed over whenever someone launched into a lengthy explanation of a problem they’d encountered before. By the time lunch rolled around, even the client had noticed Graham’s state of unrest.
“Hey Graham, you doing okay today?” asked Charles, the client’s project manager.
“Yeah, I’m alright. I’ve just…got some stuff at home that has been wearing on me today. I’m sorry, normally I’m better at leaving that stuff back at the hotel.”
“Nah, it happens,” Charles gave him a pat on the shoulder and a reassuring smile. “If you need to take some extra breaks today, feel free to. I know they've been a tough group. We’d understand.”
“Thanks, Charlie, I appreciate that. Really.”
He found a quiet booth in the corner of the cafe area to eat, hoping some solitude would settle his nerves. It did, at least to some effect. He chewed slowly, focusing on the meal in front of him – a surprisingly tasty wrap from some local cafe – taking steady breaths.
For reasons he couldn’t even remotely explain, he felt angry. His heart was racing, his face was warm, a dull pressure built slowly behind his forehead. He wanted to throw something heavy through one of the many glass walls that enclosed the public dining space. He was sure this glass was supposed to help the space feel more open and inviting, but it just made him feel insecure, put on display, like some animal at the zoo. He felt strangely self-conscious, as if the whole of the room could sense this internal struggle simmering away inside him.
Cautiously, he looked up and scanned his surroundings. No pointed fingers, no concerned stares, no acknowledgment at all, really. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and took a sip of water, feeling the cold wash down his throat.
Calmer, he surveyed the room. Tables of colleagues chatted jovially over nylon lunch boxes and brown paper takeout bags. He looked on with detached curiosity, imagining the various topics of conversation circulating in all these groups.
While he stared, his eyes settled on a young man getting a drink at the counter. He looked to be in his late twenties, with a broad and muscular build. His biceps bulged out of the sleeves of his crimson polo, his glutes filled out the seat of his khaki pants. As he turned around, Graham got a better look – his close-cropped, blonde hair and straw jawline accentuated a handsome face. He had a much different look than Archie, a stocky, classic, all-American vibe that looked like he just came off the football field, but Graham found this contrast all the more enticing.
It was several seconds before Graham caught himself staring, and a wave of embarrassment flooded through him. He shook himself free of this trance and left the cafe as quickly as he could without drawing unwanted attention. Ducking into a nearby bathroom, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. His face was calm, neutral, betraying no signs of a tumultuous interior.
“Pull yourself together,” he muttered under his breath.
The rest of the afternoon passed much the same as the morning, though Graham was able, at great expense to his energy, to pay better attention and lead a more productive discussion, so that by the time he exited the building and shuffled to his rental car, he could barely formulate a coherent thought.
He drove back to the hotel in silence, lacking the energy to find a decent radio station or select any music from the extensive library on his phone. Instead, he let his mind drift, relaxing from the hours of intense focus he’d just completed. His shoulders were tense, his back and arms stiff as he drove; something about the day put him on edge and he seemed incapable of letting it go.
So it was a pleasant surprise upon entering the hotel lobby and crossing straight to the bar and lounge at the back of the first floor when he caught the gaze of two sparkling eyes looking out from behind thick lashes, saw a set of pearly white teeth smiling at him, and heard a familiar voice greet him as he sat down at the bar.
“How are you faring today?” the voice asked.
“Better now,” Graham confessed, and, for what felt like the first time all day, he exhaled.
