Wednesday 06 June 2012

I’m not big into changing rooms. And I don’t mean I’ve got an issue with that TV show from years ago where Carol Smiley and Handy Andy nailed some MDF to a perfectly good wall and painted a dog collage on it. In fact I was a fan of it for a while; I have no idea why, I was young and makeover TV was new and fresh. I digress.

I meant I don’t really like the rooms where you get changed with other people. Just not a fan of male nudity. Hands up, I’m not saying it’s a sign of a well adjusted adult: I just don’t like to raise my head from tying my shoelaces and see a cock or arse pass by within inches of my eyes and nose. It really is that simple.

I realise they are a necessary evil of gyms/swimming baths/naked-wrestling-with-your-uncle-rooms. But that don’t mean I have to like it. At football the other day I was getting into my kit (yes, I do use them – I do try and wear my football kit and tracksuit underneath my work clothes but some days I don’t have time in the morning so have to do it the conventional way) and some old guy came out of the shower. And then just stood around naked after he’d dried. He was right at the other end of the room so it wasn’t too bad.

Then he walked down the room with no towel on, towards the toilets around the corner from me, with his old man cock bobbling. I know because I was tying my shoelace and looked up as passed me with his old man cock at my eye-level. He then went into a cubical – he’s naked here people, head-to-toe naked – and emerged seconds later and walked back to his fucking clothes. This isn’t normal behaviour. I don’t care what everyone thinks is OK in gyms, this is not OK. Put some fucking clothes on if you’re moving about you scratty old bastard. What next? Just nipping to the shop while you dry off in the nude?

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