In the corner an attractive woman on the stair machine, paying me no attention, my rowing however spruced up in case she does. Another woman coming in, tights, bare midriff, workout top, pulled-back hair, white plastic water bottle. Standing in front of the mirror, stretching, warming up, looking like a dance teacher.
The scene far removed from porno setpiece. If this were porn, the women would be panting, they’d turn away from their workouts, find a place on the floormat, start kissing each other, remove clothes, beg the men to join them, invite multiple serial penetration.
Adding some iron to the bar, thinking. This porn psychology, starting with beautiful women, willing and somehow sex-starved, what does it tell us? Almost nothing about women, really. Other than that porno starlets are happy to play along with male fantasies.
But standard porn relocates the fantasies, abstracts them from the men, introjects them into the women. Their bodies squirm in ecstasy not to please the men but because it’s what they themselves want. Or rather, are desperate for. The men are accessories. The women are brazen, they do the initiating.
More iron on my bar, a satisfying clanking sound. The extra weight plus growing fatigue starting to make things difficult. But pushing through it.
The porn psychology, absolute opposite to what’s happening here, now, in this gym. Both women here are studiedly disengaged from men’s attention or even the possibility of it. If they have wanton carnal needs, they’re disguising it well.
And yet, their disguises not complete. Quite a lot of thought and time invested in their look, clothes, hair, trainers. So not completely averse to admiring glances. But no more than that. Proposition one, and they’d look at you like you’re some sort of reptile.
Maybe that’s it. The normal male experience, no way in. Porn fantasy, gates wide open, always, with no effort. No wonder males like porn.
