Oh My Fucking God ....!!!

  I've Got The Ghey!!!

This is just too much! I just got into the shower, a scruffy, sweaty, smelly Man. All stubble and stinks.

Thought absolutely nothing of soaping up and scrubbing off my manly bits. Never once thought to even consciously look at myself. MEN Don't!

 Dried myself off. Grabbed a pair of denims off the indoor line. Looked for a T Shirt ..... Nothing doing. Bugger. (<-- ?! Christ, look! Already I'm thinking about Their stuff!)


 Let me take ye right back to the very beginning:  When I first got here, I was a good five years younger than I am now. I was also accustomed to riding a rather superb mountain bike I then owned. So, I used to ride that into town.

 Trouble is, see, if ye riding even the best of bikes for a twelve mile round trip, even with oil suspension in ye front forks? The vibration is something fucking shocking! Ye hands actually go numb as fuck.

 And that's why I knew I needed some of these special, gel padded, fingerless gloves that the pro' riders wear. I could really see why they fucking wear them! It's not for looks.

 So, off to eBay I went. Found me a suitable seeming pair of such gloves and sent off for them. Paying by 'Buy It Now'. I waited for them to arrive.

 Only, what arrived instead was some strange sort of fucking T Shirt thing! Pockets on the back. Zip up neck. Some fucking logo on it. Could've been the Calvin Kline of cycling tops, for all I know. I didn't want it.

  I told the people; I didn't want it. I wanted my gloves. What's to do? And fair enough on them. They told me to keep the shirt and the gloves would be on their way. Not worth their while paying to ship the shirt back.

 Gloves arrived. Shirt was put aside. Five years down the line? I grew so unfit and needed so much shopping I gave the bike up and took to taxi's.

 Today? I made le Ding a house. That caused me to work up a sweat, in the drizzling rain. Fast track to illness, that is. I can't be ill, as only I can take care of my creatures. So, I knew I'd better have a shower.

 No Tee Shirts hanging on my lines. Except this bikey thing I'd tossed out of the cupboard whilst searching for something and had now gravitated to my clothes storage line.

  Fuck it. Any port in a storm. I was naked and needed a T Shirt. I snatched it and put it on.

  The Horror!!! It almost Snapped against my chest! It Gripped my biceps. It squeezed my ribs. If my torso was remotely 'Defined'? This thing would have set my bod' off admirably! But; Who'd be admiring a Mans body, presented so?!

 One glance at myself, all ..... well ..... 'Like This' and Ghey! screamed out in my mind.  But, too late. Moments later I found myself shrugging my beige and black trimmed Spandex clad shoulders and chucking a nicely manly, Flek Tarn, German army shirt over the top of it.

 But, it's no good. I know what I'm wearing under this shirt. I'd might as well have black stockings and a suspender belt under these denims .....

 Fuck me! What even made me Think of that?!  NOOOooooooo!!!!! See? I've got the Ghey!!!