Late session, the good kind, when the place has emptied out and it's just me, the hum of the lights and one other man pretending he's still got sets left. You. Always one more set when I'm still in the room, aren't there.
I take my time in that changing room on purpose. Peel the shirt off slow, catch my breath, let the steam from the showers do its thing. I can feel you not looking, which is its own kind of looking, and I'll be honest, I like an audience of one far more than a full room.
There's a moment where you have to decide whether to say something or just leave. Most men leave. The braver ones hold my eye a second too long, and I let them, because I already know how that plays out and so, deep down, do they.
Nobody's schedule but mine in here now. No rush, no reason to cover up, no one to answer to. Just steam and tile and a man who came for the gym and is very much no longer thinking about the gym.
This is the part I'll tell in daylight. What happens once the steam is up and there's no one left to walk in stays somewhere more private. You already know the door.