We eventually ended up at Pumpers, an almost all-gay gym with beefsters walking around in too-tight shorts and colorful tanks. Male n*****s were hard. Bodies were toned. The typical men who worked out at the gym had nicknames like Rough, Tank, Beef, Track, Block, and other odd references/labels that described their muscular frames and no-fat bodies.
Others who frequented the gym were pretty boys like Jay, and a few geeks like me who tried to look like famous actors but never really would. Although it was a judge-free zone for all attendees, I sometimes received a quizzical look or sideways glance from some meathead that asked the question, “What are you doing in a place like this, wimpy?”
Top-of-the-line equipment filled the gym: cycles, weight-lifting stations, Smith machines, treadmill
