Trauma. No, No Morning Edition.

There are days when I feel positively old. Not physically, mind you (although there are those occasions) but it's like I missed a step, fell out of sync, did a Rip Van Winkle - but you know what I mean. One missed login into PPS, an RSS feed overlooked and all of a sudden it's this sudden deluge of information, rantings, pr0n, and news.

Oh, and I got fondled today at the pool.

Believe you me, I'm still reeling from the experience. It started like any other day - I came, walked into the change room and saw this guy already there who said hi. Being civil, I didn't see any reason not to reply - until he started asking me things like my age, and if I was married. By this time alarm bells were ringing all over my body so I started making a big show of getting ready to get into the pool.

And then he touched me. Mind you, I don't usually let strangers touch me, but I think I was too shocked to respond. He got his paws on my shoulders and stomach, all the while murmuring "tsk tsk, ini boleh bagi fit". Now granted I don't have the most cut bod in the world, but I take my exercise sessions seriously, and there's still plenty of go in this frame even if I did leave the world of sports ages ago. And then his hand went lower, and I flinched.

Picture this - a tall 30ish guy who's not even good looking (if I swung that way), with a potbelly the size and slope of Vesuvius brandishing a ciggie telling ME my body wasn't built enough?

Urgh. This in itself would be traumatizing were it not for the final act. Oh dear reader, can you imagine the shock and horror I felt when he, while mumbling something about some Indian massage slipped his trunks down and showed me his penis? (For the benefit of the first time reader, I am a doctor's son - so naked bits and pieces ordinarily don't bother me. Especially if they're female). Still, looking at him flash his bits, looking oh-so-satisfied with himself just did it for me. I bolted for the pool, and jumped in where there were a couple of girls calmly breaststroking their way through. Anything was better than that. Anything.

Later tonight, talking about this to a friend I realised that in some weird way perhaps this person was a closet homosexual looking for a quick fix in the change room. Now even if I WERE gay (which I'm not, women just do it for me in all the right ways) I'd think I have enough taste to actually choose a good looking person to bugger. Not that stinking piece of closet trash, who was wearing a wedding band I might add.

Oh God. IS there no safe haven for a guy to have a simple swim these days? DO I have the words "fuck boy - good blow" stamped on my forehead (although if said words were visible to females I'd not mind as much)? Must I bring pepper spray in case some other repressed maniac feels like he wants a quickie?

All I wanted was a bit of a swim. Nice, enjoyable exercise. I don't think I'd ever feel quite safe in the change room after this. And trust me - if he tries that again, or anyone else for that matter he may just find out the meaning of "being buggered" once and for all.

Before anyone launches into a diatribe about how homosexuals are the most evil things on earth let me get this out of the way - I have no problems with gay people. I know a few who are some of the most intelligent and pleasant people in the world to be around (unlike some other straight people I know). It's these repressed ones I'm worried about - and the kids who go to these pools.

Ick.

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Addendum: since we're all moving towards the way of the media telecast, can this be consituted as my early morning show? Do I need to put in bits about the weather and how seriously we should all take ourselves today - since bloggers, in case anyone didn't notice, are the best things in the world since sliced bread.

And I thought the wheel was nifty.

Over and out. Someone switch off the fucking TelePrompTer please.