Our family (Angie & I and our middle schooler) just returned from a long weekend relative to my 8th grade daughter's fall break (coalescing with my beautiful wife's 53rd birthday). As such, NOLA was our getaway vacation city, and it offered some interesting developments regarding my recovery (whilst also being incredibly refreshing / relaxing as a fall weather getaway).
I have a number of NOLA vacation childhood memories. Mainly due to how easy it was to reach (3-hours) by car from Jackson.
During my senior year of high school, my parents and I took a trip to "The Big Easy" to see Ole Miss play Tulane in the Superdome. The year was 1990. At the time, the New Orleans Centre shopping mall was directly connected to the Superdome indoor arena. It's important to note that this 3-story, marble-floored, skylight-lit testament to free enterprise failed to survive 2005's Hurricane Katrina due to extensive flooding via the storm surge.
It was during this football game that I slipped away from Bob & Darlene in order to "kill some time" wandering the retail storefronts of New Orleans Centre. Nonetheless, (as most teenagers do) I had an ulterior motive.
Having made a beeline to Waldenbooks, I very nervously purchased a clear plastic sealed copy of Playgirl magazine. Immediately following, I took the escalators to the top floor of the mall, found as quiet of a corner as I could and began coolly perusing this naughty periodical.
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Last weekend, my wife and youngest daughter had the good fortune of staying right on the edge of downtown NOLA (adjacent to the river), and this particular resort hotel also had an integrated health club (members only / available to hotel guest who're within a certain points tier). It was impressive, and I took full advantage of it during our 3-night stay.
During the late afternoon of our arrival, Angie encouraged me to go check out the health club (she was familiar with it, having stayed at this hotel / resort a few times prior) for myself.
Whilst wandering around the 100,000! sf facility, I eventually made my way into the locker room. (Health clubs can only properly be adjudicated via the luxuriousness of their locker rooms.)
This one was impeccably clean, though it was a tad tight. As I made my way deeper into the space, I turned one final corner, only to land at the massive, elevated jacuzzi tub. Surrounding it were several individual shower stalls.
Immediately, I nervously exited the locker room and returned to our room.
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Back during the fall of 1990, the Playgirl pictorial that powerfully captivated me was of a white guy named "Steve". He was a 5'-8" / 215 lbs, muscular, very hairy, and clean-shaven bloke with an impressive '80s mullet and beautifully tanned skin. "Steve" was no older than 25-30. His hair was medium brown and his eyes hazelnut.
"Steve" had a build that wasn't unnatural (juiced), though it was definitely athletic (he sort of looked like the infomercial SoloFlex guy in that regard). Considering his genitals, there was nothing about them that was out of the ordinary (scaled).
As such, he never would have excelled today as a gay porn star. Why? Most are juiced (anabolic steroids), fully waxed and have grossly overscaled genitalia.
There were perhaps 5-6 total photos of "Steve", one of which was a full-page spread of him standing - dripping wet - within a jacuzzi tub. The tub was situated within a ski lodge-like set. And it was this same set that each of the photos of partially / fully naked "Steve" were taken. It provided a warm, very cozy atmosphere that effectively enhanced his '80s' seductiveness.
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The following day (post hotel / resort health club reconnaissance), I felt a tremendous amount of shame surrounding the thought of a post workout jacuzzi tub dip (for I had never done this). That Saturday morning, throughout a shared meal with some family friends at one of NOLA's finest brunch establishments, I felt privately intruded upon ("WHAT DO YOU REALLY WANT ROB?") as we exchanged tales with our old friends.
These feelings of shame were centered around me questioning my true motive.
Why exactly would Rob want to strip naked, post workout and enjoy the jacuzzi there with strangers?
I knew it wasn't cruising. Not at all. Instead, it had something to do with overcoming and maturing forward. All this in spite of my negative feelings that kept insinuating otherwise.
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Having now become absolutely smitten with the "Steve" pictorial, I eventually made my way to the closest mall restroom to masturbate. From there, I took the periodical to my parent's Buick, hiding it (within the Waldenbooks bag) beneath the front seat. Eventually, I made my way back to my ticketed seat, between Bob & Darlene, within the Superdome. As you're likely assuming, I had little remaining interest in the game between the Rebels and Green Wave. All in all, my emotions were powerfully conflicted (with the emphasis on powerfully). I felt both simultaneously giddy and doomed regarding what I'd just accomplished.
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Eventually, it came time for Rob to make his way towards the hotel / resort health club now that it was mid-afternoon Saturday, (10/7). I had changed into my athletic shorts / tank top within our hotel room prior. From there, I slowly warmed up (stretching / light weights) before being strategic about using equipment that isn't readily available at our local Y.
90-minutes of welcome strength training passed. Though the ambient lighting within the space was less than stellar, the high quality of the equipment more than made up for it. Eventually, I marched myself over to the men's locker room. Doing so forced me to overcome feelings telling me that I didn't belong. As I did so, I undressed before wrapping the health club-provided white towel around my naked waist. Bracing myself regarding a potential encounter with other jacuzzing men, I traversed deeper into the somewhat familiar men's only space. Before de-toweling, I carefully climbed the marble-finished steps and then down into the empty roiling waters of the (4-person max capacity) jacuzzi tub.
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Within 3-4 days of relishing / marinating in my ownership of that particular Playgirl magazine (this was the first time I'd seen photos of fully naked men), I trashed it. Before doing so, I ripped page after page of the periodical in protest to my faith and disgust in my personal captivation.
From there, I didn't see fully naked men (photos) 'till my junior year of college and only due to my roommate's porn magazine stash (that I would covertly flip through on occasion).
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Before making my naked ascent up the jacuzzi staircase, I had tripled-folded (a second) one of my health club-issued towels. I did this before situating it like a small rectangular pillow within the corner of the tub that I'd gravitated towards. Afterwards, I leaned my 51-year-old head back onto the damp cloth and closed my eyes. I found the noise of the roiling, heated waters to be just as soothing as the water itself. It was fantastically relaxing.
Having accomplished this feat, I realized I'd only done so by pressing all my emotions down - as far as possible. As such, here I was. Swoll and naked, post-workout. With only my sweaty, silver-haired head sticking up out of the fray. Yet once again feeling isolated. And deeply ashamed.
Eventually, I dozed off. But when I awoke (I believe I was only asleep for a short while), I knew I was no longer alone. Though I was still looking up, head reclined on my makeshift pillow, I sensed someone else had joined me. I blinked repeatedly before sitting up, no longer feeling shame but embarrassment at having fallen asleep.
The stranger sitting on the opposite side of the diamond-shaped tub grinned confidently as we made eye contact. Weirdly, the din of the jacuzzi was far less now, though the waters were churning just as rapidly. Too, I couldn't help but notice that the digital wall clock was displaying --:-- whereas before it displayed 5:05. This unsettled me, causing me to jump when he spoke in a deep, masculine voice. For it echoed distinctly off the surface of the waves.
"Hey Rob. It's me Steve. Welcome back to New Orleans."
To be continued...
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