In ancient Greece, the gymnasium was a place not only to perfect one’s body but also where ideas were discussed and social relationships developed. Similarly, in Greg Herren’s story “Touch Me in the Morning,” as a young man strives for a healthier physique, his gym becomes the place where he begins to better understand who he is and his longing for love and romance. But can Dennis, the trainer who’s helped remake his body, ever see him as more than a project or at most, a friend?
I’d been infatuated with Dennis from the first time I saw him. His sexy smile. The way he was always so upbeat. It wasn’t unusual that he always took the time to encourage his clients, but as we got to know each other, he was just as generous toward me: a dorky, newly out, twenty-five-year-old with zero self-confidence.
I was dazzled that the hot man in the red-and-black-striped Lycra shorts and soaked white tank top would take the time to talk to me, to listen as I stared at the mirror and outlined my flaws. My underdeveloped pecs. My nonexistent abs.
Dennis would insist, A good gym routine and a proper diet will take care of that!
He’d become my go-to person when it came to taking care of my body, and not only at the gym. Wherever we went, he’d point to hot guys and break down everything about them that was perfect, saying I could achieve that if I wanted. He’d scold me if I ate anything unhealthy or that wasn’t on my diet; he knew the person I wanted to be and was determined to help me achieve it.
What he didn’t know was the person I’d started wanting him to be…. [A]s our friendship developed, I realized my attraction to him wasn’t only physical. If I could see that what we had was special, that our bond had become deeper than what most friends shared, why couldn’t Dennis? Even other people seemed to see it. People always thought we were a couple.
When someone asked, he always said, “Oh, no, no! We’re just friends.”
I always smiled, thrilled that anyone could think Dennis was my boyfriend. But it hurt a little how quickly he dismissed the possibility. It wasn’t so much the words as the way he said it, as though it was absurd that he could be interested in someone like me.
But how many times had he said to me that he longed for a boyfriend, someone to share his life with, to come home to every day? Every time, I’d replied in a voice calmer than I felt that of course it would happen. But I always wondered why he never saw that I loved him and could make him happy. We both wanted the same thing. Why couldn’t he see how perfect we were for each other?
You can read the rest of the story in Foolish Hearts: New Gay Fiction, on sale January 14, 2014.
Excerpt reprinted with permission from Cleis Press. All rights reserved.
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