I love swimming but since coming out as a lesbian I have
developed an irrational fear of women's changing rooms. I worry
that a badly timed glance might make someone think I fancy them.
I'm not ogling but everywhere I turn I see women brazenly drying
their bits, it's a flesh fest. As a precaution my rule is no chat
and no eye contact; just in and out.
However, now I have my nephew in tow all bets are off. He is a
yummy mummy magnet. His squeals of 'Look at my fishy' are starting
to draw a crowd. I'm naked and a wall of women is converging on me.
I'm out of my depth.
'Ah he's so cute,' they coo. Within moments, four naked ladies
have me surrounded - I'm in a boob cube. It continues to amaze me
how straight women can stand, hands on hips, naked and chatting as
if in a Post Office queue. I try to remain calm, but casual
chit-chat's not easy with eight new nipples in the picture.
Don't look at their boobs. Whatever you do, DO NOT look at their
boobs!
Dear God, I don't want to, but now that the thought has entered my
mind I feel compelled to look. My eyes flick down from their face
and up again.
Phew, no one noticed. Got away with it.
I'm like an undercover agent. They think I'm one of them. I should
be taking advantage, straight men would give a kidney for this kind
of access, but instead I'm awkward and uncomfortable.
Just then my nephew pipes up again, 'Why do you both have writing
on your back?' What? Oh NO! I realize what he is talking about and
before you can say tramp-stamp, I am comparing tattoos with a buff
naked lady. She has one foot up on the bench in front of me and is
pointing her bum in my face while providing commentary on her
tribal markings. I wish that the walls would breach and a torrent
of pool water would wash us away.
When the show and tell finally comes to an end I drop my nephew at
his swimming class and hit the pool. At last I can enjoy a little
breast stroke.
