Varady - Body Shop

Budapest, like so many other cities, has itsbodybuilding subculture. The pumped-up, physically imposing and evenintimidating muscle men, are scorned as freaks by some, but they are admired tothe point of idolatry by others. There they are, especially in warm weather,strutting about the citys streets in shorts and tight-fitting T-shirts or tanktops, exposing themselves, displaying themselves. Theyre the modern equivalentof Greek gods, the epitome of masculine perfection.

As for certain gyms! What are they, except hotbeds ofsodomy, portals of vice? And thank God that such facilities, such resources,exist!

Gay men are especially susceptible to the allure, themanly siren call, of hard, bulgingly muscular physiques.

None of us is nave. We know that a good,weight-trained body can be a huge asset in any urban gay community. Theres apotential element of fetishism in this idolatry, to be sure. But a littleimpassioned muscle worshipor a lot of it, for that matter!never hurt anybody,surely.

Ive played this game myself, so I know whereof Ispeak.

This fictional narrative, based loosely on some of myown experiences and those of my gym buddies, chronicles the unabashed anduninhibited homoerotic adventures of a big young guy whom Ive chosen to callKonrad. My bodybuilding buddy Sandor Vass has collaborated with me on thismanuscript, including in it a few of his own experiences. Apparently, Im notthe only muscle slut in Budapest!

As for our protagonist, Konradhes representative ofthe many muscular young men who, while working hard to improve their physiques,dont hesitate to take time out every now and then to indulge in the pleasuresof the flesh. Even the most dedicated iron pumper can be forgiven for puttinghis hard-earned muscles to recreational use, as a change of pace. Or even forgivenfor exploiting his physique, for profit. What bodybuilder hasnt hustled, atone time or other, to make ends meet?

Konrad, assuredly, is no saint. But then, saintsarent usually lusted after by mere fallible mortals, are they?

Budapest had several health clubs which catered to anupscale membership. The interiors of these facilities were elegantly designed,spacious and well-lit. They offered aerobic and spin classes. There were indoorswimming pools. There were juice bars, where the members could order not onlyjuice, but custom-made protein drinks. The workout equipment on the premisesrepresented the latest technology in the fitness industry. Personal trainerswere on the staff, to assist the members.

The Body Shop had none of these amenities. It was areal, old-fashioned iron pit, a small, no-frills grunt-and-sweat gym. Locatedon a narrow side street in the citys downtown business district, tuckedbetween two storefronts, the place would be easy to walk or drive past, were itnot for its neon sign in the front window, next to the entrance door.

Part of the sign consisted of a bright red stylizedoutline of a bodybuilders physique, with the neon tubes bent into sinuouscurves to suggest the muscle mans head, shoulders, arms, pecs, butt, andthighs. The glowing figure had one arm raised, with the biceps flexed andbulging.

It was fashionable in Budapest for bars, restaurants,shops, and other businesses to give themselves names in English, French, orItalian, to confer a hint of exoticism, cosmopolitanism, and class. Above themuscle mans figure, The Body Shops neon sign advertised the gym as such, byname, in English, in large vibrant red letters. Underneath the tubular bodybuilder,in a smaller neon script, was the Hungarian equivalent of the establishmentsname, Karosszriamheywhich technically refers to automobile bodywork, but, thanks to the image of the flexing guy, the play on words wasobvious enough.

Year round, in the warmth of spring and summer, andalso on cold autumn and winter nights, the neon figure maintained his lonelyvigil. He was a beacon, summoning the hardcore muscle enthusiasts to where theycould find a home, and the company of like-minded men.

The Body Shop at least had a steam rooma small spacewith tiled walls and floor, and built-in wooden benches to sit or lie on. Thesteam supply was efficient, and the room could get very hot, filled with adense, damp fog.

After completing his workout, Konrad was relaxing inthe steam room with his gym buddy, Enre. Both young men were dedicated amateurbodybuilders, and both were taking the steam, nude. Theoretically, The BodyShop was coed. If a woman chose to join, she wouldnt be turned away, providedher money was good. But in fact no women belonged to this comparatively austeregym. The ambience was masculine to the point of an oppressive grunginess, andit would take a female with balls, so to speak, whod want to train there, whenso many more attractive options were readily available. The womans lockerroom, a cramped space, hadnt been used as such within anyones memory, withmuch of its floor space appropriated for storage.

The facility was really an all-male preserve. As aresult, nudity in the steam room was standard procedure.

Enre and Konrad had no inhibitions about being nakedin each others proximity. They leaned back on the benches with their legsspread, exposing their genitals, relaxing their tired muscles, basking in thehot, humid embrace of the steam which swirled about their bodies.

Konrad was working at a dead-end nine-to-five job, tomake his living. He really lived for the moment, late each weekday afternoon,when he could punch out and head for the gym. There, he vented all of hisfrustrations, working his muscles, testing himself, striving always to work outharder, to lift heavier weights and do more reps, to develop his body. His timeat The Body Shop compensated for whatever was lacking in the rest of hisexistence.

And, inevitably, he associated The Body Shop with sex.Unabashed, lusty sex between like-minded, well-built, pumped-up men!

Good workout? Konrad asked, as he and Enre perspiredtogether.

Yeah, Enre replied. Now Im feeling kind of on edge,though. I usually do, after I hit the weights.

Me, too. Not too tired for sex, though, I bet?

Enre grinned. Im never too tired for that, nomatter how my muscles ache.

I know the feeling. Only too well! Want to come to myplace and play around for a while? Konrad asked.

Enre leaped at the chance. Yeah, he agreed, eagerly.Coyness wasnt a part of either young mans personality.

Konrad grinned. Lets hit the showers, then.