Paul Parillo Genital Gymnasium

Big, sweaty balls; droopy, hairy testicles; dark, cavernous orifices – these are the staples of any men’s change-room. I had no idea my allotted monthly gym fees would include a bounteous spread of genital pageantry. If for the slightest moment my concentration waned, I’d find myself unfairly thrust upon the countless old men performing their number one production of “Cock Ballet”. I realize that if there’s anywhere to be naked, it’s the change-room, but it would give me great pleasure to relieve myself of the horrid images plaguing my mind and transfer them to you.

The conspiracy theorist in me firmly believes the particular gym I attend has “shameless naked old men” on their payroll. Every morning they go to work, making the countless gym members slightly uncomfortable with their bending, itching, shaving. Not to mention the extended small talk with fully clothed men who try their best to ignore the pubic region of a man discussing his well intentioned plans of “breaking a mean sweat today”. Is it just me, or do people engaged in small talk thrust their pelvises more when their balls are showing?

Sometimes I think that mentally insane human beings are reincarnated as the dicks of naked old men. Just the other day, I’m almost confident a man’s urethra blew me a kiss from across the room. Obviously I accepted the kiss for fear of being peed on.

It’s one thing to be naked in the comfort and confines of your home, but conducting a genital orchestra while brushing your teeth in a room full of guys is a tough testicle to swallow. Of course this is just my opinion, there’s no doubt I have a tendency to over-analyze, but for the most part, I’m sure I share some of the same opinions of my common man.

For all the ladies out there, I know how badly you wanted to believe that the men’s change-room was full of effeminate men gaily towel whipping each other to the song “Hungry like the Wolf”, but alas, this isn’t the truth. And as I’m certain the same holds true of my irrational beliefs of a woman’s change-room; beautiful girls, around my age, sensually soaping each other until an unavoidable lesbian orgy breaks out – again, not true (at least according to my video feed).

I suppose the brick walls and closed doors of these rooms help keep our imaginations at a safe and enjoyable distance from reality. Because after all the dicks are finished resting on the granite counter-tops as well as the hairless thighs of confused young men, we can sleep peacefully at night knowing that this horror will hopefully never leave its designated place in our world.

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