Since I have to appease my curiosity, I embarked on an enlightening quest to look for some “proof” that can show me at least a glimpse of what’s really happening behind these closed doors. Now, behold, the things I found in search of truth:
Okay, I swear on Trollop’s buttplug I did NOT get these from a gay calendar LOL, but they could have fooled me! Are we, the women, supposed to find these “hot” because really, I’m getting confuse...
Er, anyway, here’s a locker room scene from my favorite Rachel Gibson book, See Jane Score. Maybe you guys will find this excerpt/“info” more interesting. *wink* Enjoy!
She headed to the Chinook’s locker room, flashing her press pass. Her stomach twisted into knots as she moved down the hall. She was a professional. She could do this. No problem.
Keep your gaze pinned to their eyes, she reminded herself as she took out her small tape recorder. She entered the room and stopped as if the bottoms of her Doc Martins were suddenly glued to the floor. Men in various degrees of undress stood in front of benches and open stalls, peeling off their clothes. Hard muscles and sweat. Bare chests and backs. A flash of a naked stomach and butt, and...
Good Lord! Her cheeks burned and her eyes about jumped from her skull as she couldn’t help but stare at Vlad “the Impaler” Fetisov’s Russian-sized package. Jane jerked her gaze up, but not before she discovered that what she heard about European men was true. Vlad wasn’t circumcised, and that was just a little more info than she wanted. For one brief second she thought she should mumble an apology, but of course she shouldn’t apologize, because that would be admitting that she’d seen something. ...
You’ve see a penis before, Jane. No big deal. If you’ve seen one penis, you’ve seen them all... Well, okay, that’s not true. Some penises are better than the others. Stop! Stop thinking about penises! she chastened herself. You’re not here to stare. ... She wove her way through players and other journalists, careful to keep her gaze above the shoulders, but she was the only female in a room filled with big, rugged, naked hockey players. She couldn’t help but feel very much out of place. ...
Soon it became obvious to her that some of the other reporters resented her too, and the players were not going to answer any more of her questions. ...
Fine, she could write the column with what she already had, she thought as she made her way to the team’s goalie. Luc sat on a bench in the corner of the room, a big duffel on the floor by his feet. He’d removed everything but his thermal underwear bottoms and socks. He was bare from the waist up, and he’d wrapped a towel around his neck. The ends hung halfway down his chest, and as he watched her approach, he shot water from a plastic bottle into his mouth. A bead of moisture dripped form his bottom lip, slipped down his chin, and dropped to his sternum. Leaving a trail of moisture, it descended the defined planes of his chest and hard stomach and dipped into his navel. He has a black horseshoe tattooed on his lower belly. The shadowing of the groove and nail holes gave depth and dimension to his flesh, and the heels curved upward on each side of his belly button. The bottom of the tattoo disappeared beneath the waistband of his underwear, and Jane doubted he needed the luck of the horseshoe tattooed above his goods.
“I don’t give interviews,” he said before she could ask him a question. “With all the research you’ve done on me, I’d have thought you’d know that.”
She did, but she wasn’t feeling particularly amiable. The boy’s club had shoved her out and she felt like shoving back. She turned on her recorder. “How do you feel about tonight’s game?”
She didn’t expect him to answer and he didn’t. ...
“Until tonight, I had no idea hockey fans were so rude. Those men behind me were drunk and disgusting. I can’t imagine standing up and yelling, ‘Eat me,’ in a crowd like they did.”
He pulled the towel from around his neck and finally said, “Ace, if you’d stood up and yelled, ‘Eat me,’ I doubt you’d be standing here right now bugging the hell out of me.”
“Why’s that?” “Because I imagine, you’ve gotten a taker or two.”
It took a few moments for his meaning to become clear, and when it did, shocked laughter spilled from her lips. “I guess it’s not the same thing, is it?”
“Not quite.” He stood and hooked his thumb beneath the elastic of his underwear. “Now run along and harass somebody else.” When she didn’t move, he added, “Unless you want to embarrass yourself some more.”
“I’m not embarrassed.” “You keep blushing like your face is on fire.”
“It’s very hot in here,” she lied. Was he the only one who’d noticed? Probably not. “Very hot.”
“It’s about to get hotter. Stick around and you’re going to get an eyeful of the good wood.”