Ain’t no mountain…

After weeks of teasing me about my limited athletic ability, I allowed a mate to bully me into doing some indoor rock-climbing. Now I don’t usually partake in anything that involves being suspended in mid-air, but he promised me there’d be hot girls there. Yeah… he is quite the motivational speaker.
After completing a series of intricate warm-up exercises, during which I basically twisted myself into a pretzel, I headed to the rock wall with him.
Now I’ve watched people climb before, and it seemed really easy to do. You’ve got resin hand/foot holds strategically positioned on a vertical wall, which you use to position your hands and feet, while pulling yourself up.
I’ve scaled a few fences in my life, so how tough could it be, right? I was mostly drunk or trying to get away from an angry dog, but that was just added motivation.
After five solid minutes of pulling at the straps and tightening me into the hired gear, I followed him to the beginner’s wall where there were lots of pegs and holds to climb up.
I was doing pretty well at first. Then we reached the top of an intimidating 3 metre wall. You never know what vertigo can do to your stomach muscles until you find yourself clinging to a vertical wall for dear life. Standing on the roof a building is nothing compared to this.
“Just let go and gently push yourself away from the wall” he encouraged me. “You’re attached to the automatic belay system; it will stop you from falling”. “Nice to know that,” I told him, “but right now my only goal is NOT to splatter myself all over the crash pad at the bottom.” Naturally, my hands slipped and I found myself free-falling. Much to my surprise, I gently glided down to the floor. Although, with the flailing arms and legs, it looked suspiciously like I was trying to fly away. All that was missing was my friggin bat cape.
After about an hour of climbing and panting, I was dog-tired. My legs jittered, my arms and back hurt, and I had enough of putting my crotch on display.
My first outing on the rock climbing wall went pretty well. I made it to the top of the beginners wall (Ha ha!) a couple of times by myself – which was more than I had expected. At the end of it, I was covered in sweat…. cold sweat.
Despite my misgivings, I had a good time. Perhaps I need to update my repertoire and it could be that I am ready to embark on new experiences that do not involve alcohol and late nights?
On the other hand, you really should know me better than that.
Now this post would not be complete without me making adding a thought of my own. So here goes…
Rock climbing, I discovered, can be a very sexy activity, albeit it from a somewhat perverted perspective. It’s an activity where you can learn all about the physical dexterity of your fellow cimbers in a matter of minutes. Call it a crash course, if you like. The harness alone will tell you whether a relationship is physically worth going the extra mile for. It’s an ideal setting for a first date… he he.
Every so often a woman will get what I can only describe as a severe case of camel toe. I couldn’t believe how much that harness can flaunt a woman’s womanly parts. Factor in the tight fitting clothes with the bobbing boobies and you may as well be at an exhibitionists’ convention. In all my years, I have not experienced anything like it.
As for the guys, well their bulgy bits are on display at all times. Judging by the way in which some women were ogling the guys and giggling and taking amongst themselves, it is NOT the motion of the ocean that counts. Size or the illusion of size matters a great deal.
My mate commented that no-one really pays attention. Yeah right! He must be immune. I was not and so it seems were the men and women standing at the bottom craning their necks to get a better view. Perhaps they were just looking at the wall?