We've all had those moments. You know the ones, where your brain just completely abandons ship right when you need it most. You've packed your gym bag with your protein shake, your phone charger, your favorite workout playlist queued up and ready to go. You've mentally prepared yourself for that post-workout steam room moment of zen. You stride into the locker room with confidence, ready to conquer your fitness goals.
And then it hits you.
You forgot your swim trunks. Or your towel. Or both.
Cue the internal screaming.
The Moment of Realization
There's a specific type of panic that sets in when you realize you're standing in a locker room, gym bag open, staring into the void where your swimwear should be. It's the same feeling as when you pat your pockets and can't find your phone, except way, way worse because you're about to be very naked and very exposed.
Your mind races through the possibilities. Maybe you left them in the dryer at home? Perhaps they're still in your other gym bag? Or, oh god, are they still wet from last time, festering in your car trunk? The specifics don't matter. What matters is that you're here, they're not, and you have exactly two choices: abandon ship and go home in shame, or figure out a solution.
And if you're already here, already changed into your workout gear, already mentally committed to that post-gym sauna session… well, going home feels like admitting defeat to the universe.
The Awkward Assessment
So you do what any reasonable person does in this situation: you start scoping out the locker room like you're conducting a very important scientific survey. Who looks approachable? Who seems like they wouldn't mind helping a stranger out of a jam? More importantly, and let's be honest here, who's attractive enough that this embarrassing moment might somehow, miraculously, turn into a meet-cute worthy of the MM romance books you've been devouring lately?
Because if we're going to live through an awkward situation, we might as well shoot our shot, right?
You mentally categorize everyone in the room. There's the guy who looks perpetually annoyed at the world, hard pass. The one having an intense phone conversation about quarterly reports, definitely not. The fitness influencer taking seventeen mirror selfies, absolutely not, unless you want to become content.
And then you spot him. The guy with kind eyes, a friendly demeanor, and, bonus points, roughly your size. He seems like he might understand. He's not in a rush. He looks… approachable.
Now you just have to actually approach him.
The Ask
This is where things get really interesting. How exactly does one phrase this request? You can't just blurt out "Hey, can I borrow your swim trunks?" because that sounds vaguely like the setup to a punchline you don't want to be part of.
You've got options, though. The straightforward approach: "Hey man, this is super embarrassing, but I completely forgot my trunks. Any chance you have an extra pair or know where I could borrow some?"
The humor approach: "So, funny story, and by funny I mean mortifying, but I managed to pack everything except the one thing I actually need. You wouldn't happen to have a spare pair of trunks hiding in there, would you?"
The desperate approach: "I will literally buy you a coffee, a smoothie, and name my firstborn after you if you can help me out with this trunks situation I've gotten myself into."
Whatever approach you choose, there's that split second after you ask where time seems to stop. He could laugh at you. He could look at you like you've grown a second head. He could say no and make this the most awkward forty-five seconds of your life.
The Response Spectrum
Here's where the gay romance novels get it right, sometimes the universe does throw you a bone (pun intended).
Best case scenario? He laughs, totally gets it, and either has a spare pair or knows someone who does. Maybe he's forgotten his own gear before. Maybe he's just a genuinely nice person. Maybe, if you're really lucky, he thinks your flustered state is kind of endearing and this becomes the story you'll tell at your commitment ceremony three years from now. (Hey, we can dream, right?)
Mid-range scenario? He doesn't have extras, but he directs you to the front desk where they rent or sell them. You're out a few bucks, but you're also not going commando in the pool, so it's a win. Plus, you had a human interaction that wasn't totally mortifying, which counts for something.
Worst case scenario? He looks at you like you've asked him for a kidney and backs away slowly. But even then, you survive. You move on to the next person. Or you buy those overpriced trunks from the front desk. Or you do the walk of shame back to your car and come back another day.
The beauty of the LGBTQ+ community, and particularly gay fiction has taught us this, is that we tend to look out for each other. We've all been there in some capacity. We've all had those vulnerable moments where we needed someone to throw us a lifeline.
The Towel Situation
Now, if we're talking about forgetting your towel instead of your trunks, that's a whole different beast. Because at least with trunks, you can potentially buy or borrow a pair and be set. But a towel? You're supposed to just… air dry? Walk around dripping? Fashion a toga out of toilet paper?
The towel predicament is particularly special because you don't realize you need it until after you've already showered. You're standing there, clean and refreshed, water droplets running down your back, and you reach for the towel that isn't there.
This is when you have to make the naked shuffle back to your locker, trying to minimize water trail and public exposure, hoping against hope that maybe, just maybe, you shoved a towel in there and forgot about it. Spoiler alert: you didn't.
Your options here are limited. You can try to dry off with your t-shirt (not recommended, you still have to wear that home). You can stand under the hand dryer for twenty minutes like a human rotisserie chicken (time-consuming and weird). Or you can swallow your pride and ask someone if they have an extra towel or can spare part of theirs.
Pro tip: the bigger, buffer guys often have those giant gym towels that could double as beach blankets. They're your best bet.
The Silver Lining
Here's the thing about these mortifying moments that queer fiction consistently gets right: they're often the start of something good. Not always romantic (though sometimes), but at least memorable.
Maybe the guy you ask becomes your new gym buddy. Maybe you bond over shared stories of absent-mindedness and it becomes a running joke. Maybe he introduces you to his friend group and suddenly you have a whole squad of people to work out with.
Or maybe, and this is equally valid, you never see him again, but you have a funny story to share at brunch. You have that moment of human connection, of vulnerability, of asking for help and receiving it.
The locker room, for all its potential for awkwardness, is also a space of surprising kindness. It's where we're all a little bit vulnerable, a little bit exposed (literally), and often at our most human. We've all been the person who forgot something. We've all been the person who needed help. And most of us are happy to pay it forward when someone else is in a bind.
The Community Aspect
What makes these moments particularly interesting in gay romance novels and in real life is how they highlight the unspoken bonds within our community. There's something about shared spaces like locker rooms and gyms that creates this weird intimacy, not sexual necessarily, but human.
We see each other at our most unguarded. Pre-workout, post-workout, mid-shower existential crisis. And there's a certain understanding that comes with that. A recognition that we're all just trying to get through our day, take care of our bodies, and hopefully not make complete fools of ourselves (though that's not always possible).
When you ask a stranger for help with something as basic as forgotten swim trunks or a towel, you're not just asking for a material item. You're asking for grace, for understanding, for a moment of connection that says "we're all human, we all mess up, and that's okay."
And nine times out of ten? You get it.
Prevention Tips (For Next Time)
Look, we can laugh about the situation, but let's be real, you probably want to avoid repeating it. Here are some battle-tested strategies from those of us who've learned the hard way:
Keep a spare set of trunks and a backup towel in your car. Seriously. Just leave them there. They don't take up much space and they're a lifesaver.
Use a packing checklist on your phone. Yes, it feels excessive. Yes, you're a grown adult who shouldn't need a checklist for the gym. But also, yes, it works.
Invest in a gym bag with compartments. Having a designated spot for your wet stuff versus your dry stuff versus your "oh crap I might need this" stuff helps ensure nothing gets left behind.
But honestly? Even with all the prevention in the world, sometimes life happens. Sometimes your brain is focused on that work presentation or that text you need to send or what you're making for dinner, and the swim trunks just don't make it into the bag.
And that's okay. That's what makes us human. That's what makes these stories worth telling.
Have you had your own "forgotten trunks" moment? Share your most embarrassing gym bag fail in the comments! And if you're looking for more stories that celebrate the humor, heart, and humanity of LGBTQ+ experiences, check out our collection of MM romance books and gay fiction at Read with Pride. Because life is too short not to laugh at ourselves: and to find connection in the most unexpected places.
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