I bathed with a bevy of beauties yesterday, but was unaware of what was beneath their swim wear until each exposed them Selves publically.

Now, don’t assume this Blog has gone X-rated. Its focus is to capture moments in life, and not appeal to any prurient interest.

But when I found my Self the only guy with some 30 women in swimming  suits, I felt a harem of lovely women had come to please their Caliph.

The women exercise three times a week in an Olympic-size pool here in the Andora section of Philadelphia, PA. LA Fitness provides free water aerobic classes as part of your membership. I tried some of the other classes, in particular, yoga, but nearly collapsed when I failed to keep up with the more athletically gifted younger members. (It didn’t help that the class I sat in – -“worked in,” is more like it! – – was an “advanced” class and I, of course, ranked lower than the lowest “beginner.”)

Water aerobics looked like a piece of cake, I thought when I had decided to join in the exercise. I had just finished swimming 36 laps — a half mile — and I felt a little cocky.  Plus, I thought I could show off my “manly prowess,” a type of masculinity forged by war (combat infantryman) and tempered in court room battles the past 20 years as a criminal defense attorney.

Boy, was I ever proved wrong!

It may look easy, but following an instructor who pushes you to move and exercise all parts of your body, can be anything but fun. I struggled to keep up, but would not let any one see my difficulties. I believed that in that painful  moment  I was representing all “man kind” in the water. I could not allow the “weaker” sex see one of my kind — my gender — “sweat it out.” I would ache all over after this bout in the water, but I could never let any women see that and to have them possibly feel superior to me or my fellow-man!

What a dope.

A dope on a rope.

There were people in the pool far more gifted than I was, plus many who were in far better shape than I. Younger too! (Some, apparently of retirement age, swam circles around me in doing the exercises. Never assume a person up in age is as old as you think. Or as out of shape as you are!)

The exercise came to an end. Finally. I slowly left the pool and emerged near the hot tub as several woman in different shapes and sizes as well as ages took seats in the bubbling spa.

Joining them, I wondered who these women were outside of the gym. So, being a child at heart, (and did I tell you I was the only guy there?) I engaged with them, challenging them to play a version of “20 questions.” Guess what each of us did for a living, became the game. I suggested we be given three chances to “name that job.” “She’s a dancer,” one woman said of the petite red head, whose hair remained in perfect shape despite the hot vapors of the tub. Wrong. Turned out she worked for the state of Pennsylvania, Department of Public Welfare, and helped to determine eligibility for financial aid. I guessed the role played by one, an African-American woman who said that she indeed worked for the City of Philadelphia. No, not a cop or a truant officer or in the probation or parole departments. She served as a correctional officer in the city’s prison system!

The second red head (how did I end up with two in one pool, I’ll never know) was more coy and appeared to be trying to evade our discussion and leave the tub when we gently applied some peer pressure in her direction. None guessed her occupation. She worked as a commercial pilot!

We went through a long list of possibilities with the lone brunette in the water. She hinted her job was similar to the president or the CEO of a company. A non-profit company, she added. One that dealt with kids as well as adults: KenCrest was the answer. She was a leader of the largest provider of community-based services for children, youth and adults with developmental disabilities in southeastern Pennsylvania!

We eventually focused on the short-haired blonde. This young woman had helped me during the exercise period, kindly overlooking my inability to follow instructions as she showed me the proper way of performing a given task. She was a real saint. I had thanked her for her courtesy, yet ended up paying her back with the most unusual guess for an occupation, one that brought a lot of laughter, but could have been at the expense of person with a lesser degree of kindness.

“Lady of the Night” was the suggestion I offered as her possible career path. My tongue, of course, was  firmly in my cheek.

It was meant to gain a laugh. It did. Loud and hearty.

But the laughter subsided, and the joke was on me when she told us the type of work she did for a living.

She serves as the pastor of a United Church of Christ in nearby Chestnut Hill.

A minister, for Christ sake!

How I get myself in such hot waters, I’ll never know . . .