'Let the hottie have the muscle heads,' you think to yourself. 'It'll just end with cutesy weight lifting acts that wear us out.' Instead, you decide to walk to the other side of the gym and use a bike, start with a good cardio and jump right into working your legs. Your ass may not need much help to look great, but a nice pair of legs supporting it certainly can't hurt. You ignore the hottie and drooling weight lifters as you cross in front of them all and turn towards the bikes while only slightly off to their right. This gave any one of them the opportunity to see and admire it, but also made it very clear you are not interested. A little voice in your head tells you to tease them a little, so you make sure to exaggerate the walk. Before you even turned around, you knew they were eying you. Naturally, once the act ended, so did their staring; the brunette couldn't care less about you now and the guys are all wagging their tounges at her again. After that you start with serious stretches for your legs, being sure to stretch each part of the leg. Normally, these draw gazes well enough naturally, but the distance between you and your audience, the brunette who's much closer to them, and the fact that your ass is pointed away from them equal out to them still eying the brunette. That doesn't bother you, though, you got their eyes off her for a moment and onto you. Asserting your presence was the goal, and you accomplished it.
Ten minutes into your biking, your dark blue sports bra is showing very clearly through your now soaked white tank top. You keep pressing onward, gritting your teeth as you go at a frantic pace. Your quads are on fire and you keep rolling with it and working through it. Were this a cartoon, there'd be smoke coming from the pedals by now. Odds are you could have learned exactly how much merit that animated logic has, but before you could, a voice snaps you out of your focus.
"Excuse me, but do you have the time?" It came with a tap on your left shoulder. Sitting on the bike directly next to you now was a guy, probably in his early 20s, wearing a pair of black shorts, a beige t-shirt, and a pair of sneakers. His arms are well defined without being overly muscular, and his relatively slow pase allows you to say the same of his legs. He's definitely worked very hard on his body. However, if he'd been wearing a long sleeve shirt and long pants you would have thought he was just thin to average build; that is what the covered parts of his body suggested, after all. His pitch black hair extends down to his shoulders on all sides, leaving only the left half of his face exposed. His face is clean shaven, and his honey colored left eye gazes coldly at you, waiting for a response. You can vaguely see through the his brushed mane to a ring around his right ear, the silver standing out against his dark hair and white skin. Despite such a slow pace, a relaxed expression on his face, and no sweat on his body, the bike said his heart rate was 170.
Your machine slows as you begin to catch your breath and attempt to formulate a response. You grab a drink of water to help accelerate the process, and your body is overjoyed by the cool liquid's introduction. The guy next to you says, "You went too fast." While still downing water, you shoot him a look to ask what he means. He continues, "When you do your cardio, you're supposed to be able to hold down a conversation. If you can't speak, you're working too hard and you're going to hurt yourself unless you ease up."
You finish the last of your water and pop the bottle out of your mouth with a gasp. "Thanks for the tip," you wheeze out. When you finally catch your breath, you ask, "Was that your way of asking me to have a conversation with you during your cardio?"
Smiling, he shakes his head. "It was my way of TRICKING you into having a conversation with me during my cardio." You couldn't help but giggle a little. The situation and delivery weren't very funny, but the guilty smile made him look like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and he looked laughably cute. He extends his hand, "I'm James."
"Cindy," you reply with a handshake.
Over the course of fifteen minutes, you two just talk about music. Actually, it'd be more accurate to say James gives you an eight minute crash course in J-Rock and Visual Kei. Odds are he could have talked for hours, but at one point he asked about your taste and had no clue what it was. The next seven minutes, you give him a crash course in Alternative Metal. When you finally realize exactly how much time has passed, you break up this educational conversation.
"Yikes! I've been on the bike too long." You slow the bike to a halt and dismount. You take a swig from your water bottle, only to remember a moment later you already drank it dry. A cold sensation hits your cheek, making you jump a bit. You turn to face the object, and see James extending his right arm while clutching a water bottle in his hand. "Thanks," you say. You unscrew the top and take a small drink, just enough to quench your thirst. The moment his feet hit the floor, he wrenches the bottle from you hand and chugs. It isn't until this moment you realize he towers over you, he has to be about 6' tall. This puts a whole new perspective on everything else you were eying moments ago.
Once he's done, you both make your way over to the fountains to refill your empty bottles. As his bottle fills up, James speaks, "Say, I could use a partner. You mind?"
"Uh, are you sure you want a little girl like me to be your partner?" you ask, a your eyes reasking with shock radiating from them. "Wouldn't you rather ask someone like those idiots who are still drooling over a brunette?" As you predicted, that hottie was faking a helpless little girl act while she had a barbell in her hands and one of the guys reaching around her to "help" her. Even if they are just a bunch of simpletons who drool at the sight of ass, someone whose strength is equal to or greater than your own is the only logical choice when you need a spotter.
"First, take a good look at those meatheads." You eye the men up and down for a moment, wondering what he meant as you take in every detail of their bodies. From the contractions of their biceps to the expansion of their pectorals, you study them very carefully very quickly. And for you, this is a very well practiced skill. Just when you're about to ask him what he meant, your eyebrows suddenly arch. Those guys all had really muscular arms and chests, but their legs were scrawny, almost like they'd just gotten out of a wheelchair yesterday. And even before you got on the bike, they were doing nothing for their legs. With a sidestep, James continues, "I don't need someone helping me to be vain, I want someone who'll help me keep this physique."
While your bottle fills, a pair of hands grab your shoulders firmly. James leans in close and breathes gently into your ear for a moment. He softly whispers, "And second, I didn't necessarily mean a partner for the gym." As he pulls back, he strokes down your shoulders and rubs your back briefly, all the while your eyes are wide as saucers. You swallow hard when you pull back and make three realizations. One, you nipples are poking uncomfortably against your sports bra. Two, your panties are moist with something that isn't sweat. And three, something warm and thick is poking you in the back every couple of seconds.
"What do you say, Cindy?" |