“I will,” I smile as I wave back to him in excitement, “Don’t worry Kevin Campbell. I have no reason to let everything go!” I call out as I step into my car, wholeheartedly believing my reassurance.
This, is how it always works. You know you’re going to be spending time away from the gym, so you swear to yourself not to let things get out of control. You trust yourself then, because you’ve forgotten what you’re really like when you give up the discipline the gym gave you. You have no idea that you’re about to let everything go.
I didn’t mean to put on forty-eight pounds on my vacation. I can’t recall which bite at which incredible Italian cuisine was the one that sent me over my limit, but imagine that it happened sometime on my third day there.
One of the cuter boys in the vacation group of grads caught me declining to order anything other than a light salad. He was a sandy-blonde haired boy name Paul, and though we became friends over the trip, I have to say he wasn’t the best influence for me while we were there.
“Are you serious, Mel? You’re in Italy. You’re going to miss the experience if you don’t at least try the food here I refuse to acknowledge to anyone that you actually were a part of this trip,” he said grinning. I reluctantly ordered a plate of spinach-stuffed Alfredo ravioli, pledging only to eat half and get a box to finish it later for lunch the next day. Nobody told me, however, that this would be physically impossible. After the first bite of creamy Italian seasoned shell I decided to treat myself, just this once, and engorge the entire meal.
What about that cute blonde frat boy named Paul? He congratulated me for finally joining everyone else on the vacation and we hit it off quite smoothly over the next three days. We talked, and ate. We got drunk, and ate. We laughed at each other whenever we were forced to conduct a laughable conversation with a native Italian speaker, and ate. We got a long so well that one night he pulled me in for a kiss.
He could really be quite persuasive. As we embraced each other’s mouth he had me planning exactly how I wanted to spend the rest of my trip, but I had to pull him off. I needed to confess something to him that was distracting every pleasurable thought I could be having.
“Wait, Paul.”
“What? What is it?” he asked, annoyed.
“It’s just. I’m a virgin. I just thought you should know so that.” I was embarrassed to admit this to him. I expected him to look down on me, which if he did, he hid his feelings very well. But since I had halted the romantic momentum, he took this opportunity to make his own confession. Paul forgot to mention that he’s leaving with the rest of his fraternity friends for France in the morning. We had a frantic search for privacy, which lasted for about an hour, and then I became tired. So let down by his revelation that I needed to sleep it off. I suppose that’s a frustrating personality flaw, but I can’t help it. Paul looked let down, and beseeched me to stay out with him and keep looking for a chance to adequately see each other off, but I just couldn’t get back into it. C’est la vie, Paul. And then I ate.
Why was my eating so out of control? I’m still not entirely sure. Though I could feel my body gradually ballooning I don’t know why I sought comfort from food the way I did. Maybe I just missed home. Or maybe I just missed someone.
One night in Milan my subconscious mind drifted back to a place I longed to be reunited with, and reawakened feelings in me I thought were extinguished. I was back in the gym, stretching my hamstrings as far as they would possibly allow. My fingers were touching the foam cushioned floor. The burning intensified and soon I was stretched so far down my palms were rested on the floor.
‘Are you seeing this?’ I called out to Kevin. I knew he was nearby, though I couldn’t see him.
‘That’s very impressive, Melanie,’ I smiled at the thought. Soon Kevin placed a supportive hand on my lower back, helping me maximize my stretch. I relished the feeling of his massive hand resting on my back as it transitioned to softly caressing and feeling me with more and more sensual focus.
‘Do you know what I want you to do now?’ he asked as his other hand attached to the inside of my heavy thigh. Kevin slowly worked his way up, his powerful hand pulled more and more of my leg up with it.
‘Anything,’ I said back in between my deep breaths, ‘just tell me what you want.’
‘I want you to cum on my hand’ as he spoke he slid a finger along my glistening slit, massaging my throbbing clit with deliberate intention. Suddenly I was on my back as he continued his vigorous groping. With no words to express my craving for him I arched my back allowing my stomach to spill outward to his liking. At last I gasped as he inserted two of his manly fingers into me.
I never had time to confess that I’m a virgin while he had me on my back, gripping fistfuls of the air and begging for sexual mercy as he devoured my cunt. My thick legs clamped around his head and were embraced by bulging biceps in his colossal arms. It was everything I had wanted, but forgotten years earlier. I was his.
I began to soak through my pink cotton panties as the dream intensified. Kevin Campbell, inside me. The thought was enough to make me jolt and quiver in my sleep. But before I reached a climax as the dream Kevin had instructed I awoke panting in my youth hostel bed, humping the sheets and about to wake up my roommates.
Reflecting on the dream the next morning intrigued me as much as it worried me. Why was romantically lusting for Kevin again? Did I really miss him that much? I might have believed it was just a bizarre meaningless extrapolation of my subconscious, but when the dream started recurring twice a week I knew some part of myself was wrestling with my true emotions.
I missed Paul after he left, but I certainly kept our tradition alive on my own. The food in that country is loaded with creamy richness that’s honestly unavoidable. The excess calories and carbs becomes permanently plastered onto your body by the alcohol you consume, which is just as prevalent as the food.
For three months I ate as if it were without consequence and engorged myself as often as I could. Yeah, maybe I was mourning the sudden departure from Paul, and maybe I just felt like being my natural self at the same time. The day before my flight back to the states I looked in the mirror and let my new transformation sink in. My breasts had grown nearly a cup-size, and my waist was attached to twice as much ass and thighs.
The day I flew home I greeted my mother at the airport and acted as if nothing at all had changed. We laughed over dinner about my trip, and when she asked once at it’s conclusion if I still planned to go to Kevin’s photo shoot in the morning I lied and said he found someone else. I wanted to believe it enough to make it true. That night when I was home I tried putting on the same work out clothes I wore the day before I left, and I looked like a complete joke. My spare tire definitely hung out further than it ever had before, and my arms suddenly looked doughier than they had in years. I felt comfortable at this size, but I couldn’t believe myself as the model image for someone’s career reputation as a personal trainer. I would never accept curvaceous girl in the mirror as the real me. There was no hiding the damage I’d done.
I can say now that I know that I’m weak. I refused to acknowledge my mistake and own up to it by calling Kevin to let him know he should hustle to find another student for his photo shoot. Or even just to let him know he should maybe cancel the photo shoot all together.
That day I sat up in my room by myself. Suddenly completely crippled and immobile. I refused to own up to what I had done, which made me feel even worse for Paul, which was guilt I just couldn’t confront. It was too much for me to take, and it kept getting worse. Suddenly my phone buzzed from Kevin’s innocent, unassuming text.
> Hey, haven’t heard from you in a while. It’s about an hour before the shoot, are you on your way? Hope you didn’t forget.
Two missed calls and thirty minutes later my phone buzzed with yet another helpless plea.
> Hey is everything alright, Melanie? The photographer’s ready to go, but there’s no sign of you. Are you going to make it? P
lease let me know.
And at this point I actually broke into tears. What had I done? Why couldn’t I stop myself form hurting this person that had been nothing but kind and helpful to me for years? These were the thinking points of the evening as I sat in my room refusing to budge.
Two hours after the photo shoot meeting was supposed to take place I heard a knock on my door from my mother.
“Mel? Kevin Campbell is on the phone. He wants to know if you’re ok. What’s this about? What should I tell him?” I sighed the type of sigh that only comes out from having realized you’re the worst human being on the planet.
“I’m fine. Tell him I’m fine,” I whimpered from my locked bedroom.
It took me about a week to finally come out of my awkward social paralysis and accept what I had done. By not responding to Kevin I had only fucked things up even worse. He would have been mildly upset with me if I simply told him I had fucked up with my diet in Italy. He would have felt like I maybe wasn’t reliable person, but he wouldn’t have interpreted it as a personal assault as he did now.
When I finally built the courage to own up to Kevin face to face I decided I would try to find him at the gym. I was his only appointment from 7:30 to 8:15, so I knew I would catch him during his downtime. But when I entered the gym I didn’t see him sitting in the lobby reading one of his fitness magazines the way he always had. Did Kevin stop going to this gym while I had been away? Was it because of me? Kevin’s absence felt so bizarre that the gym somehow felt completely empty, even though prime attendance hours were still in full swing.
I nearly gave up hope on looking for him, but I decided it was worth checking the first floor dumb-bell room that he spent most of his time at on bicep days. Though not where I expected, I found Kevin along the way. He was standing in front of a young red-haired girl who looked a few years older than me. She was doing leg curls on a machine that propped her ass up in the air while she counted out her reps in a forcefully squeaky baby cute voice.
“Is my form ok?” she cooed. Once again, the sight took my breath away. I wanted to walk over and throw the girl off the machine by her hair. I was a loyal to Kevin for years and that’s how he repays my patronage?
Just then Kevin looked up and realized what I had just witnessed. At first he seemed shocked, like I had jumped out from a corner and frightened him. But before he would let me savor his surprise his face relaxed back to his default cooler-than-thou expression, as if to say ‘So what? Why should you care?’
“You’re doing great,” he told the redhead after a brief pause of silence.
I thought about saying something bitchy to him or his new pupil. I wanted nothing more than to make both of them feel horrible before I strutted out of the gym but I was reminded by the humility that brought me in in the first place that I was also out of line here. I raised my eyebrows respectfully to Kevin, as if to give him my best of luck, and I left.
I fought back tears every time I re-imagined what I saw in the gym that day. I was a spiraling column of hellfire fury one minute and a blathering emo-teen whining about her crush the next. Add this on top of the fact that I still hadn’t lost all of my vacation weight, if anything my spare tire was still gradually getting larger. Another week went by and I still hadn’t even broken a sweat. Finally after seeing my body continue to regress one morning in the mirror, I decided this was enough. It might still be too emotionally taxing to run into Kevin, or anyone that might be his new client, but there were dead hours at the gym that even he was away for.
For the next two weeks I started going into the gym from 11pm to 1am. It wasn’t totally deserted, but I could find some space if I needed to. That hour at the gym is usually dominated by introverts anyway. People that don’t want to run into anyone they know, they just want to finish their sets and leave. At last I was able to climb back onto the treadmills I felt missed me just as much in my absence. The first two days were a rough reminder of what I was like as a teen, but once my reinvigorated energy returned to me I was able to put in longer and faster running logs than I felt in months.
By the end of the first week I felt confident enough to begin light weight training again to tone the backs of my arms. The bench-press barbell is one of the most intimidating stations in the entire gym. Your lifting weight on that is one of the first things weight trainers ask each other when assessing strength and endurance. But it’s also one of the riskiest exercises you can attempt. Splay your shoulders too far out and you’re bound pull a muscle in your shoulder that will keep you out of the gym for weeks. Don’t go down low enough and you’ll fail to get the full effect. Of course, this is also the station you most frequently need a spotter for.
If you fail-out on the bench-press you could potentially die once you’re smothered underneath the weight. This, among other reasons is why good spotter should never be under-appreciated.
I’ve been going to the gym by myself for a month now. The late hours were tough to adjust to at first, but the isolation is the only comforting thought I have left to get me out the door. I step into the gym and immediately put in my headphones. Weirdly enough, most of the people I’ve met at this hour have been surgeons who work some part of the a.m. rotation at one of the city hospitals. They’re a nice tribe, but they typically keep their headphones in as well to deliberately avoid small talk.
I step onto my favorite treadmill, one of the sleeker, newer black models that’s normally always taken during prime evening hours. I definitely have come to love a lot about the gym late at night. The way the crisp air actually smells sterile, rather than odorous. The way the sounds of a single weight machine can echo throughout the building as if communicating the gradual weariness of the person on it. All things I had been missing out on during my training with Kevin.
I climb off the treadmill and wipe my forehead down when I spot a familiar face I haven’t seen in a while.
“Melanie? I didn’t know you came here.” I haven’t seen Paul since our brief hangouts in Italy, if it even qualified as a ‘hangout’.
“Paul!” I feigned excitement, though I don’t think he can tell. I really don’t want to be mean to him, I just don’t go to the gym prepared to talk to anyone anymore. “It’s great to see you again.”
“You have no idea. I thought about you in France for the rest of my trip,” Uh-huh, thanks Paul. It looks like he’s thrilled to see my tits have swollen as well. In between sentences he keeps glancing down at my body, as if I wouldn’t catch him. He’s partially responsible for tempting me into the disaster I’m in now. “Hey listen, if you’re not doing anything after this, would you want to get a drink somewhere?” It ‘s sweet of him to ask, but I see where this is going and I’m in no mood.
“Thanks, Paul. That sounds great, really, but maybe another time? I’m just unthinkably busy since I’ve gotten back in the states.” If Paul is actually let down, he does a successful job at masking it. Outside of the gym I would be thrilled for such an invitation. But here and now, I’m all business.
“Yeah, that’s ok. Another time then,” I tell Paul I’ll see him later and I continue to the third floor women’s weight room. It’s hard for me to believe that I’m now seeking the same room that my mother and Kevin retreated to so many years ago. It only feels weird when you think about it, so I don’t. That’s the last thing I need on my mind before I bench-press.
A lot of girls are discouraged from the bench-press, which is really a shame. So many girls I know complain about flab on the back of their arms, but they have some sort of superstitious fear that if they bench-press once every two weeks they’ll turn into a she-hulk.
Today I’m feeling energetic yet frustrated, and I’m ready to unleash all I’ve got on something. I stack on the twenty-five pound plates that I’ve capped myself on and blow through ten reps without a sweat. This is too easy. There’s a light twinge in my arms as the push the weight above my chest. But barely more than that. Right now I want the weight to slice through the excess flab hanging off my
arms. I want to push so hard that my arms reshape now. I don’t need anyone to tell me how to go further, because at this moment I am insatiable.
I set the barbell back on the rack and sit up. I stare into mirror at the girl who’s begun to slim up slightly but who’s arms still sag with loose fat. Arms that sag with the weakness of will that made me abandon someone I cared about when they needed me. They’re the embodiment of everything I want to shed. And if I can cut them off tonight from this barbell, then that’s exactly what I’m about to do.
I stand up and without a moment’s hesitation I grab two more twenty-five pound plates and lower myself beneath the bar to go further than I’ve ever gone before. I feel a new powerful force exerting down on me that unlike anything I’ve known. The rear muscles in my arms start to pump with heat as I slowly let the weight down before putting everything I have into pushing it back up again. By my fourth rep my arms began to plea for mercy, violently shaking as if they could fail-out at any second. The feeling is exhilarating. I’ve just lifted almost twice as much as I ever had with Kevin. Tonight I am unstoppable. I catch my breath and stare back into the mirror. The girl I see now has focus and determination, and it’s coming out from within.
When I catch my breath I stare back down at the weight rack and start to challenge myself for more. Just one more push that will make tonight truly the pinnacle of self determination that I’ll never forget. I pick up two more ten-pound weights and stack them onto the rest. If I can just get one pump with this weight, one complete rep, then I’ll have lifted more than any female client of Kevin’s ever has. The confidence I’ve gained while working out alone and the thrill of my success tonight tells me I can do anything I want. One rep.
Manhandled by My Personal Trainer (BBW, BDSM, Curvy, Deflowering, Spanking Erotica) Page 2
