by May, Linnea
I follow him through a brightly lit hallway. As people cross our way - and he keeps greeting them left and right - I am painfully reminded why I don't like gyms like this one. It's a classic example of a pretty-people-gym where everybody is overdressed to the occasion. The women look like Barbie dolls and most of the guys look similar to Derek.
I do not feel comfortable at all and am more aware of my chubby stature and my pale skin than ever. At least I am still wearing my makeup because I came straight from work. Apparently, that is another must-do around here.
Derek waits for me while I get changed. The changing room is a lot nicer than the one at my gym. It's newer, cleaner and a lot bigger. But it also has mirrors all over the place. It's kind of awkward to look at myself while I am changing. I don't know about all these others girls around here, but that's not something I would normally do in front of a mirror.
I tie my long hair up in a bun. I have been told before that this hairstyle looks cute on me and that I have a pleasant neckline. It was a random compliment by a guy who I had seen for a while years ago, but it still serves as a reliable ego-push every time I need to feel a little better about myself.
Derek starts his program by showing me around the gym. Again, this raises my suspicions that this might be about trying to win me as a new member. However, I don't want to be impolite and obediently follow him as he shows me around.
The envious looks I get from almost every woman we walk by do not go unnoticed by me. I have to admit, it fills me with pride that I am the one who is with him, and that these women think I could actually afford to hire someone like Derek.
I love being at the center of his attention for now.
He is wearing a tight fitting shirt that leaves very little to the imagination. I get an understanding of how hard it must be for men to not look directly at a woman's cleavage now that I am so close to this Adonis. Every time he turns around to me, I have to force myself to look up at his face and not scan his muscles beneath the shirt.
"We also have a very neat spa area that you can take advantage of after our training," he concludes his tour. "But you'll have to explore that part for yourself."
He winks at me. I have no idea what to make of that and just nod at him.
"Do you have any particular questions right now?" he wants to know.
"Not that I can think of."
"Okay, good," he assesses. "But I have a few for you."
He scans me from head to toe, just like my coworkers. I almost expect him to say something equally nasty to me, but there is no spite in his eyes when he looks back up at me.
"This is obviously not your first time at a gym," he presumes.
"How do you-"
"I can tell," he says. "You look like someone who works out. Your whole posture sparks with energy. What kind of workout have you been doing so far?"
"All kinds of cardio," I reply. "Whatever I was in the mood for."
"And some lifting?" he asks.
Without hesitating, he reaches forward to touch my upper arm. He slightly pinches my triceps. The gesture is more playful than investigative.
I let out a helpless laugh to cover up the silly jumps that my heart does at his touch. I am wearing a sleeveless top and his fingertips feel like electric shocks on my skin.
He reciprocates my smile.
"Thought so," he whispers.
I don't know what exactly he is talking about, but before I can ask, he gets out a notepad and a pen.
"Nevertheless, let's give your body a little checkup before we start," he says while he writes something down. "Heart rate, medical history, general fitness level. Things like that."
"Alright," I say.
We walk towards a little secluded corner in the gym and he proceeds to ask me questions about my health and my former fitness regime. His hand doesn't leave my arm while he is measuring my pulse rate, which doesn't exactly help. I'm sure my resting heart rate would be a lot lower if he wasn't so damn intimidating.
And now he can see my excitement in numbers. How embarrassing.
If he suspects my heart rate to be unusually high, he doesn't let it show. He just writes down the numbers without commenting on them.
His proximity unsettles me. I feel like he is unnaturally close to me the entire time. I can feel the heat of his body and find myself bathed in his smell. It is a distinct smell, very sweet. It must be some kind of lotion or deodorant. A fruity smell. But I can't quite put my finger on it. Peach, maybe?
"Okay," he concludes his little examination. "Fit as a fiddle, just as I thought."
I giggle at this expression. It must have been years since I heard anyone use it. It seems so out of place coming from his lips.
He casts me a confused look.
I raise my hand in defense. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," he says. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. I'm curious to see your expression once we get started."
His smile darkens ever so slightly in an obvious attempt to scare me.
I look back up at him with an unfazed look.
"We will see about that," I reply. "I am stronger than I appear."
His grins widens. "Is that so? I'll have to work extra hard to wear you out then. Is there anything in particular you wanted to focus on today?"
I shrug and ponder for a moment. I have never paid special attention to any part of my body or the kind of workout I followed. I just did whatever came to my mind.
However, now that I think about it, I realize how much of my fitness routine has consisted of running and leg workouts, while my upper body has always been neglected in comparison.
"Well, my arms, shoulders and chest could need some attention," I say. "I mean... I have never done too much for that area because I never really knew how to get started."
He nods. "Okay. Let's get started then - with a little cardio to warm up."
I nod and follow him back to the workout area. To my surprise, he doesn't just send me on one of those elliptical trainers that I hate so much, but instead, he leads me to one of the studios that are connected to the general workout area and are usually reserved for classes. He closes the door behind us, shutting out the noise and music coming from the larger hall.
As in most studios, there is a giant mirror that spans across the entire wall opposite to the row of windows that give way to a view across the outside pool below.
I stop in the middle of the room, standing there awkwardly while he walks across to the other end to the stereo equipment.
"I don't know about you, but I'm not a fan of repetitive slaving on one of those machines out there," he says while he starts to fiddle with the buttons. "I prefer some silly movements accompanied by music. Does that sound like fun?"
"Er, sure," I respond.
Before I can ask any further questions, the music starts playing and he turns around and approaches me with wide and confident steps. The intro is rather sensual and slow, some kind of Latin American melodies. Salsa, maybe?
A wave of fright travels across my spine. I hope he doesn't expect me to dance Salsa with him? I like dancing, but I have always been terrible at couple dances where one had to remember a bunch of step sequences and remain elegant while doing so. It's impossible for me to do.
My worry must be written across my face, because he acknowledges me with a sympathetic nod as he takes my hand with his and places the other one on my back.
I gasp. Is he serious? Are we really going to dance Salsa to warm up?
Oh my god, I am going to die of embarrassment!
"It's okay," he assures me. "Just follow my lead and move your body the way it feels natural."
"I really can't-"
"Just follow your instinct," he interrupts. "Trust me."
So I do.
After all, what choice do I have?
CHAPTER 4
It turns out that his warm up program is more than a little Salsa dancing. I don't think we're even dancing Salsa at all. He doesn't let go of me for the first fe
w minutes and leads me across the room, keeping my body close to his as we fly across the floor in long steps. I am anything but elegant as I try to keep up with him, but he doesn't seem to mind.
Instead, he encourages me with his smile, wrapping me in his grip and enticing smell. I almost sigh in disappointment when he puts some distance between us by taking a step back and removing his arm from my back. He spins me around with a twist of the hand that is still holding mine. I look at him with confusion, unsure what to do now that we're practically standing next to each other. I felt comfortable while I was still close to him, but now I feel lost and insecure.
Not for long, though.
"Just copy me!" he encourages while moving his hips in a way that is almost sexual.
I blush as I try to mirror his motion. It feels so silly and I am certain that I look nowhere near as sexy as he does. I avert my eyes from the mirror in front of us in an attempt to hide from my shame. This is so embarrassing. I would much rather slave away on one of the elliptical trainers right now. They are boring, but at least I wouldn't lose my face the way I am right now.
"What's wrong?" I hear him ask from the side.
He approaches me, still moving to the music.
"Don't be shy, beautiful," he says in singing tone. "Come."
I blush when he puts his arm around me, gently pushing the palm of his hand against my back. I am beginning to sweat and fear that he might feel it through the fabric of my thin shirt. God, why does he have to be this handsome? Is that why he is so popular? I don't get it. Why would anyone want to be close to someone as endearing as him while working out? A true workout usually turns me into a sweaty and unaesthetic mess - not a state in which I would want to be seen by anyone, let alone someone like him.
I bet he's used to being surrounded by tall, thin beauties such as the ones in my office. What on earth must he be thinking now that he has to waste his time with me?
He presses my body against his until my voluminous breasts push against his buff chest. I close my eyes in shame, even though the feeling is divine. God, he feels so sexy. I wish I could rip his shirt off and run my fingers along his bare chest.
After all, I have seen what it looks like, and now I can feel it. So close, only the very thin fabric of our shirts between us.
He supports me, leads me across the room and rebuilds my self-esteem with his proximity. I am starting to enjoy this. We are dancing, but not following any noticeable rules. If he is annoyed by my general incompetence, he does a good job of hiding it.
I don't know how much time has passed when the music stops, but both of us are sweating at this point.
He laughs at me while he wipes across his forehead with the back of his hand.
"Phew, good job," he says. "Feeling warm?"
"A little," I admit.
He winks at me. "Good, I can start torturing you then."
The words and his intriguing wink cause a weird little hiccup within my chest. Is he flirting with me? Or is that just the way he talks to his clients? Or maybe just the female clients...
I don't know what to make of his demeanor. It would be ridiculous to think that someone like him could actually be interested in me. It must be part of his job, his way of handling his clients. I am sure that is how he gained his popularity.
We leave the studio. I walk next to him as he explains to me what kind of upper body torture he has in mind.
We reach the training area and he introduces me to all kinds of pieces of sports equipment that I have never used before. I am not a fan of these devices and never would have thought to try them out by myself.
But with him, it is different. He has his own name for each piece of equipment, silly names that reflect the way a person looks while using them. His cheerful approach makes all the difference. We are joking and laughing as he shows me how to properly use them and I try to follow his lead. A lot of times, I fail at it, because the weights are too heavy and I cannot get them to move the way they should.
"You're right," he says at one point. "Fit as you may be in general, your upper body is delicate and weak - like a little girl."
Little girl? Delicate?
I jokingly frown at him. "Little girl, huh? We'll see about that!"
With that, I try to lift an especially heavy weight - and fail gloriously.
We both laugh and he pets my shoulder. "Oh, I take that back. You showed me!"
He kneels next to me so that our eyes are almost on the same level. Close, very close.
"Let me adjust that for you," he says and starts fiddling with the weights behind me.
His arm brushes against me again and again, and I am beginning to think that this is not by accident. He is so close to me, all the time. Unnaturally close.
Of course, as a personal trainer, he would be used to coming in close contact with his clients. But I wonder if this really is what he would consider normal?
We continue our session and I am beginning to understand what he meant when he called it torture. It really is. I would have stopped a long time ago if he wasn't standing next to me, cheering me on, making jokes, and - sometimes - yelling at me like a good-humored drill sergeant.
In between, he keeps dropping sweet words and compliments. He is good at encouraging people, that's for sure.
I am drenched in sweat and feel like my arms are about to fall off when he finally announces that we are done for the day.
I just finished one last round of push-ups, if one could call it that. I have never been able to do even one proper push-up. When I shared that information with Derek, he just winked at me - again - and promised me that I would be able to do it after he was done with me.
I still can't shake the feeling that there is something flirty, sexual even, about the way he is talking to me.
I am lying on the floor in front of him, sweating and panting, and once again reminded why I never wanted to work out next to a god like him.
I can feel his hand on my shoulder, softly petting me.
"Good job," he compliments me. "You did great! But don't blame me if your muscles will burn for the next two days."
I get up on my elbows and look up at him. "Oh, I will blame you! You were the one who tortured me, after all."
A dark smile shows on his face. "I am glad I could wear you out. It suits you."
"Suits me?" I ask.
He smiles at me and shakes his head. "Never mind. I suggest we do some stretching before I send you off to the spa area. How does that sound?"
"Great."
CHAPTER 5
We retreat to a secluded area at the very far end of the gym. The floor is laid out with blue mats, unlike the rest of the workout hall.
We are the only people around, but I could feel a dozen eyes on us as we walked through the room to get here. People, especially women, were still looking at us more than I am comfortable with.
I expect him to show me what to do, like before. But instead he comes closer and grabs me by the hips.
I flinch in surprise and look up at him with wide eyes.
"Don't worry," he assures me. "I just want to loosen the tension in your muscles."
"Okay."
He starts massaging the region just above my hips, starting at the side and then slowly moving over to the back. I can feel my cheeks burn with the heat of embarrassment, as I am too aware of all the extra baby fat that's been sitting around the center of my body since puberty.
I have been told that my shape was sexy by quite a few men in my life, but I have also been ridiculed for my stature enough to outweigh all the compliments. It saddens me, but I feel like there is very little I can do about it.
Now that this surreal handsome man's hands are on my body, I cannot help but feel vulnerable and ashamed about the body he is touching.
Even though his face speaks a different language. He is concentrating and his eyes follow his hand's every movement as they wander across my body. He uses his thumbs to push against a certain spot on my lower back, just
above my ass. The pressure feels so good that I let out a little moan.
I hear him chuckle behind me, close to my ear.
"Feels good, huh?" he whispers.
I nod in silence.
Oh my God, how embarrassing!
"Lie down," he orders. "On your belly."
I obey and get down on the floor before him, my face burning with heat. I wish this would end - and then again, I don't.
He gets down on his knees next to me and continues to work on my body. Now, his massage wanders lower, towards my thighs.
"You are tense, girl," he notices as he lifts one of my legs up, bending my knee and gently pushing my foot towards my behind. "Why is that?"
Because you are so fucking hot - and you are touching me in a way that you might think is innocent, but feels so very different.
I blush at my honest thoughts.
"Tough training," I excuse myself. "Is this part of the service?"
He chuckles. "No, not for every client. You're special."
"Oh."
Special? What the hell am I supposed to make of that?
"Oh, so it's part of the coupon I won?"
"Kind of," he replies. "You know I don't take clients because I have to anymore?"
"Yeah... I've heard something like that," I murmur.
"I am doing this for fun and I am selective," he continues. "Very selective, actually."
"But you couldn't choose me," I interject.
He pauses for a moment. "Well, sometimes I get lucky."
"Lucky?" I want to know. "You mean, when you get to work with someone who can't keep up with you?"
He laughs. "Why would you say that? You did better than most new clients I've had! And you are fun to work with."
The fun girl. Oh, how often I've heard that before.
His massage continues down to my calves, but he doesn't spend nearly half as much time with them as he has with my thighs and my lower back. Soon, his hands wander back up and he places his thumbs on my spine just above my behind and gently pushes down on the same spot as he did when we were still standing. Again, I cannot suppress a little moan.
