This summer, hot, mid-July. On days like this, I only go to work out in the evening, when it feels a little cooler. I have my own “gym” — not a fitness center. The difference is that a classic gym has a lot of dumbbells and machines, while a gym is full of cardio machines, and the clientele is different.
I like friends and acquaintances who put on an old, torn T-shirt and go to work out. The older I get, the less I notice the people around me. When I was 20-25, I often looked at girls and women in the gym. It was very pleasant, but the training was worthless — and the results were worthless.
If a person really wants to look like he spends every other day in the gym, he has to work out anyway, and not look at other women. That’s what I follow, and it brings results.
It was already evening, around half past eight, a regular workday. I was alone in the gym and only vaguely noticed someone walking in. I could only see her reflection in the mirror. A woman who immediately went to do leg presses. I was focused on my workout and didn’t pay any attention to her. After finishing the set, I caught a glimpse of her hopping on one leg in the mirror. I know from experience that this is not normal behavior. I turned around and that’s when I noticed her more closely.
A woman about my age, in her forties. Short T-shirt, tight leggings. Quite a nice figure — you could tell she wasn’t working out, but she was probably watching her diet.
“Hey, is something wrong?” I ask. We all look out for each other at our gym, and that’s how it’s supposed to be. She looked at me, obviously surprised that I’d addressed her. She said timidly:
“I started working out on this machine and I strained my right leg. I have a cramp in it.”
“Hmm, and did you warm up?”
She looked at me guiltily: “No. This is my first time here. I’ve never worked out before, I’ve just watched videos on YouTube.”
“You should warm up a little before every workout, just to avoid things like this.”
She listens, nods her head, and keeps jumping. I notice her more closely — red hair, beautiful green eyes, in which there is a flicker of surprise at the unusual situation. Nice lips, white teeth.
“If you want, I can help you and gently massage it out. It will go away in five minutes and you can continue. I also massage my wife, don’t worry, I know what I’m doing — and it will work. Here’s a mat, lie down and if you want, I can help you.”
She looked at me even more surprised, I saw her breathing quicken. “Okay, thank you. I admit, I didn’t expect this to happen to me today.” “Neither did I,” I say and smile.
She lies down on her stomach, turns her head towards me. It’s her right leg, the cramp is somewhere in the middle, above the knee. I lean over to her from the side. I gently, but with an experienced touch, touch the back of her thigh. I press once with one hand, then with the other. I know what I’m doing — and I also know that she’ll like it. I wasn’t wrong.
“By the way, my name is…” and I tell her my name. “I haven’t seen you here before.”
“Yes, this is my first time here. My husband told me to start doing something with myself, because he says I’m getting older and I’m not getting any younger,” she says with irony in her voice. I can see — and even more feel — that she’s touched.
“And where’s my husband?” I ask, while I gently move my hands a little higher, towards her ass. I look into her face and see her eyes widen with excitement.
“Hmm… he’s at home. He’s sitting in front of the TV watching football. Classic.”
I’m silent, I don’t answer her. I continue massaging, gradually extending the movements from the knee to the base of the buttocks. I see her close her eyes and let herself be carried away by the situation. She likes it — and so do I. Involuntarily she pushes her legs apart to create space between them.
“Hmmm… it’s great, you really know what you’re doing. I don’t feel the cramp anymore.”
“Should I stop?” I ask.
She hesitates for a moment, and I stop massaging.
“No, please don’t stop,” she says, her voice changed, hoarse.
“But if I may ask you… massage my other leg a little. I feel a little cramp coming on there too.”
“Of course, with pleasure.”
I touch her left leg. First gently, with one hand, then with the other. I move slowly up her thigh, massaging it from the outside and sometimes I go to the inside, towards her groin. I feel her body always tense slightly, hold her breath and then slowly exhale.
“So you do this to your wife too? And where is she, why isn’t she exercising with you?” she asks.
“Probably like your husband. She’s at home, reading a book too — the gym isn’t for her. And I don’t even remember when I gave her a massage…”
She nods gently. I can see her relax. “Sorry, I’m probably sweaty, aren’t I? I guess it’s the only way to go at this time.” She was really sweaty, even though she had just started exercising.
I don’t say anything for a long time, just massage her gently. Then I say, “It’s okay… I like your sweat.”
She turns her head. She looks at me. I can see everything she’s thinking in her eyes. “Will you work out with me? Will you be my trainer? Will we meet tomorrow?” she asks. I smile—and she knows my answer before I say it.