Hey gang,
I'm working on what I hope will be my next big text story -- working title "Gym Girls." I really enjoyed working on Submission Agenda: Origins last year and sharing chapters every week was very rewarding.
It's an original story with original characters -- centered around a somewhat hapless and shlubby man who notices something strange starting to happen after he joins the local gym. A strange effect he seems to have on the women around him...
It's still in early stages, but I wanted to share with you all an excerpt from the first chapter to whet your appetites. I hope to have more to share soon!
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It was a midsize gym, a popular chain but nothing fancy. Some free weights, a long rack of dumbells against the wall, assorted cable machines, and a few rows of treadmills, ellipticals, and bikes. I bought a monthly membership, and signed up Julie as well, to get us a discounted couples’ rate. One of the personal trainers, Trish, guided me through the different tiers of membership and asked if we’d be interested in purchasing a training package -- maybe five or six sessions? I politely declined, and I thought I saw a hint of judgment in her eyes as her gaze flickered down to the clipboard, where she filled out my application forms. I glanced down at my own soft midsection and shifted uncomfortably in my chair. Looking up again at Trish, I took in her appearance.
She was younger than me, somewhere in her mid-20s, with a petite frame that was shapely and fit, solidly built, like a gymnast. She had strong-looking legs and thick thighs that told me she stuck to a rigorous routine of squats, and a round, full ass in skintight black gym shorts that I couldn’t help but notice when she had turned to sit down. She wore a baggy black hoodie that masked her physique somewhat, but more than a moment’s glance told me she had pert, fulsome breasts underneath. Her face was doll-like and cute, her skin porcelain white, her dirty blonde hair braided into two short pigtails that hung at the back of her neck. She looked at me with oversized, doe-like brown eyes, peering into me, and somehow her presence made me feel my insecurities even more acutely.
I put these uncomfortable intrusive thoughts aside, reminding myself that I was taking a positive step here, signing up at the gym. Obviously I knew I needed to do something to improve my own physique. Moreover, it really didn’t matter what Trish thought of my appearance. I wasn’t trying to date her. I had a fiancee. Who cared what other women thought of my looks? I was doing this for me, not for them. Right?
Afterward, Trish gave me a tour of the facilities. It was right around 5 p.m., the end of the work day, and the gym was starting to fill up. I noticed a variety of body types and ages in the membership. There were shlubby bearded midsize guys like myself, but there were also strapping younger men with densely muscled frames, boulder shoulders, bulging biceps. Some wore sleeveless tees to show off their physiques. I was tall, over 6 feet, so I didn’t exactly feel dwarfed by them… but these guys had done something with their bodies that I hadn’t managed to. They were younger, sharper, shredded.
And in the women… there was the same variety. Some older ladies, curling five-pound dumbbells or doing aerobics in the dance studio. Some younger women, a little plumper, in baggy sweats and t-shirts… and then on the other end of the spectrum, the refined gym-rat girls, toned and shapely, in color-coordinated skintight yoga pants and strappy sports bras.
As always, I was stunned at what passed for acceptable gymwear these days, as many of the girls could just as easily have been wearing lingerie, for all that it left to the imagination. The firm musculature of their legs, the inverted heart-shape of their asses, the tight midriffs and perky breasts squashed into flimsy halter-tops… My eyes drifted over their bodies, appreciating not just their sex appeal but their commitment to fitness. Some were slimmer than others, some fuller-bodied, some with picture-perfect wasp-thin waists and hourglass figures, some tall and willowy, some slim and petite. Their outfits were pink, teal, white, charcoal black, heather gray… a vast array of skintight fabric, a buffet of shapely curves.
As they walked or jogged, their ass-cheeks bulged and bounced on the treadmills, ponytails jumping and swinging behind them rhythmically. The girls on weight machines flexed, their skin glistening with a sheen of perspiration, muscles tense. A girl on the squat rack dipped deep, bar resting on her shoulders at the back of her neck, thrusting her hips back, sinking low to the floor. I tried to act casual, scanning the room while Trish guided me through.
“And in each locker room, there’s a steam room and sauna,” she was saying absently, gesturing to the back of the gym as we concluded the tour. “Good for post-workout recovery, so we recommend you take advantage of them.”