The Serenity of The Gym

On my way out, a work call stopped me at the car. Some manager chewed me out for having mixed up two business metrics. I tried to explain to him that his team didn't work with either business metrics, but a third one. His yelling stepped up a level as he explained to me that I was not to talk back to him. He threatened to write me up for insubordination. He's not even in my chain of management. I found the relevant page in the team's strategic plan and forwarded a copy to my boss and him. This was going to blow up majorly tomorrow because he is drinking buddies with my boss.

When I finally pulled out of the parking spot and circled out, I passed a pink coupe with the seat angled back. Nosy, I turned my neck to see who was sleeping in the parking lot. It was the woman with the small red curls. Her eyes were closed. She seemed to be shivering fast. Her back window was completely fogged up. Her mouth was parted open and held so much tension like there was a struggle going on inside there. Then I realized what was happening. I thought to myself, "At least, I did one good thing today."

That year, I discovered a lot of possibilities in the gym, but they were all done under the veneer of quietness and plausible deniability. As I described earlier, people didn't talk at this gym. They were all shy tech workers, isolated in a rich, luxurious environment. The workers were attracted to the pay and prestige of getting the brand on their resume but terrified and held in check by managers that the slightest complaint would get them instantly kicked to the street. So if you expect a wild orgy in the sauna, you can put those ideas far away. Everything that happened stayed under the radar of seemingly normal interactions.

One of them happened in a workout class. Wednesdays, I used to take "bootylicious" at 6pm. They have marketing interns come up with edgy names for the classes that give the brand a veneer of excitement, daring, and the next thing. The instructors are groomed to be full of energy, fun, and happiness. One of the questions in the post-workout survey, that's sent to my phone, even asks: "Did the instructor seem to have a good day?" That question is wrong on so many levels. Is it the fault of the instructor if their grandma passed that day? Clearly, the instructor doesn't actually have to enjoy the day. The instructor only has to create the appearance - "seem"!

At that time, the bootylicious instructor was a firecracker. She would run into the room like she was firing us up to storm Normandy. Her voice carried at such great volume that she drowned out the speakers returning her voice from her headset. Without a break, she'd start doing jumping jacks and clapped us to join her. She had the body of a pro-athlete. Those legs and arms spoke of so raw power. She had an easy smile that seemed to make it effortlessly. Her body was a walking advertisement that said that anyone could have a such a blow out body by showing up to her class. She left the tech bros crumbled on their knees while she still did box jumps while simultaneously raising weights overhead midair.

Then, she'd come up to the tech bro on the floor real close, leaning over, and would whisper into his ear at normal speaking volume: "I know you've got it in you. I've seen you. You are a total champ!" Then the lanky lad with an oversized, sweat soaked t-shirt would climb back on top of his long, skinny bones with a distorted smile to do more deadlifts in an attempt to gain her favor - with absolute horrible alignment and a body language that said that the pain was going to overpower him any moment to make him break out sobbing.

I'm not the glowing example in that class either. For the knee spreading exercise, lying on the side on the floor, we have three bands. Green is easy. Yellow is medium. Black is hard. Of course, I take the black one and internally yell at myself that I'm a worthless piss of shit every time, I want to give into the pain of burning butt muscles. While the instructor has two! black bands around her knees and is doing small talk about her last night and how she wants us to do more reps in the gym and less shots at the bar to get that dream body.

The crusher was about to start. The abdominal workout was my most hated part of class, but it was also the challenge before the cooldown stretching. That fateful day, we had to lie on our begs, raise our legs, and hold. I felt cautiously happy that day because my abs had been shaping up and I thought holding the legs up was going to be uncomfortable today but not terribly so anymore. I painted out the ease of stretching. That's when she walked straight up to me. I could feel myself at her full attention like a stage light beam right on me.

"You ain't feeling a thing! But I got you sista!" she said and dropped a medicine ball on my shins. My heels momentarily dropped to the ground from the impact but eagerly I lifted them with the ball quickly back into the air. My abs were instantly shivering from the weight. My mind yelled at me that I wasn't going to last to the end of the next ten seconds with that strain pulling my groin forward, but I tilted my hips against it and pushed my pubic bone forward.

"Do we have any pukers yet?" Andy - she had a male name that she made sound absolutely feminine with the sexuality that she used. She was jumping in between the rows of us shaking and struggling on the floor. I myself was a little curious if anyone would puke. I turned my head to the sides and forgot a little bit about the medicine ball on my shins. I had never seen anyone puke in a workout class, but Andy made it seem entirely possible. She really made us feel like we were on another level.

"C'mon, we don't stop until at least three people puke!" she commanded us. She felt like a drill sergeant instructor for an elite unit. She made us feel like we were in a class that worked out harder than any other class in the whole city. Not everyone liked her class, but the ones that came to her class were fanatically dedicated to get that feeling of being elite, of being worthy, and of experiencing something special that ordinary people couldn't relate to.

She kept jumping around between us looking at people's faces, hovering next to people whom she might suspect of being ready to crack and puke. I didn't want to be one of those. Even though the medicine ball was making my shiver so much that it might be better described as jumping for an inch or two, I fought it. Willpower! The feet only go down the ground because the mind allows it, not because the muscles are out of steam. My abs were so much on fire that I felt them like two steel cables from my chest to my groin. The rest of my belly had melted away.

Despite me being able to fight the shaking and managing to keep the blue ball balanced on my shins without popping off, my heels did slowly travel in the direction of the ground. It was simply the lactic acid build up that caused the cylinders in my muscles to slow down. To compensate, I tilted my hips more forward. I was pointing my pubic bone high.

In the heat of the fight, I suddenly got a good feeling in my groin. In the middle of all the pain, right where my ab muscles tucked on the pubic bone, it started to feel a little good. I focused on that feeling. The more time passed, the stronger that feeling got and the easier it became to shut out all the fiery pain. But I felt my muscles acid buildup letting up against gravity. So I pushed my groin more up to get that good feeling. That's when I felt that the pressure of my glit against the fabric of my yoga pants gave me a little extra pleasure feeling. It was definitely erotic, but it felt so good.

I strained harder to push my hips forward to put pressure onto my clit. I straightened my legs a little more to get more pressure of my ab muscle pulling on my pubic bone. And that good feeling spread out to become a sphere in my nether regions. The pain started lifting. I found myself forgetting about the struggle and solely focusing on pushing my pubic bone and clit more up and forward. A new strength came inside of me. And I realized that the shivering in my body caused my clit to ever so subtly rub against my yoga pants. I was full on masturbating hands-free in in the middle of class. Somehow the idea that this was going to get me through the exercise made it okay to chase my lust.

I was getting so close. The touch was so subtle that I couldn't get off. I was burning to get off. I had the strong urge to grab my pussy and make myself come. It would take only a few hand motions, but I couldn't in the middle of class. I internally begged Andy to keep us in this pose long enough to come.

"You guys are five seconds away from the finish. But I got a gift for you. We are going ten extra seconds today because we are special! And it's that last bit that tells your brain to grow stronger muscles! I'm also still waiting for my first puker!" She yelled at us, but she did it with such sweetness that it was more like singing. People grunted. I praised the god and pushed my clit forward into the yoga pants as hard as I could. I let ab muscles shake extra hard because it would cause the yoga pant fabric to move more around my clit for more stimulation. I felt like I had crossed the threshold of being a clown, but I didn't care. I need to make the flame of my clit detonate.

And then it fucking did! It was the best orgasm. My whole body lit up like a nuclear explosion. I kept holding the ball up longer to get every last drop of yum feeling to ooze out of my clit and into my body. Andy had called the exercise off. Everyone dropped instantly, but I went a few seconds extra. "Good work today," said Andy as she walked past my body.

That night, the soreness in my abs was so intense that I couldn't sleep. It wasn't only pain but nausea that was so sickening that I held my face over the toilet seat a few times in the middle of the night. But nothing would come out. My gastrointestinal tract was completely fine. It was simply extreme muscle soreness.

From that day on, I kept coming to bootylicious to furiously masturbate. Any time an ab exercise was up, I'd straight away go for the maximum strain and knew how to point my groin to start the slow - oh so tediously slow - sensation of arousal until it would break into a full body orgasm that made it all worth it. Somehow the brain seemed to confuse the intense simulation near the pussy from the ab muscle pull on the pubic bone with actual pussy stimulation. The pleasurable release was simply so immense. And nobody seemed to notice in the midst of their physical struggle.

One day was different though. We were on our bellies. We had to raise our legs and arms up so that we'd balance on our belly. I instantly, shot my legs and arms as high as I could up to the ceiling and inhaled to have my belly push my weight onto my pubic bone. Yeah! Press on the pubic bone as hard as I can and get as much shaking from muscles going on as possible. If the interval was too short, it could be challenging to reach orgasm in time.

The panty line ran across my pubic bone in such a way if I turned a little to the left, I would be able to make the harder edge of the line push against my clit. So I turned my head right - right into the eyes of my mat neighbor. For some reason, she had her head turned to the right as well. We locked eyes. The awkwardness gave us the instinct to pull back immediately, but I also had my clit so perfectly pressed against the panty line that I didn't want to shift my body the least bit. I was a bit caught between my burning desire and avoiding deep eye gazing, but she looked back as well.

Something gave us the permission to look back. Our mats were side by side. We were pretty close. She had such pretty hazel eyes. We were so close that I could see the black spots on her iris. I could see where the eye lashes were attached to her real lashes. Most of all, I looked at the small black hole at the center of her iris. I felt like I could see inside of another world, her world. For some reason, I got visions of forests and mountains, and her in a traditional garb running around in it all free and happy.

I held the gaze. She held the gaze. I felt dirty focusing on growing that horny feeling on my pubic bone while directly staring into her eyes and pouring all that horniness into her. It felt so intimate. She seemed to be doing the same, but I wasn't sure. Maybe, she was simply working out hard. Then I crossed a point, where I didn't have to fight the feeling of awkwardness about staring at her while growing arousal but I wanted her, I needed her, to hold me with her eyes while I grew wet and aroused. My eyes must have been pleading - hold me, embrace me while I masturbate. Maybe, she interpreted my looks as simple pleads for help dealing with the tough exercise.

When her eyes rolled back while keeping her eyelids open, I knew that she was doing the same as me. I wanted to come with her. I wanted to rush my orgams. I pressed harder. And god I love my pussy! She gave me a beautiful orgasm. My eyes didn't roll back. I kept my soul latched to her eyes to take in every drop of her sultry shivers and ecstatically rolled back eyes. They say that in tantra, the goal is not sex but to touch god. That day, I touched god. There is nothing dirty about masturbating in exercise class. It's spiritual ecstasy!

We turned over for the next exercise. We got up at the end of class without even looking at each other. That was it.

But next class, we lined up our mats together - directly side by side touching. We ignored each other until it was one of those exercises that we could come from. Then we faced each other silently.

All was good until one day, Andy walked in and said, "Today, we are going to do something different. Introduce yourself to your neighbor. Let's build community!"

"Hi, I'm Krissie," I introduced myself.

"Hi, I'm Johanna," said the hazel eyed woman.

We both felt awkward. It wasn't like the awkwardness of a conversation that turns fluid. It was instead the recognition that we had violated a pact by talking to each other. Only by not verbalizing could we give each other to each other so utterly. Only by maintaining the distance could we cross the lines so thoroughly. Only by maintaining anonymity could we be so intimate. Only by not knowing each other could we maintain the fantasy.

When Andy made us do an ab exercise, I turned my head to Johanna. She was looking back at me. We both tried to chase our orgams. But I could no longer deeply gaze into her eyes. I saw her pink lips, the upper lip being bigger, but lower lip having a nice curve outward. I wondered what it would feel like to kiss them. What would they taste like? A breath gum? The real taste of her? She seemed equally pre-occupied. Without the focus on pleasure, her face seemed to be thinking about mundane things. She seemed a lot like a housewife, busy with chores. We still came but it was different.

I realized that the purity of all the gym games only worked because they were pure. Once we broke the silent anonymity, the real life would be too mundane and full of baggage. I saw that with each person, we had agree to play a game. We had slowly reached agreement on the rules of it. Both of us had quietly in our reaction affirmed the rules that we liked. We had built the most perfect rules for our relationship. Any change would break the game. None of us had enough between each other to build a new game. The choice was to keep the rules or give up playing.

When I saw the woman with the little red curls in the locker room, I made my choice. She was fresh and clean from the shower, she took her clean clothes out of the locker and placed them on the bench. I was sweat dripping wet. My yoga pants and top were drenched to every last square inch from a spinning class. Literally, I could have squeezed drops out of the fabric. They felt so heavy in the hand and water loaded to the touch. I took her clothes and placed them in my locker.

She stood quietly. She seemed a little unsure, but she also had a slight hazy look on her face as she was enjoying having her clothes taken from her and being made to stand naked. As I stripped my top over my head, I told her "These are your clothes!" with that deep, dark, and commanding voice that said I'll slap you across the room if you disobey me. She instantly reacted with tingles on her skin and a deep trancy look. I had made her feel with my voice to her bones. Every piece, including my g-string, that I stripped of was so wet and soaked that it clung to my skin.

Patiently and naked, she had waited like a puppy with the eyes on the meal for permission. At last, I put my g-string on top. It was so skinny that it would ride right between her pussy lips, wedged against her moistness. I had worn them all day. She knew. Her head was slightly drooped down from the trance state that she was going through. She reached for the panties, wiggled her feet through, rolled it over her thighs, and straightened it out. The sweat must have felt so cold and clingy. Then the pink spread across her cheeks. That's what I had been waiting for. When I saw that, I knew that I had touched her deep and dark, towered over her, deemened her, embarrassed her, and humiliated her.

Layer by layer, she slipped into my soaked clothes. Even I feel disgusted by the cling that they have when I try to get them on. There, she was putting them on, but not her own sweat and the sweat of a stranger instead. "Thank you, Miss," she said quietly with tenderness. Then she looked over her shoulder to make sure that locker room was empty. She got onto her knees and kissed both of my feet, right on the middle of the top, with tender, soft lips. Then she quickly walked out.

The next thing I learned about the game is that it requires to be heightened. Otherwise, it dies and fizzles out. The game that I played in the pool by positioning my boob into the path of the hand of the swim compadre didn't work anymore. It's very startling the first time, but it loses its charge the second time. I swam my lines next to the swim compadre, splitting the lane, wondering how I could heighten the game. Grabbing his penis would not lead to a good place. Also it would break the rule of being covert - in the twilight of being unsure if it was or wasn't.

Then I had an idea. As I pulled left stroke, right stroke, I let my hand slip underwater out of its required path to let it drift across my bikini top to pull it to the side. It was one of those tops that had a string around the chest and triangles of fabric that could move along the string. Then with my other hand, I grazed my exposed boob to check that it was fully exposed.

When I got to the wall, the tall, dark haired man was resting. I slipped my head out of the water, stood up, and my breasts were right above the waterline with my right breast fully exposed - so fully exposed like I was utterly unaware. I turned to the swim compadre and addressed him. His face blew wide open with shock. For a second, his eyes were frozen and taking in my bare boob. When he regained control over his lust, his eyes quickly darted up to my eyes to lock onto them to make sure not to stare at all.

"You have such a wonderful stroke," I complimented him. "Could you explain to me how to do the recovery properly?"

He was evidently flustered and was trying to avoid embarrassing me by pretending that nothing was visible. "Well, some people, raise their elbow high..", he started to mansplain. He was stuttering a little bit. There was a that little sense of trepidation in his voice like he was getting turned on by me. "Wow," I mouthed big as if he had given a great revelation. That made him puff out his chest a little more. Suddenly, his voice crackled into a deeper baritone like he was getting turned on real well, "but really, others have a complete straight arm recovery." I could tell from his eyes that he was swimming in emotion.