Her Whip Hand Ch. 01

I got into the habit of going to a gym three times a week a few years back, and after a while it became as regular a part of my life as brushing my teeth. This is unusual for me as I don't have a terribly disciplined life otherwise. So, as much as gym work can be tedious at times, I feel a certain sense of accomplishment at having stuck to it over a span of time. I'm, otherwise, a man of few real accomplishments.

Naturally, I fell into a routine. Cardio first, for forty minutes, relying on the battery of TV screens to pull me through the boredom. I look around, too. I'm curious about people. I'm someone who, if their flight is late, has no problem sitting there and watching the traveling masses walk past.

I began to notice a woman at the gym who uses an elliptical machine. Since I sometimes ran/walked on one of the treadmills - which were in the back row of the aerobic section - I found I enjoyed watching her.

She is of slender build and average height, and her ash-blonde hair is pulled back into a pony tail. She normally whiles the time away doing things with her phone which she holds in one hand, working the arm piece with the other. She carries her head ever so slightly off-center, tilted to the left, and has a serious demeanor, almost severe. I get the sense from watching her, that she is at ease in her self, in her body, and cares nothing for what anyone might think of her. She exuded self-sufficiency and independence. To me, she was attractively aloof, and it was this that began to intrigue me, and to make me want to know more about her.

Sometimes, when not at the gym, perhaps sipping coffee at home, I would think of her, and wonder what the basis of the attraction was.

Years back, I was in therapy. I'm naturally reclusive and a bit insecure. I feel most comfortable when I'm alone. I suppose it's because there's no threat of judgement or rejection that way. Alone time wasn't always the best thing for me, however, and I fell into a depression. I felt that if I didn't talk to someone, someone who could help me find and be at peace with the root causes of my habits and my longings, I would just spiral down to who knows where. Essentially, I was frightened by the prospects.

What did I learn? Well, my therapist led me to the nature of my relationship with... my mother! What a surprise. I suppose it's something of a cliche to investigate this singular relationship, but there are reasons for it. Here is a bit of my history.

In a nutshell, my mother was emotionally unavailable and fragile. She simply wasn't psychically equipped to deal with three children.

I was the youngest. There were times, as with every child, when I simply wanted to be held and soothed by her, but the invitation wasn't there, and I feared that if I persisted I would upset and destabilize her. When, feeling especially bereft, I cried for her attention, I was made to feel I was selfish, then guilty, and, by some perverse rationale, in need of punishment.

Once it became clear that I must tread cautiously around my mom, I did so. For her part, she presented to me an inviolable countenance; averting her eyes, giving terse responses to questions, and retiring to her room when there was free time she might spend with me. I kept my need hidden, but it has never left me. This complex dynamic became internalized and it carried over into adulthood.

Now, the woman at the gym: where does that puzzle piece fall into place? Well, when I looked at her, absorbed as she was ( in something other than me! ), and looking severe and detached, it struck a deep chord. Through the mysterious workings of my emotional past, I found myself wanting to make amends, to please, to apologize, and to be punished for the pain I'd caused. These were the emotions that she elicited. Of course, never having exchanged two words with this person, none of it made sense. Still, I felt drawn, then driven, to discover what was pulling me towards her. But how?

One day, I decided that I would be bold. I'd noticed some folks at the gym would sometimes carry weights, dumbbells for instance, and walk with them. While Lesley (this is the woman's name) was on the elliptical, I picked up some weights and began walking with them. Whenever I passed in front of her, I would slow a bit and bow my head. I did several circuits around the gym in this way. I did not look at her.

A few days later, I was doing my treadmill routine when Lesley entered the gym. The path to the women's locker room crossed in front of the various cardio machines and, when she walked past, she turned and looked at me. There was no mistaking it. For a second there was eye contact. Something akin to an electric shock ran through my entire body. I looked away at once, and noticed my heart beating quickly.

I stayed away from the gym for nearly a week, feeling completely unsure of how to make any kind of overture with her. She was on my mind almost constantly. The image of her face turned toward me, and of her piercing blue eyes calmly searching mine, confronted me at every turn.

I finally did return, and, that first day, I did not see her. Two days after that, I came to the gym and she was on a different elliptical, one that also moved laterally. These were situated by the entrance to the men's locker room. As I walked past, and with great effort, I looked her way. I ventured a small smile.

She returned my gaze, but she did not smile. During my workout that day, I avoided being near her. Still, something had begun. I wondered to myself if I had the courage and the wherewithal to see it through.

It was not until the next week that I saw her again. Perhaps she had been out of town. By happenstance, we both finished doing cardio work at the same time, and met at the area where paper towels and disinfectant spray are kept. I waited while she spritzed a section of toweling with the liquid. My heart raced, as did my mind, wondering what I could possibly say. I told myself: 'Say anything!'

"Ellipticals are great, aren't they." I blurted out.

She put the dispenser back onto its shelf and turned to me.

"Excuse me?" she said. It seemed she hadn't heard me.

"The machines." I said, noticing a slight tremor in my voice. "They're good. Easy on the knees."

She looked at me and gave a small laugh.

"I like them." she said, holding my gaze for a moment. Then she left.

As she walked away, I noticed ( not for the first time! ) the lovely contours of her buttocks shifting languidly, and her strong, shapely calfs.

That night, I masturbated with the image of her beautiful aloof face and her searching eyes emblazened in my mind. I nearly wept when I came. I wanted to please her, to serve her, so badly.

The next day, I was feeling pretty good. I had overcome my timidity and spoken to this woman. This was quite an accomplishment for me!

The next time I was at the gym, she was there. I walked past.

"Hello." I said, nonchalantly, as if we were casual acquaintances.

She nodded at me, not breaking her stride.

In the locker room, I took stock of the situation. I'd spoken to her twice, but it was going nowhere. 'Hello' would only get you so far! I'd always marveled at how some guys could smoothly chat up a woman. Well, that wasn't me. Still, I was determined to find a way.

When I came out onto the gym floor, Lesley was wiping down her machine. I steeled myself and approached her.

"How is your day going?" I said cheerfully, though my heart was full of foreboding.

She gave a finishing touch to the machine and turned to me.

"What exactly is it that you want?" she said, her head tilting a bit more from its normal axis, her eyes cooly inquisitive.

I was in no way prepared for this response. I felt myself blushing as I fumbled to answer.

"Want?" I said, as though I needed a translation of the word.

"It's okay. Forget it." she said, and began to walk away.

"Wait!" I said. In my agitation it seemed I could only manage one-word statements.

"Wait, please." I said, and took a few steps after her. She stopped and turned the same unruffled, inquiring gaze to me. Her eyes moved over my face. I felt an impulse to drop to my knees.

"I'm sorry" I said. "I'm not very good with people."

Not the most eloquent response, but otherwise right on target, I thought. I looked down at the floor, embarrassed. My hands were twisting my towel.

"Fair enough," she said, "but could you answer my question?"

"Oh... sure. Well, I just wanted to say hello. You know, just being friendly."

"You wanted to be friendly with me?" she said, and I could not help but note a tone of incredulity in her voice.

"I..., I like you. I think you're nice... you're very nice." I managed to stammer out. I was beginning to sweat, and all the gym work I'd done so far was to walk out of the locker room!

"Okay," she said. "now we're getting somewhere. So, I'm 'nice', am I?"

I had the sense that she was toying with me, but I just didn't care. Sure, this train was put together with glue and staples, but it was moving down the track.

"I think you're very nice." I said with such deep and unmistakable sincerity that Lesley seemed to take note of it. Something in how she looked at me showed approval; showed acceptance of my offering.

" Well, am I nice enough to treat to a cup of coffee?" she said.

It must have been no more than a second or two before I answered, but it seemed like much longer. I ran her words over in my mind, making sure that I'd got them correctly.

"Well.... Yeah. Sure! Of course!..."

What the hell was I saying?! You'd have thought I'd just had an aneurysm, or something.

"Okay, then. There's a cafe nearby. I think it's called The Derby. Do you know it?"

I nodded enthusiastically.

"I'll meet you there." she said, then walked off to change into her street clothes.

I stood there for some time feeling elation and trepidation turning me this way, then that. I looked around. It was the same gym, but felt as if it were on some distant planet. I walked to the locker room, not feeling my feet below me. Something strange and frightening and wonderful was happening to me.