La Vida Loca Ch. 01

Disclaimer! Please, read. This is a long story, which is divided into three parts. All three chapters are already finished and the next part should be published within a week. So, it's not another story without closure or with chapters for which you would have to wait for months ;)

It's a slow burn romance, with a big portion of drama and many sex scenes. But it depicts a relationship with a very fit, gym-going woman, so if descriptions of female training and fit body are repulsive for you, even in the smallest amounts, then the story isn't for you. Anyway, it's not the emphasis of the story (only the romance), only an element of character building, but just for the warning, I preferred to write this up front.

Massive thanks for Bunkerhill for his patience and help with editing such an enormous story and special thanks for AronTrask78 for invaluable input and help with Spanish words. You guys rock!

That's all, enjoy the story. Thank you!

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My mind was in a typical state of someone running on a treadmill - thousand-mile stare, brain activity of a dead person, interrupted only by bordering on suicidal thoughts like 'why am I even doing this?'. Checking the timer every five minutes, just to realize that only thirty seconds passed. And of course, the necessity - loud music in the earphones to cut myself off from the rest of the world and suffer through the most boring workout possible in solitude.

Therefore, I wasn't even aware how long she might have been standing next to the machine I was using before I spotted her. I guess I just had this characteristic feeling of being observed by someone. Following this, I glanced at my side and there she was. She smiled at me and I jumped off the treadmill to the side frame and took off my earphones. Ironically, right before I did that Vance Joy sang the line 'I was scared of pretty girls and starting conversations'. Well, the conversation was about to be initiated by her, so at least one thing could be crossed off from my social awkwardness list.

And indeed she was pretty, but not to be scared of, I guess. Straight raven black hair, reaching halfway down her neck. She had a bit of a shaggy bob cut hairstyle, with hair falling on the one side of her face. Slightly slanted, big dark eyes, thick and elegantly arched eyebrows (at least not completely shaved then replaced by a painted stripe), long eyelashes, small straight nose and nice lips. Her lips were actually really beautiful, when I focused on them. Carved subtly, not too thin, not too thick. They were red, but not because of lipstick as she wasn't wearing any. Apparently, that was their natural color. The only makeup she had was eyeliner, which seemed to make her eyelashes even longer by contrast, and gave her a bit of a goth vibe. It was hard to tell her ethnicity, as her face had a mixed Native American and Latino vibe. But definitely exotic looking.

She had nice features, attractive and interesting, but I think she wouldn't be called a classic beauty. Of course, no one really knows nowadays what is a classic beauty type. In my opinion it depends on what the mass media want people to think. Personally, I found her pretty though.

However, her choice of clothes didn't compliment her, as she was wearing a loose gray hoodie and black sweatpants. It didn't surprise me much, as that particular gym had set up their air conditioning at a really chilly temperature. People either decided to wear something warmer or walked around with goosebumps and protruding nipples.

Yet, there was something in her face and eyes that caught my attention. Something intensely entrancing. I couldn't figure out what it exactly was at the moment.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your workout," she said with an apologetic smile. Her voice was smooth and pleasant, with a bit of a melodious accent. But I had no idea what her accent could indicate. Despite living in the States for nearly ten years, I was still deaf to almost all of these nuances.

"It's okay, I was about to finish anyway," I answered and tried to smile in a friendly way. I jumped off the treadmill's frame and stood next to her. She was about a head shorter than me, probably one meter and sixty seven... or in the American measurement system - five feet four and a half - something like that. I swear, I will never remember that!

"I just wanted to ask you to spot me while I bench press. I didn't want to bother you, but it seems that we are the only ones in the gym right now," she explained. I looked around, and she was right, the gym was deserted. It wasn't strange either - it was past 10 PM.

"Oh, sure, not a problem," I replied, and she turned around.

We walked through the empty gym, toward the free weights compartment. I rarely visited that part of the gym. Even though I had been working out for a solid few years, I still was a rookie, doing a basic full-body workout on machines and a lot of cardio. Probably pretty weird for everybody, yet completely normal for me. I was, however, admiring more passionate gym clients, envying them their commitment to hard workouts. Gym was only a way to kill time for me and maintain my cardio in futsal. I could not force myself to build a bulky physique, but I also felt rather good with my wiry body.

I had never been asked to spot someone during bench press, let alone by a woman, so it was a bit unusual. But she asked for help, and I was taught to help women in need. Especially... the pretty ones. (No, that "pretty" part I wasn't exactly TAUGHT, but you know what I mean!) Anyway, anything that could provide me an excuse to not continue running on the treadmill was very welcome. After all, it shouldn't be a difficult task, I saw how people were doing it - just standing behind the bench and being ready to help with a barbell. Rather easy because what weight could a woman use during such a workout?

But soon I realized that I couldn't be more wrong. The black-haired woman led me to a bench with a barbell already loaded with several plates on each side. It looked heavy. And it was, as I did quick math in my head - about 200 pounds, more or less, depending on if I assumed the correct weight of the bar.

Ninety kilograms! Whoa! Was she seriously going to press that weight? A thought crossed my mind and I ogled her once again. At first glance her body looked pretty normal. Of course, the big hoodie and sweatpants didn't tell me much about her figure. But she also looked somewhat... solid? For sure - not the willowy type. Or was it only her clothes?

I thought for a moment that maybe it was a prank, but she didn't look as if it was supposed to be a joke - she sat down and looked at me inquiringly. Slightly dumbfounded, I realized that I was still standing next to the bench, instead of getting behind it. I quickly moved myself to the correct place.

There were even designated foot supporters for a spotter. I stood on them and got ready, trying not to look terribly amateurish. She glanced at me one last time before laying down below the barbell.

Despite me being completely green in bench pressing, even I was able to notice that she was the real deal and knew what she was doing. She spread her legs, stomped her feet hard on the floor and then created a small bridge with her back. Next, she gripped the bar and secured her upper back on the bench.

She looked at me and said "Don't help me even if you think that I'm struggling, okay? I'll ask you if I need it. I'm gonna do six reps," she informed me in a matter-of-fact tone and then lifted the barbell.

I was holding my hands in front of me in readiness (I noticed that people tend to do that) and watched her in astonishment. I wondered if I was able to lift that much and after brief consideration I was nearly sure that I wouldn't. Perhaps one rep? I had no idea to be honest. I didn't have a reference level as I never tested my limits and - like I mentioned - I preferred a 'noob' workout on machines.

The girl lowered the bar, allowing it to touch her chest and then pressed it up. The first two reps she did with flawless - as I believed - technique and a good pace. Every time the barbell was in the highest position, she was exhaling through clenched teeth in a peculiar puffing way. The third rep was a bit slower and the fourth was much slower. With the fifth rep her face turned red with a grimace, although slowly but surely, she managed to complete the rep. She took a few quick breaths and began the sixth rep. The woman lowered the bar then tried to lift it but kind of stuck in the middle of the move. She was fighting with admirable determination. I didn't know what to do for a moment, thinking that she told me precisely not to help her if she did not ask.

So I was just keeping my hands an inch from the bar. To my surprise, I heard myself saying "C'mon, you got this! It's almost done."

It appeared that my spontaneous words of motivation were effective or more likely she just wasn't easily giving up, but she grunted and began to press the barbell harder. Slowly, inch by inch, she was straightening her arms and the weight was moving upward. With the effort visible on her face, she finally managed to press the barbell up. Then I helped her to put it on the rack. It landed with a loud clunk.

She sat up and mumbled something that I believed was in Spanish. Then she was just sitting with her head dropped and breathing heavily. Understandably, she just lifted 200 lbs six times. I still couldn't wrap my head around the fact that an inconspicuous looking woman could be so strong.

"Are you okay?" I asked her and she gave me a thumbs up.

She stood up with an effort and turned toward me. Her face was red, eyes open wider and she was still panting, but her pretty lips were stretched in a satisfied smile. She put her hair behind her ears. I noticed that one of her earlobes had multiple small earrings. And her nails were painted in dark violet. I didn't know why, but I immediately thought that it was fitting her very well.

She smiled at me cheerfully and said "I'm fine, thanks for the help and extra motivation." She stuck her hand toward me "I'm Vida by the way".

"Gunnar. Nice to meet you," I answered and shook her hand. Surprisingly, she had a soft grip, despite showing her extraordinary strength merely minutes ago. Or maybe she just knew how to adjust to not crush people's hands.

"Gunnar? Are you by chance from Scandinavia?" she asked, visibly interested in my name's origin. Her name was also unusual, at least for me. Vida. It sounded interesting. Serious and exotic.

"I'm from Iceland, but I have lived in Miami for a few years now," I answered. I had suspicions that not only was my name indicating my origin, but also my accent. I was aware that I sounded 'squarely', similar to early Arnie Schwarzenegger.

"Iceland?¡Qué bacano!" Vida threw in a Spanish word, which I obviously didn't know. But it seemed that it was something enthusiastic, at least that I read from her expression. "I knew that you had the Viking vibe the moment I saw you, this beard, you know." She smiled widely.

"Vida is also an original name. What's your origin?" I asked, hoping that my curiosity wasn't crossing the line.

"I'm American-Colombian. I was born in Bogotá, but moved here when I was seven." She smiled warmly and her face became prettier than before.

We talked a bit more, and she asked me to spot during another two sets. I agreed to assist her without hesitation, even though I had no reason to stay in the gym any longer. I finished my workout way before. But it wasn't as if I had any important stuff on Tuesday at that hour. I guess I just got involved in speaking with a pretty lady.

Vida did two sets, each time taking twenty pounds from the barbell. She called the method a drop-set or something like that. To be honest, it seemed that there was no real need for a spotter during these series. She killed them completely.

When she finished her workout it was quarter past 11 PM. The gym was about to be closed in forty minutes. I was wondering how to say goodbye in a way that would possibly allow us to be in touch, but Vida surprised me by saying "Hey, do you want to hop into the sauna together? Usually, it is very crowded, but I think at this hour it shouldn't be a problem," she said lightly and tilted her head a bit to the side. She had me with that gesture.

"Yes, sure, why not," I answered, trying to sound as light as she.

"Está bien! So, see you inside," she said and we went to the locker rooms.

Hastily I showered. Smelling like an old sock could have left rather a bad impression. I grabbed my towel, tied it at my waist and headed behind the showers where the common sauna was.

When I was walking in the corridor, a door on the opposite end opened and Vida came out. She also had a white towel tied in her waist and a simple black bikini top.

The moment I saw her without that hoodie and sweatpants, everything got clear for me. I mean, bench pressing 200 lbs in multiple reps. I kind of suspected something like that, but it still was quite a view.

Vida was bulky and muscular. Not a stronger fitness physique level, but a female bodybuilder type of body. I had never seen a woman built like her in real life. Maybe I came across women like her on TV or the internet, but since I had never looked for images of them, I really had no reference point.

However, Vida's body was undoubtedly remarkable. Broad shoulders, thick arms with bulging biceps, nicely defined abs and obviously well-developed chest. Vida had a nice ratio between her upper body, waist and hips, which gave her an ultimate hourglass silhouette. She was quite lean, but not to the extent like bodybuilders on the stage, having "dry" bodies, as far as I knew anything about. I mean, the paper-thin skin and impossible low fat tissue level. Vida had visible muscles and a washboard stomach, but still had some pleasant curves at her hips, and with rather small, but evidently natural breasts.

She definitely had bigger muscles than me, at least proportionally to her height. It was difficult to avoid looking shocked seeing her body, but I think I managed to do so. My Icelandic stoicism came in handy. I thought that it would be rude to gawk at her as if she was some kind of freak. Anyway, my masculinity wasn't threatened by Vida's muscles. Perhaps it was partially thanks to her feminine attitude, as she didn't present any weird behavior like boasting or generally being 'in my face' with her body. She behaved normally, so I decided to treat her normally as well.

I opened the glass door to the sauna and let her go first. She smiled and went inside. She didn't scold me for this gentleman-like gesture, as some women would, so it was a nice surprise. I followed her and for a moment lost my breath when hot air struck me in the face. The sauna's interior was minimalistic as it usually was - plank benches set up in a shape of letter L.

Vida took off her towel and put it on the planks. I lost my breath for the second time, when I saw Vida's rear, covered by black bikini panties. Muscular or not, she had a very pleasantly shaped bottom. Her butt created a perfect synergy of her muscles and remaining fat tissue.

She sat down on the planks and I positioned myself perpendicularly to her, cautious not to lose my towel, as underneath I was as naked as a newborn. Only then I realized that in the States there may be a bit of a different approach about saunas than in Europe.

Funny enough that Vida made a reference to what I was thinking at the moment. She shook her head and smiled. "C'mon, you can drop the towel. I know that you guys do things differently in Europe."

Yyy, drop the towel?! Was she serious?! She couldn't be, right? I asked her, "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, men in Europe wear slips instead of boxer briefs, is that correct? There is an unwritten rule here in the US that you can recognize guys from Europe by the type of underwear they are wearing," she said and laughed softly.

I laughed too, realizing what she wanted to suggest. "Yeah, that's generally true. But there are more things we do differently in Europe. For example, we have a bit of a different etiquette for saunas in Iceland. Therefore, I can't take the towel off. For real."

Both Vida's smile and eyes widened when she figured out what I meant. She laughed again and said "Oh, me gusta! Okay, okay, so the towel can stay, haha!"

Next we talked about Iceland, as Vida was keenly interested in knowing more about my country. She asked me many questions about where I came from. Of course, Húsavík, the name of my hometown, didn't tell her anything. That fishing settlement on the far North was so insignificant that even many Icelanders didn't know about it, let alone the foreigners. Usually, it was good enough when Americans knew that Iceland exists, and it was great when they knew about Reykjavik. Sometimes they heard about singer Björk. Everything else was just a nice bonus.

Nevertheless, Vida surprised me with her sincere curiosity. It was rare nowadays to meet a person who could truly listen. She seemed to be more interested in knowing facts about me than talking about herself, which was obviously out of the ordinary for modern people, as everybody could talk about themselves for hours. I received more attention from her than from anyone in the past decade. For an introvert like me it was almost making me giddy, but in a good way. If I was American, I would probably get diagnosed with Asperger syndrome, but I was simply an Icelander. We tend to experience everything very intensely, but just inwardly, without showing it. The word 'Ice' is in the name of the country with reason.

By contrast, Vida seemed to be very expressive, both with her facial expression and gestures. Maybe it was her unique feature, maybe part of famous Hispanic temperament, but it was enthralling for me. She had a very vivid face. When she talked her eyebrows were almost dancing, her eyes were glinting like a pair of beautiful onyxes. I read once that people with such lively facial expressions are more likely to be very intelligent and Vida seemed to prove that theory. Well, it was kind of auto-diss for me, but let's say that I'm the exception of the rule.

Moreover, she was throwing in many Spanish words, and that could look pretentious or even fake with some people, but in her case it only showed that she was naturally bilingual. And for me, it was simply alluring. Spanish is considered as one of the most sensual and passionate languages, as far as I know.

But our terrific conversation had to end, as the gym was closing. We walked out of the sauna, both dripping with sweat. I was struggling with how to ask Vida for her number, but I was really bad at this game. Every line I rehearsed sounded awkward or stupid.

Surprisingly, she did that for me by saying "Do you often do your workouts this late?" I nodded, and she continued, "so, will you be here tomorrow too?" I didn't plan it at all, but without thinking I just nodded enthusiastically. Vida's mouth curved into a friendly smile. "So, what time do you usually start?" She asked, and I nodded again, just to make her laugh. She granted me a soft giggle.

"About nine PM," I answered.

"Beuno... So, see you tomorrow. Bye, Viking!" She smiled once again and turned around.

"Bye!" I said to her back and for a moment I watched her nice figure.

I knew that I would have trouble sleeping tonight, for the first time in years not because of polar day.

*****

Prior to meeting Vida my life was simple. Calm, easy and organized. And probably boring, but at least in a well-known way. Comfort zone. Work, gym and hobby which was futsal once a week with my fellow 'outcasts' from various countries of Europe.