Reunion, Workout, First Date

Despite the miserable weather outside, Mark walked through the terminal of Logan airport with a spring in his step for two reasons; his plane had landed safely, and since he had only carry-on luggage he could head straight home. Both of those were unusually significant since the ice storm made flying treacherous and had caused chaos in flight schedules and on the ground. Judging by the announcements on the public address system, his must have been one of the last flights permitted to land, and no more were departing. As he walked past the sorry collection of stranded travelers his gaze was attracted to one tall, beautiful brunette. She was obviously tired, but seemed less angry and frazzled than most of her companions. Something about her made him smile unconsciously. The curve of her face was reminiscent of...

"CINDY! Cindy Morse!" he cried out. "It's me, Mark Wheeler... from high school."

"Mark?" Recognition slowly dawned and she added, "Sorry I didn't recognize you sooner, but I'm so wiped out." With significant effort she roused herself up to the obligatory pleasantries and asked, "It's nice to see you. How are you these days?"

"Fine, but the more important question is 'How areyou?' You look like you got stranded by the storm."

"Yeah. They rebooked my ticket for tomorrow night and gave me a voucher for some hotel in Burlington. I've been waiting for the shuttle bus they promised."

"With this storm," he replied, "traffic will be a total mess. I can put you up for the night. It's only half as far as Burlington, but we don't need to get on the roads at all, since I live right next to the Malden T stop. We can be there in twenty minutes, long before your bus even gets around the airport access road."

"I couldn't impose..."

"It wouldn't be any trouble. You can have my room to yourself; I'll sleep on the couch."

"Absolutely not! I won't come unless I get the couch."

"In truth, I won't feel very guilty about that," he smiled, "since it actually pulls out into a very comfortable sleeper. No more arguing. I'll grab your bag."

* * * * *

The ride was as easy as he had promised and gave them a chance to exchange stories of the intervening years, up to the point of Cindy's trip to check out the Boston area options for law school. The streets she did see were completely blocked with lines of cars, and the one block walk from the subway station to Mark's building was just slippery enough to convince her of the wisdom of his plan.

He had a third floor condo in a refurbished industrial building, combining high ceilings and exposed vintage brick with modern amenities. Her immediate impression was that his place was pleasantly uncluttered, tastefully masculine, and very comfortable. Three of the spacious rooms were straightforward: an eat-in kitchen, a living room with the promised sleeper sofa, and a master bedroom. The fourth partly looked like the studio where she went for yoga classes. It had a resilient floor and the walls seemed to be a continuous set of natural wood louvered doors.

The room was entirely empty except for a feature from her other workout location. Like the gym at her apartment's clubhouse, it had a weightlifting bench, but Mark didn't seem to have any weights. This made it look like a useless piece of modern sculpture, but at least it hadn't been turned into a clothes rack like most neglected exercise equipment.

The dinner Mark whipped up was impeccably seasoned grilled chicken and vegetables over rice. Cindy was sure it was the healthiest and most delicious meal of her entire trip. Despite the pleasantness of the company, Cindy ran out of energy after the dessert course of fresh berries. Mark made up the sofa's sleeper mattress, gave Cindy a hug, and went back to clean the kitchen. Fifteen minutes later, Cindy was fast asleep.

* * * * *

Slowly, the morning intruded on her dream a bit at a time, while her groggy brain attempted to sort out the pieces. The freshly-laundered scent of her sheets and the aroma of just-brewed coffee must have meant that she was in her old bedroom in her parents' house and it must have been the summer before she left for college. If she were to open her eyes, she would see a poster of the college campus she was anticipating attending in fall and a bigger poster of the Baywatch lifeguard hunks from her earlier infatuations. A quiet, repeating, clinking sound must be her father's keys and pocket coins as he walked down the hallway.

Not wanting to leave the delicious world of sleep quite yet, her thoughts drifted to her usual fantasy of her secret crush. He was a fellow "geek freak," one of the few smart and shy students in her high school who still thought that academics were cool. He had a kind sense of humor and was a wonderfully dependable lab partner. "Oh," she thought, "if you only knew how much I want you, Mark!" She reached toward the moistness between her legs to play out her usual fantasy, but when she felt her neatly trimmed hair distinctly through her nightgown, she realized something was wrong. Sleeping without thick cotton panties in those days would have been unthinkable. Jarred out of its reveries, her brain scrambled to catch up to the present.

She pried her eyes open to see warm sunlight filtering through decidedly non-pink drapes, illuminating her suitcase on a living room chair. As the context of the airport and the ice storm came back into focus, she smiled over the good fortune of meeting Mark. In this unfamiliar city, it had given her a sense of security very much like that of being in her parents' house. She didn't remember all the details of their conversations yesterday, but she did remember that he was single, employed, a great cook, decidedly handsome in a Brad Pitt sort of way, and still a kind gentleman.

Cindy desperately wished she had more... something; an outfit that whispered playful and was a little revealing, or maybe just time to make herself up before showing her face. Instead, she put on a robe from her suitcase, brushed her hair, and padded barefoot into the kitchen.

The sunlight warming the floor and the smell of the coffee were delightful, but Mark was not here. As it turned out, the clinking sound was not just in her dream, so she wandered down the connecting hall. Peeking around the corner into the Zen-like workout room, she saw that both the room and Mark had been transformed and she had a flood of new impressions to process.

The serene, louvered doors were opened to reveal a tidy collection of long bars and neat racks filled with large weight plates and dumbbells. It looked better equipped than the entire gym at her apartment complex, but without the scattered clutter produced by her careless and lazy neighbors. Even more amazing, however, was the transformation of Mark. He was wearing gym shorts, sneakers, and a tidy set of undulating muscles that were way past Brad Pitt.

It was a bit of a shock to see the skinny geek she still thought was cute in high school with the broad shoulders and chest of an athlete's physique. In contrast to guys who would heave weights around by swinging their body, Mark's elbows were motionless as he curled the impressive-looking weight from his thighs to his shoulders, causing his bicep muscles to bulge bigger than her fists.

"Good morning, Mark."

"Hey, good morning, Cindy," he replied as he placed the weight on the floor. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Not at all. I never sleep this late, even at home." Smiling, she added, "I see quite a change in this room."

"I'm glad you like it," he replied. "I thought about closing up the archway to the hall, but then decided to just make the room itself presentable instead."

"I really like both aspects of it, since I do yoga, and also work out at the fitness center at my apartment," she elaborated. "I meant another change as well, though. You look incredible."

"Oh, hey," he blushed. "I've been working out a little since I came up to Boston."

"You're too modest," she argued. "For all their bragging, you're way stronger than the guys in my apartment complex. How much can you lift, anyway?"

"I don't know. Since I work out alone, I never try for maximum."

"I've been a spotter for the guys at my fitness center; I could be a spotter for you," she offered.

"No, that's okay..."

"It's the least I can do to repay your hospitality. I insist," she said lightly. "I'll be back in a minute."

She grabbed a jogging outfit, along with sheerer underwear than she would ever wear to the gym. Changing quickly in the bathroom, she decided that showing the soft, natural curves of her breasts with a hint of nipple on top would be much more appropriate for today than her usual ironclad sports bra.

"Wow, you look beautiful." Mark admired her as she walked into the room, quickly adding, "Very athletic."

"Well thank you," she said appreciatively. "I've really gotten into working out. Plus, it turns out that I was a bit of a late bloomer, so I have a bit more curves than I did in high school."

That was an absolute understatement from Mark's point of view. Cindy's toned arms and legs were obvious to him, but the way she filled out her jogging top was definitely a marvelous improvement from high school. To the brains and beautiful heart of his long-time friend, she had added the physical attractiveness of a tennis player or even a hot cheerleader.

"Bench press first?" she stated, half as a question, half as a suggestion.

A forty-five pound plate on each side looked impressive enough, and at one hundred thirty-five pounds, it would have been a good workout for most of her neighbors. But Mark quickly lifted it a dozen times. When he put a second forty-five pound plate on each side, it looked about the maximum of her fitness center members. The bar descended to his chest and paused there for one second... two seconds... far too long.

"Shall I help?" she asked, urgently reaching for the bar.

He did four quick lifts, racked the bar, and then explained, "Two twenty-five is my usual workout weight. I was just practicing a competition-length pause." After a moment of consideration, he announced "Two seventy-five is next."

As he stretched his torso by twisting side to side, she added a pair of twenty-five pound plates. Psyching himself up somewhat, he lay down, grabbed the bar, and with a smooth, powerful stroke, pushed the weight to arms' length.

"Wow, fantastic!" Cindy exclaimed. "I'll bet you can lift three hundred."

"I don't know," Mark demurred.

"Come on! When's the next time you'll have a spotter as encouraging, or as cute, as me?" she asked, already starting to add the plates.

"Well, okay. I'm ready, if you're ready. This time, though, safety is really serious," he stated, plunging onto the bench with renewed determination.

He lifted the bar off the supports, but as he lowered it to his chest, she saw a look of uncertainty cross his face.

"Go, Mark! I know you can do it!"

The strain was evident in the slight tremor as he slowly forced the heavy weight upwards. Much more slowly than before, he eventually raised it the final inch, and then let it clang back onto the supports.

She practically skipped around the bar to plunk herself down next to him on the bench, throw her arms around her triumphant friend, and give him a big smooch. "My hero!" she exclaimed, batting her eyelashes for effect.

Returning to her spotting duties, she encouraged him to push past his self-imposed limitations and, in short order, she had spurred him on to set new personal best records in a half-dozen more exercises.

She was very happy about her friend's successes and sense of achievement. During the times she didn't have to spot him, she just stood back and drank in the sight of his physicality. She remembered thinking about the Baywatch hunks as amazing sculpture -- a highly aesthetic art form that filled her fantasy at that time. Now, however, she was developing a different type of appreciation for Mark's frame: not as art, but as architecture.

Cindy began to see the clear functionality of each muscular mound. The deltoids were just right for raising his upper arm at the shoulder joint. The biceps were just right for raising his lower arm at the elbow joint. Just like exquisite architecture, though, functional parts can have a dual purpose, and she smiled at the thought of leaning her head on his deltoid, or placing her hand around his bicep as he escorted her to a formal dance. Her smile broadened slightly as her imagination extended to some other parts with more interesting functions.

"Wow, that was quite a workout," he concluded as he started replacing weights on their storage racks. "Ready for an omelet?"

"You've got a pulley, but you didn't do any pull-downs," she observed.

"Well, I don't need a spotter for those, and I can't even try to go as heavy as bodyweight, or else the weight stays down and I float up."

"I'll hold you down. Try your bodyweight."

Mark put plates on the pulley stack and sat on the bench under the bar. Cindy placed her hands on his shoulders and said, "Try now." She had to push quite hard to hold him down on the seat as he easily pulled the bar down. She enjoyed feeling his shoulder muscles bulge under her hands, but she got the sense that the pressure on his shoulders was uncomfortable or awkward for him.

"I have another idea," she offered. "At my gym, there is a kneepad to put my legs under for stability."

"I've never seen one on a home gym, and it is a really good idea, but I don't have anything like that."

"You have me," she smiled. "I can sit on your lap."

"I don't know about that..." he responded uncertainly as a hopeful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"It will be perfect. You've done everything else. You have to try this."

"If you insist," he conceded. "It does sound like a good challenge." He added a few plates to the stack and sat back down on the bench.

Cindy faced Mark, stepped over the bench, straddled his legs, and sat down gently on his thighs. "I hope this isn't too uncomfortable," she inquired.

"Fine for me. You okay?" he asked.

"Go for it," she assented.

As Mark stretched up for the bar, Cindy realized that she had to leave room for the bar to clear their faces, so she leaned back and partially supported herself with her hands on the bench behind her. As Mark pulled the bar down, it was almost heavy enough to balance their combined weight, so Cindy quickly pulled her ankles tight around Mark's legs and the bench. That did the trick to keep them anchored, and with an unaccustomed effort, Mark pulled the bar down to his chest and then let it ride back up. Cindy enjoyed the view as the action alternately flared out his back and expanded the broad arch of his upper chest. It was clearly a satisfying weight, since Mark continued to two, three, and then four repetitions.

Neither of them realized, however, that the remaining rocking motion with each pull-down, coupled with the pressure from Cindy's tightly clasped legs, was sliding her toward him bit by bit. The next time the bar touched his chest, the friends made intimate contact, with Mark's unmistakably hard erection pressed firmly between his abs and the precise point of stimulus between her legs. Startled, he guided the bar back up and released it.

"I am so, so sorry about that, Cindy," he said in shock. "You'd better climb off."

Instead she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her embarrassed and now very surprised friend. "No way, not when I finally have you right where I want you."

Astonished, he opened his mouth, but found no words.

"Mark Wheeler," she continued, "I've had a crush on you since we met back in school and I have no intention of letting you escape so soon."

"I can't believe you're serious," he replied. "I always thought you were the most amazing and unattainable girl I had ever met. When I realized that I was comparing the women I dated to you, I actually backed off on relationships for awhile, until I could let the memories fade enough to give my current dates a fair chance. I'm so sorry I never got up the courage to ask you out in high school."

"Don't you worry about that. I don't know about your experience, but after the guys I've dated recently, I have a much more concrete appreciation for a man of your character. And," she added, "I think we can make this 'first date' infinitely more memorable than it would have been in high school. We'll need to keep up our stamina though, so how about those omelets?"

* * * * *

After the delicious breakfast and two cups of coffee Cindy announced, "Time to get ready for this afternoon. You, my manly man, need to hit the showers."

"I'll miss you though," he professed.

"It won't be for that long," she countered. "Just go, silly."

A minute later, the warm shower spray was massaging Mark's well-worked muscles. As his body relaxed, his mind basked in the delightful and unexpected turn of events this weekend. Instead of the terrible weather making his travel and preparation for Monday a dangerous and depressing chore, he met one of his closest friends from the past. Instead of her being a shy wallflower, she was a confident, sexy, and single woman. Best of all, instead of her reconnecting with him as an intellectual lab partner, she actually seemed to be attracted to him.

He felt the increasing tug of gravity on his penis as it began to expand on its own. Just like high school, he thought. Back when he was working next to Cindy in lab, he had to stay sitting half the time to hide the bulging front of his pants. After having concealed his erection from her so many times in the past, he felt a momentary stab of horror that this morning, of all things, he had been clumsy enough to let it bump into her crotch. A smile took over, however, at he thought of how gracefully she had handled the situation, and his happiness at hearing her proclaim her long-held interest in him.

The next, still-vivid memory that surfaced was that immediately after lab period came gym class. That was even worse, since he had to hide his still-hard boner from the other guys. Even after all these years, the thought of Ned Barkley still caused a quick shudder. He might have been the school idol on the football field, but in the gym class locker room, he was a jerk and a bully. Ned made a point of parading around his perfect physique, shlong-first. He picked on anyone who didn't have muscles on top of muscles. After roughing up his victims, he would always make fun of their cocks -- small meant you were just a wimp, big meant you were a horny fag.

Shaking his head to clear the negative thoughts, Mark reached for the shampoo. He closed his eyes and massaged the lather through his wet hair, which prevented him from sensing the slow, silent opening of the bathroom door.

Cindy had planned to clear the dishes and wait patiently for Mark to finish, but the sound of the shower became too much for her to stand. Most people would have found the gentle patter of the falling water to be relaxing and soothing, but for her, it was a tantalizing, inexorable arousal.

After lab class that senior year, both she and Mark had gym. She actually didn't mind gym class too much; she could run well enough to keep up with the action and she could spend most of that time trying to get a glimpse of her cute partner across the athletic fields. The highlight of gym class, however, was always the end. She immersed herself in the thought that, separated by a single tiled wall, she and Mark were both 18, physically mature like the health class pictures, and naked, wet, and soapy. Her recurrent fantasy was that she and Mark were returning from the swimming pool after school...

After a lingering smile at each other, they would enter their respective and perpetually empty locker rooms. She would rip off her clothes and run to the shower room. The sound of water on the far side of the wall would be her cue to open the mop closet. All the other girls assumed it was the grimy and boring place for the janitorial staff to endure, but she had made the secret discovery that it connected to the shower room on the other side. After stepping through, she could just barely see Mark's back through the steam. She walked towards him, nipples achingly pointed...