Soft and Hard

I checked myself out in the mirror, not too pleased with what I saw. Not because it was unfamiliar; I had never been fit. I stared at my pale, slender, mostly hairless body, my thin shoulders, my soft, un-toned arms and sighed. But I was determined not to stay like that forever. I had just graduated college, moved to a new city, and was about to start my new job. And I was ready to make one more big change while I was at it: getting fit. Holding up my phone, I took a few pictures of my unimpressive and unmanly body. In a few months, I told myself, these will just be the "before" pics next to an impressive physique.

With the pictures taken, I put on an old t-shirt and some new athletic shorts, filled my water bottle, and headed out to my car. The gym, which I had just signed up for two days earlier, was only a few minutes away from my new apartment. It was the late afternoon, just before rush hour, and traffic wasn't too bad. I parked far back in the lot, for some reason not feeling comfortable parking up close.

Taking a few moments to hype myself up, I got out of my car and started walking across the parking lot toward the gym. The building itself wasn't intimidating; it was a totally ordinary gym like you'd find in any other shopping center. But what it represented was a little scary: hard work, a total transformation, physical exertion. As a kid, I had always been bad at sports, always hated Physical Education, always been the last one picked. I had fled into my books and my video games, always dreading and hating physical work or activity.

But hiding from exertion and neglecting my body had had its downsides. In college, I remember watching sick with envy as I saw girls I liked laughing, flirting, going on dates with the sorts of jocks I despised. My weakness had led to a lack of self-confidence, an implicit awareness that I didn't stand a chance if a confrontation became a fight. And that lack of self-confidence had magnified my natural shyness, making it all the harder to meet girls or even make friends with other guys. But now, finally, as I was changing so much else in my life, it was time to turn over a new leaf.

I took a deep breath, opened the glass door, and walked in. The receptionist was a woman, blonde, blue eyes, probably about my age. Her tight blue polo shirt showed off a fit body, and her pretty face smiled the friendly smile of anyone paid to be hospitable. She was the kind of girl I wanted. The kind of girl I could never get. I forced myself to return her smile and checked in at the fingerprint reader at the front desk, avoiding eye contact.

I had vowed to be more confident, but it was hard to keep that vow as I looked over the weight room and the people inside it. About a dozen men, all more fit than me, and some of them absolutely ripped, were bench pressing, bicep curling, deadlifting, or doing other freeweight exercises. There were a few women, but I forced myself not to stare at them. I felt like a fish out of water, such an obvious impostor with my twig arms and narrow shoulders among these people who looked like Greek statues.

Taking another deep breath, I made a beeline to an empty squat rack, put in my earphones, and set down my water bottle. I had done my research, and I knew lower body strength was just as important as upper. I did a few leg stretches, then stepped under the bar. I grabbed the bar and straightened my legs, lifting it off the rack. It felt like it was biting into my lower neck and shoulders as I stepped back and bent my knees, awkwardly squatting the weight. It felt heavier than an empty 45-pound bar should have, but I was managing. After a few reps, I stepped back forward again, setting the bar back on the rack. Not such a bad start.

I turned around to find my water bottle, and jumped a little in shock when I realized there was someone standing behind me, just outside the squat rack. She was just a few feet away from me, dressed in tight black leggings that showed off thick, bulging thighs, a thin and loose white sweatshirt that nonetheless showed off shoulders broader than usual for a woman. A brown ponytail was pulled through the back of her baseball cap, and her tanned face had a strong jawline. She looked like she was in her early thirties. Realizing she was saying something, I took out my earphones.

"You need to go lower." She said, her green eyes seeming to bore into me.

"What?"

"When you squat, your thighs should be parallel to the ground. If you don't go that deep, you won't work your hamstrings."

"Oh, thanks." I said sheepishly.

"Here, I'll show you." She walked over to the squat rack next to mine, where the bar was already loaded with one of the big 45 pound plates on each side. She took the bar onto her shoulders, her ponytail resting over it, and dropped her hips low, her back at an angle. Her bulging, muscular thighs went just a little lower than parallel to the ground at the bottom of her motion, and then she effortlessly lifted the bar back up. Although she had a serious and determined look on her face, she didn't look like she was having a hard time at all. She did about five reps and put the bar back on the rack.

"See, like that." She said, turning to me and cracking a faint smile. I blushed and my heartrate picked up a bit; the attention of a woman who could easily squat three times as much as I could was intimidating, even if she didn't seem unfriendly.

"Thanks." I replied, not sure what to say.

"I'm Miranda, by the way," she said, stepping back out of her squat rack.

"I'm Chris."

There was a bit of a pause. I looked away again and started walking back toward the bar in my rack, getting ready to try what she showed me.

"Wait." said Miranda, approaching the rack and grabbing one of the ten-pound plates. "I think you can handle a bit more weight."

Without asking, she slid it onto the bar, then fastened it in place with a weight collar.

"I-I don't know about that." I replied nervously, watching her step around the back of the rack and load another ten-pound plate onto the other side of the bar.

"Don't worry about it, I'll spot you." She walked over to the entrance to my squat rack, looking at me expectantly. "Well, get the bar." There was a hint of amusement in her voice. I obeyed, turning around to get under the bar. Lifting it off the rack again, I stepped back. I felt her just behind me, her sweater brushed against my back. I thrust my hips back and down, trying to go lower than I had before. I felt what must have been her hips up against my butt, and a thrill ran through me. Then came the hard part. My legs burning, I managed to push the bar back up to the starting point. I took a deep breath and started to go back down again. Again I felt her hips up against my butt, again the thrill, again the brutal push back up. I did that for three more reps. My legs trembling on the last one, I felt Miranda's hands on my side as she gave me just a little bit of a push back up.

I stood there, panting under the bar, Miranda's hands on my side, her body up against my back. I could feel her hot breath on my neck. She was just a couple inches shorter than me, and there was something very reassuring about having her there, making sure I wasn't going to collapse. After a moment, I staggered forward and put the bar back on the rack.

"Way to go!" said Miranda encouragingly, grinning at me as I turned around to look at her. I gave a contented smile back, panting heavily, my face hot, whether from exertion or from another kind of excitement.

"Okay, do a couple more sets of that and then take the weight off and do one more to cool down. I'm going to finish up my workout, let me know if you need any more help."

"Sure thing," I said, watching her as she turned around to head back to her rack. "Thanks!" I added hastily. My heart sank a little as she put her headphones back in, and then I put mine back in. I supposed I shouldn't get too excited just because someone more experienced decided to help me.

I continued my workout like she suggested, working my way through a couple more exhausting sets of squats. In between sets, I stole glances at Miranda, admiring her powerful legs. Her next set had two 45 pound plates on each side, then another ten pound plate on each side. At one point, she met my eyes, and I looked away sheepishly.

After the squats, I reluctantly made my way away from Miranda and over to an area with mats so I could do some planks and situps. Still, even from across the gym, I couldn't help but sneak a look in her direction.

After a set of situps, I looked up and scanned the gym for Miranda. I spotted her, and then realized she was talking to someone. A man, tall, rippling muscles, chiseled jawline. The kind of guy who had everything I didn't. The kind of guy I wanted to be, but deep down knew I never could be. My heart sank as I watched Miranda toss her head back, laughing at something he had said. I could never be so at ease and confident with women. I burned with jealousy and started another set of situps, trying to focus on anything else. It shouldn't have bothered me so much, but it stung to realize Miranda was probably just being nice to me. It would have been naive to think that such a strong woman would be into a weak man like me.

I finished my set, my abs burning, the jealousy a good motivation to get through a few extra reps. I was exhausted, though, between the squats and my core work. All things considered, I figured it wasn't a bad first workout. A few dozen more like this, and maybe I would get somewhere. I made my way to the door, flashed another awkward smile at the receptionist, and walked out into the warm summer afternoon, the sun casting long shadows in the parking lot.

"Hey," came a voice from behind me. Miranda's. My heart rate had begun to fall after my workout, but it ticked back up. I turned around.

"Hey," I replied, looking at the sun reflecting off Miranda's skin in the late afternoon sun.

"Mind if walk with you back to your car?" she asked.

"Uh..." I stammered, totally unsure of what to say, my heart racing, my mouth getting a little dry. Was she just being polite? Or was it something else? Could it be? I realized I was being awkward and forced myself to speak. "Of course!" I said, hoping my excitement didn't sound too obvious.

With a smile, she closed the distance between us. I started walking toward my car, my legs shaking a little bit, partly from the workout, and partly from nervousness.

"So, how did you like your first workout here?"

"It was good, but it was hard. Thanks again for the tip about the squats."

"Oh, you're welcome. I'm here to help."

I walked slowly, both because I was tired and because I didn't want to be rid of her so quickly. But the lot wasn't that big, and soon we were at my car.

"I'll see you around here again, right?"

"Of course." I replied, taking the chance to look at her again. Her face was pretty, but not in an especially delicate way. There was something striking about her high cheekbones, her sharp jaw, and her fierce, piercing eyes. She smiled at me, and we stared at each other for a moment. The moment dragged on, becoming an awkward silence.

"So," she said, her smile becoming a little playful and mischievous, "is there something you want to ask me." She sidled up a bit closer to me. My heart was racing now, pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears, louder and faster than it had been during the workout. Maybe she wasn't just being nice? Maybe she really was attracted to me?

If I could get over my hatred for exercise, I could get over my shyness too. Gathering up my courage for a moment, I opened my mouth.

"What's your number?" I asked, amazed that I had managed to get the words out without stammering.

Miranda giggled, which was surprising from a woman who had looked so serious in the squat rack, but which sounded almost musical to me.

"Number? How about my address?"

"What?" I felt like I'd been hit by a hammer. I stood agape as she recited her address.

"See you at 7:00," she said with a smile, before turning to walk back to her car. I watched her walk away, mesmerized by the way her hips swayed and her glutes bounced in the tight leggings, totally stunned by what had happened. I set foot in a gym for the first time in my life, and an incredibly fit woman had just invited me over. This was the luckiest day of my life.

I got in my car and sat up in the driver's seat, breathing heavily, and closed my eyes. How had that just happened? My eyes snapped open. It was 5:30; she was expecting me in just an hour and a half. I hurried back to my apartment, stripped off the workout clothes, and showered. I spent what seemed like an eternity choosing what to wear, eventually deciding on jeans and a blue button-down shirt. I looked myself over in the mirror for the second time that day, still not thrilled with how I looked, but feeling considerably happier. I combed my hair, double checked my appearance, then triple checked, and finally got in the car.

It only took ten minutes to get to Miranda's place. It was an unassuming little townhouse with a single car in the driveway, which I recognized from the gym parking lot. I parked on the street. Realizing I was early, I waited for an agonizing ten minutes in the car, trying to hype myself up and figure out what I would say. Finally, 7:30 rolled around. I got up and knocked on the door.

The door opened almost immediately. There was Miranda, dressed in a pair of gray sweatpants and a black tank top. I hadn't seen her arms under the sweatshirt at the gym, and now that I was seeing them, they were even more toned than I had imagined. The baseball cap was gone and her straight brown hair hung down just below her shoulders. Like me, she had clearly showered.

"Chris! Right on time, come in." She stepped out of the doorway with a smile and welcomed me in. I stepped inside, looking around and finding myself in a tastefully decorated living room with a couch and two armchairs arrayed around a glass coffee table.

"Nice place you have here." I said, not sure of what else to say in this situation.

"Take a seat," she invited, gesturing toward the seats around the coffee table. "I was just about to open a bottle of wine."

I sat down on the couch and made myself comfortable while I watched her head back to the kitchen. I couldn't take my eyes off her as I watched her open the bottle, her arm muscles flexing as she worked the corkscrew. Finally, she made her way back to the living room, a glass of wine in each hand, and sat in the chair across from me. She bent down to put the glasses on the table, which gave me a chance to steal a glance at her breasts. They weren't big, but they fit her frame perfectly, and the tank top hugged them as she leaned back up.

I reached down and picked up the glass of red wine. I swirled it a bit, trying to show sophistication. She picked up her glass and took a big sip.

"I'm glad you could make it," she said, watching me take my sip. The alcohol burned just a little bit, but the wine wasn't too strong.

"And I'm glad you invited me. It was a really nice surprise."

"Oh? And why was it surprising?" Miranda gave me a quizzical expression. My cheeks flushed. Was I messing this up? I was terrible with girls.

"I-" The stammer was back. "It was just very abrupt." Yes, that was the way to put it. "I wouldn't have expected that..." I wouldn't have expected that a woman like her would be attracted to someone like me. But I couldn't bear to say it out loud, to lay my insecurities bare before someone I had just met.

"Why not?" she asked, taking another sip of wine. If I hadn't seen her open the bottle, I would have thought this wasn't her first glass, the way she was smiling at me. I blushed, and she smiled just a little bit wider.

"Well... we just met." She stared at me as if waiting for me to continue. I continued. "And I saw you talking to someone else, and it seemed like you were having a good time."

She laughed. "Who? Zach?" I had no idea why she found this so funny. "He's just a friend. He's a great guy, but he's not really my type."

"Really?" I asked, a little surprised. And here I thought that kind of guy was every girl's type, or at least every girl who went to the gym.

"Really." Miranda leaned forward, her eyes fixed on mine. Once again, I couldn't meet her gaze. "I like a... different type of guy."

"What type?" I asked, heart speeding up. Was this really happening?

Miranda downed the rest of her wine and set the empty glass down. She was definitely outpacing me.

"Take a guess."

"Uh..." I had no idea what to say here. Weak? If she wasn't into someone like Zach, she must like the opposite, right? And that was me? But did I want to call myself weak? Or was she talking about something else?

Miranda giggled. "It's so cute when you get flustered like that." I got even more flustered, and she giggled again. She grabbed her empty glass and stood up, walking back to the kitchen to refill it. Once again, I couldn't take my eyes off her, but I felt like I had to say something.

"So, how long have you been going to that gym?"

"Six years now." She started walking back toward the living room, a full glass in her hand. "It helped me a lot after my divorce."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Ha! Don't be." she laughed as she sat down, but there was a bitterness to her laugh that wasn't there earlier. I started to worry I had offended her.

"So," she asked, "why did you decide to start working out?" She took another long sip of wine while she waited for me to answer. I followed her lead and took another sip myself while I collected my wits.

"I guess I just got tired of being weak. I want to get confident and strong. I feel like people have always treated me like I'm invisible.

"I know what you're talking about." came Miranda's reply. I took another sip and waited for her to elaborate, but she didn't. I couldn't find anything to say, so I took another sip and found myself at the bottom of my glass. She didn't seem as bubbly as she had before. Was I screwing this up?

I stood up to refill my glass, figuring that I could think of something to say before I got back.

"Wait, can you top mine off while you're up?" She handed her half-empty glass to me, and I obligingly took it and walked off to the kitchen. I could feel her eyes on my back as I walked. Shaking slightly, I refilled my glass, added a bit more wine to hers, and walked back into the living room, both glasses in hand. I handed Miranda her glass and turned to walk back to my chair when I suddenly felt her hand on my wrist.

"Come sit with me." She patted the spot next to her on the black leather couch. Once again, my heartrate picked up, and I did as she asked. Setting the glass down on the coffee table, I sat down just inches from Miranda. She set her glass down too, then turned and looked into my eyes. Now I was really at a loss for words. We shared another awkward silence for a moment, and then suddenly she spoke again.

"I'm just going to be blunt. I like you."

The words hit me like a hammer. There had been all sorts of hints, but I hadn't really believed a woman could be attracted to me. Before I could reply, she put her hand on my shoulder and leaned in, closing her eyes. She pressed her lips to mine. My face flushed with heat as she gave me my first kiss. Not sure of what to do, I placed my hand on her side, feeling the firm muscle just below her right arm, and pressed my lips back against hers. Her muscles were hard, but her lips were so soft.

I was trembling as Miranda slowly pulled her lips away from mine, smiling at me. Her hand squeezed my shoulder, and I could feel her fingers moving toward my collar. Nervously, shaking, I slipped my hand underneath the strap of her tank top, feeling her bra strap underneath. Her smile turned from warm to playful, and suddenly she sprang to her feet, grabbing my hand and pulling me up with her. It almost felt like an out of body experience as she led me upstairs and opened the door to her bedroom.