Steamed Milk

"Somewhere, a girl is warming up with your max."

He saw that motivational quote in a meme picture on the Internet. Seeing this at the beginning of the year, that optimistic time when everyone makes a promise of self-improvement... it was enough of a catalyst to actually get him in the gym this year.

At the end of this year, he hoped he'd have a girl warming up with him. After all, his name was Max.

Max brought his arms in front of him, held out from his body at ninety-degree angles, pressing two padded arms inward in a way that always made him flinch that he'd finally pinch his nose between them, despite this having never happened before. Three or four plates clanked behind him as he lifted them.

He had no idea what this machine was called. If it wasn't for the pain in his pectorals after first using it, he might not have even known this was the muscle group being exercised.

Across from Max was a black metal structure where some ridiculously muscular man was squatting with a huge barbell across his shoulders. He looked like something out of Total Recall, moving those huge round black weights like they were Oreos. Max was much more familiar with that form of black disk.

It wasn't that Max was overweight. He was in perfectly acceptable shape. He just had very little muscle tone because he spent so little of his time moving. He worked in the office of an insurance company where they said they encouraged getting up and stretching every hour, as if his numbers could survive that much time away from his desk. After work, he walked to his car and up one single flight of stairs before collapsing onto his couch to eat whatever snacks and watch whatever TV allowed him to tolerate the grind for one more day. Even video games took too much mental energy on some nights. His gamer score suffered as a result.

Hopefully, working out would help his mood. If nothing else, his sleep was much deeper than it was before. Whether that was due to exchanging most sodas for water or simply being more exhausted when he got home, Max wasn't sure. On the downside, he had completely lost track of what was happening in his favorite shows.

The Governator across from him had finished his one trillion reps. He expected him to stride off with the barbell on his shoulder like a caveman's club. If Max tried lifting that, he would be tipped over like the Flinstones' car when they put the rack of Brontsaurus ribs on it. He wondered if ribs had enough protein to build muscle.

Protein. He never heard that word so much in his whole life as he had in the five weeks he'd been going to gym. Evidently that was the building block of muscle. A three ounce bag of Doritos had two grams of protein, and that was per serving!

It still didn't seem like much. But anything was better than those protein shakes. Some people blended their own in plastic shakers with whey isolate protein or some crap. Those were intolerable. Then there was the brand with the word 'milk' in the name that somehow contained no milk. He boycotted those on principle. The only protein shake he could stomach had a Special K logo on the front, which always made him feel like a wimp. This one still tasted like someone crushed a bunch of chalky antacids into half-and-half and tarted up further with vanilla extract, the flavor lingering on his tongue for what felt like hours after a single sip.

The recently vacated exercise station across from Max was approached by two very attractive women. One thing the gym had in ample supply, other than vacillating self-esteem, was women who were fit and beautiful. One was black, with short straight black hair and a gray spandex top and shorts with yellow accents on the side. The other was white, brown hair pulled into a ponytail with the tips dyed red and a towel around her shoulder. Her workout clothes were just an old T-shirt and a pair of loose gym shorts.

The black woman jumped up and grabbed the horizontal bar at the top of the structure and started doing pull-ups. That was one exercise that Max knew the name of, at least. He watched with increasing amazement as the woman performed pull-up after effortless pull-up. Max knew not to stare, so he couldn't keep track, but it was a lot. It might have been fifty.

As she did that, the woman with the dyed tips stretched her arms over her head, revealing a little midriff. It wasn't as sculpted as the abs of her workout buddy. She had a stomach that could belong to a statue, and was surely just as hard.

The black woman released her grip on the pull up bar and rubbed her hands together. She wordlessly gestured to it, and the brunette stopped her stretching and moved herself under it. Evidently not wanting to jump to reach it, the black woman knitted her hands together and boosted her friend up until she could grab it. She circled behind her and held her hands out nervously, the way a mother might hover when their child was on the swing set for the first time.

The white woman-

Dammit, he was tired of referring to them by what they looked like. What name could he give them so he wouldn't keep having to say "the black girl?" How about Monica and Rachel? Sure. Good enough.

Rachel clenched her teeth, flexed her arms and pulled her chin above the bar.

Wait a minute. Max might have been wrong. Maybe that was a chin-up bar instead of a pull-up bar. Was there a difference? Surely, he could find some lunkhead in here with a strong opinion on the issue.

Rachel slowly lowered herself, never letting herself hang completely from her hands, keeping her arms slightly angled to keep them from locking. She brought herself back up, then down, her arms moving evenly and fluidly like the connecting arm on a steam locomotive. Her form wasn't as smooth as Monica's, but she was almost certainly stronger than him.

Up and down she moved. Max inadvertently started doing his pec presses, or whatever they were called, in time with her. He watched her as she rose and fall, and something else rose and fell with a slight delay.

And it wasn't her breasts.

Within her loose shorts, there was something bouncing, something long and floppy wagging in the left leg of the shorts. It looked like a dick, but it must have been an optical illusion. There's no way someone with a thing like that would just leave it hanging during a workout.

Rachel paused a bit, pulling her legs together and rubbing her thighs against each other. This caused her shorts to creep up about a centimeter, exposing the very tip of a penis from within.

The din that came from Max's shocked release of the equipment was such that he thought he'd wind up crushed within the machine somehow, like someone thrown into the gears of a giant clock.

"You OK?" Called a voice from behind him, presumably someone who worked there.

"I'm good!" Max called from the floor, somewhere inside this thing. He climbed his was to his feet, where the two women were now looking at him. He caught their gaze for a moment before looking away. He dared not look at that woman's pecker while he had their attention.

Max returned to the seat. His arms and pecs were tired, but he didn't know how to get this machine to do anything else, and he was not about to leave his front row seat. Rachel continued her pull-ups, her penis flopping just out of her shorts. How could she not feel that? Was she THAT into her workout routines? Max didn't feel comfortable working if there was a hole in his sock.

Looking towards Monica, stood behind her and ready to catch Rachel at any point if she lost her grip... Monica had a prominent bulge in her shorts as well. How on earth didn't he notice that earlier? Packed into a sizable and slightly oblong shape by the spandex, how big could it be when released? Bigger than her friend's? Were they lovers?

Max had heard about the rare affliction of some women being born with penises. If that was what they were... he had never imagined how beautiful they would be in person. He pictured the bearded ladies or the half-man-half-women who grotesquely divided their body between the two halves on a vertical plane. Then again, maybe he shouldn't be getting his thoughts of rare sexual minorities from stereotypes of circus performers. There were plenty of men here who wouldn't look out of place in the leopard print pattern of the strongman leotard.

For men, the gym was a place to work to exchange fat for muscle. For women, the gym did the same thing, but with the goal of creating a pleasing figure. But with this third group, the coin landed on its edge and expressing all the best components of both halves... it threw the entire farce into stark relief.

Gyms were places where men tried to reach the ideal body mass to make their dicks look as big as possible. There was no machine to make it bigger, and even if there was, the line would be unending and Max wouldn't want to use it after someone else had. These women... who did they have to impress? They could be fat and smell perpetually like melted plastic, and what difference would it make? Yet here they were, toning their bodies like soldiers despite being permanently set for life in the body department.

After fewer chin-ups than her partner, but many more than Max could likely do, Rachel descended slowly from the bar, Monica hover-handing behind her in case she slipped down. Rachel hit the floor with one last waggle of her thing, the tip now hanging completely outside the leg hole.

Rachel rubbed each bicep in turn, rolling her shoulders back and wiping the perspiration from her face with the towel draped over her shoulders. Monica circled in front of her, looked down, and gently pinched the leg hole of Rachel's shorts and pulled it down to cover the tip of Rachel's dick. It was a move as casual as brushing lint off the back of a friend's shirt.

In his storied five-week career at this gym, Max had never quite had the nerve to do what he was about to do. He stood, grabbing his water bottle from the floor next to the workout machine. He wiped his machine down with a hand towel, a piece of etiquette that was very emphatically expressed to him on his first day, even though he didn't sweat that much. Max then crossed the hardwood path that separated his workout machine from theirs and stood before them. He took a deep breath as the two ladies turned to him in the same second.

"Hi, I'm Max." He introduced himself.

"Hello." Said Monica. "What can we do for you?"

"I just wanted to compliment you on those pull-ups." Max said, hoping he got the terminology right. "I can't do more than maybe two of them."

"That was me when I started." Rachel said. "Now I can handle about ten or twelve."

I'll bet you can ten or twelve inches, the little devil in Max's mind thought. He kept it to himself. He had to play it cool.

"I don't mean to be that guy who comes to the gym to pick up ladies, but... I didn't expect to see two women as beautiful as you to be absolutely rocking these exercises." Max said. "But I'm sure you hear that all the time."

"No, not really." Monica answered. "I get hit on more when I'm by myself, but when we work out together... I think most people think that we're gay."

"Well..." Max pushed on. "are you?"

Monica smirked. "You watched us work out for a while, but you didn't look all that interested until you saw this." Monica's hand folded gently over the bulge in her groin, her thumb squishing the soft flesh.

Max looked away. He felt his cheeks flush a bit.

"So the real question is not whether or not we're gay." Monica said "The question is... are YOU gay?"

"No, I'm not." Max answered. "Not at all."

"Then why are you flirting with us?"

Max swallowed. "Those guys... they don't know what they're missing."

Monica chuckled. She picked up her small gym bag and looked Max over again. "Our workout is about done, so... why don't you follow us? Unless you want to keep working out."

"No, I think I've done enough for today." Max turned his wrist over and looked at his smart watch. He had been in the gym for nineteen minutes.

"Yeah, I'm good."

"OK." Rachel tugged on the ends of her towel like a fat mayor tugging on his suspenders. "Let's hit the showers."

They took two steps away from Max before the sentence fully penetrated his brain.

Max chased after them. "Let's!"

-

Off near the showers, there was a featureless door with a sign that said "Authorized Access Only." This was distinct from the "Employees Only" sign he saw on other doors in this gym. Monica pulled out a pink key, turned it in a lock on the doorknob, and entered.

Inside was a locker room, but a much smaller one than the men's locker room. There were about twenty-five lockers and two benches for sitting between them. It looked like a locker room had been carved out of a piece left over of another one, or perhaps a locker room in a small school.

"What is this?" Max asked.

"There's a locker room for men, and there's a locker room for women." Rachel explained. "But for those in between... we've got a place just for us."

"In between..." Max looked for an open locker. "You two aren't looking to... get rid of some part of you, are you?"

Monica spun around and put her hand on the opposite locker, her head higher than his. She didn't pin him in place, but he pressed himself against the lockers.

"Why?" Monica said sharply. "If we started differently then we are now, does that make you want us less?"

Max's mouth fell open. He knew the answer immediately, but had trouble saying it while Monica was staring at him. Even soaked in sweat... her scent didn't communicate anything to his brain but 'woman.'

"Of course not." Max answered. "And besides, to get rid of that would be a crime."

Monica stood out of her lean, allowing Max to relax a bit. Monica pulled down her shorts with both hands and stepped sideways out of them. "Well, it's definitely not going anywhere, so..." Monica turned around to her locker.

This would be the time where Max would normally take a few sneaky peeks at the athletic woman's toned rear end. But Max was still staggered by the enormity of what he'd just seen. It looked like an empty paper towel tube, and only a slightly different shade of brown. Max didn't know they made them in that size.

"Well... it might go somewhere." Rachel turned in place, stuffing her clothes into the locker. Somehow, hers was even bigger, a huge white snake hanging from her crotch.

Max loved Whitesnake.

Monica looked over her shoulder. "What are you waiting for? Get undressed."

Max started stripping and stuffing his clothes into the locker. "I don't have my soap with me. It's in the other locker room." He said.

"You can use some of ours." Rachel offered, as she walked into the shower with her little caddy of soaps and such. Monica followed, and Max trailed behind, covering his nethers with his hands.

"Am I allowed to be in here?" Max asked as he hopped into the showers.

"I don't think so." Monica turned on one showerhead. The showers had no dividers between them. It was a tiled room with showers on one wall and little else. Rachel took a showerhead further down the way, leaving an unoccupied one between them.

"But I've never been in here and seen anyone enter while we've been in here." Monica continued. "You need the key that they gave us when we signed up. Almost nobody has it, not even most of the employees. So... I don't think we're going to get interrupted."

Max moved under the shower between the two of them. This had to be what they planned, right? He turned on the water, but had no soap to wash with. He looked to each side, watching the women scrub themselves with loofahs, suds dancing across their bodies and dribbling downward, cascading off their members.

"Of course, if someone does come in here..." Monica continued. "Then we might have to pretend that you're some pervert who snuck in here. But if we're in the middle of pounding your ass, that excuse might not work."

"Could I get some soap?" Max wished he had the courage to simply cup his hands and catch the suds running off their bodies, ineffective as it might be.

"I don't have a spare loofah right now." Rachel looked at her shower caddy, hung on a convenient hook in front of her.

"Here's mine." Monica put a new drop of body wash into her loofah and passed it to Max. He almost brought it to himself, but Monica spun 180 degrees and presented her back to him, not necessarily an unfamiliar sight for Max.

Max began scrubbing her back. Even through the loofah, he could feel the muscle tone on Monica's back. She was not burly or overly muscular, just fit and entirely devoid of unnecessary fat. Her breasts were on the small side, and her ass was constructed out of two solid blocks of muscle.

"I can wash my own butt, thank you." Monica instructed.

Max lifted the loofah back up to Monica's shoulders. "Sorry. Got distracted." He rubbed the loofah until suds no longer dripped from within.

"Good." Monica said, taking his hand from under the loofah and squirting more body wash on it. "Now do her."

Turning in place, Rachel had spun away from him, pulling her hair over her shoulder to expose it. She wasn't as lean and athletic as her friend, but she was well put together, with a slim waist and larger breasts. With the addition of that other thing...

Some people have all the luck.

But perhaps some of it was settling onto him.

Max rubbed the loofah against Rachel's shoulders, wiping away some sweat and possibly exfoliating? Was that what these things did?

"Aw, she said 'do me,' and you didn't take the opportunity." Rachel pouted.

"I honestly don't know what you two are expecting in that department." Max confessed. "I'm not sure I can... deliver."

"I have three older siblings." Monica said as she washed her short hair. "And when you have older siblings, you know that they get to go first, because they're bigger. It's a pecking order."

"I get it." Max put his hand over his crotch. "I mean, I wasn't even sure there was going to be..."

Rachel bent at the waist, away from the loofah, presenting her slit right where Max expected it to be.

"OK, that was my second question answered." Max nodded. "I must say, I'm really thrilled that it's there."

"Did you really follow us in here just so you could have sex with us?" Rachel asked.

Max felt disarmed. "Well... yeah. You seemed down for it."

"Let me clarify that." Monica said. "Did you come in here just to stick your boner into our pussies?"

Max was silent.

"Isn't that something you could get anywhere else? Something you've almost certainly had before?"

"Yes, I have. I'm not a virgin."

"Good to know." Monica tipped her chin up, looking at him past her nose as she rinsed the soap out of her hair.

"OK, now it's time to get you ready." Rachel said, taking the loofah from Max and tossing it to Monica. They both refilled them with body wash and applied them to Max's body.

It wasn't the sexy romp that he expected. They scrubbed him like a dog that had gotten into the garbage. If there was a hose in there that they could spray him with without touching him, they probably would. On the other hand, they were thorough, consciously scrubbing him all over, even the parts he thought they'd leave for him to clean.

This didn't turn into a loofah handjob, which was probably for the best because that sounded painful. Once the scrubbed his short hair and behind his ears, surely knocking loose all those quarters that his grandfather used to find, they wrung out the loofahs and dropped them into the caddy.

"Alright, now we're all clean." Monica said. "We can finally get started." She kissed Rachel with an open mouth, immediately sliding her tongue into Rachel's. They French kissed in front of him, each reaching out to tug on the other's crotch before embracing and lashing their tongues against each other.