This is a seduction story. There is no actual sex. If readers want me to write a continuation of the story, I can think of a number of places to take the characters. It's up to all of you. If you want more, let me know and I'll write it.
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As I finished my surge workout, I felt the eyes on me as usual. Every evening my audience seemed to expand by one or two since I started doing my workout at six, and I wondered how many it would take to give them the guts to speak to me. Apparently it took seven.
"How often do you do that workout," a tall, slim blond man asked.
"That one? Every four days," I responded, knowing it would draw him to ask more questions, which is what I hoped for.
"Then what were you doing two nights ago?" he asked, right on cue.
"That would be a different routine that focuses on lower body. This one focuses on back and shoulders, with just a touch of abs," I looked down to hide my smile. It was too easy to draw them in.
A different man, this one not very tall, with a paunch and severely receding hairline, asked, "How much time do you spend working out each week?"
"Hmm" I said, looking up and calculating out loud, even though I already knew the answer, "Twelve minutes six days a week, and another eight minutes three times a week...that's ninety-six minutes a week."
They were murmuring, as they always did at this point. This was such an easy sell.
A buff, beautiful man spoke next, "Seriously! You get that body in ninety-six minutes a week? Get out of here!"
"Why? How long does it take you?" I asked, all innocence. I knew this guy was here for at least ninety minutes most evenings.
"A hell of a lot longer than that," he responded. The others all laughed and nodded.
Wait for it...wait for it...yes! They're hooked when they ask this:
"How does it work? You know, your workout, how do you get those results in such a short time?"
"Well-l-l," I began, then I gave them the whole spiel for surge training, my classes, and my personal training program. I usually try to stay in the background, being part owner of this gym, but with new memberships down and the need to get more members to partake of extra services, I found this scenario pretty successful. I had gotten the morning crowd involved several weeks ago, then the noon crowd, and now I had the evening crowd hooked. Next month's financials would surely be improved.
I had always offered the classes and personal training, I just never needed to actively promote it before. Having the nicest downtown gym, situated near the state house, court house, as well as city offices, we had a pretty good clientele... until the budget cuts started pinching us all a bit too tightly.
I didn't mind drawing the guys in the way I did. Sex appeal sells, and in this case, I was selling the real thing. My program does work. If it takes seeing my body clothed in tight stretch shorts and sports bra, covered in sweat, to sell my services, I could live with that. I just wish it didn't bring the other interests.
I tried to never mix business with pleasure, so all the invitations and sexual innuendos from these guys made me really uncomfortable. I'm no prude, but I really don't think the tendency for some personal trainers to use the intimacy of the professional relationship to pursue a different kind of intimacy is proper. Bad business in my opinion.
I don't have time for a private life anyway. I open the gym at six; and while I occasionally go home in the early afternoon for a couple of hours, I close the place at seven most nights as well. Once I get home, I usually have time to check email and call my mom before I can't keep my eyes open any longer and hit the sack.
When I griped about the sexual harassment I was getting, my business partner told me to give it back as good as they gave it, and eventually I'd be one of the guys. I should have known that only worked for him because he was a guy; but, I followed his advice in the hopes the men in my classes would stop pestering me for "personal training" of another sort.
"Come on you wusses," I called out over the loud music, "At this rate, I could take you all on and still not be out of breath."
I had been teaching this particular group three times a week for about six weeks. There were five in this class. Three were younger men, Austin, Jerod, and Guy, in reasonably good shape, who gave me a lot of grief over the whole dating thing. One man, Logan, was in his early thirties and buff. He was quiet but smiled at the antics of the three younger guys. The last was a middle-aged guy named Bob who was putting in a good effort to get back in shape. Most days there was a young woman in the class as well, but she was missing tonight.
The usually quiet guy said, "I think we'll take that challenge, Raney," and I saw a glint in his eye as he winked at the other guys. What did that mean?
Since surge training doesn't take long, even with warm ups and cool downs the class only lasts 20 to 25 minutes, I didn't have any time to think about the comment before we were breaking for the showers. The young guys were suggesting drinks, or something more private, but I told them they obviously couldn't handle me after the showing they had just given me. They snickered and turned off into the men's locker room. The class ran during the last 30 minutes the gym was open, so generally by the time I got out of the shower the place was empty and the front desk staff had locked the doors and turned off the gym lights. I frequently used that time to get the day's paperwork done before heading home. Today was one of those days.
A few times I thought I heard noises, but the gym equipment sometimes does that as it cools, so I ignored it after checking that the alarms were active. It wasn't until I heard music filtering through the hall that I realized I wasn't alone. The cleaning crew never comes until 3AM, so I got a little nervous, but not nervous enough to hit the panic button. Instead I went to investigate.
