My legs pumped up and down on the pedals of the exercise bike. It was a steady rhythm measured against the war between my stamina and my body's protests. I was, most definitely out of shape. Confined to bed for three months, I had put on weight and I didn't need any extra fat to begin with.
Unlike some people, I've never enjoyed exercise. The weakened state of my body made the physical work even more onerous. Even with my iPhone plugged into my favorite music station, and the Kindle app fired up with a book, I was bored. My eyes roved over the length of the gym, checking out different guys. I had picked the wrong time of day to come. Close to noon, most of the men were retired older fellas, not too buff and none too interesting. Either they were out of shape or very skinny. Most of the good lookers were in their twenties, much too young for a mid-aged lady like me. I suppose considering the state of my own body I shouldn't have been too judgmental, but a girl likes what a girl likes.
Ahead of me, in the machine area, two twenty-something women were laughing, getting progressively louder. The excitement in their voices rose and I glanced over to see what the fuss was about. Oh my! There was something to fuss about. Helping the two skinny young things, adjusting the weights on the machine, was a man somewhere in his thirties, early forties. But it wasn't his age that was the standout. The first thing I noticed were the tattoos up and down his tanned and well muscles arms. With him wearing a black tank, it was easy to see that the designs spread well under his shirt and across his chest. Normally I don't like that much ink on a man, but something about the way they played across his well-developed muscles was fascinating.
His attention was in setting up the weights and talking to the girls, laughing and smiling, giving me a few extra seconds to drink him in. He wasn't all that tall, perhaps 5'8", but that was tall enough for me. His dark hair was shaved to almost nothing, again a look I don't usually appreciate. It was his eyes, an electric ice blue that melted me. One could get lost in eyes like that, especially if his lips were pressed against mine.
Whoa! Those eyes shifted away from the girls, and my own snapped back to the bank of television screens hanging from the ceiling ahead of me. "Watch it, Annie," I told myself. It wouldn't do to be caught staring. Did he notice? As my heart curdled in embarrassment, he walked slowly, perhaps too slowly, to the next weight machine and struck up a conversation with a guy there. With his back turned to me I could see his best asset yet, beautifully tight and round butt cheeks. It was easy to image those globes meeting with thighs as hotly developed as his arms.
My imagination shifted into overdrive, I thought about what his cock must look like. That was it. I was doomed. My legs pumped harder as my heart did, and I felt the warmth spread down my torso to the tingling space between my legs. My underwear couldn't entirely sop up my flowing juices and I was glad I was wearing winter weight sweat pants.
He walked away from his friend and headed back deep into the weights area. Greeting some of the guys back there, he struck up the conversation with a man by the hand weights. I wondered then if he was gay, since he all he did was chat up people, and more guys than women. Well, that didn't stop me from looking, or stop the horny thoughts in my head. One good thing was that all this attention I spent on him paid off in extra minutes on the bicycle. But it was time to work on something else.
I lost track of him then as I got off the stationary bike and limped over to the treadmills to the left of me. The car accident that shattered my leg and my life left me with a limp that I was desperately trying to work off. The doctor said it was possible, if I worked hard enough. It was true I was making progress. I only shed my cane a month ago, and the walker two months before that. Still I was self-conscious about how it looked when I walked.
Navigating the big step up to the treadmill always took a minute. I had to make sure my weaker left leg didn't give under me as I climbed up. By the time I got the treadmill going, I had no idea where he went. Suddenly I saw him come right down the aisle where I was. How did he get there from the other end of the gym? While I couldn't help but to admire the fluid grace of his muscles under his clothes, I also was embarrassed he might have seen me walking. As he walked away toward the changing rooms, I concentrated on the treadmill, working up the rhythm to match to the flow of the belt under my feet. Five minutes into the treadmill, he came walking out the changing rooms, gym back slung under his arm.
