The Network Ch 01 Peeping Tom

Sheila thrust her meager weight down onto the pedals of the stationary bike in a desperate attempt to move the wheel as fast as Mark, her personal trainer, seemed to think she could. Her body screamed in burning aches and pains for her to stop the madness.

Mark smiled sadistically when he noticed her troubled expression and shouted encouragement.

Sheila struggled, determined to complete the simulated uphill climb he had chosen for this day's routine. She wasn't a stranger to the many spinning bikes arranged in a neat line in the gym's open workout area. At one time or another she had occupied each of them.

The floors and surfaces appeared clean, but the smell of sweat and body odor suggested otherwise. Her own sweat, now streaming from her body, eagerly joined the filth on the floor.

Today, an incredibly special day, she wore a new but not-too-revealing warm up suit. She loved the way it showed off her round tushy.

Her tight bottom had been created by these same stationary bikes; though she was sure her enjoyment of hiking helped, too.

Her snug sports bra held her perky C cup breasts loosely yet pushed them up just enough to entice anyone who might be looking. It didn't expose her cleavage, of course, because she was trying for a balance of being noticed without appearing desperate. For sensibility, she chose the suit in a neutral black and gray combo color. She didn't want to be too flashy.

Mark didn't notice.

She even allowed a tiny bit of cleavage to show today. Because today was different. Today was special.

Nothing. He never noticed, not even if she flirted and she had flirted shamelessly during this session. She hadn't planned for what she would do if he ever did notice or respond. She was married, and even though James didn't touch her anymore, she didn't know if she could actually follow through with cheating if he did show interest. But it was nice to think about, and she thought about it a lot, especially today.

Maybe James was having an affair, or maybe he had suddenly realized he was gay. She didn't know, but in either case she would prefer to be told. There was a time James would have told her anything, now it seemed they shared nothing. He was always stoic and seemed so far away. The worst possibility, and seemingly the most likely, was that she was old and unattractive.

That one hurt the most.

She pressed her breasts out against the thin material of the suit top, climbed each pedal forcefully, sticking her butt out, pumping in a steady rhythm. Her breasts swayed heavily from side to side with each downward stroke of her muscular legs.

Still nothing from Mark.

Her heart sank. She had pulled out all the stops today even nearly exposing her breasts. It was so depressing not being able to interest anyone anymore. Her heart ached with the silent pain she was in.

Isn't my body even good enough to look at?

She realized she wasn't nineteen anymore but damn it she worked hard to look as good as she did. She considered herself in pretty good shape for thirty--six, and when the guy paid to give the customer compliments didn't notice it was bad. Hell, nobody noticed for that matter.

"Awesome," Mark exclaimed as if she had just reached some long-time goal.

She saw nothing to get excited about. Just the same old tired routine, the same old tired sets, same old lack of interest -- by everyone. Same old grey nag.

He's definitely gay.

The thought helped soften the blow to her bruised ego. She decided to test him. She dragged her right breast and very sweaty nipple across his forearm as she dismounted. She made solid eye contact; she wanted him to know that it was no accident. She smiled; her nipple stood erect pushing against the thin cloth, excited so easily from the brief contact.

"Pardon me," Mark said, nervously snapping his arm back as if he had been shocked. He looked away, handing her a towel. "Good workout, Sheila," he added, his voice breaking slightly.

"For what?" She acted as if she had no idea what he was apologizing for. Two could play that game.

Mark shrugged and walked away. "See you next week," he called over his shoulder.

Yep, he's gay.

All the pretty ones were. She caressed her ego. Eventually she smiled, allowing herself to enjoy her ability to make him uncomfortable at least. She was always uncomfortable; someone else should share the burden.

She watched for eyes as she slowly made her way through the gym to the showers. She never allowed them to see her watching them. Couldn't have people knowing she was self-conscious. The last thing she wanted was to have everyone view her as that pathetic old woman who made passes at everyone. She still had her dignity. She hugged her arms to her body.

Same misery, but today was different, very different.

She received none of the longing looks she had so frequently received in her younger days as she crossed the floor toward the locker room. There was no tripping, no dumbbells dropped on toes as she passed. And, especially disheartening, no angry females chastising their males. Lately, she had even considered not coming here at all, but then realized that would only make her fat as well as old and undesirable. She wouldn't have people looking down on her like that. No, it didn't matter anymore. She had today to make something happen and today was nearly over.

Sheila entered the locker room and stood in front of her open locker door. She stripped off her sweaty suit and stuffed it into a mesh laundry bag hanging inside. Catching her reflection in the full-length mirror installed inside the locker door, she appraised herself.

I look pretty good.

The mirror was a great incentive and advertising for the gym. People could see how bad they still look and then promptly renew their memberships. She turned from side to side and released a deep sigh.

Assholes.

Her long black hair was tied up high on the back of her head. No grey there, thanks to modern chemistry. She had always considered her long hair as one of her more attractive attributes. She placed her fingertips gently to her face. Still soft, and very few wrinkles. Her natural hair color had been far lighter than the raven color her hair was now. She had chosen the dark color because it contrasted nicely against her milky-white skin, like a porcelain doll.

Tanning was out of the question. Everyone knew that UV rays prematurely aged skin, and who knew what was in the chemical tans? There would be none of that for her skin. Still, with all of this, nothing she had ever done seemed to matter.

Her breasts peered at her from the polished surface. They were still holding their own. Many women her age had lost the battle with gravity. Not Sheila. Her breasts were perky and round. She admired them, cupped them in her hands, squeezed them together.

Still firm.

Sheila smiled.

"Nothing wrong with these," she whispered into the mirror.

Her round, puffy areolas stood out like soft, pink half--moons resting atop smooth, white mounds. A thick red and slightly erect nipple stood proudly from the center. It was easy for her to remember times when men ogled her predominant nipples through a shirt. She remembered what it felt like for them to be touched, gently held while the nipple was pulled into a hot, hungry mouth.

Goosebumps mottled her skin. Her nipples grew longer, twisting into hard wrinkled nubs. She was starting to get wet; her bud was swelling. It had been far too long. It wasn't fair that her fires burned as hot -- perhaps even hotter-- than they had when she was younger. Her persistent sex drive made it especially insulting that James had no interest anymore. She missed him, his touch. Truth be known, she still loved him very much. But she couldn't, or wouldn't, live this way.

She gently dragged her fingertips down her tight, toned belly. Many days of hard work had gone into creating that solid tummy in the hope James would notice.

He never had. Endless hours of spinning, crunches, sit-ups, and aerobics for nothing.

Sheila allowed her fingers to find her very neatly shaved mound, her peach as she thought of it; she looked around the empty locker room.

She had used the term peach for her intimate parts since she was a young woman. Nobody touched her peach anymore. Nobody, but Sheila herself. Still, she kept herself well groomed, just in case James might decide to show some interest out of the blue.

Why would he; you're an old grey mare.

There was no one else in the locker room. This late in the evening she was nearly always alone. People with lives were home now. Not Sheila. She had initially chosen this time slot because she was out of shape. That was a long time ago. Now, it had become habit for lack of anything better to do.

She looked at her peach in the mirror, spreading her soft folds slightly. Her finger became damp from the wetness she knew she would find there. Blood pulsed into the sensitive flesh below her vulva, filling the tissue buried deep beneath, engorging her bud. Carefully, holding her breath, she pushed the thin, pink skin of her hood back, exposing her sensitive and nearly erect bud to the cool air. An electric tingle took root deep in some indescribable location in her core.

Sheila trembled.

She normally wouldn't allow herself to be exposed in such a way. What if someone walked in and caught her with her finger in her cookie jar? How would she explain? Today it didn't matter. Today was her self-imposed test. A promise to herself, that if nothing changed in her life before she got another year older that she would just stop trying. A resolution on her last miserable birthday.

Happy Birthday, old mare.

Tonight, at midnight, she would turn thirty--seven; nothing had changed. She would not wake to another year of terrible loneliness and disappointment. Tonight, she would run a nice hot bubble bath, have a very expensive bottle of wine, and leave through the same door Marilyn Monroe had used.

Presumptuous. I'm no Marilyn Monroe.

The sudden sound of a shower head hissing shook her from her thoughts. Someone was in the shower in the back of the locker room. She hadn't noticed anyone passing by and anyone going to the showers would have to pass her to get there. Had someone seen her standing nude in front of the mirror, exposed, fingers in her peach? The mere thought of it excited her, though she didn't know why. Her heart raced; she couldn't catch her breath.

She spent time circling the unusually large head of her bud with a wet finger. She didn't touch it directly. Not yet. Instead, she crushed her swollen lips and hood down on top of it, kneading herself in a round pattern. Her breathing became coarse and raspy. She needed to stop if she had any hope of being able to. If she kept this up, she would soon be stroking her peanut--sized bud directly until it was fully erect and she came in a hard, gripping orgasm.

Sadly, she had become very skilled at servicing herself. She had even been fantasizing about all sorts of unusual things. Unusual for her at least. But, right now, everything excited her.

She had a sudden dizzying thought that sent shocks of pleasure through her entire body. Could she see the showers from here? No, but only three feet away, where the row of lockers ended, she could see from there. Perhaps she could peek around the corner and see who was in the showers.

Risky.

But, even if she happened to get caught, she wouldn't need to worry over the consequences, at least not for long anyway. She looked around and carefully took the few steps to the end of the lockers. She drew a deep and calming breath as slowly as possible trying to keep her trembling body silent.

Nobody else in the locker room, Good.

She peeked around the last locker into the showers.

Standing under the water was a petite blonde with tiny breasts the size of large oranges that were sloped down and outward like round bananas. They were pointed like the tiny nose cones of rockets. The water splashed onto her golden hair, soft neck, and then streamed down her lightly tanned body. The girl carried a small amount of weight in her tummy and buns that clearly belonged there in an unbelievably cute way. As the water streamed past her tiny, hard nipples it collected in large waterfalls that fell from the base of her breasts.

Sheila watched the water find its way down the beautiful girl's pierced belly button, then over her neatly trimmed mound before streaming down from the thin lips of her tiny peach.

Most interesting to Sheila was the fact that the girl's right index finger was buried deep inside of herself.

Shiela's heart raced making it harder to keep her breathing quiet. Her heart hammered in her ears in heavy thumping rushes as she watched this young woman pleasure herself. Her hands trembled. Sheila couldn't take her eyes from this sexy vision.

The girl appeared to be twenty, perhaps a little older. For some reason she really turned Sheila on; she was mesmerized. Sheila had, from time to time, looked at pictures of other women on the internet. She found some of them very stimulating. But she had never watched someone she knew (though she only knew the girl in passing) pleasure themselves. She didn't even know her name. It made her so hot and excited that she thought she might pass out. Sweat formed on Sheila's upper lip and brow.

Starting in a slow steady rhythm, the petite blonde pushed her finger deeper and deeper into herself with each thrust. As she did this, she would occasionally make a quiet little whimpering sound that seemed to reach deep into Sheila's soul, stoking the already hot fires there.

She found herself wishing it were her making the cute blonde whimper like that. She wanted it to be her finger plunging into the girl's cute little peach.

Sheila had never been with another woman, but she could picture herself with this girl. Holding her breast to her mouth, gently kissing it, while she pleased her with her fingers, her tongue, her everything.

Her juices were flowing as she circled her large, engorged bud furiously, imagining it was the blonde's fingers. She could feel the beginnings of an orgasm buried deep inside of her rising to the surface. It was time; it was past time. She pushed the soft folds back off the head of her large and now fully erect bud. It stood out past her wet folds glistening, deep red, like a glass bead fingertip.

She pleasured herself, timing her movements to match those the blonde was using on herself, firmly gripping the head of her bud between her thumb and index finger. Sheila stroked and tugged it at the same time. The sensation caused several short grunts to escape her clinched lips. She couldn't stop them.

Shiela's bud was much larger than most. It was the size of her pinky finger in thickness and when excited could reach nearly an inch long. It was easy to grip. She always took advantage of this part of her anatomy when pleasuring herself, but sometimes found it an embarrassment when with a partner.

But, today, like many other days, she was alone. Still, not totally.

She stroked her flesh in timed thrusts with the girl in the shower, pleasing herself deeper and deeper with her other hand. She imagined the blonde was doing those things to her.

The girl in the shower suddenly stiffened, trembled, and quit breathing for the longest time. A muffled cry escaped her pursed lips as she stood frozen, shuddering, eyes closed. Then, after several tensed moments, there was only the hiss of the water streaming over her golden skin.

Watching the girl get off pushed Sheila over the ragged edge she had been surfing. A team of horses couldn't have stopped Sheila's orgasm; she didn't want it stopped. She gasped as it arrived. It came and she greeted it. Her entire body was consumed as a wave of pleasure washed over her. She bit her lip, pushing three fingers as deeply as she could into herself. She held them buried as if her life depended on it. She squeezed her bud vice-tight between her fingers, pulling it with urgent tugs.

Sheila's body collapsed against the lockers. She was thankful they were sturdy; bolted to the floor. She would be pressed against them several moments, unable to move, until the tide of orgasm had passed. She and the young woman in the shower were comrades in the pleasure they were receiving. Her first connection with another human being in such a long time. It didn' matter to her that the girl didn't know.

Sheila trembled breathlessly, her back pressed against the cool metal until the last tremors passed. It had been far too long since she had a release like this. She wasn't about to rush it, no matter who walked in. She wouldn't be robbed of this; she didn't have to face tomorrow.

Precious moments later, she could breathe again. She stepped back from the end of the row of lockers on shaky legs and sat down on the bench where she had started. She faced the mirror spent and wet. Pulling a towel from her locker, she dried herself. Her bud hadn't gotten the memo that the orgasm was over, and the round red head stood shining, protruding from the swollen upper folds of her peach.

She grazed it accidentally with the towel and jumped several inches off the bench like she had been shocked. She was more careful of the sensitive part as she finished, not noticing for several moments the towel--clad blonde standing behind her. When she finally did, Sheila jumped, startled to find anyone there.

"Hello," Sheila finally said, pink with embarrassment. She feared she had been caught. The girl had clearly seen her unusually large and very swollen clit. There was no telling how long she had been there. When had she slipped up behind her?

The pretty blonde's bright green eyes were angry. She had a disgusted look on her face.

"Nobody likes a peeping Tom," she said bluntly. She pulled the towel tighter around her petite body.

Sheila self-consciously covered her peach and erect bud with her towel. She had always been self-conscious of her larger-than-average part. Now she felt like some freak of nature caught trying to be normal, greedily taking her desires from someone who didn't want it.

I'm a creep. How embarrassing.

She looked up at the smug expression on the girl's face. She looked as if she felt she was somehow better than Sheila. She didn't know anything about being unloved, about being alone. She's young and cute, her life ahead of her.

Sheila became angry and lashed out. Her own expression turned dark, hurt.

Fuck this shit! Tomorrow none of this will matter anyway.

"You were the one fingering yourself in the public showers," Sheila snapped. She looked up at the girl smugly. "Must have wanted an audience."

Let her deny that.

The girl stood stunned, as if she didn't know how to react momentarily. Her face flushed and she backed away and walked out mumbling something Sheila couldn't hear.

Sheila shrugged, putting her towel into the net bag.

She didn't care what anyone thought anymore. By midnight this would all be over anyway. Nobody was interested. She got memo. It hurt, but the pain would stop soon enough. Her freakish bud finally decided it was time to hide below the safety of Its folds. She knew how it felt. She wished she could disappear, too.

After showering and drying her body and her eyes, Sheila dressed. Not wanting to be remembered as a slob, she took special care to look her best. The world could hurt her, but it couldn't take her dignity. That was something she wouldn't give. No matter how much the world hated her. And when she left this world, it would be with style. She would be found nude, cold in her tub.

She imagined James afterward saying he wasn't aware anything was bothering her. Everyone at her funeral would say how peaceful she looked lying there, as if she had simply fallen asleep. All the other women would make comments like, "It's a shame; she was in such good shape."