Nude Day at the Gym

Author's Note: I wrote the story "Nude Day at the Gym" as a standalone piece. Then a reader (Campus 77 - thank you) in a comment inquired if the Nude Day event changed the relationship of the two protagonists. It gave me the impetus to write a part 2. You should read the original story first; the sequel will make more sense if you do.

...

Casual nudity involving the sexes is unusual in most societies. But there are exceptions - the Germans have their mixed-sex saunas, where skin is openly exposed. Nude bathing is common in Scandinavia and French- speaking countries. But here in the US? Sorry; strangers of the opposite sex would never appear naked with each other. So, the Nude Day at the gym that I've previously discussed was a seismic event for Sarah and me. And it changed us.

I guess it shouldn't be unusual that nudity would alter relationships. The stripping away of clothes is a perfect proxy for the stripping away of pretense. It's an agreement to be open with your companion. Sarah and I weren't lovers; she had a boyfriend, I was married. But we'd shared a forbidden moment. We saw each other naked, without lust and without judgment. And liked what we saw.

Whereas before, we were two people who often worked out on the same days, now we planned our workouts. If one couldn't make, say, a Wednesday, we'd talk and arrange an alternate day. I loved seeing her in those spandex workout clothes, but they were just a cruel tease. I missed seeing her naked. And I hadn't forgotten how she took ahold of my flaccid penis at the end of Nude Day. It wasn't sexual when she did it - it was meant to be a funny moment and I took it that way. I admired her sense of humor. But still, she had taken hold of my penis! That spoke of a familiarity that I wanted to kindle.

I talked to the management of the gym about hosting a monthly instead of annual Nude Day, but only got "This guy must be a creep" looks. There was no 'excuse' for me to be naked with Sarah again. If I had guts, I guess I could have forthrightly told her I wanted to see her. But that was fraught with danger, and likely rejection. If she viewed such a plea as creepy (that word again), our relationship would quickly terminate.

But I had to do something. It was becoming an obsession. I needed to know how she felt. When we were having a drink together at the gym's juice bar, I broached the subject.

"So, what did your boyfriend think about your nude adventure of last month?" I asked.

"He laughed. Thought it was hilarious. And he was impressed that I had the guts to do it."

"He wasn't upset?" I asked.

"No. He knows I don't sleep around, but flaunting some skin is different. He's always encouraging me to wear skimpy bikinis. He gets a kick out of seeing other men stealing glances at me."

"And you? You don't mind men looking at you?" I asked.

"I won't admit this to many people, but I love it. There's obviously a huge leap from a skimpy bikini to being naked, but I did it, didn't I? I guess I'm more of an exhibitionist than I realized."

"Would you ever do it again" I asked, with more timidity in my voice than I was happy about.

She turned to focus squarely on me. "What do you have in mind?"

"Eh, nothing," I squirmed. "Just making conversation."

She wouldn't take that obvious evasion for an answer. She repeated the question. "What do you have in mind?"

I looked down at the table. "I loved being naked with you. You are quite beautiful. I've hardly thought of anything else since that day."

There it was. Out in the open. The seconds ticked by as I waited for her to call me a creep and storm off.

Instead, she quietly said, "Me too."

My heart began pounding in my chest. I wanted to reach out and take her hand. But I didn't. We were never going to be lovers. Too complicated - we each had significant others and established lives. But there would be path forward -- she was an exhibitionist, I'm a voyeur. We'd found each other.

The hour was getting late. We needed to finish our workout. So, we got up and did just that. But without saying a word, it was agreed there was to be another chapter.

Now, I've talked of the men's and women's locker rooms. But the gym also has two 'family' locker rooms. Decent sized changing rooms, usually used by a parent accompanied by children, with a single shower stall. The next time we met, we slipped into one of the family rooms.

"I'll change first," she said. And Sarah begin to strip off her clothes. First the blouse, then she removed her bra. I watched as she bent forward to remove her pants, lovely milky-white breasts bouncing with the motion. She was now dressed only in her panties, just a few feet away from me. She shook the underwear off, and faced me, naked. Gentle wisps of blonde pubic hair covered the valley of her groin as it plunged into the vagina.

"Turn around, please," I asked.

She slowly turned and I watched her curved, perfect behind come into view.

"You're as beautiful as I remembered," I said.

"Flatterer. Your turn," she said to me.

I pulled my shirt off, and unbuckled the belt on my trousers. The shoes and socks came off, and the trousers fell to the ground. I stood before her just in my underwear, with an obvious bulge straining against the cotton.

"You're not done," she said to me, smiling.

I gripped the sides of the underwear and pulled it to the floor. We stood facing each other, naked.

"You're a good-looking man," she said.

"And you're spectacular," I breathed.

Then we each put on our gym clothes. We had a workout to accomplish.

The workout was of normal length, but it seemed to persist forever. Forever, because I was anticipating a shower upon its conclusion.

When we returned to the family locker room, I tested the water in the shower. It was warm. We shook off our gym clothes.

"It's a small shower," she said. "We could take turns. Or if you're not claustrophobic, we could shower together."

Of course. I thoroughly soaped her body, and she reciprocated. Our hands admired the body we loved to look at, caressing every curve. When she soaped my genitals, the penis rose to its ready position.

"Careful, cowboy" she said. "There are limits. But that doesn't mean I object; I'm allowed to look."

"Yes, I know," I said. "It's easy to see when guys are excited. If you're aroused, you'll have to tell me."

'You'll know," she said.

And she was a beautiful 'lover'; moaning sweetly as I traced and cleaned her curves with a soapy washcloth.

When we were done, we dried each other off with towels. Then we dressed.

"How's your schedule look for Friday?" I asked.

"It's good. See you after work," she replied.

And that became our routine. I haven't tired of seeing her beautiful nude body. And I never was unfaithful in a carnal sense to my wife (and, by the way, I had never told her about Nude Day.) Sarah remained loyal to her boyfriend, although she didn't tell him of this second chapter.

We're just friends, with benefits. Maybe I was wrong to say that Nude Day changed us; perhaps it just revealed who we were all along.