We were sitting around on a grey Sunday afternoon watching football when the penny dropped. I'd just finished griping about the wife's lack of sex drive to my buddy Paul for the seven thousandth time, when he silenced the room with a biting retort.
"Maybe stop being a fat fuck and give her something worth to look at,"
If we were in a larger group and he'd made such a remark, I probably would have chucked a pillow at his head and called him names as the other fellows roared. But it was a bit of a blow to hear from my best bud when it was just us, knowing there wasn't a jeering crowd to show off for. I just kinda sat in silence.
Yeah, I'd grown into a mopey bitch since moving to the suburbs. I was 32, boring ass wife boring ass life. The college weight never came off, and my toned upper half was nothing more than a high school memory by now. My wife had similarly put on weight but was still a looker. In a lot of ways I didn't have reason to be miserable yet here I was.
I glanced over at Paul trying not to look wounded. He too had aged up since high school, but I didn't think he'd done any worse in the body department than me. I sat there splitting my gaze between the TV and Paul, trying to figure out the last time I saw him shirtless. Fat fuck? I tried to turn my embarrassment into anger, but came up short. The announcers called for halftime and I quickly shifted my eyes away from my friend.
Paul slammed his beer can down on the coffee table and stood up.
"C'mon Charles, get up." He stood looming over me with irritation behind his eyes. "Get the fuck up, c'mon- lets go," He started out of the living room and I felt compelled to stumble out of the chair to follow. He seemed intent on heading out to the garage.
I could see the flurries blowing outside the window slits in the garage door. It was chilly in there, but relatively neat and tidy. There was a workbench across one wall, and a weight bench and free weights off to the side. Before I could question him, Paul spoke up.
"Halftime work out. You've been bitching about Beth, and swearing every year we've been up here that you want to get in shape. So I'm gonna make you do it, put you through your paces."
I don't know what look came across my face in response, hesitant or confused, but Paul began to move things around and clear out room for me. I hadn't shown up for a drill instructor, we were only going to watch the game as we did every Sunday. But there was a growing part of me, a self loathing part that knew this was almost necessary. The whole thing had developed so fast, I couldn't even think of a way to beg off, to apologize for my whining and return to the living room. My brain had been jolted quiet. Paul and I had that typical teasing relationship, but something about his fed up tone of voice and move to action. I'd grown to hate myself, and this- whatever this was. I needed the push.
"Take off your shirt," Paul laid out a mat as he brushed by me. For a moment, the spell was broken and I was able to talk.
"What? Why? Its cold in here," Okay, maybe I needed the push but I wasn't confident in my body enough to-
"Do it fucko," He leapt up to test the strength of the pull up bar attached to the rafters, giving me a glimpse of his flexing arms. Guess he used the equipment in here in his spare time after all. I slowly began to pull off my sweatshirt as he dropped to the ground and stripped off his own top.
Paul was not ripped, but he was still fairly tight. The weight he'd gained was well proportioned on his upper body, looking firm with no sag. He'd had a dusting of hair across his flat chest, and a treasure trail. His nipples were small and pink. I didn't think I was too far off from him, but suddenly felt insecure and opted to leave my t-shirt on. I tossed my sweatshirt onto a nearby box and waited for instruction.
"Nah, you're taking that off too," Paul stepped up to me, using that inch of height he had on me to great advantage. He'd never been a dominating personality towards me, but at the same time, I guess I'd never been this...accommodating before. I froze in place, smelling his body for the first time. It's a weird feeling to be standing close to a half naked man, being told to take off your shirt. He's already put himself out there, and somehow waiting and watching on you to match him, I guess the feeling of being watched, having to perform- its somehow a more vulnerable position. I gripped the hem of my t-shirt and gently pulled it over my head. I could almost feel the light hitting my soft, hairy belly, my underdeveloped chest, the furry armpits. Exposure therapy indeed. I looked Paul in the eye for a glimmer of approval as I chucked my shirt aside, he offered none. He looked me over, forcing me to straighten my back as I tried to make myself look more attractive. Wait, what the fuck?
He pointed at some free weights and began barking instructions at me. I did my best to move quickly, lift correctly and take his advice seriously. It was difficult not to overexert myself as I went along. It had been some time since I'd been in a gym so I was quickly sore and tired, but I didn't want to let Paul down, or lose whatever this challenge was. He had me doing arm curls when he sidled up behind me to whisper in my ear.
"You eat shit, you are shit. You've let yourself go and given the fuck up. Your wife won't fuck you because you're a pathetic whiner who doesn't have his shit together. And I'm sick of hearing all this every time you're over here,"
His words made me choke back tears. I didn't want to appear sadder than I already was. But I suddenly felt guilty and ashamed I had burdened my friend with all my garbage. He was right. I was horrible. And here he was giving me the straight talk, and pushing me out of my rut. I swore then and there I wouldn't give up no matter what.
