Sex and the Gym
By: Christine Stevens
Tags: Humor, Sex, Fitness, Relationships, Sexuality

Sex and the Gym

How to work it, girl

Photo by Spencer Davis on Unsplash

OK, we’ve all been hitting the gym since the New Year, right? A lot of people have been doing dry January. Me, I swore off bacon goudas at Starbucks — my kryptonite. I did sign up for a new gym, too, and let me tell ya, it’s a sexy place. The men and women look like people in fitness magazines. Why are you guys even at the gym, I wonder? If I looked like you, I’d go home and eat a doughnut because…I could.

I haven’t eaten a doughnut since the late oughts. Has it helped me? No, I still need to lose twenty pounds.

Anyhow, although the place is chock full of hotties, it’s not like any of the hotties are talking to each other. Everyone’s wearing Bluetooth earbuds and focusing on their core.

I feel invisible. The only guys that will talk to me are the ones in those blue shirts that work there.

Now, I can’t see having a relationship with a guy whose job is to walk around a gym looking buff and friendly. Imagine the dinner conversation. “How was your day, honey?” “Pretty good. I walked through the free weight room, pretending to be stacking weights, but I was really just checking myself out in the wall-length mirrors. My biceps looked so ripped. Then I went into the room with the ellipticals and the treadmills. You can see your reflection in the windows there, and guess what? My biceps were still totally ripped!”

I kind of have a crush on Leora, the woman that runs our HIIT class. That’s high-intensity interval training. She looks like she would be high intensity in the sack. Totally dominating. She says there’s only five seconds left on the planks, but I’m telling you it takes her twenty fucking seconds to count those off, and all the time she’s looking at us with that sadistic enthusiasm. Sometimes I think, fuck it, what’s she going to do to me if I just bail out of this plank and take a rest. But then I want to impress her. I want her to like me.

After class the other day she said, “Good job Christine.”

Holy crap, she remembered my name. And she smiled. Yeah, I was walking on air for the rest of the day.

Then there’s the crazy bitch in charge of spin. Stephanie. I mean, the good thing about cycling is it does stimulate the cooch. And the music is pumping. When Stephanie shouts at us to stand up on our bikes everyone else is all excited but I’m bummed because now I won’t feel it in my cooch any more.

She’s shouting out all these instructions but I can’t hear her over the music and finally, I say, “fuck it”, I want to sit down on my butt and grind my clit into the seat. “Come on Chistine, get up!” she shouts into her mic. Hey, bitch, don’t shame me. I’m not your Peleton wife.

But of course, I get up. I want Stephanie to like me too. I want everyone in the gym to like me. Maybe if I go sit at the juice bar someone will hit on me.

“I’ll have the berry bliss bourgeoisie blossom,” I tell the kid behind the juicer. It takes him like an hour to juice up all these strange bougie superfoods. Finally, he gives me a thirteen dollar pile of sludge that tastes like Mike and Ikes that got left out in the sun too long and melted. “Delicious,” I lie. I want the kid to like me too.

On the treadmills, they have these imaginary trails you can go on in the video. I went running down these country roads. Hey, any day a woman goes jogging in the boonies and doesn’t end up in a shallow grave is a good day.

Although at one point, this pick-up did seem to slow down as it went past me, but then I remembered this isn’t reality, it’s some weird computer program. However, computer programmers are a little strange.

I swear, five minutes later the same damn pick up came past again. I gave him the finger. “Don’t even think about it buddy! I will fuck you up!” I yelled at him.

Then I realized I was yelling that out loud. Luckily, everybody around me was in their own ear budded world. Only the guys in the blue shirts and the big biceps heard, and they’re paid to pretend to like the patrons.

Finally, I got in my suit and took a dip in the co-ed spa. I was letting the jets do their magic on my crotch when this guy in a speedo, you know, swimmer’s body, not an ounce of fat on him says, “Nice jets, huh.”

Oh shit, I say, was I actually moaning out loud, I thought that was all in my mind.

“Yeah, they’re great,” I say, moving away, shame-facedly.

Sitting there chastely in the tub, I could see through the glass walls into the workout area, all these sexy butts wiggling away and it dawned on me the gym is the unsexiest place on earth despite all the exposed flesh and the revealing skin-tight outfits. I said to myself, damn, this place is making me feel sexually frustrated. Something’s got to give.

So I decided to take the bull by the horns and meet some of these sexy exercise fanatics, and lo and behold, I discovered it is possible. Going to the gym does not need to be a lonely, frustrating experience. You can meet people there. Here’s how:

1. Do the machine wrong.

I sat there pushing random buttons on the elliptical, trying to get it to turn on. Nothing. Suddenly, there he was, Don. “Here, let me help you,” he said. I smelled his cologne. It was nice. “Thanks,” I said. “I’m Christine by the way.” “I’m Don,” he said. “Do you know how to pick the courses and stuff?” “No, I don’t.” “Let me show you…”

Soon he was showing me all the different video routes you could run in — Golden Gate Park, Yosemite, even the foothills of the Himalayas.

“Oh, I want to go to the Himalayas,” I said, cutely. “Do you want to go there with me?”

“Sure,” he said.

He chose the Himalayas on his machine next to me, and we both went elliptical trecking in the foothills of Mount Everest. It was breathtaking. I mean, every time I looked over at Don and saw his hot ass I took a big breath.

I was starting to like the gym!

2. Squat in the free weight room.

You don’t even need to act the damsel in distress here. I know, it smells like the men’s locker room. And it’s mostly men, men with big muscles and lots of tattoos. When a woman enters there, she gets immediate attention. It’s like walking into a bar.

“Hey,” said a big strong guy.

“Hey yourself, tough guy,” I said, and I winked at him.

I spotted a hot dude doing squats on the Smith machine.

“Excuse me, how much longer are you going to be,” I asked him when he was done with his reps.

“Uh, a few minutes, but we can switch off if you want.”

“Sure,” I said, and I took his place under the bar.

“Um, that’s a lot of weight,” he said. “I don’t mind taking some off.”

“No, this is fine,” I said. And I started squatting. He looked impressed. I was probably going to break my back, but I didn’t let it show. I smiled and squatted and gave him a mental picture of exactly he could have squatting on him some day, if he played his cards right.

I got a strained back, a hernia, and probably a slipped disc, yes, but I also got his number — yay!

3. Sweat a lot in the sauna.

This was my favorite exercise of all — sitting on my ass in the sauna. I could feel my face glowing. I had a towel over my swimsuit, but soon it was too hot. I lay out the towel and lay down on it. Then I looked over at the guy sitting next to me.

“Hot, isn’t it?”

“It sure is,” he said. “Very hot.”

And I think he meant me. I’m not a hundred percent sure. Subtext is hard to spot sometimes. But sweat was running down my face, just like it does during a real long hard fuck. We were basically already having sex.

Strangely, in about a minute he just got up and left. That’s called playing hard to get. I think…

4. Bootie camp.

Alright, I admit, I didn’t really get anywhere at the gym until I signed up for 6 AM boot camp. We had a drill sergeant and he was so mean. But you see, that brought us together in our mutual hatred of our Sarge. After our first class, me and this guy Jorge started hating on Sarge. Jorge was pretty fit, I don’t really know why he was taking boot camp. But we had fun. In the second class, we started giving Sarge the finger behind his back and making faces at him during the pushups. Then when we went out of the gym to jog around the park, Jorge and I slipped away from the group when we passed that great shop with the woman with the wavy hair who wears a crown and lives in the magic green circle!

Mmm, bacon gouda, I love you. Thank you Starbucks. So I blew my New Years resolution. So what!

Turns out it’s a wet January after all, in more ways than one. Jorge, you are a devil!