I wasn't overweight, but I'd complained forever that if I could just lose five pounds, I'd be happy. Mine wasn't the most active of lifestyles. Thin and flubby described me best. Ever since Tim broke it off with me, Sarah had been trying to convince me that going to Spa Lady at least twice a week was going to make me feel better. Confidence, energy, endurance, desirability, so on. I hummed and hawed about it for weeks before I stepped on the scale for kicks one day whilst brushing my teeth.
At some point my five pound goal became fifteen.
In a mad scramble to deny this claim, I stopped brushing my teeth, stripped off my clothes like they were on fire, and stood on the thing at angles that would surely produce a more desirable result.
Fast forward to next week: The first time I went with her, she abandoned me within setting foot through the door to do spinning. I don't know if you've ever witnessed someone spinning, but it took me all of two seconds to decide that was not within my skill level. So I wandered about, sheepishly checking out equipment while trying to look all cool about it.
After all my nervous soul searching, I finally came across a machine that I could discern the purpose of. It was called Solid Slide Club Class. All were empty but one at the end; a lady sat upon the edge, her legs spread wide, each thigh pushing in the levers until her knees met.
My thought was God, do I have fat thighs before I jumped on in earnest. At first when I pushed, nothing happened. Chances are I looked like I was giving birth, I put so much effort into it. Soon I found the adjustments and lowered it to the easiest of levels. My pride hurt but my ability bolstered, I began to clamp away on the levers.
The first one had me a little shocked. I slackened and let the levers push me back. Did that just happen? I pushed again. Oh. Yeah, it did just happen. I looked around the room. No one was watching me. I looked to the lady at the end, whose face was more straight than Lady Gaga's. Anything could have been going on in her mind.
So I acted all casual-like as I pumped again. And again. Again. It was really hard to do--my thighs were burning and aching only after a few--but I couldn't stop. Hell, you couldn't have stopped me if you pulled the fire alarm. I kept clamping, and each time I would be rewarded with a pleasant burn, one which grew hotter with each squeeze.
Not only were my thighs working; my abs were doing something in the mix, while my arms trembled and my butt got all rock hard. I gripped the bench behind me until my knuckles went white. The entire time I was chanting poker face, poker face in my mind, desperately trying to hide the fact that I was really, really getting the bang for my proverbial buck.
After the thirtieth squeeze or so I moaned out loud, but managed to make it sound like a pathetic splutter turned cough. I held the clamps together and leaned forward, making it look like I was fighting the burn. I had vibrators at home, but oh, my God, they didn't even come close to this.
After a thirty second break, I started round two.
I started going to the gym with Sarah three times a week. Eventually I made a schedule for myself, as spending a complete hour on the Solid Slide Club Class was not only suspect, but pretty damn impossible. I would do other activities for forty-five minutes, working myself into a nasty sweat, before rewarding myself for twenty minutes on the mother of all machines. It never failed to treat me right. Gradually, I raised the difficulty. Just as gradually, the results got better and better, up until I could excite myself at home just by gently swinging my thighs open and shut.
I surpassed my fifteen pound goal. Now I have arms like a Million Dollar Baby and thighs like fucking nut crackers. Plank for three minutes? No problem. Bench press two German Shepherds? Why not? Spend an hour on the Solid Slide Club Class? Shit, make it two.
It's been four months coming to this gym, and now I get more than my money's worth in memberships and enjoyment. Having just finished aerobics, I sit down almost greedily at my normal haunt, sliding my legs into place without looking and assuming the position I've perfected like I've been doing this my whole life.
I've quadrupled the difficulty on the machine, but I'm working it like a level ten pianist on a grand piano. Don't want to make it too hard and have stronger thighs than a pro wrestler, but want it tough enough that the resistance gives me just the right amount of burn. And, of course, it starts building in no time at all.
I'd like to think that I've developed a solid just-dare-me face over the months. But as I glance around with a on-cloud-nine grin on my face, I catch sight of a guy spinning across the room. Directly ahead of me. Watching me.
I play my glance off like it's nothing, but I don't stop. Does he know what I'm doing? He looked a little revolted. Or was that... I glanced at him again. Oh. That's definitely the I-have-a-boner face.
So what do I do? I lean back a bit more on the bench, bring my arms a bit closer and stick my bust out a bit further, and work the thigh master shamelessly. I may as well be wafting my crotch scent in his direction. I try to steal a glance again, but at this point it's obvious to the both of us what's going on here. When our eyes make contact, I don't break it this time.
The burning gets twice as intense. I tremble a bit and gasp, but not because it's getting harder to squeeze.
He leans further over the bike. I can see his nostrils flare from here.
Because I now had the attitude that me and Solid Slide could take on anything in the world, I tipped my head back and made a sexy swooning kind of motion. When I looked back up again, bike guy paled significantly.
And then--the reward.
I made a sort of subtle show about it. Let my eyes flutter and my chest heave silently. I slowed my pace and held the levers together. Then shot bike guy a wicked smile. He swallowed like he was about to puke.
This is not something I would have done four months ago. Ever ago. Bike guy wouldn't have even noticed me back then. As far as I was concerned, I owed my life to the Solid Slide. I stroke the bench lovingly behind me before I stand up and leave my number on it. A crazy part of me giggles when I think about having a date with the machine. Yeah, totally meant my number for bike guy. Totally.
Seriously, go to the gym. You'll have the best sex of your life.