Gym on the night shift [MF]

Note: This is my first attempt at writing. I think it kinda got off the rails after a while but I chose to let it evolve.

You could say it was a night like any other, and that would be the understatement of the year. Holding down the night shift as building security tended to seem like Groundhog’s day, minus the cute furry critter. Come to work when the sun was down, stare at the same walls, leave with the sun still absent. Rinse, repeat. It was a drudging experience; one that could wear down the attention of even the most astute watchers. The one perk, thankfully the perk that keeps me going, is the unrestricted access to a first rate fitness center. A fitness center that is utterly devoid of human inhabitants when it’s my time to go. Metal music blaring, lights turned down low, and an endless stream of grunts and curses follows me around as I find my center among the iron. This gym makes it all completely worth it. So on this night, like every other night, I was on my way to my Mecca.

The gym itself occupies a goodly chunk of the 35th floor, in our 42 floor building in lower Manhattan. The building itself is almost entirely occupied by the prestigious organization that employs me, and by 8pm each night the building empties like a column of water, all the dutiful workers scurrying home to their loved ones. Left behind are those of us unfortunate enough to wander the empty halls; mainly security and a few unlucky employees holding over on important projects that require constant monitoring. Thankfully, these holdovers hide in their corners, leaving the gym empty and waiting. Except for tonight, of course.

The clock had just crept past midnight, and I had just finished changing into my gym attire and slugged back my pre-workout. Full of caffeine-fueled artificial energy, I hopped off the elevator, keyed the locks and headed down the hall to that every familiar door. I pass the mirror in the hallway, and spare myself a glance.

Just past my 32nd birthday, I look like I’m in the prime of my life, and most times I feel that way too. At just a touch under 6 feet tall and 210lbs I fill out my medium shirt nicely; broad in the shoulders and narrow in the waist. I keep my dirty blond hair buzz-cut short in the summer, which gives it a dark brown cast against my too-pale skin. Much as I try, I only possess two possible skin tones: white and red. I’ve come to accept it, though a nice dark tan would be super nice once in awhile. The nice thing about the pale skin, however, is the way it sets off my ice blue eyes. Those eyes get compliments, which I certainly appreciate since I have the ‘game’ of a well-worn fence post, and I catch those eyes as I pause in the mirror.

“Tonight is going to be a good one” I tell myself, feeling the caffeine buzz along my veins. Tonight I’m going to add another set to my recently adopted pushup regimen. As it turns out, pushups are a damn good workout, and stringing sets of 50 in a row until failure leaves desirable results. Feeling chipper, I stroll into the gym.

“Oh!” Exclaimed the woman who I just startled standing by an elliptical. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

Just as startled I blurt out “well hey! Neither was I!…..”

Smooth moves man bounces inside my head. But seriously, I wasn’t expecting anyone. And honestly, she’s not exactly intimidating. Maybe 5’ 6” – 5’ 7” and 160ish lbs (I’m terrible at guessing weight). Short curly hair, glasses and a worn face, not exactly attractive. Even her glasses are dated, with the horn-rimmed shapes of a decade ago. I’d estimate her at a seasoned 40 years old, and she has the body shape of someone who goes to the gym to watch TV; ‘working out’ on an elliptical, but not exactly pushing past the warm-up zone. She’s wearing a pink, sleeved, workout top and, of all things, a white tennis skirt. Maybe that’s what caused my fumbling. I have a serious thing for white skirts, and hers is tight enough that I can see her granny-panty lines but flowing enough that it moves when she walks. And it is stark white. Yeah, it was the skirt.

“Sorry,” I explained, “I’m not exactly used to people being in here at night with the building empty and all. I kinda stroll in like I own the place.”

“Oh, well that’s understandable” she said with a slightly musical chime to her voice, “I’m just getting in some late work on 25. Figured I should drag myself up here too to round out my night.”

I flash her a smile (I did?) “Fair enough. If my music…..uh….offends you just let me know and I’ll turn it off.”

“Well that’s considerate of you” she said with a hesitation, as if this was unexpected, “but I don’t think you’ll bother me.”

“Sure. OK. Well…..enjoy your workout?” Came out with an unintended question at the end. Brilliant man, you’re stumbling over betty-housewife here.

She nods as I pass, and I get a second glance at that skirt after she looks away. Yep. I do love a nice white skirt on just about anything. Even tables. Maybe the Victorian era had something there.

I head to the other end of the gym and fire up the tunes. Five Finger Death Punch greets me and I adjust the volume to an acceptable-yet-hopefully-not-offensive level. That done, I get right to my warm up, alternating sets of 10 pushups, 10 crunches, 10 squats and 10 arm circles. Far From Home drives me through the warmups, which are quick enough to get the blood flowing but not enough to gas me in any one muscle group. As I work, I glance to my right and Betty (good enough I suppose) is doing her “I can’t work too hard” routine on the elliptical. Well, at least she’s doing something, I think.

Another 10 minutes goes by and I finish the warm-up work, making a smooth transition right into my first set of 30 pushups. Nice, even work, down then up. I pride myself on my ability to crank out sound, acceptable, pushups. No half-assed hip thrusting over here. I may be working a near-entry level night security job at 32, but I can do a damn good pushup. Rep 30 hits and I snap to my feet, my pre-workout surging into a nice pump across my shoulders and chest. I take my pump into my first set of sit-ups, and right around rep 5 I catch Betty watching me out of the corner of my eye. Well OK, I think, She might not be a bombshell but she’s not a dude and she sees something over here.

I won’t lie, I dug the attention. Hell, I workout at night, where no one can see me. At least someone can appreciate my above-average pushups tonight. Her attention also awakens this need to show off that is lurking inside me. Something I think is encoded into every young man’s DNA. If a woman watches, I must show off. Grrr! I am MAN! Or something like that.

Her movement draws me out of my biological rumination, and I glance over in time to see her leaving the elliptical and moving to the line of machines that stand behind the cardio gear. She glances over at me as she walks, and our eyes collide in this odd acknowledgement that I can’t quite explain. I can, however, explain the suddenness that causes us to both snap our gazes away: “Shit, he/she saw me! Play it cool!” She sits down at a crunch machine, and with the mirrors behind the machines I can see her begin to work with the least amount of weight possible. At least she’s working.

Meanwhile, my sit-ups have been going on autopilot and 50 comes up faster than I anticipated, which naturally means I completely miscounted. Whelp, no changing that now. Back to pushups. I begin to lose myself in the movements, perfect pushups, mindless sit-ups, repeat. Five Finger is out there somewhere in the background, something about heaven, and Betty is busy ‘crunching’. Wait, she’s not. I suddenly realize that my peripheral doesn’t include that white skirt, and I risk a full glance. There she is, three machines closer at the upright bench press. And yep, she’s still watching me. We do the shocked caught glance thing again, only this time it lingers just a touch. Did I imagine it? Whatever dude, get back to work.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/65bcqs/gym_on_the_night_shift_mf

2 comments on “Gym on the night shift [MF]

  1. Cont:

    I finish my initial rounds, alternating sit-ups and pushups, when I am somewhere north of 200 reps each. My pump is in full bloom now, and I even have a few veins spidering across my forearms. Fucking right. Love those veins. Next up is some easier shoulder mobility work, and I grab my weights and have a seat in front of the dumbell racks. In front of me are the exterior windows (which are fairly good mirrors with the lights down low. Good for spotting ya know?), and the reflection in those shows me the reflection of the mirrors behind me, and finally, Betty’s white skirt moving at an angle towards me. Oddly enough, my heart speeds up (more than it already is), and then she enters my periphery two benches down. I push the dumbells toward the ceiling in a smooth arc and use the momentum to glance over at her.

    Oh fuck she’s on the back extension. It’s that piece of gym gear which places the user in a standing position, angled towards the floor 45 degrees, with a holding bar across the back of the ankles and in front of the thighs. Apparently, Betty is familiar with this contraption (as every gym guy is whenever women get near it) and she makes a smooth bend at the waist. I gotta say, her form is impressive with a nice locked back and solid hamstrings. Maybe Betty does more work than I thought. That, however, is not what grabbed my attention. That skirt, which was previously so flowing, is pulled tight across her ass as her lower back extends towards the angle. The hint of granny panties becomes an easily defined line across her lower ass. I drink that image in, relish in it, frozen in time. She has my undivided attention in that incredibly slow second, and it feels like we’re both moving through invisible gelatin when she looks over, at full extension, and our eyes lock.

    Reality, as in the non-gelatinous movement of time, crashes in. I’m staring full-on at her, and she’s staring at me. She sees me staring at her and I see her staring at me staring at her. Embarrassment surges up in me but I don’t look away. She holds the position, and my gaze, and I think I see her bite her bottom lip ever so slightly. Did I really see that? But I don’t have time to examine the moment because she smoothly returns to the starting position, gaze snapping straight ahead, and then executes 9 more smooth repetitions as if that moment never happened. Without a backward glance she dismounts, and heads towards the locker room.

    My shoulder cramps up and I realize I’ve been holding my dumbells over my head like some idiotic statue. I lower them to my thighs, one agonizing rep completed, and look at myself in the mirrored window. What WAS that? Did that even happen? My bewilderment is also currently battling my now-present libido. I may not know what just happened, but that moment……the stretched skirt, panty line, lip bite……THAT is now the only thing on my mind. It stands out like a beautiful painting, feeding into my fantasies in just the right way. That all too familiar twitch begins in my shorts (not exactly a positive development in basketball shorts). I gotta shake this off.

    I return the dumbells to their place, and head over to the open floor space immediately to my left. Flutter kicks, that’s what I need. Lots of flutter kicks will get my mind back in the game, or at least in too much pain to think of anything else. I hammer through a set of 30. Then another set of 30. Slug water. Another 30. Well, definitely have the pain but that thought is still there. It’s a good thing she’s gone, because otherwise I’d get nothing done tonight.

    Back to the shoulder work then. I grab my dumbells and sit down, hoisting the iron to a full extension over my head. Smooth movement up and down starts to break through my thoughts and I begin to lose myself in the work. A nice set of 10 ends with me feeling satisfied and centered. I grab some water, sit back down and as I’m reaching full extension a flash of white sneaks into my periphery. Instantly, my pulse increases and I falter. Reaching lock out saves the lift from depositing a lump of iron into my skull. FOCUS. 1….2…..3….it’s like my eyes are drawn by magnetic forces….. rep 4 begins it’s trip towards the ceiling and I glance over. Betty is back in her place on the extension, just reaching the bottom of the exercise. Slow motion time takes over as I drink her in. Locked lower back, tight hamstrings, flowing skirt moving towards tight……..no panty line. My grunt is audible as rep 4 immediately fails me and 40lbs nails me right in the head.

    “Ah fuck” I mutter, wrestling the errant weight under control.

    “Whoa, are you ok??” She calls over in a concerned, breathless, voice. “That looked painful.” Looked painful? Looked? She was watching?

    “No biggie” I insist, rubbing my head ruefully. “It just got away from me.”

    Her laugh is simultaneously giddy and abrupt “Well you have to concentrate when lifting so much!” Was that a compliment?

    “Yeah….” I reply, “not the first time, unfortunately.” I stop rubbing my head and look over at her. She’s off the machine and standing next it it, looking sheepish of all things.

    “Oh. Well if you uh…..need a spot or anything……just yell” she finishes quickly. Her eyes glance nervously from me to somewhere else and back again.

    “Yeah…….uh…….sure.” I reply. I turn back to my reflection, unsure what to say because of my aforementioned fence post game. More importantly, did she remove her panties?? I HAD to have imagine that! There’s no way! But where was the line?? Dude, get a grip! She’s a professional woman at work, she did NOT just remove her panties to taunt you! Ugh, but that would be SO nice. I have to get away from these thoughts, especially since I currently can’t leave my seated position without revealing a very obvious hardon. Basketball shorts are seriously not helpful in this arena. I get the weights back up and begin repetitions in time to my throbbing head, keeping my gaze locked on my reflection and pushing until my shoulders are screaming. With the pain comes a slackening in my shorts. I hop up for more water.

    Needing a continued distraction, I check my logbook for the next exercise. Cable rows. I like cable rows. This machine sits next to all the others against the mirrors, and I head over there somewhat refocused. I like cable rows. I sit down, set my weight and grab the handles, stretching my legs out in preparation to really target my upper back muscles. In and out. In and out. A delicious pause at the top of the rep leaves a nice burn between my shoulders. 3….4….5…..and then my eyes wander. Now that I’m facing the mirror, I see the reflection of the windows. And those windows see Betty in the damn hip adductor machine! This machine, above all, will bring a full gym to a complete stop when a hot woman sits down. She sits in the chair, legs spread wide, and then opens and closes her legs against resistance. Admittedly, it’s a painful exercise but there is no machine hotter. And fucking Betty is on it. In that white skirt.

    I can’t help myself. I straight up stop working and stare into that mirror. The double reflection through the window isn’t the clearest picture, and random shadows and dark patches obscure a lot. Not enough though, for me not to see that white skirt. It drapes across her shapely legs, revealing most of her upper thighs as the majority rests between her legs, protecting her modesty. Close…..open…..close….open…… I. Am. Mesmerized. Close…..open…..close…..open……she is a machine……close….open…..and that’s right about the time I notice that her skirt is slowly transitioning from between her legs to the outside of her thighs. Close……open (raise)……close….open (raise)….. like the curtain at the beginning of a play that skirt continued to rise……..close………open (raise)…………….close………..open (raise)………..she’s moving slower…….my breath is coming in quick bursts and my cock is rock hard………close……….open (raise)…………I stare hard into the mirror, through the window reflection, to where her pussy MUST be visible by now. But all I can see is a shadow!………close…………………open…………..close………………open…………….close……………………..and just then the skirt clears the light revealing a flash of lips. Even with the blurry window reflection, I can see her pussy and as her legs reach full open her lips part like a flower…….and then she jumps up and walks away.

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