The workout was intense. Squats, crunches, lunges. My legs were shaky, jelly after the intense pressure I’d put them under. I wiped my forehead with a rag, took a drink of water, and decided to hit the locker room.
I pulled my bag from the locker and retrieved my towel. The water at the gym stayed hot for much longer than at my house, so I preferred cleaning up here.
First, I pulled my long hair from its tight bun. It ran down my back freely, and I combed the knots out with my fingers. I pulled my chest from the sports bra. It felt good to breathe without its restraints. My chest bare, I got a tickle in my middle — what if someone came in and saw me, bare-chested, standing in the middle of the locker room? This thought only intrigued me, and I pulled myself free from my yoga pants and my panties. My used clothes on the bench, I eyed myself quickly in the mirror. Naked: taut, lean, fit. I’d been working hard at the gym, and it was paying off. My nipples erected in the cold, my legs pulling a gooseflesh from the slight breeze.