Every week was always similar, but never the same. She’d go to work. So would I. I’d go to the gym. So would she. But she’d go to kick-boxing class for 7, whereas I’d save my energy by doing an easy 400-metre lap in the swimming pool. I’d be done before her, get dressed and meet her in the now-abandoned classrooms at the back of the leisure centre. Our tryst room.
Once inside, I’d throw down my kit-bag, and wait, fully dressed for the approaching foot-steps. As sure as sunrise they would quickly arrive. Tentative, and a soft, I’d hear the squeaking of trainers approach. As they neared. I’d tense, getting ready, and as soon as the door opened, despite my urges to just *pin* her to the wall, I’d always stop just shy to marvel at her beauty: sweat-drenched body, that musky smell, hair tied into a neat bun, breathing heavily, bruised legs from the training session, garish purple shorts, yet, every bit, *the*, most irresistible girl, in this whole damn facility. With my body inches away from hers, and holding on to her sticky arms, I’d take a deep breathe, inhale her scent, as she tensed, eased, and allowed my lips to softly kiss hers. My index finger supporting her chin whilst she’d stare into my eyes, and we’ve kiss again. This time hard. With passion. Her hands coddling the back of my head and neck, as I intertwined my fingers with hers, pressing her arms out wide and into the wall.