I’m at the gym five days a week, so it’s pretty normal for me to befriend a lot of the other regulars. One, in particular, is a short haired woman named Lucy. She’s got large breasts, hard nipples, thick thighs, and a flat stomach. I see her there once a week, when she works out with her trainer. So, naturally, we got to talking.
“Wish I could chat longer,” she said. “But I have to get back to the office for a meeting. Gotta run, but … text me.”
I took her number, she disappeared into the locker room and emerged twenty minutes later in office clothes and high heels looking as sexy as you could imagine.
I texted her that evening to ask how the meeting was. There was an obviously flirty tone to the overall conversation … and then she mentioned her husband had fixed dinner, so she had to go. Husband? Well, there goes that, I thought. But, I saw Lucy at the gym a week later and she gave me a hug and a peck on the lips, which was intriguing. I’m no hero, though, not beyond fucking a married woman in the name of decency and respect. And if Lucy was unhappy or miserable in her marriage, she knew what she was doing. Sure, I felt slightly bad for her husband, but I would be blown away if he was happy, too, so maybe sleeping with Lucy would be a blessing in disguise—freeing them both from a miserable marriage?