The gym giant


We met at an event I was running. Don’t ask me why but he was standing on the side determined not to enjoy himself or crack a smile and I saw…..a challenge. Luckily for me the dress I wore decided that buttons were an inconvenience and lost them as I sashayed over.  He gave me that wary look. I was a woman who was going to take his much treasured grumpiness and make him have a conversation in a bar. But no, I introduced him and his friend to some women and sauntered off to spread magic and vodka cranberry over the other guests. The night was young.

Making a move

Later I managed to shuffle / body pop my way over to chat. I’m not a body popper. It got a smile out of him. Let me explain my precious. This was your typical gym giant. Over 6 foot of pure muscle, testosterone and ego. I had to have him.  Thus began my unsubtle flirting until he realised that he wasn’t going to escape without buying me a drink and getting my number. The missing buttons helped focus his attention on my …heart and the shortness of said dress on my arse. Call it vodka confidence but by the end of the night I knew he would call.

Now part of the reason I live alone is because I’m not a quiet person.  Music blasting, constant 80s pop inspired dance breaks, loud cooking as I look for cooking thingies and general noises of one who enjoys life vocally. Quiet unnerves me.

Why so quiet?

When the gym giant finally visited I was expecting big things. I heard all about the gym routine. He had a spare room full of gym equipment.  I had a spare room full of fancy dress outfits and was allergic to gyms. It was never going to be a love match but as I carefully explained to him as long as we were a horizontal match who cared about the rest of it. And so our work out began.

I have to give him his dues. He was big where it mattered, had stamina for days and was strong enough to lift me effortlessly. This was going surprisingly well. But then he just stopped and dismounted inelegantly. Apparently he was finished? I hadn’t heard a peep or a grunt out of him. Maybe my sex itunes mix was on too loud? As he went to clean up I rushed to switch it off.

Pillow talk discarded and we were ready for round 2. Take note my precious, pillow talk with gym giants really isn’t something you should let him lead on. I now know more about protein drinks than I ever needed. Round 2 and again I’m seeing great form from him, a little more effort from me and a focus on longevity….I had high hopes. But then, was he ….counting? I stopped my moans of appreciation and yes, there it was again. He was doing stroke repetitions! 3 sets of 10 and thrust deep on 10. Hmmm, I was about to raise it but then I didn’t want him to lose his rise and so ….. I went with it. I wasn’t miserable. At least this time I wouldn’t miss the crescendo and big finish.


And then I saw it. The pained, constipated expression men get before release. This was it, so close and then….nothing. Not even a squeal? Another inelegant dismount (he really needs to work on that) and he swaggered off.

He was a silent lover. No talking, no big finish, no communication. This to him really was a work out but without the grunting and mirrors. It unnerved me. I realised that I am big on communication during sex.

We don’t need a running commentary but some sort of indication of progress, encouragement, appreciation is needed. Don’t get me wrong my precious he was a great Fu**buddy for 10 months and I even managed to lose a few pounds but there is a reason I don’t love the gym. It’s too clinical and controlled. I prefer a dance class where I can feel the music and sing along badly to 90s RnB when I forget the routine.

Hmmmm, perhaps I should get more mirrors?

© Chelsea Black

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