At the Gym [story]

[pseudoclever]

Hey everyone! Back again with another story, and I'm happy to say that this is going to be the first of many that I'll be posting between now and the end of the year. So, let's get started with what you need to know for this first one.

Full Tags
This story includes elements of: Mini and Meso GTS, BE, mild to moderate FMG, Gentle, and, as you'll know if you've read any of my other stories, 18+.

Major Influences
Stephen King's The Dark Tower series and the anime series FLCL - both primarily for rhythm, phrasing, and style.
Stewy's great SM/GTS story 'My Sister Naomi,' which if you haven't read yet I suggest you find. In particular the dialogue style was greatly influenced by this one.

Update Schedule

We've got seven chapters, and I'll be posting one every other day, taking Saturday off.

Comments, Typo-corrections, and CONSTRUCTIVE criticism are welcome and encouraged.

Okay, that's enough jabbering for now. Let's get on with it.



At the Gym
by pseudoclever


1.

The storm had been rolling in all evening, just taking its sweet time about it, like it was too blas? to just go ahead and rain. It had perched on the horizon since sunset, giving off occasional yellow-green flashes of lightning, even more occasional distant rumbles of thunder. There was no doubt about it: this storm was going to break. We all have that ancient monkey-sense that tells us when a big one is coming. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck were up. There was this gurgly thrill of excitement in the pit of my stomach. Sweaty palms, the whole nine.

Not that I believed for a second this was ALL because of the storm. I had a job to do that night, and even with clear skies I would've been on edge.

There was only one other car in the parking lot when I arrived, and I recognized the license plate. It was his. I felt another little rushing thrill, this one having zero to do with the weather. The game was on. Giving those dirty black clouds a quick look, I grabbed my stuff from the backseat, made my way to the front of the building, scanned my keycard. The door beeped at me accusingly, then obediently swung open.

Even from the entryway I could hear it: the familiar thump-thumping and electric whine of his usual late-night treadmill run. I smiled to myself, silently closed the door behind me, snapped the deadbolt into place. It was after midnight by now, and this time of night it was usually just him and me at the gym. But, you know, an ounce of prevention and all that jazz.

I walked down the long hallway, made a right turn into the workout room. Yes, it was him alright. Chiseled jaw, high cheekbones, messy hair ? definitely my old pal, Mr. Brown Eyes. God help me, it'd been two months and I STILL didn't know his name.

He smiled at me, gave a little wave, went back to staring politely at a blank spot on the wall in front of him. First rule of gym etiquette: don't ogle the ladies. Brown Eyes always adhered to it, at least when he knew I was looking. Sometimes though, when my back was turned and I was deep into my pilate series, I swear I could feel his eyes on me. And, well, since I've been telling you about how I was basically stalking this guy and all, you've probably gathered that I wasn't offended by his interest. If only I hadn't been such a total wimp, I might've even been able to DO something about it. Because you know, he probably liked what he saw.

I could wax poetic here about my silky long legs, my flawless face, with skin the color of overripe olives, etcetera, etcetera. But there's really only one way I can think of to put the right image in your head. So do this for me: imagine the cutest asian girl you've ever seen in your life. The kind that would give an entire generation of otakus permanent flag-pole-itus. Go on, do it. Close your eyes if you have to.

Got her? Good.

Now imagine that I've gone and went all Highlander on her perfect little ass, won an epic sword fight. Lightning strikes. There can be only one. At that point, you MIGHT be close to doing me justice.

Okay okay fine, that's a slight exaggeration. It's at least CLOSE to the truth, though, if you overlook a couple paltry little details. Like my A-cup boobies...my total LACK of curves...the fact that I top out at a measly five foot three. Sigh, fine. Five three, in my favorite pair of fuck-me platforms.

Ah, but all that would change tonight, wouldn't it? That would change. So would my shrinking violet attitude with men. And most of all, Brown Eye's stupid etiquette.

Grinning, I popped the top on my sports drink. My 'sports drink,' if you catch my drift. No? Well you will. I took one long pull, shuddering at the bitter, half rancid taste, replaced the cap. Then, like Clark Kent exploding out of his business casual button-up to reveal that big red 'S,' I unzipped my jacket. Beneath it was a skintight white tank top and a too-small pair of spandex ass pants. I took a deep breath, picked up the heaviest set of weights I could manage, and moved into that little strip of no-fly-zone into which Brown Eyes was currently staring.

In other words, like right in front of his face goddamn face.

I was a little coy about it, at least at first. Like I didn't look right AT him. Instead, I gave him a sort of a three-quarters look. Facing away, at such an angle that he could see my back, butt, and just enough side-boob to pique his interest. I'd spent some time the night before perfecting this in the mirror, and DAMN it was hot. Of course, by the time I got around to rehearsing I wasn't anywhere NEAR as short as I currently was.

But...patience.

Did you know there's ANOTHER monkey sense humans have? We all know when we're being watched. Well, my sense lit up like a road flare the instant I went into my stretching routine. My quarry smelled the bait, alright. A few side bends, some jumping jacks. And then I brought out the yoga. By then I was certain I had his attention, and just in time ? I could feel the 'sports drink' starting to kick in.

Heat. Pins and needles. And then...know that swelling you feel in your chest, when you take a really, really deep breath? Imagine that, from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, and every wonderful place in between. Oh, and also imagine it feels like coming in your pants the entire time.

I heard Brown Eyes miss a step on the treadmill, pretended not to notice. I let him watch, watch me as I started to grow. It didn't take more than five seconds, this first spurt, as my whole body slowly expanded like soft, rising dough. Already tight clothes became just a bit tighter. Arms gained just the slightest hint of muscle tone. A barely noticeable lengthening of my legs. And...well, I guess what happened to my tits was pretty hard to ignore. Where before I had sported a pathetic little pair of clementines, I was suddenly packing a full set of vine-ripened, Florida fresh oranges. They felt...nice. After twenty-three years on the itty-bitty titty committee, the extra weight and warmth against my chest felt indescribably awesome.

Oh, but this was just the appetizer.

Theatrically wiping sweat from my brow, a brow that was an even two inches higher off the ground than it had been a moment before, I reached again for the bottle. This time I drank more than a sip, greedily sucking down several long gulps before I put it aside again. The stuff still didn't taste very good, but at least now it was palatable. I bent over, giving Old Brownie an extra long look at my shapely new butt, and went into my routine. Here followed a number of arm and back exercises that, honestly, were a total sham. Because what I was actually doing was watching. Watching him watch me. Until, that is, the tingling came again.

This time it happened slower, yet the feeling was MUCH more powerful. A stretch that seemed to just go on, and on. I felt my shirt tightening around my deepening curves, my butt swelling to overflow my tight little workout pants. I stepped out of my shoes before they could get too uncomfortable, kept pumping iron, still pretending not to notice anything was amiss.

It kept going. I was still getting bigger. And, for that matter, stronger. An exercise that had been challenging only moments before was now laughably easy. God, that felt good. What little fat I had in my body was slowly turning to rock-hard muscle. Not quite the 'body builder' look, but man, I was getting pretty buff for a chick. Sweat, real this time, dripped from my body. All the while everything, absolutely everything in the room seemed to be steadily becoming smaller. What a rush!

Was Brown Eyes enjoying the show? It was time to find out.