Hans and Franz
This weekend, I made a visit to the gym. Personally, Sunday afternoons are an excellent time for me to lift. Anyone in their right mind has found a suitable excuse to skip and it's usually myself, the cleaning staff, and a couple of old folks glued to the same elliptical trainers they were on since last March. This weekend was no exception and I was happily progressing through my workout, enjoying the solitude.
When they showed up.
Apparently, the bus to the ASU kegger stopped short and this straight couple made a detour to 24-Hour Fitness. Why women confuse athletic clubs with dance clubs confounds me, but the chick was dressed like a hooker ready to drop a tab. I prayed to god that she avoided exercises requiring the decline bench. Her boyfriend was 6'4, looked like a model, was built like a brick shit house and probably couldn't count backwards from four. I hated him.
They strutted around the weight room like peacocks, pausing every now and then so that he could pose and she could stretch. I was curious about what they would be lifting today, because if her stretches were any indication, I expected them to be having full-on sex in a matter of minutes. After surveying their countless workout options, they settled on the most critical body part: the abs. And they couldn't just use a fucking machine to do ab exercises. They had to "move equipment"... and "arrange the weights". The flat bench wasn't good enough for crunches. They had to use that inflatable ball instead. My own workout derailed, I continued to watch in sick fascination as they spent the next forty minutes acting like torso contortionists. And then the kicker. As their routine neared the end, Adonis positioned himself on the ball to crank out one more rep. Because obviously the first eighteen sets weren't enough. Being the loving and supporting workout partner that she was, the girlfriend crouched in-between his knees and kissed him on the lips after every crunch.
That's when I tasted my breakfast for the second time that day.
When they showed up.
Apparently, the bus to the ASU kegger stopped short and this straight couple made a detour to 24-Hour Fitness. Why women confuse athletic clubs with dance clubs confounds me, but the chick was dressed like a hooker ready to drop a tab. I prayed to god that she avoided exercises requiring the decline bench. Her boyfriend was 6'4, looked like a model, was built like a brick shit house and probably couldn't count backwards from four. I hated him.
They strutted around the weight room like peacocks, pausing every now and then so that he could pose and she could stretch. I was curious about what they would be lifting today, because if her stretches were any indication, I expected them to be having full-on sex in a matter of minutes. After surveying their countless workout options, they settled on the most critical body part: the abs. And they couldn't just use a fucking machine to do ab exercises. They had to "move equipment"... and "arrange the weights". The flat bench wasn't good enough for crunches. They had to use that inflatable ball instead. My own workout derailed, I continued to watch in sick fascination as they spent the next forty minutes acting like torso contortionists. And then the kicker. As their routine neared the end, Adonis positioned himself on the ball to crank out one more rep. Because obviously the first eighteen sets weren't enough. Being the loving and supporting workout partner that she was, the girlfriend crouched in-between his knees and kissed him on the lips after every crunch.
That's when I tasted my breakfast for the second time that day.
posted by Michael at 4:32 PM
8 Comments:
You never kiss me at the gym.
Well, not on the lips.
This is why I don't belong to a gym: circle-slash on gym rats
uhm....Chris...you don't even know where the gym is....
But KUDOS to you MC for being able to stomach the Adonis. It takes a real man to sit there and oogle...er I mean...well, yes..oogle.
this couple probably uses ephedrine and protein shakes in their foreplay. HOT
Michael,
I know you're not big on the German--Feelin' donk, anyone?--but Hans and Franz are both boy names.
michael and i were workout partners for what ... almost a year i think. we used to teabag each other while doing crunches for motivation. now that was H.O.T.!
Ok, that's funny!
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