Authors: Jemma Bell
I have three personal training sessions booked today and then I’m off. The time passes quickly as I help two middle-aged guys try to tone-up and lose the belly pouch they got going on. The last one is a forty-something sex pot with fake triple D’s and an overly botoxed face. Her obvious flirting does nothing for me and I’m not in the mood to even fake flirting back. Amy occupies my mind. It’s crazy because she seemed to be attracted to me as well, but tried to play it off as irritation. I wonder why that is? I’ve definitely got a thing for this chick. Now how do I run into her again? Where does she live? Would she be willing to go on a date if I asked? So many questions. I decide to reach out to her friend Layla when I get off work.
The session comes to a close and Mrs. Leonardo is less than happy with me.
‘Sorry lady, fake tits and lousy come-ons just don’t do it for me.’
We part ways as I walk her to the locker room. Since my shift is now over, I shower quickly and put on my street clothes. A pair of gray boxer briefs, a green polo with a tall flipped up collar, some acid washed jeans and my favorite black Vans. I add a little gel to spike up my hair, roll on some deodorant and give myself a spritz of cologne then head up to the front desk so I can punch out for the day.
“Hey, Derrick, how were your sessions today?” asks Cara. Her name is pronounced Ca-Ra and she’s one of the instructors here at Galaxy and partial owner with her sister. The sister is a silent partner in a different career. Cara does the day-to-day running and managing of the gym and teaches various classes.
“Pretty good. Mr. Simms and Mr. Gage are making progress and trying to stick to the diet I placed them on. Simms fell off the wagon last week because his daughter was selling Girl Scout cookies and he can’t resist those Thin Mints. He told me he thought they counted as diet food because the box said thin,” I say with a laugh. Cara gives me a crooked grin and an eye roll.
“What about Mrs. Leonardo? She seemed to walk out of here in a huff.”
“Mrs. Leonardo was a little disappointed I didn’t flirt back with her during our session or respond to her offer for a quickie,” I explain.
“Derrick, if she’s too much of a hassle and she makes you uncomfortable, I can always pair her up with one of the other trainers. She is a challenging client so I would understand.” Cara is a great boss and really cares about the success of her business and her employees. She’s very supportive of my extra career as a cover/fitness model and even paid for my face to grace some of the promotional posters here at the gym.
“I can handle Mrs. Leonardo. It won’t be a problem, Cara, I promise.”
“How did that author event go this weekend? Did Anita make a killing?” She inquires.
“Anita had a great time, she always does and yes, she sold cases of copies. I did my thing and showed my ugly mug,” I joke.
“Yeah, you’re ugly alright. I wish I were half as ugly as you.” Cara is a gorgeous thirty-year-old woman with a toned body, striking blue eyes and chin length black hair in a sleek bob. She makes me laugh.
“It’s all good, boss lady, I’ll see you tomorrow,” I tell her as I sign out for the day.
I walk across the parking lot to my black Challenger, toss my workout bag on the passenger seat and crank up the engine. It feels good to be in the seat, my radio playing a little Seether on the way home. Ten minutes later, I pull into my driveway. I’m alone for the time being, so I decide to post a few inspirational quotes on my Facebook page and send Layla a message.
Derrick:
Good Afternoon, Layla, I’d like to talk to you about your friend, Amy. I’m interested to know a little about her. Is she seeing anyone at the moment? Think she’d agree to a date?
I start to fold my laundry as I wait for a response. A short time later, I hear my phone ping alerting me to a message. I drop the shirt I’m folding and quickly swipe open the message.
Layla:
Well, well, well, I thought I might hear from you. To answer your question, no, she’s not seeing anyone and hasn’t in a while. I’m not sure if she would agree to a date, but I can set something up, so you run into her and ask her yourself.
She’s available. I pump my fist in the air, yes! I wonder what Layla has in mind. We chat back and forth for a bit and I start to feel better about my chances. Layla promised to get Amy to a specific place at a specific time so I can “bump” into her again. I might regret saying this, but Layla is awesome.
Chapter #5
Nerd Girl Problem #105
Moving from a basic frog spin to a kiss and then the floor.
T
he rest of the week goes by pretty quickly and uneventful; work, study, read, sleep, repeat. Layla has been pretty dodgy the last couple of days. We typically hang out a couple times a week but she’s been conveniently unavailable each time I’ve called her and says she’s working or seeing Troy. I know she likes Troy, but I didn’t think she was
that
into him. He’s cute in a very dull sort of way. Dark hair with bleached tips, simple brown eyes, average body,
‘not at all like the one I’ve been dreaming about all week.’
He’s a decent guy though; treats her good and can hold down a job. Perhaps they’re getting serious.
I was able to secure plans with her for tonight, however. She said she wanted to take me someplace new and try out something different. With the tedious week I’ve had I could use some excitement. I have no idea where we are going, I just know she said to be ready for 6:00 pm and dress casual. I choose a pair of navy blue skinny jeans and add a cute light pink sweater. My favorite kitty cat flats complete the look, and I add a touch of lip gloss for shine. There, casual. I can hear the loud rumbling from
‘Dotty’s’
engine idling in the driveway and Clyde howling at the door. Clyde loves Layla. Layla, however, not a dog person! She doesn’t appreciate his type of worship.
“Ugh, Clyde, get off me. I already took a shower; now I need another because I smell like your spit.” I can hear Layla wrestling with her number one fan already. It makes me smile and serves her right for ditching me all week. “Jenks! Get your mongrel off me before I turn him into kibble.” She yells.
“Alright, Clyde, you’ve loved Layla enough, down boy.” I hear Pops shuffle across the floor, the metal tags on Clyde’s collar jingle as Pops pulls him off my friend. With one last loud “Woof” at Layla, Clyde leaves her alone. The sound of his claws clicking on the wood floor tells me he probably joined GG in the kitchen.
“Well don’t you just look squeaky clean? You really should thank Clyde for a removing about two layers of that spackle you have coating your face.” I joke to her. Layla’s wearing Army green cargo pants with a black sweater and her black Docs. The front spikes in her hair are black today as well.
“Ha, ha, ha, you’re such a brat!” She snarls at me. “Are you ready? We have someplace to be by 7:00, so get your sweet ass in the truck.”
“Where are we going, am I dressed ok?” I pry for just a little clue.
“You’re fine, Jenks, just leave all the details to me, now get in the truck before that crazy critter of yours comes back.” I kiss Pops goodbye and yell a goodnight to GG. I can hear the water running in the kitchen, so she’s probably washing dishes. I’m twenty-three, so I have no curfew. They trust me as long as I check in with a phone call if I’m not going to be home. I can’t forget Clyde, so I yell a farewell to him and make kissy sounds. He replies with a long drawn out howl. Poor baby’s going to miss me tonight.
We’re heading south down the Garden State Parkway and take the exit toward Red Bank. I was just in Red Bank earlier today for work. It’s a hip town with trendy restaurants and chic boutiques. There’s also a few popular bars and clubs. We stop at none of those places and head out of downtown, toward an industrial area along the water. A lot of these buildings were flooded out during Hurricane Sandy, so the neighborhood is pretty rundown unless it’s under redevelopment.
Layla pulls
‘Dotty’
into a parking lot in front of a refurbished warehouse with a blue and green neon sign proclaiming the establishment Galaxy Fitness Club.
“What are we doing here? I thought we were going out tonight? I wanted to a have a few drinks and kick back.”
“Now don’t get your panties in a wad, Jenks. I just signed us up for a new class. It’s all part of my master plan to help you land a guy and get you laid.” What the what? I cock my neck back and forth in frustration.
“What kind of class, Layla?” She better not have signed me up for Zumba again. The last time I attempted that, I looked like I was having convulsions. I made the instructor so nervous, she stopped the class to make sure I was ok and not having a seizure or something. “Look at us, we’re ready to go out, not “work out,” I gripe.
“I’ve got it all covered,” she says with a thumb jerk to the back seat where a large gym bag is sitting. “Don’t be a baby and have an open mind, ok? I’d never steer you wrong.”
“I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt here, so don’t make me regret it,” I tell her pushing my glasses further up my nose. We climb out of the truck and walk over to the building. It’s been refurbished nicely and has a very upscale, classy feel to it. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all. We’re greeted by a friendly receptionist and Layla checks us in. There’s three large flat screen TV’s on the walls displaying what I assume are the workout rooms, weight rooms, classes and amenities the club has to offer. Clever and bold advertising. The reception girl slides two locker keys across the granite counter to us and directs us to the ladies locker room. I drag my feet behind Layla; I’m nervous about what this mystery class has in store for me. I’m not an incredibly klutzy person, I just know I have no dancing rhythm and can’t sing to save my life. I do occasionally trip over the grout in the kitchen floor or fall going up the stairs. Everybody does. We reach the locker room and find our assigned lockers. Layla digs around in her bag, plops two piles of clothes on the bench and slides one over to me. I examine the incredibly small pieces of cloth that are supposed to be my workout clothes.
“Layla, this looks like underwear,” I tell her while I hold the tiny black shorts up with my thumb and forefinger. The hot pink sports bra doesn’t offer much more coverage. She pulls out two bottles of water, a pack of anti-bacterial wipes and a pair of wristbands; she’s like freakin Mary Poppins. Is there a coat rack in there? I wonder.
“Jenks, get dressed and then I’ll fill you in.” We change quickly into our tiny shorts and even smaller tops. Mine are black and hot pink. Hers are the opposite; hot pink shorts with a black top.
“This better be worth it, is all I have to say,” I inform her huffily. We swipe up the remainder of our supplies, slip our street shoes back on our feet and exit the locker room. She thought of everything else, why not sneakers? I feel self-conscious as we walk down the hall to wherever it is we’re going. I wrap my arms around my middle to try and conceal some of the skin I’ve got on display for the world.
The smell of disinfectant and sweat is strong in the air, music blares from the various studios and people move through different circuits of their routines. We pass along a classroom with a glass wall that allows everyone to see in. There’s a large group of guys watching the class that’s in session. About 12 women sensually dance and swing around metal poles. The intricate turns and placement of their bodies on the poles look very erotic. What I would give to look like one of them. Toned bodies and confidence, I’d be worthy of a guy like Derrick Walker then. With one final twirl around the pole, the music comes to a close and a roar of shouts, whistles, and claps come from the group of guys. The women in the class give a cheeky bow to their audience and clap for themselves as well. As they empty out of the classroom, I notice them all similarly dressed as me and Layla.
“You bitch, did you sign us up for a pole dancing class?” I whisper yell. “How do you expect me to look like that, I can’t even walk and chew gum at the same time. What is this? Your mission to totally humiliate me?” My voice raises on a shriek.
“We don’t expect you to look like that, sweetie, well, at least not until you reach the advanced levels. The next class is for beginners.” A flawless looking woman with chin-length black hair says to me with a kind smile. “I’m Cara and I’ll be your instructor. Give the class a shot; it’s already paid for, so what do you have to lose?” She pronounces her name Ca-Ra, I like that and it’s different.
“I’ll try it, but don’t be surprised if my graceless self, yanks the pole out of the ceiling,” I warn, “I hope you’re insured.” I follow Cara into the classroom and flash Layla the stink eye. It’s her fault we’re here anyway. We choose two poles side by side in the middle of the room and the other poles are quickly occupied by giggling girls eager to start their first beginner pole dancing class.
“Alright, ladies I’d like to start by introducing myself and welcoming you to Galaxy Fitness Club. My name is Cara Quinn and this is my place,” she says with a smile. “I’m part owner of Galaxy, but enjoy instructing, so, more often than not you’ll see me teaching a class or training on the floor.” She speaks very eloquently and has a bubbly personality. No wonder this place is so successful and beautiful.
“We’ll start out easy today with a couple spins and bends,” Cara tells us. “You’ll need a few things before we start, such as water, a wrist or sweat band to stop the pole burns, anti-bacterial wipes to clean your pole and some hand grip. I supply the hand grip so try and remember to bring the rest to our next class.” Layla quickly hands me one of the wristbands she brought and put the other one on her arm. She must have done her research because we are the most prepared girls in the class. We kick off our shoes when Cara instructs us to do so and watch her demonstrate the proper hand placement on the pole to do a frog spin. We work on the spins for a while and then move on to a basic fireman. Yeah right! A basic fireman, I’d love to see a big, muscled firefighter decked out in turn out gear attempt this spin down a pole. Imagine that. “Lean back ladies and cross your feet at the front of the pole, good job, perfect,” Cara praises. “Remember to contract your core muscles. Pole dancing is a great aerobic and toning exercise.”
I notice Layla is having no problem following the directions and looks good doing it. I can’t complete the turns around the pole and keep landing on the wood floor on my butt. It is fun though. I’m working muscles I didn’t even know I had. We practice the frog, the basic fireman, and then the kiss.
“Good work, ladies, let’s try those moves to some music, shall we?” Cara turns on the surround sound and ‘Umbrella’ by Rihanna starts to flow through the speakers. Most of the women in the class are doing fairly well; I’m the only lost cause I can see. The song comes to a close and we clap out the session. “Fantastic job, I’m proud of all of you,” Cara praises.” Same time and place next week and don’t forget your water and wrist protection.” We all start to file out of the room and Cara stops me and Layla. “So what did you think? You survived your first class.”
“That was great! I enjoyed it and the moves were a lot easier than I thought they’d be,” Layla says gushing about how easy the class was for her.
“And you? I noticed you had a little trouble; it’ll get easier the more you practice,” Cara informs me. “This studio is free for ten more minutes; I want you to use that time to practice a little more. Perhaps being on your own in here will make you feel more comfortable.”
“Go for it, Jenks! I’ll go change and when you’re done we’ll go do something you want to do.” The class full of other girls did make me feel self-conscious. I agree with an uneasy nod and Cara turns the music on again. Layla leaves with a quick wave and a grin. I start off slowly with the frog and then transition into a basic fireman. Putting a little extra sway into my hips and sticking out my generous bosom I strut around the pole and attempt the kiss. My hand grip must have worn off, because I lose my hold on the pole and crash in a heap to the hardwood floor with a loud shriek. Once I come out of my daze and open my eyes, I notice a pair of royal blue and black Nike’s right next to my face. The person standing above me says, “Boo!” in a voice that sounds like melted chocolate; dark and rich. My eyes travel up muscular legs to royal blue basketball shorts, a black tank top and, higher still, to a face that stars in
all
of my fantasies. Holy shit, Derrick Walker is standing in front of me. Standing in front of me and I’m wearing clothes that should be considered underwear. I can’t make this shit up.
***Derrick***
Today was the day I’d get to see Amy again. Layla and I plotted and planned all week for me to “bump” into her again at Galaxy. I would be working until 8:00 pm, giving the girls just enough time to complete the class they signed up for. Layla had mentioned something about Amy having little self-confidence and wanted a class that would help make her feel better about herself. Being a guy, I just tossed out the suggestion for a pole dancing class. I was half joking, but in reality, I’d love to see Amy’s body spinning around and sliding down a pole in a skimpy outfit. Of course, naked would be a hell of a lot better, but that’s not an option at the club. Layla sent me a text message when she was on her way to pick up Amy at 6:00.
Layla:
Alright, lover boy, she has no idea where we’re going. I’ll get her in the same building as you and then you’re on your own. I don’t want to lose my best friend over this if you’re not worth it.
I understand her anxiety where her friend is concerned. She has nothing to worry about. Amy has consumed my thoughts for days. I’ve had to put off Mitzi three nights in a row now and she’s starting to get pissed about it. Fuck that! Let her be pissed off. I want to see Amy, talk to her, stare into her stormy gray eyes and just enjoy some time with her.
Derrick
:
I get it, Layla, just get her there and I’ll do the rest. Thanks for your help. And, by the way, I am worth it!
I finished up my session with Mr. Simms at 8:00. He looked ridiculously guilty when I questioned him about his diet and whether or not he fell off the wagon again. He claimed that there were just too many cookies hanging around the house and in order to get them out of sight he had to eat them. Hey, even I enjoy the occasional Tag-Along! I’ll cut him some slack this week because he’s supporting his daughter's Girl Scout Troop, but come next week, no pain no gain. I left the weight room just in time to see the ladies file out of the pole studio. I didn’t see Amy among them, but Layla was there.