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Chapter 2

It was 4:00 AM the next morning when I woke up to my buzzing phone. I groaned and pushed the phone away from my pillow, onto the floor, so the buzzing wouldn’t wake me up. I had a feeling it was a wrong-number or some spam call from India.

But the phone kept ringing, and ringing, and ringing. The person wasn’t giving up. I growled and rolled onto my back. “Fine!” I shouted, and then I snatched my phone and looked at the number. It wasn’t a name I recognized. ‘SAM THOMAS’.

I answered the phone. “Hello?” I said, groggy even though I was trying not to sound groggy.

“Is this Mitch?” a feminine voice asked.

“Who is this? Who died?” I sat up and rubbed my eyes. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“It’s time to work out,” the voice said. “Why aren’t you here at the gym?”

“The gym?” I said. I looked at the clock on my phone again, thinking that maybe I just read the time wrong. “It’s four in the morning.”

“It’s time to work out,” she said. “Get your butt over here.”

“I’ve only been asleep for, like, two hours,” I groaned.

“That’s your problem. You’re paying me to train you, and right now, you’re missing your training. So get over here.”

She hung up on me before I could get another word in. Honestly, I thought about going back to sleep, but I was too perplexed to lay back down. I rubbed my eyes again, groaned, and then I slipped out of bed. I figured I could always go back to sleep after the gym. Plus, getting the workout in at 4:00 AM seemed like a better idea than doing it around noon, when there would be dozens of people in the gym to see me, and hundreds of people walking by on the street. 4:00 AM offered a bit of privacy, and that’s what I needed until I was fit enough to not be an embarrassment.

I walked through the dark, quiet streets of my neighborhood. I tried to think when the last time I was awake that early was. It must have been close to a decade—probably for some flight or another. It was a five-block walk to the gym, and I didn’t see a single turned-on car or a single lit window the whole way—until I saw that glowing gym.

There were a few cars parked out front, but I could only see two guys inside: enormous, buff men who were always there, always pumping weights, adding a few ounces onto their already-massive bodies. They both eyed me as I stepped in. One of them grinned before looking away, as if to say, ‘Oh, it’s another one of these guys who comes for a week and then never shows up again.’ I looked away from him. I wanted to prove him wrong, but he was probably right; I was probably going to lose my motivation after a few weeks, at most, and then it would just be another block that I avoided so that the gym-rats would recognize me and laugh at me.

I looked around, unsure of where I was supposed to go. There was a large-breasted blonde woman sitting on a stationary bike. Her hair was straightened, flowing halfway down her back. She was wearing what appeared to be a bikini, yellow in color, with brand-new baby-blue sneakers on her feet, and a matching blue cap on her head. Her big, fake eyelashes suggested that she was one of those girls who had a gym membership strictly to meet men. Now, she was probably targeting those early-morning guys. They were the biggest of all the gym-rats. Hell, you can’t even call them gym-rats at that point; they’re more like gym-capybaras.

I sauntered around the gym, holding that tattered old gym bag (I got it for two dollars at Value Village, even though I could easily afford a new one. I didn’t want to look like a complete beginner, so buying used seemed like a sensible solution).

“Looking for something?” the woman with the long blonde hair asked. “The lockers are just over there.”

“I’m, uh, just looking for my trainer,” I said.

“What’s his name?”

“I don’t actually know. I think it’s a woman.”

She smiled and then she stood up. “Samantha?” she asked.

“I really don’t know. They never told me. It’s, uh, my first day.” I said it very quietly, and I felt horribly embarrassed to be admitting it to her, though I’m sure it was obvious. My thin frame wasn’t fooling anyone.

“Are you Mitch?”

I nodded my head.

Then she smiled and reached out her hand. Her smile was big, as if she was trying not to laugh. I was starting to think that they were all in on it: a big scheme to steal money from poor, sad losers like myself. “I’m Samantha,” she said. “Call me Sam if you want. I’m going to be your personal trainer. Let’s get right to it—alright?”

“Um, okay,” I said. I looked back and saw the pair of hulks looked at us. They both looked me up and down before turning back to their own business. A chill ran down my spine. I just hated being in that gym. I couldn’t wait to have a few pounds of muscle on me, so I wouldn’t look like such a pathetic beginner.

She took me over to the bench press. “Lay down,” she said.

“Shouldn’t we warm up first?”

“Didn’t you walk here?” she asked.

“Yeah, but, like… I always start by riding the bike for a bit.”

“I don’t care what you normally do,” she said. “That’s a waste of calories. You’re trying to put on muscle, right? Why would you carelessly burn those calories then?”

“I—I don’t know,” I said.

“I mean, if you want to keep you thin frame, then by all means—let’s start on the bike. In fact, let’s just do nothing but bike, then you can maybe even get a bit thinner.”

“I get it,” I said. “That’s why I hired you. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

She smiled. “You’re in the right hands.”

“But, uh…” I paused for a moment, trying to choose my words carefully. She wasn’t jacked. She had the body of an Instagram model—not a bodybuilder. In fact, she basically had my body—if I had breasts and fake lashes. There were no signs that she’d ever used that bench press machine, or any of those machines. Sure, she probably knew a thing or two about dieting, and she probably had a pretty good cardio routine. But what could this chick know about building muscle mass?

I figured I could give her the benefit of the doubt. I was desperate, after all, and I’d already paid for the month.

She started by making me do sets of ten, with low weight… actually, it was just the bar at first, which felt heavy enough. Then, she added ten pounds onto each side. Then she added ten more onto each side and lowered the reps to eight. My arms were already starting to get exhausted. Let’s do a set of four,” she said, and then she put twenty more pounds onto each side. I have to embarrassingly admit that I was only able to do two before my arms started to wobble and she had to save me from dropping that bar onto my face.

“That’s all you can do?” she said, giving me a face that I was familiar with: a face that many women showed me whenever I looked at them. It was that, ‘Ew—are you actually about to hit on me right now?’ face. Except now, it was more like, ‘Ew—can you really call yourself a man after that embarrassing display?’

I blushed and looked away from her.

Next, we went to another chest machine, which was similar to the bench press. She put on a bit of weight and had me squeeze the pair of plates together, as if I was trying to clap. “Pull apart slowly,” she said. After five reps, I was already wobbling. I felt like my arms were already done for the day—unable to handle anything else.

But she kept pushing me. She sat behind me and reached around me, putting her palms against the backs of my hands—and her breasts against my back. She pushed me through the motions. “Keep going,” she said.

And I have to admit that I didn’t mind the human touch. She smelled nice, and her perky breasts in that thin bikini, or sports-bra, or whatever it was… let’s just say that I could feel everything. It was a nice reminder of what I was doing all of this for. One day, I might be snuggling with a girl—though I would probably be the one in the back, with my arms around her.

That thought gave me a bit of strength—enough to do another set while straining and groaning embarrassingly.

But the embarrassment was only just beginning. The next machine was awkward and I couldn’t quite figure it out. I tried pushing on the plates, but they would hardly move. “I think it’s too much weight,” I said. And then she rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, Mitch. You just need to push yourself.” She pushed me aside and then demonstrated, easily pushing the plates, as if they weighed nothing. I tried to imitate her, but I wasn’t able to push nearly as much as her.

She was much, much stronger than me, even though we looked about the same. Of course, I knew that she was a personal trainer. She worked at that gym and worked with that equipment every day; but it was still strangely emasculating, seeing her easily pushing around what I could hardly budge.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Why are you so down all of a sudden?”

“I’m not. I’m fine,” I said. Then I stretched out my arms. My shoulders were sore. I caught a glimpse of her page in her binder: the rest of the routine for the day. We’d hardly just begun, and I felt like I couldn’t so any more.

She led me over to the dumbbells and told me to lay on my back. I did, and then she put a pair of twenty-pound weights into my hands. “Push all the way up, until they tap, and then go as far down as you can.” I was able to do four, but she wanted me to do twenty. “C’mon, Mitch! Man up! Let’s see you push yourself. You won’t get bigger if you don’t push yourself.”

I heard the snicker of one of the big gym hulks. I looked over just as he was looking away from me. That emasculating feeling was getting worse—and then it got so much worse when she took a pair of weights from the rack—double what I was doing—and demonstrated the proper technique. The gym hulks giggled again, and in that moment, I was finished.

“Can I talk with you over in the office for a minute?” I asked.

“Why?” she said.

“I just want to talk in the office,” I said, looking away from her, unable to look into her face. So she entertained me, walking over to the office, and then I closed the door so the gym hulks wouldn’t hear me, giving them something else to laugh about. “I don’t want to do this. I, uh, think I want my money back.”

She stared into my eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just not for me,” I said. “I’m not strong enough for this.”

“That’s the whole point, Mitch. Doing this every day will make you stronger.”

“But it’s just not for me, alright? I’ll take a refund. Even, like, an 80% refund. I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

“You can do this, Mitch. Don’t get so down on yourself. You’ve already made some progress. You’re going to be sore tomorrow, but in a few days, you’ll be stronger than you were this morning.”

“Just give me the refund, please,” I said.

She shook her head. “No refunds,” she said.

“What? That can’t be real. Nobody mentioned that.”

“It was in the contract. It’s also right there, on the wall.” She pointed to a sign that said, ‘GOLD TIER MEMBERSHIPS CAN NOT BE REFUNDED.’

“What the hell! Why not? I can’t just lose that money! Okay, whatever. I guess it’s a lesson-learned. I’ll just lose the sixteen-hundred.”

“Well, it’s actually eighteen-hundred after fees, and closer to two-thousand after taxes.”

I groaned. “Story of my life,” I mumbled.

“God, you’re really a downer. You really need to stay here with me, Mitch. I can help you. I’m sure that I can pick you up from this slump.”

“I’m not in a slump,” I lied. “I just thought this would be different than it is. So, I guess I’m out two grand. It is what it is.”

“Twenty-four grand, actually,” she said, blushing.

“What?”

“You signed up for the gold tier,” she said. “After fees and taxes, it’s about two-grand per month—and you signed a year commitment.”

“Stop,” I said. “You’re fucking with me. Surely, you’re fucking with me.”

She shook her head. “It sounds like a lot, but you get full access to all the amenities, and you get your own personal trainer—me. You do realize that you’re getting full-time access to me, right? You and me are going to be, like, best-buddies over the next year. Trust me, Mitch—you won’t regret it. It sounds like a lot of money, but it’s worth it. It will be a life-changing experience.”

I shook my head. I looked back and saw the two gym hulks giggling, looking through that office window at me before moving onto their next set of huge weights.

“I just can’t do it. I’ll figure out a way to get a refund of some sort. I’m sure there’s some loophole. But thank you for your time. I really appreciate it.”

I stood up. She tried to talk me out of leaving, but I was determined to get out of there. I hated gyms so much. I hated gym-rats and the smell of sweat and metal and rubber. I especially hated the sound of those huge men dropping those massive weights on the floor: that loud clunk that made me jump every time, as if some shooter was bursting in and firing up the place.

I guess I was just doomed to be skinny forever.

But Samantha wasn’t going to let me get away so easily. It was 4:00 AM the next morning when my phone rang again. It rang and rang and rang until I answered. “Who is it?”

“It’s Sam,” she said. “It’s time to work out.”

“I told you: I’m not coming back.”

“Yes, you are,” she said. “Because if you don’t, you have to pay the inconvenience fee.”

“The what?” I said.

“Every time you miss a session without twenty-four hours’ notice, you have to pay a fifty-dollar fee.”

“But I told you I wasn’t coming back!” I said.

“That’s not an option, Mitch! I was hired to keep you accountable, so that’s what I’m going to do. Now get down here and let’s get to work!”

I groaned loudly. I really didn’t want to go to that damned gym; I was sore and the place was horribly embarrassing… but I couldn’t lose fifty bucks. I was already flat-broke and in debt. So I grabbed my gym bag and dragged my feet down to that gym. She was waiting for me there, in a super-tight bodysuit, showing off her super-slim model body. It was almost like she wanted me to see just how small and feminine she was, so I knew how embarrassing it was that she could push around more weight than me.

“Okay,” I said. “I’m here. I showed up. But I’m really, really sore from yesterday. I don’t think I can do a workout today—but I showed up, so you aren’t going to charge me the no-show fee… right?”

“You’re a no-show until your workout is done,” she said with a grin on her face.

I took a deep breath. I couldn’t help but feel like this whole thing was a scam, and I foolishly signed myself up for it. I should have read the fine-print on that contract. Hell—I should have just stayed at home; I knew that I wasn’t capable of packing on muscle, so why was I trying? Why did I think that some employee at a gym would be the secret to fixing me? “I’m going to get a lawyer,” I said. “There’s no way that this is legal.”

“Mitch,” she said, tsking and shaking her head. “You’re paying us to keep you accountable. You agreed to this. It’s a perk of the highest tier.”

“Yeah,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Some perk…”

“Now hop onto the leg press. It’s leg day. No more whining. Let’s go.”

I groaned. I wanted to continue the argument, but those gym hulks were giggling at me from across the large space, and a small part of me wanted to prove to them that I wasn’t a gigantic wuss, even though I probably was.

I got onto the stupid machine and waited for her to set the weight and explain to me what I was doing. “Now go,” she said, so I pushed the weight. It was heavy. I had to strain to make the plates move.

“It’s just too much,” I said.

“You have to push yourself to build muscle,” she said.

I tried to push, but it was just too much work. “I can’t do it,” I said after just three reps. “I’m done. It’s just too much. I’m guessing this whole thing is just some scheme to rip off people like me—people who are desperate and down on their luck.”

“Man,” she said. “You really do like feeling sorry for yourself, huh?”

“Don’t be rude,” I growled.

“Don’t feel so sorry for yourself. Your problem isn’t your strength; it’s your resolve. You have no motivation to push the weight, even though your body is perfectly capable of doing it. You either want it or you don’t. I can’t push you all you want, but you have to want it at the end of the day.”

“I do want it it!” I snapped. “It’s literally the only thing that I want! But you’re right—I’m not motivated enough to do it, because I’m not convinced it’s even possible. I’ll put all of this work in for weeks, months—and maybe even until this year is over—and I’ll be in the same exact position. I’m tempted to prove it to you, just so you get off of my back, but I also don’t want to kill myself just to make a point!”

“It’s my job to motivate you,” she said. “And I’m going to do everything I can to do it.” She placed her hands on her hips, looking a bit like a superhero—but right now, she was feeling more like a supervillain.

“I just can’t do it,” I said.

“It’s almost twenty-thousand dollars,” she said.

I paused. I thought about what she was saying—but I didn’t know what she was saying. “What is?” I asked.

“A full year of no-show fees,” she said. “Tack that onto the full year of gold-tier membership…”

“I’ll get a lawyer; I swear.”

“That’s fine,” she said. “We have a whole team of lawyers—the same people who made the contract you signed.” She had a big grin on her face, as if she knew that she was strong-arming me into working out; this was just another strategy to force me to workout. “Our lawyers would crush whatever low-budget lawyer you find. Plus, I didn’t even mention the late fees. We charge interest on late fees.”

“This is robbery,” I said.

“Well, there are no late fees if you show up for your workouts,” she grinned.

“I showed up.”

“You haven’t showed up until the workout is done,” she said, completing our argument cycle.

“Fine!” I snapped. “Let’s just get this over with!” Now, I had to work out just to minimize the damage; I was now cutting my losses. But I wasn’t going to kill myself doing it. I fully planned on putting in the lowest amount of effort, knowing it was a waste of time.

I got onto the leg press and tried to push the weights. I complained until she rolled her eyes and lowered the weight. Then, I did the bare minimum. Next, we went to do squats. Again, I put in the bare minimum. She kept rolling her eyes, and the gym hulks kept on giggling at me from a distance.

“You aren’t going to put on any muscle with this low-effort, Mitch,” she groaned.

“I told you: I’m not going to put on any muscle at all. I’ve been trying my whole life.”

“Maybe you haven’t tried hard enough; if this is the effort you’ve been putting in, then your problem is obvious.”

“I’ve tried hard,” I said. “And it amounted to nothing. I’m not doing that again.”

“So why did you even sign up for this?” she asked. “Why pay for the highest tier? You obviously thought there was some chance of getting ripped.”

“Because I want to attract girls!” I snapped. I don’t know why I was so honest so suddenly, but I really couldn’t take the long arguments anymore. “It’s been months since I’ve been near a woman. And the last time I touched a woman… I can’t even remember! It’s been over five years. I get it—I see you looking at me like that, trying not to laugh. I’m a loser. I’m pathetic. Okay—I get it. But it’s the truth; girls won’t touch me because I’m a scrawny loser.”

“My God, Mitch,” she said. “If you can’t stop feeling sorry for yourself, you might just be hopeless. Pick yourself up. Slap some sense into yourself. You’re not that bad. You’re a bit skinny, but you’ve got a handsome face. I’m sure you have a good personality when you’re not being such a whiny bitch.”

“What did you just call me?” I gasped.

“A whiny bitch—because that’s what you’re being.”

“Okay. I think we’re done here,” I said, stepping away from the squat rack.

She grabbed my wrist. “Wait,” she said. “I want to try one more thing. Get back under the bar.”

“I don’t want to,” I said.

“Do it, Mitch,” she said firmly, with intense eyes. She was suddenly very intimidating for a short, skinny blonde. I felt suddenly small, and vulnerable. I felt like a ten-year-old facing his schoolteacher, right after doing something naughty.

“Okay,” I said softly, and then I stepped under the bar. She stepped around me, standing in front of me. Then, she reached back and pulled up a small weight bench. She spread her legs wide and inched in close to me, so she was sitting right under me. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“Every time you come all the way down, you can push your face into my tits,” she said. She grabbed the top of her tight bodysuit. “If you can do more than ten reps, you can suck my nipples.”

I was frozen, shocked, thinking I was mishearing. I stuttered. “What?” I managed to say.

“Do a squat. Come down low enough to get your face between my tits.”

I didn’t know what to do. I could feel my face turning dark red.

“Do it, Mitch,” she said with that firm voice.

So I gripped the bar, nestling it on my shoulders. It was heavy, but I didn’t want to embarrass myself. I started to bend my knees.

“Straight back,” she said.

I tried to follow her command. I went low. As my head passed her head, she pulled her top down, exposing her breasts: her naked, braless breasts. She leaned forward, pushing her perky tits against my face. The warm softness of her boobs was like magic against my face. I hadn’t felt breasts in so long! She even pushed them together, sandwiching my face for a moment before pulling herself away and covering herself back up. “That’s one rep,” she said. “Stand back up and do it again.”

I stuttered, unable to come up with anything to say. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. My legs were trembling. I went down again. Down went her top. I nestled my face between her breasts, feeling a bit like a pathetic loser who was getting some pity action—but I also felt like a superhero, getting to feel the perfect breasts of a ten-out-of-ten blonde.

“You’re doing great, Mitch,” she said after my fifth rep. “Keep going.”

It was hard, but I pushed through the paid. I managed to get to ten reps. I wasn’t sure I could do more, but I really wanted to see if she was serious about letting me suck her nipples. When I went down that eleventh time, she lifted up her right breast, putting her perky nipple into my mouth. She let me suck her for a few seconds, and then she leaned back. I tried hard to get a twelfth rep in, but now my legs were toast.

“So you could do it,” she grinned, adjusting her breasts in the top of her bodysuit. “Let’s move on.” She had a big smirk on her face as she led me to the dumbbell area. “We’re going to do lunges,” she said, setting up a little platform. “You know how to do lunges, right?” She handed me a pair of heavy weights. “Do you prefer tits or ass?”

“What?” I said.

“Do you want my tits again, or would you prefer my ass?”

“Um…” I said, feeling flustered, embarrassed, but also like the luckiest man alive. I was no longer regretting that expensive fee.

“Okay, you had the tits, so let’s do ass this time.”

She showed me how to do a proper lunge, and then she stood up on her little platform. She bent over and turned to look back at me. “With each lunge, you can press your face into my ass.”

It seemed weird at first, but she had a great ass. It was, quite possibly, the best ass I’d ever seen, and without doubt the best ass I’d ever buried my face into. I managed to do twenty lunges, which impressed her. “I thought you’d only do a dozen at most,” she said, giggling.

I was still red all over, flustered, and hardly able to conjure up words. I stuttered again.

“Next, we’ll do some deadlifts. I know your arms are sore, but just do your best. If you can do eight reps, I’ll give you tongue.”

“Tongue?” I said.

She nodded her head. Then, she gave me a little demonstration—of the tongue, in my mouth, and then the deadlift. “Now go ahead.”

I was shaking all over. Was she coming onto me? Did she want to kiss me? It sure felt like it. Though it was hard to believe that she could be attracted to me—and not just because of my scrawny body. I’d done nothing but nag and complain with her—more than usual—so I really gave her nothing to be attracted to. But now, she was doing a great job of making me want to work out. I really was pushing myself. I wanted that kiss, even if it was just a pity kiss. I did the reps, and then she locked her lips with mine.

We did another set of all the exercises, with all of the same rewards: breasts, ass, and tongue. Finally, after three sets, I was burned out. I could hardly move, but I felt like a proper champion, with a big grin on my face. But she wasn’t finished with me.

“Back to the squat rack,” she said. I reluctantly followed her.

“I can’t do anymore.”

“Sure you can,” she said, adding more weight onto the bar. “You just have to do three squats.”

“I can’t squat that much,” I said. “That’s not just me being a whiner. That’s… That’s a lot of weight.”

“You’ll do it if you want a handjob,” she said.

“A what!?” I gasped.

“You heard me. Now give it a go.”

I got under the bar. I was shaking all over. My muscles felt weak. I got the bar onto my shoulders and I tried to stand up. The weight was intense, making me wobble from side to side. “Oh God,” I said. “I’m going to hurt myself.”

“I’m right here. You’ll be fine.”

I took a deep breath. I did the first squat. It was hard and I hardly made it back up.

She reached around and stroked my cock with her gentle fingertips. “That was so good, Mitch. Keep going.”

Now, my cock was throbbing, getting hard. Was I really going to get a handjob?

I pushed myself hard to do that second squat, straining and groaning. I managed to get it up.

She reached around and grabbed my hardening shaft through my shorts. “Oh my God, Mitch, you’re doing so good. Keep going, Mitch. Don’t stop, baby. Keep going.” She was moaning, sounding like she was on the verge of having an orgasm. My face was so red; I tried not to look forward at the mirror.

“Oh God,” I groaned.

I tried to go down, even though my body was begging me not to. I strained and bit my tongue. I pushed as hard as I could…

But I couldn’t get it back up. I was stuck. My legs were wobbling. I had to beg her to help me, so she grabbed the bar and pulled it back up.

Now, I was standing, weak and wobbling, with an erection.

“Sorry, Mitch,” she smiled. “Maybe tomorrow.” She turned around and started walking towards her office. “Stretch it out. Take all the time you need. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at four.”

And I made sure to set my alarm, because I didn’t plan on missing that next session.