Synopsis: This is a fragmented merge of two short pieces I wrote that described two important things in my life; one about a girlfriend, and the other about the gym and bodybuilding. Don't forget, this is a fragmented piece and is therefore designed to be read us such. Although merged as one piece, they are both, generally, autonomous.
The all too familiar ambience of metal plates, bars, and old machines ring in my ears as I approach the "office" for just another day’s work. The cold pounds and kilos are clear in my narrow mind, more so than my deceiving eyes could ever perceive; the plates lay dormant as I enter. I hold her tight in my arms and the silk of her gown runs smooth against my bare chest. People could be looking, staring at me but I wouldn’t know. I wouldn’t care – and the result of that is why they would look;
in here anyway. All I need is my bible and this water. I wouldn’t need the water, but hell, apparently I’m only human. She’s naked underneath and her skin’s so soft I can’t tell where it ends and the silk begins.
I want to squeeze tighter but she’s so delicate - so petite - I feel like I could hug myself with her in my arms. Yet she makes feel so full. That familiar smell - metallic like fresh blood in your mouth coupled with dry stagnant sweat, culminating the effort of hundreds of thousands of reps - the evidence; it comforts me. I know where I am. I couldn’t be anywhere else, and right now wouldn’t want to be anywhere else; I feel like smiling.
My "bible" tells me it’s ‘Week 66’:
Blonde hair shimmers against the dim candlelight, brushing against my face as her head lifts from my warmed shoulder, now unprotected from the steadily heating air. ‘Thursday – Back A & Tri’s’. I don’t know what’s reflecting in her tame electric blue eyes, but they’re indefensibly stunning. She could kill with those eyes. I feel as if I should be jealous of anyone that's blessed with her stare; but then I know that they could never look at anyone else as they hold me now.
Back A, that means thickness – it’s all about deadlifts. I smile. Her familiar and comforting clasp takes my hand from behind her back - where silk fights silk - and leads it down the hourglass of her body until it reaches the cut of her gown halfway up her thigh. My hand is cold, calluses rough like they always are and I feel tiny hairs erect through her goose-pimples under my palm. Two work-sets later, split pours drip salt trails on the chalk dusted floor where I stand.
It's just me, my reflection, and the metal. I should hate the plate loaded bar but I don’t. The bar isn’t heavy, it never is. The only one who knows what heavy is in this equation is me. So I have my mental beef with the mirror; I size him up and look straight into his eyes. Pathetic. She releases my hand, giving herself to me, and then runs her hand slowly up my back; every stroke of her nails ripples under my skin and the back of my legs are tingling.
Finding the thick of my hair, she edges my lips towards hers until we’re sharing each others breath. My hands are just hooks but they still burn red, even through the icing of chalk. They hold the moulded shape of my voluntary labour, and my hard calluses peak like rough like cliff-edges. I re-chalk in ceremonial preparation, and turn again to my reflection; his bar has more metal on it now. I smile.
My worn hand caresses now settled skin as I lead it back up her body under the silk, and my other hand follows like rehearsed choreography. She tightens behind my head and gently but firmly catches my lip with her teeth, and I can feel the buds of her tongue toying with its prey. I close my eyes and I can feel it. The weight, the stretch, the contraction; complete contraction. Perfect mind-muscle connection, I could name every splitting fibre. Three perfect reps, and with my lobotomized focus its back to business. She bites harder as I waltz over the gentle curves of her breasts and cheekily encourage her tightening nipples at their peaks.
My hands re-synchronise and find themselves in the concave of her collar, and I brush over the elegant elope of her shoulders and neck until the layer of silk releases her and falls to the ground leaving her bare in my arms. Halfway through and that familiar feeling returns. The pain; it feels like my bones are forcing their way out through my flesh. Sure, I could drop it all, walk away from this burden. But instead I grit my teeth and plough forward; for me. For no one else but me. I remember that it’s what I’m here for; it’s what I pay for.
Then, whispering in her ear, I ask if she loves me.
Though the pain comes over, never let it overcome.