Gym Grunts

Dear Butch,

I couldn’t workout next to you today, or yesterday, or the day before that.  Usually I would follow this statement with a steamy paragraph about how hot I find you and how you make my knees weak.  But that isn’t the case this time around.

I found it odd that the treadmills on either side of you were empty a few days ago.  You weren’t singing out loud with your ear buds in and you didn’t smell funky.  So I saddled up next to you and tossed you a “Hello there sexy” smile.  I pulled up my playlist and plugged in, happy to be anywhere but my office.  We started about the same time, going the same pace.  As the speed and incline got faster I heard a disturbing noise.  At first I thought I that there was something funky with my MP3 player, nope all seemed normal.  Then I heard the noise again and convinced myself for about two minutes that my machine was having a mechanical malfunction.  I slowed my roll and took off my ear buds, ready to abandon ship when I heard the noise again coming from your direction.  There you were, running with your eyes closed (which still baffles me), and making sex grunts.

What.the.fuck.

I understand getting deep into the moment of working out, losing yourself in the breathe…stretch…beat…whatever and not realizing what your body is doing.  I have had plenty of those moments during yoga!  However, I have never witnessed someone sex grunting on the treadmill.  While lifting, yes.  The combination of the sound and your face, eyes closed and skin dewy, caused me to bust into laughter.  You were giving that treadmill the best forty-five minutes of it’s life with a cigarette to follow.  I had to dismount in fear that my uncontrollable laughter would cause an injury.  You must of sensed my movement and opened your eyes, looking confused I tried to cover my giggles with a fake cough.  I waved and walked away, smiling.

I have seen you in the gym everyday since then, and as I see you head to the treadmills I place myself away from you.  I don’t want to interrupt your affair with the treadmill again.

Love,

Femme

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