What That Married Man Proposed to Me at the Gym

I’m 32 and I’ve been going to the gym three times a week for four years. It’s not just to stay in shape, although the results are there: firm glutes, a defined waist, a generous chest that tight clothes can’t ignore. I like the way my workout clothes fit, and for a while now I’ve stopped wearing underwear when I train. Nobody recommended it to me. It’s my own decision, because I’m uncomfortable with underwear lines showing and because, I’ll be honest, I like the effect it has on other people.

I’m not one of those women who pretends not to notice the stares. I notice every single one.

There was a man who had been showing up near me for about a month too often for it to be a coincidence. Tall, still solid despite the years—he had to be around 55—and that kind of quiet confidence that comes with age when you’ve lived it well. He always came with two friends from his generation, and all three wore wedding bands. That was not something I failed to notice.

I watched them for weeks before any of them said a word. When he came over to a machine near mine, I focused on my routine, but I noticed how he watched me from the mirror. Sometimes I’d hear a comment between the three of them and, though I never got to make out the words, I knew perfectly well what they were talking about. I wondered what each of them was like in bed, how they fucked, what they sounded like when they came. I wondered in such detail that I couldn’t call it innocent curiosity.

I liked that. I liked it too much.

There was something about him that caught my attention from the start: he didn’t act like someone trying to hide. He looked at me with a confidence that didn’t ask permission, and I answered in kind. I chose machines near theirs more often than necessary. I did squats knowing the three of them could see me, knowing that from that angle my shorts rode up into my cunt and showed them half a cheek. I let my nipples show through my top without doing anything to hide them. I don’t regret a thing.

***

The day he spoke to me was no different from any other. It was Tuesday, a little after seven in the evening, the gym was half full, and I’d finished my leg routine. I went over to the water dispenser with my empty bottle, and he appeared at my side without hurrying, as if he’d been waiting for that exact moment for a while.

—Hi —he said—. Sorry to be so direct, but I’ve been wanting to tell you something for weeks and I can’t hold back anymore. You’re an incredibly attractive woman, and I’d like to ask you out when we finish here. Today.

I looked at him. Water pouring into the bottle. Him waiting, without any visible nerves.

—Out where? —I said, even though we both knew the question didn’t need to be asked.

—Wherever you want it to be.

I closed the bottle. Held his gaze a second longer than necessary.

—Wait for me in the parking lot in fifteen minutes —I said, and turned away without waiting for an answer.

In the locker room I changed slowly, calmly. I brushed my hair in front of the mirror. My nipples were still showing through my top, the shorts clung to my hips, and when I pulled them down to change I saw the fabric was damp between my legs. Not from the workout. I ran two fingers there and it was slick, soaking, swollen from the mere thought of what I was going to do. I thought about him waiting downstairs, about his two friends who knew nothing, about the ring on his left hand. I felt a heat that had nothing to do with training.

I went down.

***

His car was parked in a corner of the garage, far from the lights. I got in, and almost before I’d closed the door he was kissing me. It wasn’t a tentative or questioning kiss: it was one of those kisses that already come with a decision made, deep and slow at the same time, with his hands on my face and his tongue coming in without asking permission. He knew how to kiss. Not everyone does. While he kissed me, one hand slipped down, squeezed a breast over my top, and pinched my nipple between two fingers, and I felt the tug go straight down to my cunt.

We pulled apart to breathe.

—I’ve got time until nine —I said.

—More than enough.

The motel was ten minutes away. We got into the room and picked up right where we’d left off: standing by the bed, him with his hands sliding over my back under my top, me with my fingers at the nape of his neck. He gently pushed me toward the bed and I sat on the edge while he stayed standing, watching me with that same calm that was already making me impatient.

—Before we keep going —he said—, I want to ask you for two things.

—Tell me.

—Let me record you. And be willing to do it without a condom.

I didn’t even take three seconds to answer.

—Both.

***

He lifted my top slowly and just looked at my tits for a moment before doing anything else. He said nothing. Then he lowered his head and started licking them with a calm that drove me crazy: tongue and teeth, alternating between one and the other, tugging the nipple with his lips until it stretched before letting it go, his hands holding them from below as if they were too heavy to leave unsupported. He bit one nipple until I was breathing hard and then licked it in circles to soothe the sting. My hand was in his hair and I held myself back from pushing him farther down. I stayed still and let him do it.

He slid his fingers under my shorts and stopped when he felt there was nothing underneath.

—You’re not wearing anything down there —he said, and the smile against my skin was obvious.

—I told you I was coming from the gym.

—You’re soaked.

—I know.

He yanked the shorts off me and spread my legs right there, with my knees apart at the edge of the bed and him kneeling on the floor. He spent a second staring at my cunt open, shining with how wet I was, and then lowered his mouth. The first lick was long, flat, from bottom to top, lingering an extra second over the clit. I let out a sound I didn’t recognize as my own. He started sucking it with his lips sealed around it, pulling gently, while two fingers slid inside me with a precision that was no accident. He curled them upward and found the spot on the first try.

—There —I said, and he didn’t change the rhythm because of it, kept exactly the same pace as if he already knew.

He took me to the edge with fingers and mouth together, unhurried, not pretending that this was only the prelude. When I came, I came hard: I shoved his face against my cunt with both hands, clamped my thighs around his head, lifted my hips off the bed and came in gushes against his tongue, shaking, my fingers digging into the sheets until I hurt myself. He didn’t move until I finished trembling. He pulled his fingers out slowly, shining, and sucked them while looking at me.

I’d spent weeks imagining this. I hadn’t imagined it would be this good.

Then I sat up and returned the favor. I yanked down his pants and boxers and his cock sprang free, hard, short but very thick, the head already wet. I grabbed it with my hand and looked up at him before taking it in my mouth. I sucked him slowly, all the way down, my tongue working the underside as I went up and down. I’d pull it out of my mouth to lick his balls, trace the vein underneath with the tip of my tongue, then take all of him in again until it hit the back of my throat. I spat on it and used my hand to jerk him while I sucked only the tip. He groaned, head thrown back, one hand in my hair without gripping, just barely marking the rhythm. When he felt he was about to finish, he had to grab my hair and pull me off him.

—Not yet —he said, voice broken—. Not yet.

***

—Turn around —he said.

I did. I got on all fours, ass up and face against the mattress. I felt the head of his cock rubbing up and down over my cunt, soaking in what had already made me come once, and then he pushed. He entered slowly at first, testing the way in, and even so the stretch drew a long moan from me. It was short but thick, with that firm texture that feels different, that fills you in a different way. When he was fully inside, he paused for a moment, as if to let me get used to it, and I told him to keep going.

—Fuck me hard —I told him—. Don’t hold back.

He didn’t hold back. We started moving together and the rhythm built on its own, without either of us deciding it consciously, until he was driving his cock into me with both hands gripping my hips, pulling me against him with every thrust. The sound of bodies slamming together filled the room, and underneath it you could hear the wet noise of my cunt swallowing him whole each time.

He held me by the hair with one hand, pinned my wrists together behind my back with the other, and I listened to the sound of the two bodies meeting. My tits bounced with every thrust and I pressed my forehead to the pillow, focused only on that. He put his thumb in my mouth and told me to suck it, and I sucked it like it was his cock. He pulled it out slick with saliva and lowered it slowly until he found my asshole.

—Do you do anal? —he asked, never stopping, thumb resting right there.

—I’ve never done it.

He stopped.

—Do you want to try?

I thought about it less than I expected to think about it.

—Yes. But slowly.

He pulled his cock out of my pussy and reached for lube in the nightstand drawer. He came back with glistening fingers and spread my ass cheeks open with one hand. He circled my opening with his thumb first, without going in, until he felt me relaxing. Then he pushed that thumb inside, up to the knuckle, and I breathed hard into the pillow. He moved it slowly, in and out, and then put in two fingers, stretching me open. He worked me open with his fingers for a long while, until he felt I wasn’t clenching him with the same tension anymore.

Then came the cock. He set the tip against the hole and pushed slowly, millimeter by millimeter, with a patience that saved me. It hurt at first: that kind of burn that doesn’t know if it’s pain or pleasure because it lives exactly on the border between the two. He told me to breathe, to loosen up, and I did both. The head went in first and I stayed still, waiting for my body to understand. Then the burn eased and all that was left was pressure, and the pressure was good, more than good, and I told him to keep going.

He kept going. He went all the way in, to the hilt, and stayed there for a second before starting to move. At first slowly, with short thrusts, then longer ones. I reached down and started rubbing my clit while he fucked my ass, and feeling both things at once drove me insane. I came again, harder than the first time, clenching him with my whole body, and that clench was what finished him off.

When he came, I felt it inside me, hot, shooting into me without warning. He stayed still with his hands on my hips, breathing hard against my back, his cock still inside, throbbing with each release. When he pulled out, slowly, I felt the cum trickle out. He lay down beside me and draped an arm over my shoulders as if we’d known each other our whole lives.

We fell asleep.

***

I don’t know how long we slept. When I opened my eyes, the room was dim and he was looking at me from his side of the bed, with that same calm as always. He lowered his hand and spread my legs open, ran two fingers through my cunt, and found I was still wet.

—There’s still time —he said.

—Yeah.

And we started again, but differently: slower, more conscious. This time face to face, with him on top, guiding his cock into me slowly and staying still for the first few seconds, looking me in the eyes while he was inside me without moving. Then he started moving in slow, deep thrusts that reached the bottom every time. His hands never stopped: my hips, my tits, the side of my neck, one finger in my mouth so I’d suck it. I had my palms open on his chest and I could feel him breathing, feel the rhythm speed up and slow down according to what he decided, without me being able to predict it.

He lifted my legs over his shoulders and went deeper. From that angle he hit something inside me that made me clench my teeth every time. He sucked one nipple while he kept moving, never taking his eyes off me, and asked me to tell him how it felt.

—Good —I told him—. Really good. Don’t stop.

He kissed me while he kept moving. It was a long, unhurried kiss, one of those you feel in your stomach, with his cock still sliding in and out underneath. I felt myself coming again, and this time he came with me: he clenched his teeth, drove in to the hilt and stayed there, trembling, while I squeezed him with my cunt with each wave. When he finished for the second time I felt it the same as the first: inside, hot, that heat that lingers for a while after everything is over. I stayed still for a few seconds, feeling it slowly drain inside me, until it slipped out on its own and a line of semen ran down the edge of my ass to the sheet.

—I have to go —I told him.

—I know.

He stopped recording. We got dressed in silence, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. He dropped me back at the gym parking lot, where my car was still waiting. He gave me a short kiss before I got out.

—When are you coming back to the gym? —he asked.

—Thursday.

—Me too.

He didn’t add anything else. Neither did I.

***

I got home and went straight to the bedroom. I took my clothes off: there was a white stain on my shorts, small but visible, and inside my thigh I could still feel the rest of it, wet, running down me. I let them fall to the floor and got into the shower. Under the hot water I thought about the whole afternoon: the water dispenser, the dark parking garage, the motel room, the way he had looked at me while he kissed me, the way he had opened my ass with his fingers before putting his cock in me.

I also thought about his two friends, who had been training all night without knowing a thing about what was happening. I thought about the way they looked at each other when they watched me. About the quiet comments they made. About how all three wore rings. I imagined the three of them at once, one cock in each hole, and I ran my hand over my cunt under the water without being able to stop myself.

I wondered what would happen if he told them. Or what would happen if I decided to find out myself.

That’s for another story.