What I Discovered in the Gym Locker Room
Marina had only been living with Joaquín in the new neighborhood for two weeks, and the gym she found three blocks away was the typical neighborhood joint: somewhat old machines, neighbors chatting between sets, a wall covered with yellowed photos of some local boxer. She was twenty-six, her heterosexual love life was uncomplicated, and she had a pretty clear idea of what bodies turned her on: guys with stubble, broad backs, big hands. That ordinary Tuesday afternoon, however, she walked out of the room with something new stuck in her throat that she couldn’t name until hours later.
She had worked hard: forty minutes on the bike, three rounds of barbell squats that left her quads trembling, abs until she lost count, and a long final stretch that opened her hips more than she expected. Sweat ran down the groove of her spine, soaked her sports top until her nipples showed through the Lycra, and her leggings clung between her thighs like a second skin. When she pushed open the locker room door, the humid heat from the showers hit her as if she were stepping into another climate, and the smell of clean exertion mixed with perfumed soap wrapped around her in a way that left her a little dazed.
The space was small but fairly busy. Women of different ages and shapes moved around with the easy confidence of people who know no one is scrutinizing them, talking about kids, bosses, shopping lists. Marina found an empty bench, set her bag on the floor, and started untying her sneakers. But her eyes kept drifting on their own, without asking permission, as if they had their own agenda.
To her right, a tall, wiry blonde, the kind with sharply defined abs, yanked her T-shirt off. As she unclipped her sports bra, her firm, high, surgically enhanced breasts came into view, round as if drawn with a compass. The skin was taut, unmarked, and the small pink nipples hardened instantly in the cool air. They were so perfect they almost looked fake, but when she turned, you could see that artificial weight that doesn’t give even a millimeter. She bent to pull down her leggings and Marina saw two hard buttocks with symmetrical dimples in the lower back area. The pubic mound had a very fine triangle of almost invisible hair, and the labia majora, slightly swollen from exercise, had a wet sheen that wasn’t only sweat. The blonde walked toward the showers with an athletic stride and her breasts barely swayed. Marina felt a knot in her stomach, as if someone had squeezed something inside her.
A little farther away, a brown-skinned brunette was undressing with maddening calm. Her natural breasts were heavy, dropping softly as the fabric came away and swaying a little with each breath. The areolas were wide, dark, almost cocoa-colored, and the thick nipples wrinkled with the change in temperature. She took off her shorts and revealed wide hips, a soft belly with a thin line of hair running down to a Venus mound covered in thick, curly black hair. The labia majora were fleshy, dark at the edges, and when she sat for a moment to take off her socks they parted just slightly, revealing the pink, shining interior. She scratched absently just above the clitoris and let out a sigh that sounded almost like a purr. Marina noticed her own breathing had quickened, and she was making no effort to hide it.
Near the lockers in the back, a very slender girl, the kind who practices yoga six days a week, had already stripped almost in one motion. Small, square breasts, with dark, pointed nipples that always seemed on guard. She was completely shaved: her sex was a smooth mound, the thin pink inner lips barely showing, shiny with sweat or something more intimate. She crouched to grab her water bottle and her buttocks parted; the puckered anus was exposed beside the folds of her sex, everything glistening under the white, cold fluorescent light. Marina swallowed and felt liquid heat run down her belly, exactly like first dates, exactly the same and yet completely different.
A redhead with freckles all the way up to her shoulders was rubbing on cream after the shower. Her medium-sized breasts had large, almost translucent areolas, the nipples pale but hardened by the cold. Between her legs, abundant soft reddish hair covered her sex; when she opened her knees a little more to reach her inner thighs, the fleshy lips parted and the clitoris emerged swollen, pink, like a wet pearl. Her fingers slid close, brushed the sensitive skin, and she let out a low sound, almost inaudible. Marina heard it and a shiver ran all the way up her back.
Farther on, a woman in her forties or so, with a broad body and skin that had seen many summers, was changing at her own pace. Her breasts hung heavy, with those silver stretch marks that tell the story of births and years; the nipples were large, dark, wrinkled like sweet raisins. As she sat on the bench to take off her socks, her long dark lips parted slightly; the pink, moist interior shone, and the graying, sparse pubic hair left everything exposed without the slightest pretense. She stood up and walked toward the showers; the wide buttocks, with soft cellulite at the sides, trembled with every step in a motion Marina found hypnotic and, for some reason, more honest than any of the other bodies.
In the corner, a petite Asian woman was drying her hair with quick towel pats. Small breasts with tiny, almost black nipples. Her sex was a delicate fold, completely shaved, the inner lips barely visible. She put oil on her hands and massaged her breasts in slow circles; her skin shone like wet satin. Then she lowered her palms to her thighs and brushed the clitoris with oily fingertips, leaving a glistening trail. Marina felt her own panties were soaked and that she could no longer pretend otherwise.
And at the end, almost opposite the bench where she stood frozen, a Latina woman with explosive curves: huge, natural breasts that moved with every gesture; large brown nipples, erect, surrounded by wide areolas. As she bent to put her clothes into the low locker, her ass spread and the fleshy sex was on full display: thick, dark lips, prominent clitoris, and a sheen of moisture that wasn’t only sweat. She held the pose a second longer than necessary, as if she knew it, and Marina’s mouth went dry all at once.
The locker room smelled of hot bodies, expensive soap, wet skin. You could hear sighs of relief, the brush of towels against backs, the occasional low groan as a cramped muscle was stretched. Breasts rising and falling with breath, nipples hardening or relaxing, sex opening and closing with every movement, hair stuck to damp skin, folds gleaming, clitorises peeking out shyly or shamelessly depending on their owner. Marina took it all in without blinking, feeling her own sex pounding, her panties soaked through and a hot thread running down the inside of her left thigh.
She left the gym with weak legs and her heart in her throat. She walked the three blocks without looking at anyone, with the strange feeling that whoever crossed her path would be able to read on her face what had just happened.
***
The apartment was silent when she put the key in the lock. Joaquín still hadn’t come back from the studio and wouldn’t be home until late. She closed the door and started peeling off her sweaty clothes in the hallway, leaving a trail of damp garments from the entryway to the bedroom door. She stopped naked in front of the large wardrobe mirror and looked at herself as if she were someone else: full breasts with nipples hard as stone, her belly rising and falling fast, her sex swollen, the labia majora reddened and shining, the clitoris peeking out brazenly between the folds.
She lay down on the bed. The cold sheets against her hot skin drew a short sigh from her. She closed her eyes and let the images flood in without order, the same way they had entered the locker room. Her hand went slowly down between her legs, her fingers found the slippery clitoris and began rubbing in slow, soft circles, as if she were discovering herself for the first time in her own life.
I had never looked at another woman like that. And I had never felt this.
She thought of the blonde’s surgically enhanced breasts, so firm beneath imaginary fingers, and imagined squeezing them, feeling the silicone give just a little, licking those small pink nipples until they hurt. Then the brunette: the fleshy lips, the wet curly hair, that musky smell she could almost smell right there in the bedroom. The redhead and her swollen clitoris, the yoga girl opening herself up without a trace of shame, the Latina bending over and exposing her sex on purpose.
Her fingers went in, two at once, slippery inside. The other hand rose to her breast, pinched a nipple hard, tugged a little until it hurt just right. She moaned softly at first, then louder, uncontrollably. She imagined tongues tracing wet folds, чуж— no, foreign fingers sinking into her, heavy breasts filling her palms, hard nipples in her mouth with a taste she had never known and suddenly needed.
The orgasm hit like an electric current starting at her feet: her back arched on its own, her legs trembled, a hoarse cry escaped her as her sex clenched around her fingers, soaking her palm and leaving a warm stain on the sheet.
She stayed there panting, with the metallic taste of having bitten her lip and her body still weak and shaking. She stared at the white ceiling for a long while, with a guilty, confused smile all at once. She thought of Joaquín, of how she would look at him when he got back from the studio, of what she would say if he noticed something strange in her voice. And she also thought, almost without meaning to, of what time the gym opened tomorrow.