What I Discovered in the Gym Locker Room
Marina had been living with Joaquín in the new neighborhood for barely two weeks, and the gym she found three blocks away was the typical local place: slightly outdated machines, neighbors chatting between sets, a wall covered with yellowing photos of some local boxer. She was twenty-six, had an uncomplicated heterosexual love life, and a fairly clear idea of what kind of bodies turned her on: guys with stubble, broad backs, big hands. That ordinary Tuesday afternoon, however, she left the workout room with something new caught in her throat, something she wouldn’t know how to name until hours later.
She had worked hard: forty minutes on the bike, three sets of barbell squats that left her quadriceps trembling, crunches until she lost count, and a long final stretch that opened her hips more than she had expected. Sweat ran down the groove of her spine, soaked through her sports top until it outlined her nipples beneath 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 though she were entering another climate, and the smell of clean exertion mixed with scented soap enveloped her in a way that left her slightly dazed.
The space was small but fairly crowded. Women of different ages and shapes moved with the natural ease of people who knew no one was examining them, talking about their children, their bosses, their shopping lists. Marina found an empty bench, left her bag on the floor, and began untying her sneakers. But her eyes wandered on their own, without permission, as if they had an agenda of their own.
To her right, a tall, wiry blonde, the kind whose abdominal groove showed clearly, pulled off her shirt in one swift motion. When she unclasped her sports bra, her augmented breasts appeared firm and high, round as though they had been drawn with a compass. Her skin was taut and unmarked, and her small pink nipples hardened instantly in the cool air. They were so perfect they almost looked unreal, but when she turned, their artificial weight was noticeable, refusing to yield even a millimeter. She bent over to pull down her leggings, and Marina saw two hard buttocks with symmetrical dimples at the small of her back. Her pubis bore an extremely fine triangle of almost invisible hair, and her slightly swollen outer lips, flushed by exercise, had a wet sheen that wasn’t merely sweat. The blonde walked toward the showers with an athletic stride, her breasts barely swaying. Marina felt a knot in her stomach, as though someone had tightened something inside her.
A little farther away, a dark-haired woman with olive skin undressed with exasperating calm. Her natural breasts were heavy; once freed from the fabric, they fell softly and swayed a little with each breath. Her areolas were broad and dark, almost cacao-colored, and her thick nipples puckered at the change in temperature. She took off her shorts, revealing wide hips, a soft belly with a fine line of hair descending to a Venus mound covered in thick, curly black hair. Her outer lips were fleshy and dark around the edges, and when she sat for a moment to remove her socks, they parted slightly, revealing the pink, glistening interior. Distractedly, she scratched just above her clitoris and let out a sigh that sounded almost like a purr. Marina noticed that her own breathing had quickened and that she was doing nothing to conceal it.
Near the lockers at the back, a very slender woman, the kind who practiced yoga six days a week, undressed almost in a single gesture. Small, square breasts, with dark, pointed nipples that always seemed to be on guard. She was completely hairless: her sex was a smooth mound, her thin, pink inner lips barely showing, glistening with sweat or something more intimate. She bent down to pick up her bottle, and her buttocks parted; her puckered anus was exposed beside the folds of her sex, everything gleaming beneath the fluorescent light, white and cold. Marina swallowed and felt a liquid heat run down her belly, exactly like the feeling on her first dates, exactly the same and yet completely different.
A redhead with freckles even on her shoulders was rubbing lotion into herself after her shower. Her medium-sized breasts had large, almost translucent areolas, their nipples pale but hardened by the cold. Between her legs, abundant, soft reddish hair covered her sex; when she opened her knees a little wider to reach her inner thighs, her fleshy lips parted and her clitoris appeared, swollen and pink like a wet pearl. Her fingers slipped nearby, brushing the sensitive skin, and a low sound, almost inaudible, escaped her. Marina heard it and a shiver ran all the way up her back.
Farther on, a woman in her forties, with a broad body and skin that had seen many summers, changed without hurrying. Her breasts hung heavily, marked with those silvery stretch marks that told of childbirth and years; her nipples were large, dark, and wrinkled like sweet raisins. When she sat on the bench to remove her socks, her long, dark lips opened slightly; the pink, damp interior gleamed, and her sparse, grayish pubic hair left everything completely undisguised. She stood and walked toward the showers; her broad buttocks, with soft cellulite along the sides, trembled with each step in a movement Marina found hypnotic and, for some reason, more sincere than any of the other bodies.
In the corner, a petite Asian-looking woman was drying her hair with brief swipes of a towel. Small breasts with tiny, almost black nipples. Her sex was a delicate fold, completely shaved, her inner lips barely visible. She poured oil into 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 her clitoris with her oily fingertips, leaving a glistening trail. Marina felt that her own panties were soaked and that she could no longer pretend otherwise.
And finally, almost directly across from the bench where Marina stood frozen, a Latina woman with explosive curves: enormous, natural breasts that moved with every gesture; large, erect brown nipples surrounded by broad areolas. When she bent over to put her clothes in the bottom locker, her buttocks parted and her fleshy sex came into view: thick, dark lips, a prominent clitoris, and a glistening moisture that wasn’t merely sweat. She held the position for a second longer than necessary, as though she knew it, and Marina’s mouth went dry all at once.
The locker room smelled of hot bodies, expensive soap, wet skin. There were sighs of relief, the brush of towels against backs, an occasional low groan as someone stretched a cramped muscle. Breasts rising and falling with each breath, nipples hardening or relaxing, sexes opening and closing with every movement, hair clinging to wet skin, folds gleaming, clitorises peeking out shyly or brazenly depending on their owner. Marina absorbed it all without blinking, feeling her own sex throb, feeling the wetness soak through her panties and a hot trickle run down the inside of her left thigh.
She left the gym with weak legs and her heart lodged in her throat. She walked the three blocks without looking at anyone, with the strange feeling that anyone who crossed her path would be able to read on her face what had just happened.
***
The apartment was silent when she turned the key. Joaquín still hadn’t returned from the studio and wouldn’t be back until late. She closed the door and began taking off her sweaty clothes in the hallway, leaving a trail of damp garments from the entrance to the bedroom door. She stopped naked in front of the wardrobe’s large mirror and looked at herself as though she were someone else: full breasts with nipples hard as stones, her belly rising and falling rapidly, her swollen sex, her outer lips reddened and glistening, her clitoris boldly peeking out 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 invade her without order, just as they had entered the locker room. Her hand moved slowly between her legs, her fingers found her slippery clitoris, and began rubbing in slow, gentle circles, as though she were discovering herself for the first time in her life.
She had never looked at another woman that way. And she had never felt this.
She thought of the blonde’s augmented breasts, so firm beneath imaginary fingers, and imagined squeezing them, feeling the silicone give slightly, licking those small pink nipples until she made them ache. Then the brunette: the fleshy lips, the wet curly hair, that musky scent she could almost smell right now in the bedroom. The redhead and her swollen clitoris, the yoga girl opening herself completely without shame, the Latina bent over, deliberately exposing her sex.
Two fingers slid inside her at once, slick within. Her other hand rose to her breast, pinched a nipple hard, tugged slightly until it hurt just right. She moaned softly at first, then louder, without control. She imagined tongues tracing wet folds, other women’s fingers sinking into her, heavy breasts filling her palms, hard nipples in her mouth with a taste she had never experienced and suddenly needed.
The orgasm came like an electric current rising from her feet: her back arched on its own, her legs trembled, and a hoarse cry escaped her as her sex clenched around her fingers, soaking her palm and leaving a hot stain on the sheet.
She lay there panting, with the metallic taste of having bitten her lip and her body still limp and trembling. She stared at the white ceiling for a long while, wearing a smile that was guilty and confused at the same time. She thought of Joaquín, of how she was going to look at him when he came back from the studio, of what she would say if he noticed something strange in her voice. She also thought, almost without meaning to, about what time the gym opened tomorrow.