The Consultation That Ended Up Undressing My Wife

I’m 41 years old. I’m dark-haired, leanish but with enough muscle that it doesn’t show I’ve never taken protein seriously. My wife, Valeria, is 32, with wide hips, small breasts with nipples I find impossible to ignore, smooth skin, and a waist that curves inward before flaring out again. She’s one of those women who doesn’t need to try for people to look at her. They look anyway.

What I never told her, in five years together, is that watching people look at her is part of what turns me on most. That other people want her. That I’m the one who takes her home at the end of the night and they’re left wanting. That gets me going in a way I can’t really explain in words and don’t even try to justify.

With past partners I tried it with different results. With Valeria I never brought it up head-on. Some things settle in on their own, without anyone ever naming them.

***

We signed up at the neighborhood gym three years ago. A no-frills place: two rooms, about twenty machines, music nobody chose. The good part was that it was four blocks from home.

At first Valeria went in clothes that didn’t show anything. A long T-shirt that covered her ass, opaque leggings, all functional and with no intention behind it. But over time she began to notice the changes in her body, and that gave her a different relationship with clothes. She started showing up in shorter leggings, without the shirt over them.

I kept telling her, in that sort of offhand way people say things without really pushing, that they were looking at her. That the guy on the leg press kept following her with his eyes. That the new trainer lost track of what he was saying when she walked by. At first she was a little embarrassed. Then she stopped being embarrassed. Then she started enjoying it.

One Friday she told me, while changing at home before we left: “If it bothered me to be looked at, I’d choose different clothes.” That was all I needed to know.

***

The owner of the gym was named Marcos. He was about 55, lean with the kind of muscle someone has after decades of moving, and he spoke in a direct way that wasted no time beating around the bush. Four months after we started going, he offered us a personalized physical assessment plan.

—It includes full measurements, body composition, weight —he explained—. Without that I can’t design a program that’s good for anything.

Valeria accepted without thinking much about it. They set it for Wednesday at six in the evening.

I didn’t say anything. But something in my chest shifted when I heard “full measurements.”

***

On Wednesday we arrived on time. The gym was less crowded than usual. Marcos told us to come into the back office: a long room with the scale in the center, filing cabinets against one wall, a shelf with trophies and diplomas, and at the back an old computer desk. The door opened onto a short hallway; from the front desk you couldn’t see what was happening inside.

—Five minutes —said Marcos, and left.

Valeria was standing there checking her phone. I sat in the chair by the wall, bottles and towels in my hands. The room smelled of disinfectant and that generic gym smell you stop noticing after a while.

Marcos came back with a small notebook and a measuring tape.

—For the measurements I need you to take all your clothes off, please —he told Valeria, without preamble.

Valeria looked at me.

I didn’t move a muscle. I nodded slowly, with my jaw resting on my clenched fist. Inside, I felt something hot rising through my chest.

—All your clothes —Marcos repeated, just as calmly—. It’s standard procedure. There’s nothing I haven’t seen a thousand times.

Valeria dropped her phone onto the chair. She took off her sweatshirt. Then the sports top. Her breasts were left bare, her nipples a little tightened by the air conditioning. Marcos held out his hand to take the clothes with that clinical ease that, paradoxically, I found more unsettling than any direct stare.

Valeria braced one hand on the wall, took off her sneakers and socks. She pulled down her leggings. She handed them to Marcos.

—The panties too —he said.

She lowered them, folded them carefully as if that mattered, and placed them on top of the leggings. Marcos took everything, even the sneakers, and carried it to the desk at the back. He set it on the chair without hurrying.

She was naked. Completely naked, in the gym, while I had my hands full and couldn’t hide anything at all.

Valeria stood there with her legs a little apart, breathing slowly. The cool office air raised goosebumps on her arms and outlined her round, firm nipples jutting forward. Marcos came back with the tape and started working. He took her neck, her shoulders, asked her to raise her arms so he could measure her chest under and over her breasts. The tape slid over the skin of her torso, crossing her flat stomach, sinking slightly into the curve of her waist before circling her hips.

—Relax your stomach a little —Marcos said.

Valeria let out her breath and her belly loosened. He wrote the number down.

—Spread your feet a little more.

She obeyed. Marcos crouched down, measured her leg from hip to knee, then to ankle. He passed the tape along the inside of her thigh with a precision that left my mouth dry. It wasn’t an accidental brush. It was an extra working hand, an excuse to get where sight alone wasn’t enough.

I stayed still in the chair. I had an erection I couldn’t show anyone. The towels helped, luckily, but even so I could feel the bulge pulling against my pants zipper, heavy, hot, unbearable. I watched Valeria’s vulva peeking between her thighs, the small dark triangle of trimmed hair, the tiny wet sheen of skin between her legs. She wasn’t fully aroused, and yet that exposure made her feel rawer, more real, as if her body had been left defenseless before us.

Ten minutes later Santiago walked in, the afternoon trainer. Thirty years old, broad-shouldered, with that face of someone who doesn’t overcomplicate things. He had a question about the next day’s schedule.

—Marcos, does it open from seven tomorrow?

—Yes —Marcos said, not looking up from the notebook.

Santiago didn’t leave right away. He looked at me first and nodded. Then he looked at Valeria. He didn’t pretend not to see her, didn’t look at the ceiling, didn’t do any of those awkward little gestures people make when they don’t know where to put their eyes. He let his gaze move over her slowly, with an honesty I almost appreciated. He lingered a second too long on her breasts, her waist, the cunt exposed in front of him.

—Good afternoon —he told her.

—Good —Valeria replied. Her voice sounded as flat as if she were on a treadmill.

Santiago left. I let out the breath I’d been holding.

***

Marcos said he needed photographs for the progress record. He took out his phone and frowned.

—I left it at the front desk. —And just like that, he shouted into the hallway—: Santiago! Can you bring me the other phone?

Santiago came back in. This time he stayed near the door while handing the phone to Marcos. Before leaving, he pulled out his own phone with a gesture that tried to look casual and held it down, pointed in the right direction.

I saw him. I said nothing.

Let him record, I thought. Let him record whatever he wants.

Marcos started with the photos. He asked her to raise her arms, turn, drop her shoulders. “Profile. Good. Now from the back.” Valeria followed the instructions without protesting, with that concentrated look she got when she was doing something that required attention. Her ass looked very firm, her buttocks outlined by the office’s white light, and when she turned front again, the mound of Venus was exposed with indecent clarity, not a trace of shame.

That was when one of the regular clients stuck his head into the hallway. A young guy, twenty-two at most, protein tub in hand and a face that said he hadn’t expected what he was seeing. Behind him were two more.

—Sorry —said the first one—. Marcos?

—Wait outside a minute —said Marcos without stopping the photos.

They didn’t leave. The three of them stayed in the doorway. They looked at Valeria with that mix of surprise and desire young people still don’t know how to hide. Valeria saw them. She saw them clearly, one by one, and didn’t cover herself or change position. Her lips were slightly parted and her breathing even; she seemed more in command of the scene than all of us put together.

One of them adjusted his pants in a way that fooled no one. Another had his phone in hand at hip level, the screen pointed toward where Valeria was.

The third one looked at me.

—Your wife has an amazing body —he said in a low voice, with the shamelessness of someone who still doesn’t know what’s appropriate.

—Yeah —I answered—. I know.

I felt like my heart was going to burst out of my chest.

***

Marcos finished the photos. He told the guys he’d get to them in two minutes, and they left with a slowness that fooled no one, looking at Valeria from every possible angle on the way out.

—Done —said Marcos—. You can get dressed.

Valeria walked to the desk where her clothes were. She walked without hurrying, without covering anything. She put on the bra first, pressing her tits against the fabric until they sat right. Then the blouse. She remained naked from the waist down while she folded the leggings, and when she finally pulled them up, Santiago had already come back in with another trainer on the pretext of looking for something in the filing cabinets. The two of them got a look at her cunt before the leggings covered everything. I saw Santiago’s expression, just a slight tightening in his face, a quick glance that dropped again without asking permission.

Valeria noticed. She said nothing.

***

We left the office. Marcos stayed behind explaining something about the week’s plan while Valeria listened and took notes on her phone. I watched Santiago at the far end of the place, where he was now helping someone on the leg press and smiling for no apparent reason.

—I’m going to the bathroom —I told Valeria.

—Okay.

I locked the stall. I leaned against the wall. In less than two minutes I was done. There was no way I could have lasted any longer. I jerked off fast, furious, with my cock hard as a stick and my whole body tense from the image of Valeria naked while three guys watched her like starving animals. The come came out thick, hot, and filled my hand and the paper with an almost calm violence. I stayed there breathing hard, getting my pulse back, my head resting for a moment against the door.

***

When I came out, Valeria was already on the treadmill. I got on mine and adjusted the speed.

—That skinny guy was filming me —she said without turning her head, in a low voice.

—Really? —I answered, with the face someone makes when trying to look surprised.

—And the other one too, the guy in the blue shirt. From the hallway.

We walked in silence for a moment.

—Does it bother you? —I asked her.

She took a few seconds.

—If they already saw me in person, what difference does it make if they see me on a screen.

The gym music filled the space between us. We kept walking.

—Besides —she added after a while—, after today I’m not going to care if anything shows through the leggings. They couldn’t have seen more.

I put a hand on her back and left it there for a moment. I felt the heat of her skin under the fabric, her back just slightly damp from exercise, her steady breathing. I imagined again her legs open in the office, those men’s eyes on her, the calm with which she had taken everything.

That night at home, when Valeria fell asleep, I stayed awake a long while staring at the ceiling, going over every detail of that afternoon: the way Marcos carried the clothes to the back of the desk with not the slightest ceremony, the look on Santiago’s face when he came in a second time, the way the three guys stayed in the doorway looking at her without apologizing for it. The way she let them look. The way the air got thick with desire when she was naked, tits out, cunt exposed, skin shining under the cold light.

We never talked about it again. It wasn’t necessary.

We stayed at the same gym for another year.