gym buddy lucy
Your hallway is silent. A rose geranium in a little yellow pot cheers the narrow window that lets in the early evening light. There are shoes everywhere because let’s face it who’s hallway isn’t cluttered with shoes. A flier for a local takeaway hangs from the inside of the letterbox.
Peace. No one is home.
I slam into the door from the outside. The leaflet flutters to the ground as I scrabble keys against the lock. I get it on the third attempt and yank open the door, rush through, slip on the mat but catch myself, and slam the door shut behind me. I’m pale-faced and panting so hard my heart must be pumping air.
Your voice floats in from outside. You sound out-of-breath but only like a runner, not like someone running for their life. “You did it! I knew you could!”
The handle turns and I grab it, resisting you. It halts but your strength is a terrible, ineluctable force and it’s only a matter of time till my forearm tires. “Are we—” I gasp in a desperate breath— “Am I safe?”
“For now,” you call, sing-song. I carefully remove my hand from the handle and stagger into the living room. The door opens behind me to reveal you, beaming with pride so intense it’s obviously taking the piss. “A new record for you!”
“You’re a hundred and seventy kilos, Raven. How the fuck are you so fast?!”
“What’s the point of eating if you don’t take the best of your food?” You pat your belly, still copious, but beginning to show signs of diminishing. “I’ve been the last mile of a lot of runners.”
“Jesus.” I collapse on the rug in the living room, my breathing only just beginning to slow. “And you really would have—”
“If I’d caught you, you would be one of those runners, sweetie.” You walk over to me, towering, looming as your look down past prodigious breasts at me. Gentler, you say, “I’m glad you won. I would have missed you.”
You watch my brows go up. Astonishment, fear and awe battle for space. I know in my bones that my life was in danger. You see moisture mist my eyes. It’s not fear, you know, but happiness.
You don’t get it, but you don’t have to. There are some ways we’ll never understand one another.
It’s your sixth visit to the gym before someone plucks up the courage to speak to you. You’re on your own today, as your body can take more punishment than mine. You left me at home with a book and ibuprofen.
“Hi, uh, can you spot me, love? My partner’s late.”
You’d spotted her alright. Slightly shorter than you, slightly chubby and stacked on top, she boasts proportionally the most incredible backside you recall ever seeing. The satin-effect leggings she insists on wearing catch the light and exaggerate the shadows. Her bum somehow looks more 3D than everything around it.
She makes your mouth water. She doesn’t seem to mind the glimmer of hunger in your eyes, either, only smiling deeper and inclining her head a touch.
“Sure,” you reply. “What are you on?”
“Squats.”
Damnit, you think. You’ll have to stand in front of her.
You trail her to the squat racks. Eyes still follow you. At around a size 48, you stand out. The self-assurance with which you carry yourself throws of the Barbies and the meat-heads, though. Most have watched you lift weights they are currently chasing. You stand unexplained, a strange natural phenomenon they do not understand.
They don’t know the half of it.
“I’m Lucy, by the way,” says Lucy, racking up plates on the barbell. When she stands up from bending down she habitually flicks her long, high ponytail back in place, a little brown whip, or convenient handle depending on your requirements.
You decide to help, mirroring her plate choice. “Raven.”
“That’s a pretty name,” she says, and by the way her face lights up you can tell she means it. Her eyes crinkle at the corners in a way that, on her fresh face, makes it clear she laughs a lot. You mumble thanks.
“Feeders first.”
The look of puzzlement on your face makes her laugh now. She thinks you were just thrown by a new word. You were wondering who she was calling a feeder.
“Feeder sets. Get me warmed up before I try, uh, picking up something more substantial.” She looks aside with a smile and then makes eye contact, a gesture that has the air of a wink about it. Is she flirting?
“I see. Let’s get you warmed up, then.”
Lucy doesn’t require much warming up, physically or socially. Two sets of increasing weight and she is ready to tackle her working sets. As compensation for not being able to watch her backside as she squats, you get her eyes on you and her perfect form to inspect and enjoy. She does not appear to mind. She squats low, and at the bottom of her cycle you are treated to the sight of generous twin curves framed by meaty thighs.
After the second working set her breathing is deep and measured, making her chest rise and fall. Your neglected stomach, a beloved pet not understanding why it is being mistreated, calls out an inquisitive croaking rumble. Lucy smiles and looks to the side.
She is warm and voluble. You both chat between her sets. She asks about the person you sometimes come with. “Andrew? He’s my… friend.”
A voice, approaching the racks. “Lucinda Mardi Gras Bellatrix Smith. You replaced me!”
“None of those are my name, Shaun, and you’re late, so of course I replaced you.” She sticks out her tongue and then replaces it to peck Shaun on the cheek when he comes over. He grins and touches her shoulder in a gesture of easy affection. “Shaun, this is Raven, who is more reliable than you. Raven, this is Shaun. My… friend.”
“Acquaintance,” corrects Shaun. Compared to Lucy he’s in the scrawny side, but handsome enough, with tight curly black hair and quick blue eyes. “Well-wisher.”
“Tag-along,” counters Lucy. “Watch me, Raven.”
She completes another set, grunting at the edge of her endurance. Setting down the bar with a clatter, she lets out a whoop. “Smashed it. Oh! Damn, I’ve had you standing there getting cold, sorry. Would you like to squat?”
“Mmhmm,” you agree. She steps out of the cage of the squat rack and you trade places. Your bulk means you have to be dead central, otherwise you brush against the frame. “And I didn’t get cold, watching you.”
Lucy inclines her head and smiles. Shaun seems to be knocked off balance by her pleasure at the little flirt. He attempts to cover it by resting his hands on your weights, preparing to remove plates from the bar. “Raven. What shall we drop you down to?”
“Leave them,” you say, keeping your eyes on Lucy. She has stopped demurely looking away and instead meets your gaze. “Lucy will be my feeder.”
“Have a good session?” I call from the kitchen. You can smell Chinese five spice. I’m probably doing something to an aubergine.
You stride into the kitchen. Your bag drops to the ground and you seize the back of my head and kiss me. Hunger doesn’t begin to describe it.
I return the kiss ferociously. Nevermind that you are sweaty from the gym. You know I find your scent intoxicating. My arms hook under yours and pull you close. My body smooshes into your belly, so hard I feel the rumble that ripples up from below your belly button all the way to your chest.
You pull away with eyes closed and place a finger on my lips. I hear you controlling your breathing. It’s dangerous but I’m unwilling to pull away from your body, so remain encircled by your own arms. My scent, the smell of food, fills your nostrils.
“A very good session, then.”
“Made friends,” you say thickly. “Gym buddies. Now feed me before I change my mind about this diet.”