Spanked! Chapter Four

Spanked! Chapter Four

Stephanie Zoslukova. Of all people to show up at the gym. I knew Blake had other clients, but something about him made me think he was mine (clearly, I’m delusional). Ridiculous. And now, Stephanie was here at the gym.

She was planning to get bariatric surgery, and you have to prep for it, I guess. Psychological examination, physical examination, level of commitment to change. Sarah, one of my best friends from college told me the insurance company at Stephanie’s job had changed and wouldn’t pay for the surgery. Stephanie decided to save for it herself, with some help from her parents.

But why this gym? This wasn’t even her part of town. Stephanie would surface every time Sarah wanted to get the group of us together. Stephanie always had something nasty to say to me. And it was always in front of an audience. She never sent me any mean emails. The put-downs were always public, four times a year: Memorial Day, Fourth of July, Labor Day and New Year’s. We’d meet either at Sarah’s house or Bruce’s apartment, sometimes just us, sometimes us and a few other people. It always bugged me that I thought of a perfect comeback four hours after everyone went home. It annoyed me more that my so-called friends witnessed this junior high treatment, and never did anything about it. Come to think about it, I never did anything about it either.

I wracked my brain for years wondering why I was Stephanie’s target. Was it because I got along better with her husband than I did with her? Was it because I could bend over and pick stuff up off the floor without accidentally rolling away? Was it because I didn’t have to hire someone to clip my toenails? I couldn’t figure it out, but when I talked about it to other friends and acquaintances who didn’t know her, they said she was jealous. It could be. I’m fat, but there were different degrees of it, and she was on the extreme end. She looked like a Zorb with arms and legs. But why was she so confident? How could anyone so big feel good about herself? Or was the bossiness and her penchant for princess costumes a sign that she really was unhappy?

I thought about all this during my workout. It made me angry. I was pouring sweat, and decided to call it a day. Blake and Stephanie were working on something when I stormed out the door. I drove home in silence. A couple hours later, my jaws were hurting. I realized I must have been clenching my teeth unconsciously on the drive home.

*  *  *

In addition to my stomach crunches, I’d been trying belly dancing as a way to tone up. I found a great DVD that broke down the various movements. It was better than the Core Rhythms video I got suckered into buying several years ago. The two ladies leading the routines were going so fast, during a spin in my living room, I fell over my coffee table and knocked my glass of Coke onto my previously clean pile of underwear.

Belly dancing scared me. So I had to try it. I also tried it to see if I could please Trevor. He always forced me to dance as foreplay. I understood (or thought I did) the give and take of sex, but it seemed I was giving more than taking. Trevor would normally grunt when I wanted his opinion. And I’ll admit, I was hungry for more than food: I wanted some compliments, deserved or not. I thought Blake might oblige.

After a few weeks, I liked the way belly dancing made me feel, but I didn’t necessarily enjoy watching myself doing it. Remember the opening scene from Date Movie? Yeah, my stomach was kinda like that, with the flab going every which way. Dancing was certainly burning calories, and while I might not ever lose my belly (without lipo and an all-celery diet that is) it was nice to see my torso getting more defined. Despite the weight I was still losing, my appetite getting lighter, and the daily projectile vomiting, my stomach was still there.

*  *  *

Work wasn’t helping either. Instead of a nice, sit-down job where I could sip tea and hug a heating pad to my aching abdomen, I was out loading building materials onto a flatbed truck in shitty weather. One particularly memorable Monday saw me in Bluffton, an hour south of
Fort Wayne. I’d made all of the other in-town deliveries, and now I was there picking up something that Patrick, my Satanic-looking co-worker, didn’t pick up the day before. High’s designated Sundays and Wednesdays as pick-up days for merchandise we didn’t have in our own store. We’d either bring it back, or, in this case, load it on the truck for delivery, since it was going to Marion. It was windy, with rain like cold spit. If Satan, er, Patrick had picked it up like he was supposed to, we could have loaded it this morning, and this stop wouldn’t have been necessary. And it only would have taken 45 minutes to load the flatbed at our store, instead of an hour and a half in Bluffton. I was wild with pain, and actually started to cry with frustration. The HR person escorted me off the sales floor, because it wouldn’t do to have the help bawling in plain sight. I explained what had happened, and the pain I was in, and the chunks of tumor falling out of me, but the petite blonde, anal-retentive looking woman just stared at me wide-eyed. She’d probably regretted leaving her office, where she was probably cozy, warm, sipping tea, and not getting spit on by Mother Nature.

A couple of broken windows and a few more tears later, the truck was finally loaded and I set off to Marion. The overcast November day started out dreary and began to get dark. I finally got to the deserted building location and I offloaded everything in twilight, and drove back to Fort Wayne. The rain had stopped, but as I drove northward in the dark, the truck’s cell phone encased in protective rubber, rang. It was the store manager, Bubba.

“Hey, do y’all know anything about a washer and dryer that was supposed to be delivered today?” Bubba (we called him “Blubber” behind his back) asked, in a generic Southern twang that seemed like a requirement for all High’s store/zone managers.

“No, I’ve been on the flatbed all day.”

“Well, it’s got to go out tonight. Where are you?”

I sighed. “About an hour south of Fort Wayne. I was delayed today because I had to go to Bluffton to pick up an order that Sat—er, Patrick was supposed have gotten yesterday.”

“It’s nearly seven o’clock. Why are you just getting back now?”

Didn’t I just tell him why? “Because I had to stop in Bluffton to pick up that order,” I said slowly, “which took an hour and a half to load, and then drop it off in Marion. If Patrick had picked it up yesterday, like he should have, I wouldn’t have been so late.”

“Well, what happened yesterday is yesterday. Patrick’s not picking up the order is irrelevant.”

Irrelevant? I thought. Go fuck yourself, you overpaid redneck.

“Well, someone had to go get it,” I said, with an edge in my voice, “and since Patrick didn’t, I got it. It will be an hour before I get back.”

“You’re really leaving me in a bind here. I mean, we have got one angry customer.”

I sighed. “Make sure it’s on the box truck, and when I get back, I can drive it over there. I’m going to need someone to help me, but—

“The thing is, it should have been delivered sooner.”

“Yes, I know that. But they sent me out on the flatbed. Usually when I’m out on the flatbed, the box truck is taken care of by someone else. I don’t do the sche-

“I suppose we can get Casey to get it out there,” Blubber broke in. And hung up. I was so mad I flung the cell phone against the passenger window and it bounced back and hit the right side of my face. I burst into tears. I sobbed for several miles. If I accidentally careened off the highway into a ditch, well, that was just gravy.

*  *  *

I made it home in one piece, but not before taking yet another Midol. That would be followed by some Tylenol P.M., which I recently started, so I could get to sleep after being jacked-up on Midol all day. If the cramps didn’t kill me, the heart attack caused by mainlining Midol would. The pain hadn’t really gone away, it was a dull misery, if you can dig it. I was still on my granola bar and spreadable cheese and crackers diet. Not balanced, but I didn’t care. Death was looking pretty good at this point. I went into my home office, a tiny cluttered room with an area rug, and tried doing some stomach crunches. After 25, I gave up. I started crying again, and tried to clutch Taffy, but she wasn’t having any of it. She was pissed because she hadn’t gotten her walk. I laid on the rug for several minutes, waiting for the Tylenol to kick in. Taffy finally approached me and started licking my face. I had to be in at work tomorrow at 7 a.m., which was less than 12 hours away. Then, I had to teach a class at Oaks. I tried to do all my class prep and grading on my days off from High’s, so if I felt absolutely awful (a daily occurrence) I’d be all set to go once class time rolled around. I couldn’t wait for Wednesday and Thursday, my days off this week. It would be heaven to sleep in. Doing the class stuff was a piece of cake compared to High’s. Sure, I didn’t get paid to prep, but I knew my day job was lousy when I looked forward to my days off to grade essays that, after I was done marking them, looked like murder scenes.

Fortunately, the next day wasn’t too bad. I was driving the flatbed again, but everything was at the store and loading was smooth for once. It was a matter of dropping off OSB and drywall to three different places. The Moffett lift, a three-wheeled forklift that mounted on the back of the truck, was fun to drive. I scooped the building supplies off and put them where the customers wanted, had them sign, and off I went. I actually put in an eight-hour day, instead of the ten- to twelve-hour days that had been typical in the summer. I got back, parked the truck, then I headed to class. After that, I holed up on the adjunct work room to get that night’s grading done. I could stay up late, since I didn’t have to work the next day. I figured I’d work on my dance routine when I got home. It was looking pretty good, and I was hoping Blake would like it. I thought how willing I was to dance for Blake, and how I didn’t like dancing for Trevor. Lately, things were sort of, well, dull. My work schedule made it difficult to see him. We’d bowled, and prior to that was the bed-collapsing sex, but our interaction had been limited to phone calls, where he’d describe in great detail his video game triumphs, while I tried not to fall asleep.

When Trevor and I managed to get together, I noticed things had changed. Before, we actually cuddled after sex, talking about ideas, and books, and things we’d seen online. When I stopped to think about it, the chill had happened after he had brought up the idea of being fuck buddies. We’d talked about it, but it’s not like we had signed a formal agreement, or anything. Trevor thought bringing up the subject was the same thing as getting an approval. If I’d had better self-esteem, I would have flat-out told him I wasn’t agreeing to that. When Trevor was focused on getting what he wanted, he didn’t hear “no.” He also wasn’t good at picking up on verbal clues. Trevor was the kind of guy where you occasionally had to say, “I said NO, you fucking clueless moron!” But, I was too nice, and never said it to him, even though I should have. But shouldn’t you be with the kind of guy you don’t have to say it to, instead of staying with a guy you should say it to on occasion?

That being said, sex wasn’t what it used to be. We’d do it, he’d get up and get dressed (without bothering to shower) and wander out to the living room, (if we were at my house) or go downstairs (if we were at his house). We had become fuck buddies without me ever agreeing to it. And it made me mad. And my inability to stand up for myself made me even madder.

Other things about my life made bothered me too. Like how I was so inexperienced with men that Trevor was my first and only boyfriend. I knew we were heading for an end, but I wasn’t sure exactly how I should handle it. There were little things, like Trevor changing his Facebook relationship status to single a few months ago. When I’d called him on it, he replied in that condescending, let-me-explain-it-to-you-slowly tone that technically, he was single. He was right, but I didn’t feel good about it. If you’re dating someone but not married, are you still considered “single” or “in a relationship?” I’d dated so little, I didn’t even know what the rules were on that. And now, the sex was about as exciting as waiting at the DMV. I usually tried to see Trevor on one of my days off, but spending time with him wasn’t enjoyable anymore. At the same time, I was reluctant to let him go. I’d waited so long for him, when would the next one come along? Was Blake the next one, or would he pull the rug out from under me?

I’d slept in the next morning. Seconds after I finally opened my eyes, I had to throw up. Think Linda Blair in The Exorcist projectile vomiting. Then think of explosive diarrhea. I had to park myself on the toilet and turn to the tub. I flushed, then rinsed the mess out of the tub. I managed to shower, throw on some workout clothes, and go to the gym. I probably should have had something to eat before working out, but nothing really sounded good. I always had problems eating after waking up, but since the surgery, it had gotten worse. Even when I wasn’t in pain and on the verge of vomiting all the time, breakfast within an hour after waking up didn’t happen. I’d grab something after my workout.

During the middle of the day, 24/7 Fitness wasn’t crowded. I grabbed my bag, with the harem outfit and portable mini speakers and smartphone with my song on it. It was about 1 p.m. when I held the key fob up to the little black panel beside the door. There was a click, then I pulled the door open and went in.

I ducked into the office, but Blake wasn't there. Mr. Shoulders (Jim?) was. “Blake around?” I asked.

“No, he went out to lunch,” he said, not looking up at me, “but he'll be back in probably an hour. You just missed him.”

“Okay,” I replied. Maybe it was better this way. I could work off my nervousness by getting on the treadmill. If I tired myself out enough, I’d be too relaxed to worry about anything. If only 24/7 had a swimming pool. I loved to swim. It was my favorite exercise and always made me feel mellow. As it was, the gym didn’t even have a bar, but of course, Fort Wayne wasn’t a big city, and it wasn’t that kind of gym. When we got our first Starbucks, it made front page news. The line was out the door for hours.

I shoved my bag into a cubbyhole in the back of the gym, plugged my headphones into the bottom of the television screen and surfed until I found an episode of Clean House. For the next hour, I pushed buttons and adjusted the incline and the speed until I could feel the burn in the back of my legs and my butt getting firmer by the second.

The treadmills looked out on the parking lot. The day had started out overcast, but it was a bright overcast. It was noticeably darker now. My stomach clutched with every car that turned into the lot. Finally, I saw a black Chevy Suburban head for the back part of the lot, close to Dupont Road. The driver’s door opened. Blake!  He was practically on the side of the road, but I drank up every detail I could see, which wasn’t much. Nylon workout pants and a leather bomber jacket, that was all. I imagined he had a polo shirt underneath, or a t-shirt. I swore that I could even smell him. He crossed in front of his vehicle. That was when the passenger side door opened. Stephanie.

She'd sunk her claws into Blake. Or was trying to. What was it about her? Why was she dripping with self-esteem the way grease dripped from Taco Bell’s ground meat? I couldn't believe that Stephanie was that charming or interesting. Still, she must have something. Something I and millions of other women didn't have, regardless of our physiques.

Blake and Stephanie stood chatting in the parking lot for a few more minutes, then she headed off to her minivan. Blake headed toward the gym.

In those few short minutes, I went from sort of relaxed to furious. This was next level jealousy. Damn her! I stopped the treadmill and headed towards the back of the gym. I grabbed my bag, and slammed into the bathroom. I quickly grabbed some paper towels, and ran them under hot water, then stripped halfway. I wiped myself down as best as I could. I squirted myself with Twisted Peppermint, my favorite body spray from Bath and Body Works. I examined my face in the mirror. The makeup still held, for some reason. I took a deep breath, then left the bathroom and walked up towards the office. Blake was leaning against the desk, talking to Jim?/Mr. Shoulders.

“Hey there,” I said.

“Well hey, there you are!” Blake said. He bounced off the desk and walked out of the office. “I just got back from lunch.”

“I know. I've been here for an hour. I've got something to show you.” I lowered my voice. “Can we go to the back office?”

“Is it what you talked about the last time?” Blake asked.

“Maybe.”

He led the way back to the office, but I dawdled. I got a drink from the fountain. Suddenly, I didn’t feel so good. I’d practiced, but what if Blake thought it was stupid? Was it completely ridiculous for someone like me to do this? Was I too fat to do this? And why was I thinking about this so much? I took another sip and decided to just be straightforward with it. Just tell him I’d been working on a dance routine and I wanted his opinion. What was the big deal?

I walked into the small office where just a short time ago, I’d seen a whole new world: exciting foreplay. It was the most unsexy room I’d ever been in, but for the rest of my life, the sight of office chairs and generic, contractor-grade carpeting would excite me. Blake plopped on the chair. “So, this thing you want to show me. What is it?”

I looked at him. He seemed so perfect. Normally, my type was dark-haired, dark-eyed Caucasian men. Everything about him looked so clean. I’m sure Blake took his socks off during sex. Trevor didn’t. He expected me to have matching bra and panties, but he insisted on keeping his socks on. Socks. The least sexy thing a guy could wear while having sex. Unless it was socks with suspenders.

“Turn around, I gotta get ready. And don’t look.”

“You need to change clothes for this? Now, I’m really curious.”

“It’s just something I want your opinion on. I’ve been trying some dancing to tone up my core. I’ve got a routine together.” I ripped off my clothes, and to my dismay, the elastic in my socks left lines on my calves. Hot! I unzipped the bag and dumped everything out on the floor.

“And you’ve got an outfit and everything?” Blake asked.

“Uh, yeah,” I responded, watching his back. He wasn’t exactly fidgeting, but he was making the chair swivel back and forth about three inches at a time with the tips of his toes. I tore off my well-worn bra and panties, and put on the blue bra now adorned with pearls which matched the ones on the harem girl skirt, and put it on. I put on the blue lace panties, and pulled the skirt up. I wished the office had a mirror. I wondered how I looked. Fat, probably.

I got the mini speakers out of the bag and plugged them into my smartphone. I cued up the song. I increased the volume on the phone and the speakers. I set them down on the floor. I stood up and took a deep breath.

“Turn around.”

Blake spun slowly around in his chair. His eyebrows went up. “I'm liking this already.”

I bent over and started the song. Suzanne Vega's voice started in, then the drum beat. I started my movements, first arms, then hips. Slow, sensual. I didn't move towards him. I concentrated on my routine, but improvised a little. I was terrified, but looked into Blake’s eyes, as I swayed. I felt strong and powerful. Was this the way really pretty girls felt?

After the song ended, I said, “So, what did you think?”

“Do you want me to tell you, or to show you?” he said.

Just then, the familiar opening notes of “Linus and Lucy” blared forth. We both burst out laughing. I scrambled to shut the music player on my smartphone off. What a way to ruin the mood. I paused for a few seconds. I looked back at Blake, and we laughed again. I barely knew the guy, but even though I was leery around men, from the very first time he talked to me, I felt comfortable with him. He was kind, understanding, sensitive and I was wildly attracted to him. What exactly was he going to show me? If it was anything like the last time …

“Show me,” I whispered.

“Come over here,” Blake said.

I stood in front of him.

Blake unlocked the drawer with the paddle and the feather. He took them out and placed them on the desk. He then glided forward, and slowly, ever so slowly, pulled my skirt down. “First off,” he whispered, “I wasn't expecting you to dance for me. That was an extremely hot performance, and I'm feeling very, very horny right now. You do know you are a naughty girl for getting me so hot. I think you should know what I'm feeling right now. Very hot, and a bit frustrated.”

“Why frustrated?” I whispered.

“Because I'm extremely turned on right now, and the only thing I can do is tickle and spank you. That will give me some release, but not as much as I want.”
“Not even if you spank me hard?”

“Not even that.”

I leaned over, put her hands on Blake's knees, and looked into his face. “What do you really want Blake? You can tell me.”

Blake took a couple of breaths. “I want to tickle you all over, and I do mean all over, and then spank you until you can't take it anymore. If you want me to stop, well … I will, but you'll have to give in to me. Anything I want.”

“Give in to you? Why Blake, does that mean you want to … you know? You want to tickle me, then spank me, then keep doing it until I break down and say … stop? Because that's what it sounds like.” I could be teasingly flirtatious too, if I wanted to be.

“No. You’re not going to say stop. You’re going to say, ‘please Blake, fuck me.’”

“I don’t like that word,” I breathed. “I think it’s too vulgar. Could I ask you to ravish me, instead?”

That ruined the mood, sort of. Blake laughed. “Ravish. Hmmm. That does sound a little more romantic, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know about that. Maybe we are just … fucking, but …”

“Okay then, when you can’t take it anymore, beg me to ravish you.”

I gazed into his blue eyes. This was all happening so quickly. Even with Trevor, I thought we were intimate too soon. But I felt a connection with Blake that I’d never felt with a guy before. I wanted to know everything about him. That could wait until later. Right now, I wanted to devour him.

Blake had me lean over the desk. He started at my ankles, moving the feather in slow circles, tracing lazy ovals slowly up the back of my leg. Then, short strokes, some light, some firm. He surprised me with a quick stroke down my thigh. I squealed and flinched, and he smacked my bottom with the paddle. He continued with the slow strokes, first the back of one thigh, then the other. He lingered at the back of my knees, moving back and forth, slow, slow circles. Finally, he settled on my right leg, and made deliberate circles, gradually moving higher, then moving over to my left thigh, and twirled the feather down, down.

I was holding myself very still, but my breathing was faster. So was his. Now, he was giving me short smacks on the bottom. They weren’t in any sort of deliberate pattern. And it was all over my bottom, which was feeling pleasantly warm.

After a few minutes, he slowly eased my blue lace panties down my legs. The sensation was excruciatingly hot.

“Are you enjoying yourself so far? Because I certainly am.”

“Yes.” That was all I could say. My head was spinning.

My panties were now around my ankles. He gently pulled them away, then spread my legs. He started in with the feather, gently working it up my thighs, then when it reached my buttocks, traced slow circles around the pink flesh.

“You’re looking awfully rosy. At least from this end.”

“You’re bad,” I said. Not a very flirty thing to say, but I was at an utter loss. God, this was hot! I actually felt as if I were dripping with excitement. The wetness between my legs tickled, on top of the assault Blake was doing on the lower part of my body. Then, it stopped.

Blake reached up and unhooked my bra. I had not realized that I was a C-cup until Trevor told me I was wearing the wrong size. I started wearing push-up bras, and what I thought were ordinary breasts were transformed. The blue bra I had purchased to go with my harem skirt made my breasts look like something out of Victoria's Secret, even if my torso looked like it was from Barrels R Us. Blake's warm hands slid the straps off my shoulders, then he turned me around. “Raise your arms up,” he whispered.

My hands were above my head, and my breasts were lifted even more. I was still leaning against the desk. Blake brought the feather up to my throat. “If you flinch, you get spanked. Remember that,” whispered Blake.

I knew I was a goner. He then proceeded to leisurely flick the feather down my neck, making random patterns on my skin. He moved the tip over to my armpit, stroking delicately up and down, with slightly longer strokes each time. My underarms, as well as the flesh below my armpit were especially ticklish, and I shrieked. Blake grabbed the paddle, and spun me around. Smack! Smack! These weren't the wrist flicks. These were harder. “I haven't even gotten to the good part yet,” Blake murmured. He turned me back around, then traced slow, excruciatingly slow circles around my breasts. First one, then the other. My nipples, already hard at the beginning of the torment, were stones. Blake took the quill of the feather, and flicked the sensitive tips with it. I flinched again.

Smack! This one was hard. I noticed that the spankings were getting harder. The stakes were indeed getting higher, but I had never felt like this before. It was frustration, and desire and anticipation, all at the same time, and I was dripping wet. I could feel it.

Blake then made the feather dance on my hated torso, but he pressed it firmly as he twirled it. I contorted uncontrollably. “Blake, I think I've reached my end. I can't stand it anymore.”

“But I can,” he whispered. “Get down on your knees.”

I did. Blake telling me what to do was so hot. Trevor would do it too, but mostly it was telling me what to do to him. I’d never had this before, someone who combined his fetish with my desire. My legs spread, Blake was kneeling on my ankles, the feather torturing the bottoms of my feet. I struggled to get free, but was rewarded with a smack of the paddle every time I moved. And I was constantly moving-- squirming. I was laughing and shrieking and the flesh between my legs was getting wetter and hotter.

Blake then moved the feather to my inner thighs. There was no escape. Finally, Blake set down the feather, and concentrated on paddling my bare bottom harder, and harder, and harder. “Oh please, Blake, please,” I cried. “I can't take it anymore. Please stop, please!”

“Does this mean what I think it means?” he responded.

“Yes,” I whispered. I felt funny about saying anything else.

Blake got off my ankles and pivoted smoothly around in front of me. He looked into my eyes. So blue, so unlike Trevor’s. How could he look so wholesome and be so naughty?

“Tell me. Tell me what you want me to do to you?”

I took a deep breath. “Ravish me.”

Blake stood up, then slowly pulled down his track pants. His erection jutted out. He reached for his wallet, and pulled out a condom. “I'm clean, but I always carry one of these around,” he said, smiling at me.

“I've got one too,” I gasped.

“We'll save that for next time,” said Blake. He stood over me rolled on the condom, then flipped me over on my back. He lifted me up slightly, grabbed himself, then brushed the head of his penis against the wet flesh between my legs. I groaned. “Do you want it? He whispered. “Do you want me to … ravish you?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “I was a bad girl to dance for you. You were right to punish me.”

Blake grabbed his track pants. He folded them up, then slid them under my bottom. “And this is what happens when you get me all hot,” whispered Blake. He slowly entered me, then glided back and forth, back and forth. His fingertips gently played with my wet flesh, first squeezing, then flicking, then settling into a delicious rhythm that was half massage, half tickle. The world could have ended and I wouldn't have known it; all I cared about was the full feeling of Blake's flesh and his fingers seeking out the sweet spot. Trevor had always rubbed too hard and I frequently grabbed his hand to stop him, but Blake had it down, oh yes he did. Lately I’d gotten into the habit of using a vibrator, for my own personal satisfaction. I even used it when Trevor and I had sex, but he always tried to nudge it away, never getting a clue.

Blake’s fingers were different, but very, very nice. They moved teasingly, knowingly, non-stop. After he was finished, he knew I wasn't and kept up with his delicious playing, moving the feather up and around my thighs until I knew. I was going to have an orgasm, and it felt like I was rushing towards a cliff; like I was going to leap off, but fly. The anticipation built up and up and up until I finally gave into it, and my muscles contorted for a glorious few seconds, and then it was over. What a finish!

As I lay breathing heavily under Blake, I realized I had seduced my first male. It had taken me a few decades, but I’d done it.

“I take it you enjoyed yourself,” I said.

“Yeah,” Blake said, rather dazed. He rolled away, and was now flat on his back, arms behind his head, looking up at the ceiling. I looked at him when he shut his eyes. He was so different-looking from Trevor. His brown hair, the blue eyes, the boy-next-door look, with a touch of naughtiness in the eyes. He might have been 30, if that. And he was in good shape. I had never felt confident about myself, not even when I was younger and thinner. And again I wondered what Stephanie had, that I hadn't. Stephanie was huge, but paraded around as if the world were her oyster. Was it really just about attitude? Was it better to be brimming with self-confidence and weigh 300 pounds than be 60-70 pounds overweight and cowardly? And would things ever change? And why was I asking myself these questions now?

Just shut the hell up already, I thought. I had just seduced this guy, and I was worried about my confidence. If I saw Blake at a party, I wouldn't have approached him. So how was it that I’d danced for him and we had sex? It was control, I thought. The dancing was to see if I could do it, and it led to something else entirely. But was it just the dancing? Suddenly I felt cold. I reached for my clothes. I changed back into my ratty underwear wishing I’d brought a fresh pair. When I was dressed, I collected the harem skirt and packed it away in my bag. I unplugged the speakers from my phone, and put them both away. I sat down in the chair, but then got back up. My bottom was sore. Blake was still on the floor, but sat up. I wasn't sure exactly how I felt. For years, I had thought sex wasspecial, som ething you had to be in love with someone to experience fully. But here I had just had sex with someone whom I barely knew, and … it was the most exciting sex I’d ever had. And instead of telling him that, instead of getting all starry-eyed and thinking that he liked me, I went into defense mode.

“Do you normally have sex with the customers?” I asked, bitterness in my voice.

Blake, now half dressed, looked shocked. “No. Although there seems to be an undercurrent of sexuality here; I mean with the whole workout mentality and...” he trailed off. “I guess what I mean is that a lot of people here concentrate on their bodies, and with the video cameras in the main room, there's really no opportunity for anything, um, out of the ordinary out there...”

“But you brought me in here,” I finished. “I wasn't expecting you to have sex with me.”

“And I wasn't expecting that dance. But, it really was hot. It was almost like a lap dance. I'm not really a strip club type of guy; I've gone a few times, but, um...”

“And I normally hate to dance. Trevor makes me dance for him, as foreplay, and I hate it.” I started to cry. “I always felt so awkward and fat and ridiculous. And so I decided to confront my fears. I practiced and practiced, and I wanted someone else's opinion, and that's why I wanted … that’s why I danced for you. I was scared, but I wanted to do it.”

“Hey, there’s no need to cry.” He looked around. “Here, dry your eyes on my shirt.” He pulled his shirt sleeve away from his solid arm, and held it towards me. I took the sleeve and touched it to the corners of my eyes. “That's really cool that you danced for me. You confronted your fears and did it. Has Trevor seen this routine?”

“No. I wanted you to be the first. He wouldn’t really say anything about it. He usually doesn’t.”

“Wow … I'm really proud of you. And it was really hot.  But …” Blake’s face clouded.

“What?”

“You said that Trevor makes you dance for him. You’re still dating him?”

“Uh … yeah.”

“So why did you have sex with me?”

“I …” I was at a loss for words. And I heard people talking about being caught in the throes of passion. I always thought that was bullshit. But that’s what happened. I was a control freak, and I didn’t want to admit that an attractive, nice, thoughtful guy was all it took for me to agree to go to a back room with him. Emphasis on the nice.  Some women needed jewelry, dinner, trips. I wanted someone who was nice to me. And someone who appealed to me. Being nice was way too hard for a lot of men, but for me that was almost all of it. That was what attracted me to Trevor at first. He was nice, and I liked the package that nice came in. Now, he didn’t bother trying anymore. I remembered the first phone conversation after our first date. I told him I would never cheat on him. I said that, because at the time, I truly thought it was impossible to cheat on him. How can you cheat on your boyfriend when you’re invisible? Especially when you’ve been invisible to men for the last sixteen years? The impossible had happened. I couldn’t believe it. What was I thinking? This was such a mess.

“I … my judgment of men is a little off. I mean, I don’t know. I guess even though I knew it was wrong because I’m still with Trevor, somehow I think it will all work out. I’m really kind of stupid and naïve about things, men in particular. I shouldn’t have done it. I know that. And I never should have gone back here with you. But somehow, I thought it would be all right. I mean, you didn’t hit me or rape me; I never thought that would happen. But I guess a part of me was curious. I feel bad about that because I told Trevor I’d never cheat on him. Trevor and I, well, there’s a distance now. It seems like he doesn’t want to work at the relationship anymore, and I’m tired of giving, giving, giving, and not getting anything back.”

“Do you think you’ll break up with him?”

There they were. The words I didn’t want to think about.

“Yes. I think we’ve been breaking up for a long time. But we aren’t very good at it. I’m not very good at it. He’s my first boyfriend in my entire life. I wanted to know what it felt like to be in a relationship. And since I waited such a long time for a guy, I’m scared to let him go. What if he’s my only relationship?”

Blake just looked at me. There was an awkward silence. Suddenly, I wanted to go home.

“I guess we'll save the stomach crunches for later, huh? I spent nearly an hour on the elliptical machine. I promise I'll do some at home. I mean, I feel like if we did them now...”

“Yeah, yeah.” Blake said. “It might seem a little...”

“Anti-climactic,” I finished. In the heat of the moment, it had seemed perfectly normal to bait Blake, to practically beg him to fuck me, but now I felt completely embarrassed and slutty. Not to mention paranoid. Blake had had lunch with Stephanie, and he had just had sex with me. Did he have a thing for fat chicks? I rarely saw good-looking, fit men with women like me or women like Stephanie. That thought burned into my brain. “I'll see you later,” I mumbled.

I grabbed the doorknob, and twisted it. I forgot it was locked and turned the little metal thing a quarter turn to the right. I tried again, and the door opened. I didn't remember the drive home in the late fall afternoon that had turned colder. I managed to shower and change into a clean sleep shirt and underwear, and crawled into bed. I felt a bit guilty that I hadn't taken Taffy for a walk. She’d made a couple of deposits on the kitchen floor, but I promised I’d take her for a walk tomorrow. And the good feeling I'd had just a short while ago was drenched in guilt and shame.