Sex Diaries Vol. 19: How An Evening At The Gym Turned Into An All-Night Workout

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Single, free and ready to mingle, 25-year-old Sandra wants to lose a little weight in time for a wedding but soon finds herself “working out” in more ways than one. Here is her sex diaries entry:

FitFam Day

“Sandra!” I startle awake, immediately alert and ready to grab the nearest thing close to me and beat whoever the person is that is banging on my door. “Sandra oo,” the man shouts again. Who is this agbero? I fumble around in the dark, searching for my phone. Tapping the screen, I see that it is barely 5:30 A.M. — still the middle of the night as far as I am concerned. “Who be that?” I demand, frowning deeply, still caught between this world and another. “Oh, so you’re even still sleeping? Arise! It’s me, Kelvin. Time for us to go.” Go? Go where at this midnight hour? And then slowly I remember. Kelvin, my friendly, gap-toothed neighbour. Standing at more than 6 feet tall, he is an accountant by day and a self-proclaimed DJ by night, always blasting loud rap music at odd hours. Kelvin is a strange creature who loves to jog around the streets of Lagos at the butt crack of dawn in the name of fitness. Kelvin, whom I had told about my semi-serious plans to try to lose weight, at least 10 kilograms, before my childhood friend’s traditional marriage in a few months; whom I had told to hold me accountable. Kelvin, who now stands outside my door. I bury my face in my pillow and groan. “Listen here, if you don’t come out by the time I count to 10, I’ll have to climb through your window and fetch you,” he says, already beginning to count. I think about the peppered goat meat inside the fridge that I will reward myself with if I come back from the gym alive and then reluctantly, I roll out of bed. 

Meeting Instructor General 

After trying to cripple my legs by making me run from pillar to post, we finally arrive at Kelvin’s gym. To be honest, I had always thought that crushing on a trainer was for middle-aged suburban women with a taste for younger men. But that was before I met Kelvin’s personal trainer and friend, Tobe. “Ah, you should have told me that your friend is so fine,” I tease Kelvin. “I would have followed you to the gym sooner.” We laugh. “Just focus on losing those inches,” he replies, and I nod my head — even though I’m thinking about how much I wouldn’t mind collecting some ‘inches’ instead! Tobe finally comes over and introductions are made. He has light brown eyes, a crisply shaven beard and perfectly rounded lips. He tells me to start slow on one of the treadmills and even though it’s even more running, which I don’t want to do, I find myself happily accepting as it gives me a clear view of him and I am able to watch as he guides Kelvin through some rigorous weight lifting. I try to contain myself as he adjusts his bulging caramel arms and flexes his well-toned and muscular thighs, the outline of his print slightly visible in his shorts. Finally, after what seems like a very long time, he turns his full attention to me, gently talking me through some deep stretches and beginner-friendly exercises. His voice is deep and reassuring as he makes me bend over while using his big hands to support me and put pressure on my lower back, and even though my whole body is screaming in pain from all the physical exertion of the day, I find that I am enjoying it; taking pleasure in his closeness. By the time the session is over, I am hot, sweaty and out of breath. But ready for more.

A Week Later 

If you had told me a week ago that I would enjoy coming to the gym, I would have thrown my head back and cackled. But here I am, 7 days in, consistent. “Wonders shall never end,” my roommate Titi pokes fun at me every time I return from the gym in the mornings. “So all this time, all you needed was a hefty man to get you off your lazy ass? What a wow.” At this point, I can’t even deny my attraction. “What can I say,” I tell her. “I’m single and ready to tingle!” and we both burst out laughing like mischievous little schoolgirls. As much as I look forward to reaping the fruits of my labour and seeing tangible results, I also look forward to seeing Tobe (preferably with his shirt off, always cool, calm and professional). Even on the days that I am not scheduled to see him, I still lowkey hope he sees me in my sweaty glow, doing squats and stretching out. I’m a little too shy to flirt with him as brazenly as some of the other ladies at the gym who circle around him, asking him to make the muscles on his chest pulse up and down. But in a perfect world, I imagine that he would shut down the gym one night, lead me upstairs, and fuck me on every piece of exercise equipment he can, giving me commands and counting down my reps as he does during our sessions.

The Workout 

Running late for a presentation this morning, I wasn’t able to make it to the gym. But I had made up my mind to go for an evening session after work. At home, I trade my handbag and my high heels for a crop top and my now-favourite blue Nikes and head out. I’m not sure whether Tobe will still be around by the time I get there but today is leg day and I commit to putting in at least 30 minutes on the leg-press machine, even though it’s my least favourite. When I get to the gym, I see that only a handful of people are still inside. As I begin to stretch and do some warm-ups, I hear someone call my name. It’s Tobe. “Hi,” he says, coming over to join me.  “We missed you at today’s session this morning.” I’m kind of flattered that he noticed. We quickly fall into our usual routine — me lying on my back as he supports my raised legs as needed, applying just enough pressure in just the right places. He doesn’t say much but I am even more aware of his closeness, and how intimate some of these positions really are. We catch each other making eye contact. We smile and look away, as he assists me from machine to machine upstairs. More people are leaving the gym, shouting out their farewells. At some point, an older man calls Tobe over to assist him on the opposite end of the. “Duty calls,” he tells me. “But don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back.” I nod and continue my workout. By the time he returns, I am doing my squats. “You have a much better form now,” he compliments me, coming up to stand behind me, and placing his palms lightly on my hips. “Just spread your legs a little more, your hips a little wider like so…” I involuntarily let out a soft moan as his breath grazes my neck. “What if someone sees —,” I begin to protest, half-heartedly. “I just walked Mr Tunde out and he was the last person around. But we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to…,” he assures me, ready to fall back if I wish. I turn around to face him, staring into his eyes. “I want to,” I say, quietly, taking his hands. He moves back to the weightlifting bench and sits on it as I sit on his lap, and we start to kiss hungrily, his tongue teasing my mouth open wider. I press my breasts to his chest as he sucks on my neck, leaving kisses across my left shoulder, working his way down towards my chest. “Let’s head to the shower in the changing room,” he says, lifting me up in his arms and carrying me all the way there. We begin to peel off each other’s sweaty clothes, me basking in the glory of his firm, ripped body, his obvious strength, him breathing heavily and quickly, eyes and hands moving all over my body.  “I see you carry your own weights around,” I say naughtily, making reference to his dick as I reach out and playfully stroke it. We step into the shower, rinsing off the sweat and passionately exploring the contours of each other’s bodies with our hands, water pouring down like rain, hot bodies pressed against the cold tiles. He steps out and finds us a large clean towel to share and we stand there pressed close as he nibbles my ear. I want to take him in my mouth but he stops me before I can bend down. “Uh-uh,” he says, shaking his head. “You first.” He makes me sit down on one of the chairs, squats down in front of me and eats me all the way out while flicking one of my round nipples between his fingers. I throw my head back and lose myself in the feeling of his mouth. I feel my lips throbbing against his tongue as a wiggle around on the chair, moaning. “Wait,” I say and immediately he stops. “Now it’s your turn.” We switch positions, him now leaning back on the chair, hands back on my hips as I spread my legs and slowly lower myself down, inch by inch, onto his dick. He growls, eyes rolling back into his head. “How’s my form now?” I ask, slowly rocking my hips back and forth. He pushes himself deeper into me, clearly trying not to shout. “Perfect,” he gasps, as I bounce up and down, ass slapping on his thighs, juices dripping out on him. We’re both coasting down a slippery slope passed the point of no return, as he fucks me silly. I cum first, fast and violent, with him not too far behind, yelling  “fuck” as he releases, still managing to throw in a few final thrusts that hit the right spot.

As we exit the gym together, now fully dressed as he locks up, he pulls me back before I walk towards my car, and spanks my ass gently before saying, “see you at your next session, miss.”

*This article is based on real-life events. The names used are mere pseudonyms to protect the identities of the individuals mentioned in the article.

Sex Diaries is a Culture Custodian weekly series about sex, situationships, entanglements and everything else. It goes up every Friday.

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