Bubble-Butt Gym Whore

I started going to the gym after my boyfriend made a snide remark about my thighs.

We were sitting on the sofa together, watching some crappy TV show he liked. During a commercial break, an ad came on the air about an exercise bike. Rodney stared like an idiot at the ad for about 20 seconds, then he looked at me. He grabbed a chunk of my thigh between his doughy fingers.

“Looks like you’re letting yourself go a bit, don’t you think, babe? Maybe you could use one of those.” He pointed at the TV screen, which showed a girl who looked like she weighed 90 pounds, barely dressed in tiny pieces of spandex, pedaling away at a hundred miles an hour on the bike in her living room.

I was insulted and hurt, but not shocked. Rodney didn’t mean to be insulting. He just had no filter. I wondered sometimes if my boyfriend had an undiagnosed personality disorder. He seemed to have no clue about the effect of his words on people. He wrote code for a living, and social skills were not necessary for his job, to say the least.

Later, when I was alone in the bathroom, I cried a little. What Rodney said had been cruel, but he had a point. I’d put on about 10 pounds in the last 8 months. I wasn’t fat, but I wasn’t skinny, either. I’d been thin all my life, but stress, poor diet, and lack of exercise had taken their toll.

I shucked my clothes off and spun around in front of a full-length mirror. Somewhere, in the rational part of my brain, I knew my body would look fine to most people. But to my own critical eye, my body was less than ideal. I was a little thicker than I wanted to be in my thighs, my waist, my arms, and my face.

My butt still looked good. I was glad. Since I was a teen people had always told me I had a cute butt.

But I was 29 now, and I couldn’t count on youth alone to keep me looking good.

The following day, I signed up for a gym about a mile away — Excelsior Gym. It was right next door to a sportswear shop — Excelsior Sports Wear. The shop had opened about three years before, and its owner, a guy I had met at a party recently, had opened the gym only a few months. He thought they would go hand in hand: Buying sportswear would encourage people to sign up for the gym to put the clothes to use, and signing up for the gym would compel people to buy gym clothes.

I went to the gym to fill out the paperwork, and the owner, Rich, greeted me. After I signed the papers his assistant Alan showed me around the gym floor, taking me through the room full of cardio equipment, the free weight station, and the complete array of weight machines. There was a section of floor cleared of everything but blue mats where members could stretch and do yoga. Alan was a cute college student, studying to become a nutrition expert and personal trainer. I caught him checking me out a few times. It was flattering. Rodney hadn’t said anything nice about the way I looked for months, and I could have used some positive reinforcement. Alan’s quick, furtive glances at me did the trick.

I showed up the very next day to start my workout, starting out with a light warmup on a stairclimbing machine before moving on to the free weights and machines. I worked up a fair sweat. It felt great. It wasn’t too crowded. Rich was still building up the gym membership. I noticed most of the members were guys. That was fine with me. There was a kind of hardcore lifting vibe to the place, and the presence of men made me feel like I had to step up my game.

Immediately, the gym became a regular and important part of my life. I went four times a week, either early in the morning or after work. I spent less time at home with Rodney, but he didn’t seem to notice, except when he complained that dinner wasn’t ready on time. I waved off his complaints.

In only five weeks, I lost all the weight I’d gained over the previous eight months. I felt great, and if the mirror told the truth, I looked better, too: sleeker, fitter, sexier. The thinning and firming of my waist and thighs accentuated the cute bubble of my butt, too. I liked that. So, too, did some of the guys in the gym, if the frequent glances I caught them making meant anything.

I was ogled a lot. Because of the high ratio of men to women, there weren’t many women to look at, and I had to admit I was one of the cuter ones. The only knock against me was my clothes. My job as an office assistant didn’t pay enough to let me buy a fancy new gym wardrobe, so I had to make do with old t-shirts and loose shorts I had accumulated over the years to run in.

One day, after a late afternoon workout, Rich, the gym owner, asked me to step into his store, behind the counter, to talk about something.

“Tiffany, you look great,” he said, looking my sweaty body up and down. “The gym really seems to suit you.”

“Thank, Rich,” I said. “I feel like a new woman. I’ve lost ten pounds so far. Even put on some muscle. Feel that.” I held out my bicep to him, and he squeezed it.

“Nice!” he said. “So, are you still güvenilir bahis seeing that guy? What’s his name?”

“Rodney? Yeah, we’re still together. We’ve been living together the last two years.”

“Well, he must be happy. Having such a hot, fit girlfriend.”

“Rodney?” I said, rolling my eyes. “I don’t think he’s noticed. He hasn’t paid me a compliment about my looks in months. The only thing he compliments these days is my cooking. And he doesn’t even do that very much.”

“That’s too bad. Hard to believe. If it’s any consolation — I hope you don’t mind my saying this — you’ve been getting some compliments around here.”

“Really?” I asked. I knew guys had been checking me out, but I had no idea they were saying things about me.

“Really,” he said. “I’ve overheard guys talk about the cute redhead, and a few have even asked me your name, and if you were single.”

“Wow, I had no idea,” I said.

“I don’t think you know how attractive you are, Tiffany,” he said, and he paused. “Which brings me to something I wanted to ask you. I hope you don’t mind. Would you be interested in modeling some of the gym clothing we sell here? Like, wearing it during your workouts?”

I scanned the store, admiring the cornucopia of colorful sportswear covering the walls on all sides.

“Rich, I’d be happy to,” I said. “But I can’t afford it. My job is only part-time right now. It doesn’t pay enough for me to buy a whole new wardrobe.”

“Well, here’s the thing about that, Tiffany,” he said. “You don’t have to pay for it. If you let me pick out some things for you to wear, you can have them, free.”

“Really?” I asked. “Rich, that’s so nice of you.” I hugged him with my sweaty arms. “I can’t believe it. What a good guy.”

“Not that good,” he said. “I’ll be getting something out of it. You’ll be advertising my store. Better than a Yellow Pages ad, I think.”

I agreed. I gave him my measurements and sizes, and Rich told me the next day when I came in, he’d have an outfit for me to wear. I was excited. I hadn’t bought any new workout wear for months and months. The only condition was I had to continue working out at his gym. That was no problem. I was loving the workouts and what they were doing for my body, and to be honest, I was enjoying some of the attention I was getting.

The next day, I showed up late in the afternoon, per his request, eager to see what outfit Rich had picked for me. He ushered me to a small changing room in the back of the store. I closed the curtain behind me. The outfit lay folded on a stool.

It was unlike any gym outfit I had, or any I had ever worn. I wasn’t a prude about my body, but I’d never been a show-off, either. This outfit was skimpy, and it would show off a lot. The bottoms consisted of form-fitting black leggings. The top was white and blue and sleeveless, and form-fitting. Cute tiny ankle socks and blue gym shoes completed the ensemble. I took off my own clothes and placed them in a bag and put on the outfit Rich had chosen for me. When I was done, I looked at the results in the mirror.

My goodness! I had never seen myself like this before. Every curve of my body was exposed. The top had a built-in bra that held my medium-sized breasts firmly in place, but if you looked closely the outline of my nipples was just barely visible under the fabric. It was a good thing I’d lost weight, because the outfit left no imperfection in body form hidden. A little strip of my bare torso was visible between the top of the leggings and the bottom edge of the top. I tried pulling the top down, but it didn’t work. If I wore the outfit in the gym, I’d be exposing some of my belly to the other members, mostly men.

I stepped out of the dressing room, nervous. Rich was circling nearby, looking over a shirt rack. When he saw me, his eyes lit up.

“Wow, Tiffany!” he said with a huge grin. “You look fantastic.”

“You think so?” I asked, twirling nervously in front of him. “It seems awfully tight.”

“It’s supposed to be that way. You’ll get used to it. So I’m told. It’s great for workouts. Total freedom of movement.”

I noticed another guy in the store, about 15 feet behind Rich, sneaking glances at me and checking me out. My skin tingled. I was embarrassed. But it felt good to be looked at, too.

“Give it a try today, and see what you think,” he said.

I did. I stepped through the door from the shop to the gym. Immediately, I figured out why Rich wanted me to show up in late afternoon. It was a busy time for the gym. Today, it was packed. And they were all men.

Throughout my workout, it seemed like the eyes of the men were on me, even more than normal. I went through my normal routine, and I didn’t do anything to “sex it up.” But I couldn’t help exposing more than normal in the outfit. I did some hamstring curls, where I lay on a bench and pressed my calf against a cushioned bar and squeezed the bar, connected to a series of weights, toward my butt. I was highly conscious güvenilir bahis siteleri of putting my butt on display during this set, and I was aware of all the guys in my immediate vicinity as I squeezed my glute muscles and felt the muscles of my lean legs tense. I was putting on a show.

I got through my normal routine, aware at every second of the parts of my body I was displaying to the gym’s male clientele.

Afterward, Rich thanked me and told me I could take the outfit home, but that I had to wear it again at the gym. He told me he would have more outfits for me. I drove home, soaked in sweat from nervousness as much as from exercise.

Rodney barely noticed the new outfit when I got home. He was playing Fortnite at the large screen TV. Sigh.

I showered and dressed and made dinner. As I stood over the skillet, frying chicken, I wondered why the hell I was staying with Rodney. I knew what it was. It was money. I was barely making it on my job, as an office assistant, and Rodney was paying all the bills and the mortgage for the townhome we lived in together. Our understanding was that as long as I was cooking the meals and cleaning the place, I was pulling my weight. Early in the relationship, it seemed like sex was part of the equation, too. But in recent months our sex life had almost disappeared. I missed sex. Even sex with Rodney.

As boring as things were at home, they became more and more fun at the gym. Rich had new outfits for me on a regular basis. All of them were sexy, brief, and form-fitting. I got more daring, and I became more comfortable showing myself off. I went from wearing a cropped tank top to a bra top that could not have been any skimpier and still stayed in place during workouts. I went from wearing leggings to compression-style short shorts. I was keenly aware when pounding away on the treadmill that the bra top, despite its state-of-the-art sportswear engineering, could not stop my breasts from jiggling and bouncing as I ran.

I admit, I liked it. I liked showing off, and I liked the attention I got. I felt like one person at home and at work, and another person completely at the gym. It was like playing a role. I grew accustomed to it, but the thrill of being watched never went away.

One day, after a workout, I talked to Rich about how things were going at the store.

“Tiffany, it’s funny,” he said. “Business is good, but not in the way I expected. I was hoping to boost product sales: getting more girls to sign up for the gym and buy clothes, and getting guys, after seeing you, to buy more gym stuff for their girlfriends and wives. We’ve seen some boost in sales, but not much. But we’ve seen a big increase in gym memberships. I think you’re part of the reason why. Guys like a hardcore gym where they can get a good workout, and where they can stare at a pretty girl. So, it’s been great, but not in the way I expected.”

I blushed at the pretty girl remark. I felt good. I was enjoying the show I was putting on, and so were the guys at the gym, and I was getting free gym clothes, too. Win-win.

While talking to Rich, I noticed a man I hadn’t seen before, thumbing through a rack of shorts. He was tall, with broad shoulders and dark hair. I glanced at him discreetly several times, and I saw, curiously, that he never once looked at me.

Rich saw me looking at the guy.

“That’s Dave,” he said. “New member. Owns the BMW dealership down the street. Loaded. You might be the reason he joined.” Rich laughed. “A couple of the salesmen that work for him joined a few weeks ago, and I overheard them talking about the ‘hot redhead.’ You. Two days later, Dave showed up, asking about a membership.”

“Well, I doubt I had anything to do with it,” I said. “He hasn’t looked at me once.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised, Tiffany,” Rich said. “I’ve said it to you before: you’re better-looking than you realize. Look out for him. I hear he’s a real player.”

I could have used some good play time. I wasn’t getting much at home. The gym sessions were fun, but they weren’t giving me any sexual relief, and with Rodney so inattentive back at the house I found myself more and more often rubbing one out in the shower, by myself. These days, I was hornier than ever.

Rich was right: there had been an influx of new members, and the gym was getting more crowded. Most of the newbies were guys. I started seeing Dave at the workouts. I couldn’t help but notice him. He was movie-star handsome, with a square jaw and gray eyes, and a fit body sculpted by well-defined muscles. He often seemed to work out at the same time I did. But the funny thing was, he never looked at me. Oh, our eyes met occasionally. But I never, ever caught him ogling my body. I wondered if maybe Rich was wrong, and that he was gay.

I became aware, over the two weeks after Dave had joined, that I was making a special effort to show off for him. I didn’t want to be too obvious about it, but I knew I was. I arched my back a little more iddaa siteleri when he was around. I made a point of sticking my butt out a little farther when he was in the gym, and always in his direction. It became a challenge to me to catch him staring at me. But I never did. It was frustrating.

All my time and effort showing off in the gym may not have attracted Dave’s attention, but it did have other effects.

For one thing, it attracted everybody else’s attention. I could tell. If I looked in the full-length mirrors that covered the walls, I could catch guys sneaking glances at my body while I worked out, especially at my butt. So, I spent a lot of time doing exercises facing the full-length mirror on the wall, showing off my butt to the rest of the room behind me. It became a game: counting how many times I could catch guys sneaking furtive glimpses at my butt. I grew to love it.

It sounds pathetic, I know, like I was a low self-esteem gym Barbie desperate for the attention of horny guys. But I was getting so little attention at home from my boyfriend. I’d never gotten attention from guys like this. I’d never thought of myself this way my entire life. I felt like an actor playing a new role every time I stepped in the gym. And I loved it, I must admit. It boosted my confidence.

It did wonders for my physique, too. I didn’t just show off my ass, I worked the hell out of it. I lost count of how many thousands of sets of planks and squats and lunges I did. And all that exercise worked: although I lost some fat in my backside, I made up for it with muscle, and I sculpted my butt into a delicious, smooth, hard little bubble.

I never wore panties under my form-fitting shorts. I liked the feel of lycra, or whatever the space-age fabric was, on my skin. I shaved regularly, to keep myself smooth under the skin-tight, razor-thin fabric.

And I started getting ideas. Sexy ideas. With so much of my attention focused on my smooth, shaven butt, and with so many guys’ eyes focused on it at every workout as well, I started thinking about… well… butt sex. I’d never had it. Not once. When I was young, the idea seemed weird and distasteful. But I had girlfriends who had tried it and said it was fun. As time went by my opposition to it fell away, but opportunities never arose. My boyfriends didn’t express interest. One looked like he’d been snake-bit when I suggested it. So, when I started dating Rodney, I never brought the subject up. Rodney’s approach to sex, though reasonably enthusiastic when we started dating, was highly “vanilla.” He never struck me as an anal sex kind of guy. And I never asked.

One day before starting my workout I asked Rich if I could pick out my own outfit to wear that day, and he said, “Yes.”

I picked the smallest, sexiest outfit I could find. I found the tiniest shorts Rich sold, in pale blue, which I thought would go well with my red hair. I found a matching, equally revealing bra top. I wore no panties of any kind under the shorts, and they and the bra clung to my body like a second skin.

Dave already was in the gym when I entered and started doing my workout. I put on more of a show than usual, stretching in an exaggerated way on the blue mats near where he was lifting free weights, and running faster and bouncier than normal on the treadmill. When it came time to start lifting weights, I took my position at the bench press. I pressed my butt and shoulders against the black bench and pressed my tummy and chest forward before putting my hands on the bar. The weight was a bit heavy for me, but I thought I could manage it, and I wanted Dave to see my body straining against the barbell loaded with heavy metal plates. I knew that the shorts mounded tightly over my pussy and the strain of my nipples against the thin bra fabric formed noticeable dimples.

I steadied my hands against the barbell and prepared myself to lift. My body clenched.

“Do you need somebody to spot you?” I heard a deep voice ask.

It was Dave, standing over me, to the side, looking me in the eyes. He didn’t look at my body, although I wanted him to.

“Sure,” I said. I was glad he offered. It would be good to get the help, and now he’d be forced to stand over me. There was no way he could help looking at my body now.

I lifted the barbell up, off its rack, and lowered it to my chest. Dave kept his hands steady just under the bar without touching it. I thrust my back, shoulders, and arms up, in unison, forcing the barbell and weights above me until the arms were extended.

The weight of the bar forced my attention to what I was doing, keeping me from checking out Dave much, but I snuck a few glances at him to see if he was looking at my body. No luck. He was focused on the bar. I was glad he was there, because I couldn’t have finished the final rep without his help.

I sat up, chest heaving in an exaggerated way, after I was done.

“I’m Dave,” he said.

“Tiffany,” I said.

“Rich’s model,” he said. He smiled with a hint of mischief in his face when he said it.

The directness of the comment flustered me.

“I’m no model,” I said. “Rich asked me to wear gym clothes from his store to help promote them. I get the stuff free.”