Stairmaster Confession

“So I was starting to tell the girl at the counter how bad it smells in the women’s locker rooms, and this guy, he steps up next to me to hand the girl his card and as I’m mid-sentence—right after I say ‘it smells like a mixture of B.O and chlorine’—he says, ‘Oh, that’s me. I’m sorry. I’ll leave now.’ And he smiles.”

“Geez. What, was he trying to pick you up with that line?”

“I know, right? So I look at him and I want to laugh because it was actually kind of funny—and his tone, totally deadpan—but I don’t because I’m trying to make a point with the girl. I mean, it really is starting to smell bad in there.”

“Oh my God. No kidding.”

“So anyway, I look over at him and …”

“Hey, how much longer do you have?”

“What, with the stairs? Five minutes.”

“God why does it seem like forever when I’m on this thing? I think the elliptical is easier.”

“It’s because the ellipticals have their own TVs. You can choose your own distraction.”

“That’s true.”

“These, you have to watch whatever’s on the big screen, which is normally soaps or finance shows.”

“Or Ellen.”

“Or Ellen. Exactly.”

“Ellen’s not so bad, though.”

“Look, are you listening to my story here?”

“Yeah, yeah. He said it was him that smelled. You thought it was funny, but you didn’t want to laugh. Whatever. You’re boring me, love.”

“Okay, I guess you don’t want to know what happened later in the broom closet then.”


“Oh, nothing. You’re bored.”

“Jesus. You slut. What did you do?”

“It was nothing, really. Some innocent making out, that’s all. Maybe some rubbing. A grope or two.”

“In the broom closet? At the freakin’ gym? What are you, like fourteen or something?”

“Shhh. Let’s not broadcast this, okay? And, what? You’ve never wanted to make out with a guy in a broom closet?”

“Again … maybe when I was in junior high. And not married.”


“God. You’re just … well, go on then. Was it all you dreamed it would be?”

“It was a little weird. It did sort of have a grade-school aspect to it. Kinda sloppy and not at all romantic. And I definitely felt dirty afterwards. And by ‘dirty’ of course I mean, ‘totally good.'”


“And he didn’t smell like B.O. and chlorine after all, which I was very happy about. But he did kind of smell like a lawnmower … and beer. Which is weird. Do you think he drinks before he works out? Who does that?

“God. You really have no idea who this guy is.”

“I know. Isn’t that so cool?”

“Hmm… let’s see: No. Not really. You think he’s married?”

“I don’t know. It didn’t exactly come up … although, he wasn’t wearing a ring.”

“Well, it’s the gym, do you wear your ring to the gym?”

“Of course! I wear it everywhere. See?”

“Oh sure, because you’re so faithful, obviously. Slut.”

“Come on. That wasn’t slutty … but slipping my panties in his gym bag later while he was working out—thatwas probably a little slutty.”

“You’re kidding me. Do I even know you? Seriously.”

“I know. I can’t explain it. He wasn’t even that good looking. And he kept talking about how white my shoes were. That sorta creeped me out.”

“God. He’s probably some perv with a shoe fetish.”

“Yeah, probably.”


“Oh well. Now he’s some perv who’s got my thong.”

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