So I'm at the gym near the opening bell, maybe 5:30 am, doing my typical hardcore stuff - deadlifting with chalk dust flying everywhere while the sissyboys in tights marvel at my massivity in the mirror, when in walks this girl, and I mean girl - not a woman, with that healthy flowing blonde hair that an already-on-the-way-downhill 26-year old could only dream of. And it didn't stop there. She was wearing one of those pink halter tops they sell under the C9 label at Tarjay, proudly displaying either the nicest set of heaving double-D breasts I've ever seen or the nicest 18th birthday gift a father could ever give a girl (assuming he didn't start porking her at 15). I'd describe her ass, but I'm afraid most of your computers would crash when your load squirts all over the keyboard, ahhh what the fuck... protruding about 14 inches completely horizontally away from her hamstrings seemingly invoking some type of Criss Angel levitation, holmes, that ass magically stands up like some ITR is holding it in place. Perfectly rounded, with the perfect vaginal airgap situated between her legs like a miniature football, and legs that reminded me a double popsicle on a hot summers day, just waiting to be broken apart. Her flawless skin combined with a ripe set of DSLs left my penis fully in charge of what to do next.
Fuck! I threw down my last rep of 495 with a resounding CLANK that set off three lunk alarms at the Planet Pussy two towns away, and swaggered over to this little princess still sucking her thumb and trying to figure out whether to not do cardio or weights first. After all, she was only here to show off that body and face, leaving the pathetic pansies known as bodybuilders with just a memory to jerk themselves off to that night with their balls on the rim of their toilet imagining what it'd be like to crack open that ass from the rear. She must have smelled my scent of manliness coming because she retreated into the corner like an Iraqi schoolgirl hearing a HOOAH. I walked right up to her as she looked at the ground trying to avoid my stare. "Give me your hand," I said, holding out my thick, calloused fingers to grab her and remove her to the unused sales office that doubles as a site-injection center/cheap motel room. Though most girls would have been terrified of a hulking stranger, she, like Robert Frost, chose the road less travelled, and took my hand, her thick eyelashes blinking in silent approval of having her body slayed by my sword. Closing my hand, I took her finely manicured fingers and instantly crushed them in my palm, sending her flopping to the ground, screaming in agony. Still holding her paw, I turned around and with my free hand, yanked down my T. Michael vintage pants, and squatted perfectly over her skull, ass-spraying a steaming spout of Muscletech Nano-Vapor mixed with asparagus all over her diligently applied MAC foundation of a face, while releasing her from my clutches.
Smelling like a busted Venezuelan toilet and looking like the Predator's Down Syndrome offspring, she crumpled to the rubberized flooring and looked up at me with more than a little respect in her eye. I pulled up my pants, spit a loogie in the eye of the onrushing gym manager and headed for the door. Needless to say, I wasn't surprised to hear her say, "Wait for me," as I walked out the door.
"Maybe next time sweetheart," I replied. I looked up at the rising sun and said to myself, "Today is gonna be a good day."
