Sexocalypse

A week later, and I’m still in trouble. So far, there have been no more splurge-related incidents, but despite all the cold showers I’ve been taking, I’m still running hot most days. My workplace intermission daydreams are leaning more toward sex on the table than picnic on a cliff these days, so I’ve been taking walks in the park at lunchtime to cool off. The fresh air seems to be helping with my focus and concentration. I am currently on my way back from lunch in the park, which, given the current heatwave we’re experiencing, hasn’t really helped.

To make matters worse, I find myself walking behind Elsa and Lucie, and Lucie is wearing a see-through dress. I assume she had no idea it was see-through when she decided to put it on and wear it to the office, but in this sunlight, it most definitely is, and it’s killing me. I should probably look away, but it is just the most incredible form of feminine beauty I have seen in some time. Her purple thong is making my heart race faster than Usain Bolt to an all-you-can-eat chicken nugget buffet. It’s no secret that Lucie takes pride in her posterior, but given the current information I am downloading and imprinting on my brain for all eternity, she should insure that asset for double what Jennifer Lopez was supposedly paying because she now owns the whole damn block in my opinion.

I follow the girls back to my desk. Elsa and Lucie continue their conversation for a while longer while I work out how I can tell Lucie she’s accidentally flashing the office without sounding like I was staring at it this whole time. I wasn’t, for the record. I forced myself to look away every few seconds. I am definitely a repeat offender, though, and I am happy to take whatever punishment she is giving out. Elsa takes her seat next to me, folding over her long legs before kicking the base of my chair as she watches Lucie walk away from our connecting desks. She needn’t have kicked me, because her bare legs already grabbed my attention. Elsa is tall and slender, with long, straight ginger hair, summer freckles, and apparently, legs that could kill. She’s also incredibly intelligent and brutally honest.

Elsa gasps, “Oh my god, David, look. Is Lucie flashing us right now?” I turn back to her like I’ve been keeping a secret. She gasps again and slaps my arm, “You knew.”

“Only for like five minutes or however long it took for us to get inside. Honestly, it could have been a century, because time stood still.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? Too busy admiring the view, I presume.” She laughs, and my face must turn red because she smacks my leg this time. “Oh, you were. You know she’s single.” She bounces her eyebrows at me and I laugh nervously. “But she’d probably eat you alive.” I think I’ve found a new favourite way to die.

As I’m leaving the office at the end of the day, I glance over to Mikaela’s desk and notice she’s already gone. We haven’t crossed paths much since we worked late on the proposal. I think she’s deliberately avoiding any potential project collaborations to give us space. I look up and throw my head back to the ceiling when I realise Lucie is leaving at the same time as me, and I am about to follow her into the elevator. I consider taking the stairs, but she sees me and smiles, holding the door open for me. I file in beside her, and try to ignore the reflection in the mirror behind her. God damn.

As soon as the door closes, she turns to me, “So Elsa tells me you’ve been staring at my ass.” Her eyes twinkling with playfulness.

My eyebrows leap like a frightened cat. “Umm, no-o.” I shake my head and shrug my shoulders, “I wouldn’t say ‘staring’.”

“No? Then what colour thong am I wearing?”

I burst into an unexpected laugh, “Purple.”

Thankfully, she laughs, too. Lucie is a very confident, blonde-haired Czech woman who is down-to-earth and good fun to be around. I turn to say something, what? I don’t know, but I’m saved by the doors opening. I let her leave first without thinking, and she glances back just as my autonomously operated eyes inadvertently check out her posterior without my permission.

Lucie cracks a smile and then swings her hips, “Try not to trip,” she says as she leads us out of the building. I meet her at the foot of the steps to the building. “Next time I get to see you in a thong,” she says.

“Does it have to be purple?” I ask, buoyed up by her playful nature.

She glances down, “No. Surprise me.” Then spins on her heels and saunters off. Elsa was right. She would eat me alive.

I head to the gym to work out some tension. Not just sexual tension, but general tension. I am still adapting to life in London. Despite making a few friends at work, I don’t have much of a social life yet. While I enjoy living with Clara, one of my housemates, neither of us is a fan of our newest companion, Gary. Gary, probably the least sexy name of all the names. At least David can be shortened. There’s no way anyone is calling him Gar, not unless they are wearing a gimp suit. I was outvoted by Clara and our departing housemate, Elodie, who recently moved abroad.

Elodie, who looked like a sexy spy who doubled as a librarian. Obviously, I had a crush on her, just like I have a crush on half the population of London at this point. Clara and Elodie had favoured Gary, the finance operator at an investment company, because he was likely to be more financially reliable. I, on the other hand, had sensed something off about him. In their defence, he came across well. He was polite and friendly, but I just didn’t get a good vibe. It felt like a bit of an act, and now, unfortunately, my feelings have been validated. Gary doesn’t clean up after himself, and he just always seems to be ‘around’. Lingering like a bad smell. It has upset the balance in our once pleasant home. Now it feels awkward whenever he enters the room. We tried to invite him to join in on our conversations, and Clara even asked him to watch Taskmaster with us, but he declined. So, now he just sort of shares the space with us sometimes, makes it awkward for a while and then leaves. I haven’t said, “I told you so,” but Clara did give me a look the other day which suggested she was thinking it.

Thinking of my housemates reminds me that I need to buy some food for this evening. I will have to stop by the grocery store on the way home from the gym. The eight-minute walk from the office to the gym already has me sweating in the London heat. I’m relieved when the air conditioning hits me. Even more relieved when I see that the hot weather has most of London skipping out on a Friday night gym session. It’s only forty per cent full, so I should be able to get a decent workout in.

Once I’m changed into my appropriate gym wear, i.e., shorts and a t-shirt, I head to the mats for a stretch. Between the rows of treadmills and the mirrored wall lies a large open area for freestyle exercises. Most people use it for stretches, yoga, sit-ups and bodyweight exercises. I start with some muscle stretches and yoga poses to prepare myself properly. As I’m stretching out on my padded mat, a girl grabs another from the rack and lays it directly in front of me, so she can be closer to the mirror. At first, it annoys me because there is enough space for her to avoid crowding my eyeline, but what happens next is much worse. As I position myself into what I think is called a Cobra Pose, with my legs flat, hands planted, arms out straight, and my upper torso stretched upward, she decides to bend over into what I believe is a Cat Pose. So, my Cobra is pointing straight down her Cat alley. I try to look away, but for the longest eight seconds of my life, I can’t not see all that I am seeing. She’s wearing one of those yoga pants that suction cup right up in between her ass cheeks. They are skintight and skin thin. I can see EVERYTHING. Every curve and every fold. Then, before I can transition into a Child’s Pose, she arches her back up into a Cow Pose and glances through her legs right at me. A wave of heat courses through me, rushing up my neck, and I quickly tuck my head away to avoid any more stimulus. I try my best to continue with my warm-up, but she decides to turn and face me. Now we’re both doing sit-ups, so I’m basically bobbing my head up and down her channel whilst she does the same to me. I’m suddenly worried that my light fabric shorts won't be enough to conceal me much longer.

Curse the man who invented women’s workout gear that’s this revealing, because it had to be a man. I really don’t get how wearing a pair of skintight trousers that suck up inside your ass crack is comfortable, because it’s super uncomfortable for me, and I’m not wearing them. I do my best to avert my eyes away from her until I’ve finished my warm-up, and then I decide to hit the treadmill for a quick one-kilometre run. Thirty seconds into my run, and I regret it. The treadmills are facing the workout zone, and two new girls, wearing the same type of yoga pants, are stretching out in front of me. I have literally nowhere else to run. I search for a safe space for my eyes, craning my neck over to the far side of the gym, but it’s no good. I need to keep turning back to make sure I’m still running on the treadmill and not faceplanting into it when I inevitably lose my footing. One girl is wearing a low-cut sports bra that’s showing so much cleavage she may as well be on the beach in a bikini, and the loose fabric of my shorts is causing an unwanted kind of friction to my ever-growing problem. I’m aroused again and now swinging something less appropriate than a kettlebell between my legs. I have a full-on raging boner bouncing up and down like a flagpole trying to get their attention. I don’t know what to do. If I stop suddenly, they’ll see me more clearly. They already keep looking over at me as though they’re confirming my non-creep credentials. If they see what’s happening in my shorts, I’ll definitely fail and be TikTok famous before I finish my workout. But, if I keep running at this pace, I’m going to finish with a bigger celebration than the London marathon.

My solution is to slow the pace gradually, so not to pull a muscle, and widen my step to avoid rubbing the other. I must look like Phoebe from Friends, running like a crazy person. I shift my gaze to the ceiling, or at least just above their heads, so I can still see the treadmill, but I can’t focus on their tight, sweaty bodies. I’m using the inappropriateness of the situation to fuel thoughts of my grocery shopping list instead of tight yoga pants. Eventually, I avert a crisis and overrun by an additional five hundred metres. As soon as I realise my eyes are drifting back to danger, I pull the emergency stop and hop off the treadmill to trudge over to the heavy weight section. Fewer girls venture over to this corner, and it’s much harder to get caught in a trap when I’m holding crushing weights above my head.

After a heavy sweat, I pick up a pair of ten-kilo dumbbells and walk back over to the edge of the green mat that marks the freestyle workout zone. I stand with my back to the machine behind me so that I don’t have to face the man trying to exercise in peace without making awkward eye contact with me. As I get through the first set of lateral arm raises, the gym begins to fill out with more bodies taking up the space around me. As I lift the weights to shoulder height, a woman places herself beneath the gymnastics rings that hang in front of me. As I move into the next repetition, she grabs hold of both rings and effortlessly lifts herself up, raising her body and lifting her legs until she’s hanging upside down. It’s an impressive feat, but in this context, oddly disturbing because this particular woman has very large, let’s say ‘enhanced’ breasts that were bulging out of her inappropriately small top before she flipped herself upside down. Now I’m amazed by the strength of her nipples because, despite the odds, they somehow remain beneath the fabric. I am not trying to look, honestly, but she’s hanging head height, barely four feet in front of me. I have nowhere else to look. I try to concentrate and focus on my remaining reps, but I’m beginning to struggle with the weight. Then she does something to make the whole thing much worse. She bends her legs over her head in a way that seems like she’s presenting herself like a food platter at a cocktail party. Her coochie is cooing at me, and I almost drop my weights in response. I manage to keep my grip long enough to release them safely on the ground before lifting my head to catch my breath, whilst checking to see if any other gym goer is seeing what I’m seeing.

I need a witness to know that I’m not having some sort of sex starved zombie apocalyptic hallucination. A ‘sexocalypse’ if you will. Thankfully, another man seems to acknowledge the absurdity of it all with a tilt of his head. Relieved, I turn to face the other way while I catch my breath and stare directly at a man wearing a thong in a pair of see-through shorts. That’s it, we’re done here. I decide it’s time to leave. Technically, I have one set remaining, and I was contemplating finishing my workout with another exercise, but I need to get out of this zoo while I still have some remnants of sanity. I don’t like leaving things unfinished, but in this case, if I don’t go, I’ll be the one who gets finished — and not in a good way.

Chapter 4 to be continued in part 2… link below

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