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Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Men's · #1212139
Man versus iron versus man.
         Bill pulled on his socks and slipped into his Chuck Taylor squatting shoes.  He tied them tighter than fish’s cunt and stood up from the cold bench.  The locker room was empty so he let out a guttural roar.  With that, he was ready to squat.
         The free weight section of the powerhouse was completely devoid of anybody.  That gave a Bill a great feeling and made him more intense and focused.  He stepped onto the rubber mat flooring and grabbed his favorite belt from the wall rack.  An older lady walked behind him towards the machines while he tightened the leather protective piece around his thick waist.  He inhaled quickly and pulled the strap as far as it would stretch and pinned it in place.
         The squat rack held 225 pounds, a loaded barbell that the previous user had left.  It was an ideal warmup for Bill and he took it as a good omen.  He confidently stepped inside the confines of the rack and grabbed the far edges of the barbell.  He gripped tightly and swung his head underneath to position the bar on his traps.  Next came his feet; just inside shoulder width. A big breath and he was off.
         Standing up and stepping out was the most fun and easy part for Bill.  He exhaled and then inhaled fully once more.  Breaking at the hips, he sat backwards until his glutes touched his calves near the top of the Achilles tendon.  Once the two muscles met, he exploded back up.  Nine repetitions and he called it a good start.
         Bill felt all of his muscles become primed and that pleased him.  He grabbed a set of 45 pounders and slid them on.  315 was his designated next stop.
         He did three plates the full range of motion seven times before he racked the bar again.  His legs were perfect and ready for the real test.
         405 went down and back up without a hitch for a set of three.  425 was the same, followed by 455, all sets of three.  Bill sat his chiseled 220 pound body on a bench and planned his next attack.
         It could be nothing other than 495: 5 plates.  He grinded out three reps and knew he had to do three more on the next set.  They went smoothly and led him to a third and final set.  He sunk each repetition deep and shot back to where he started.  Back squatting was over and front squatting was on the horizon.
         Bill stripped the bar down to three plates and got back under it.  Three reps went off perfectly, each one burning his quads extraordinarily.
         Bill contemplated his next weigh when a young woman walked in from the cold and piqued his interest.  She was mid-twenties like him and fit beyond belief.  He watched her saunter up to the front desk and then disappear into the locker room before he realized what was happening.  The trance lifted and he went back to business.
         355 was toast for a triple and so was 365.  385 made for a hard double, as did 395, but Bill loved it.  There was nothing left to do but 405.
         He slid the fourth plate on and saw the blonde return from the locker room.  Her huge, soft breasts were tautly blanketed by a green tank top and her wonderful legs stretched out of skin tight black spandex shorts.  Bill sighed and turned back to the iron.
         The blonde spotted him from the leg extension machine and watched him crush 405 for a single.  Bill racked the weight triumphantly and spun around to meet eyes with the beauty.  She smiled and went back to her workout.  Bill stripped the plates and then made his move past her to get a better look.  Her nipple poked through the Lycra top and caught his eye.  Then he was what he always feared but never thought of: a wedding band.  Gold, diamond topped and depressing.
         Bill’s head slumped and he dejectedly scoffed.  “Oh, well,” he thought and continued towards the locker room.  “At least I had a good workout.”
© Copyright 2007 Sextus Septimius (buddygouda at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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