SEDUCED AT THE GYM

copyright: Lesley Tara, 2009


When I was just over sixteen years old, I had a piece of bad luck that turned into some very special good luck indeed!

I injured the ligament in my left leg during a school sports match, and – after a spell walking on crutches – was advised to do regular physiotherapy to restore its strength. The physio nurse at the clinic showed me which exercises were best, and recommended that I use the specialist equipment at a gymnasium, but with very light settings at first. So, with my parents’ approval, I decided to try out the health club and gym nearest to where we lived – it was only about fifteen minutes walk away, and that exercise would also do me good.

On my way home from school the next afternoon, I got off the bus a stop earlier than usual and called at the health club to make enquiries. When I explained what I needed, the helpful young man at the reception desk said that it would be best for me to speak to the assistant manager on duty, and showed me through to her office. Sitting there, working at a computer screen, was a fit and attractive young woman in her mid-twenties, who at once rose and greeted me with a warm smile and a firm handshake, introducing herself as Louise. She was quite smartly dressed, not in either gym clothes or a business suit, but in a neat semi-casual combination of a shortish plain brown skirt and a cream cross-over top. Both of these complemented the slightly-wavy light brown hair which fell to just rest on her shoulders, framing her pretty and friendly features. The only recognition of working in a sports environment was that she wore no tights or stockings, revealing well-muscled legs, and that her shoes were simple black slip-ons with flat rubber soles.

Louise looked at me with curious interest, which I assumed was due to my appearance. It was not just that I was younger than their usual adult clientele, but I was also in my school uniform. My school was a good one but had an emphasis on discipline, and that included requiring all students to wear uniform. However, we more senior girls – well, you know what girls are like about clothes – we had our own little stylish variations, always pushing at the boundaries of the rules until something or other was definitely forbidden. So, yes, I was in my school uniform, but the maroon skirt was a size or two smaller than I really should have been wearing, making it tight on my ass and about three inches shorter than regulation length, coming less than half way down my thighs – not quite indecent, but certainly trying to go down that road. My white shirt was also short and tight, and of material thin enough that my bra was visible through it, emphasising what I had in the way of a bust (which was OK, not amazing but not too bad for sixteen, pert little boobs in a soft cotton B-cup – I was very proud of just having moved up to that size). The uniform was completed by my navy-blue tie with its thin diagonal orange and red stripe, my short white ankle socks, and my white trainers – the once concession to modernity which the school allowed, but only so long as they were either plain white or plain black. As usual, as soon as I left the school gates, I had removed my blazer and stuffed it in my bag, and rolled up my shirt sleeves (it was nearly June, after all). The cumulative effect was that I looked both demure and sexy, with a lot of bare girlish leg and thigh on view. I may have seemed a little older than I actually was, due to the combination of my above-average height, my straight dark hair (which I kept hooked behind my ears), and my mature-looking face, which often wore a serious or quizzical expression.

I explained my reasons for coming, holding my leg out in front of me to show the injury in question. Louise looked thoughtful, and came around from behind her desk to take a closer look. She explained that she was completing a course in sports sciences which included physiotherapy, and although not yet fully qualified she had some experience in the area and was sure that she could help me. She knelt on the floor in front of my chair, and asked me to stretch my leg out as straight and horizontally as I could manage. She then supported it in her hands, looking thoughtful as she gave a gentle probing – more like a massage, really – to the injured area. It felt quite nice and relaxing, and I settled back slightly in the chair, not at all realising that from Louise’s position (which she had carefully chosen), she could see directly up my skirt to my panties and crotch. She extended her massage to my lower leg, and I gave a slight sigh. I looked downwards to where she was testing and rubbing my knee, and to my surprise found that I had quite an extensive view down the loose cross-over front of her top, revealing the smooth tops of a pair of neatly attractive breasts, perhaps C cups, the rest of which was covered by a prettily-decorated white bra. I was intrigued, and more interested than I realised – much later, Louise (who was watching in her peripheral vision, having quite deliberately afforded me this perspective) told me that she had seen my lips part and my tongue flit across them as I looked down her front, and that she had detected by sight and faint smell that a small damp patch had appeared on the gusset of my panties.

Satisfied in ways that I had yet to understand, Louise nodded to herself and then rose, smiling cheerfully, and sat behind her desk again. She explained that what would be best would be for me to exercise under her supervision – the club owners would not want to admit me and then be in danger of a lawsuit if I injured myself through ignorance. In addition, she recommended that I make my visits near the end of her evening shift, when it would be quiet – the big pressure was in the early evening, after people left their work, but the last hour that the gym was open, from 9.00 p.m. to 10.00 p.m., was much less busy. This would be good, Louise explained, because she could give me more individual attention then, and also there would be much less likelihood of my being pestered by men. I was a bit uncomfortable hearing that, but she laughed and said that they didn’t normally have such a good-looking young girl in the place, but she would ‘keep the flies away from the honey’. I laughed too, reassured and also very flattered that this smart and experienced woman would think that I was good-looking! We shook hands on the arrangement, and I handed over my mother’s credit card for payment – Louise said they would take only two months’ subscription at first, which was the minimum joining period.

So began the very pleasant routine of the next five or six weeks. Louise worked on Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday evenings, and that pattern suited me too. I would leave home a little before 8.30 p.m., walk slowly to the health club, and change into one of my gym outfits – they were my school ones, consisting of tight form-fitting terrycloth shorts in navy blue, and a singlet top in red, edged in blue and white. I wore trainers, white ankle socks, and supporting sweatbands at my ankles and on my wrists. For underwear, I used a pair of very skimpy thong-style pink panties and their matching bra, as my fairly small breasts didn’t really need a specialist sports bra. I then worked out on various machines for about forty minutes, with Louise advising me and checking regularly how I was doing. On these evening shifts, she was no longer on office duty, and so was dressed quite differently from the first time that I had met her. She always wore a white T-shirt with the gym company’s name and logo on it and trainers, but between these two the rest of her outfit varied: sometimes it was jogging trousers, sometimes a pair of loose exercise shorts, and sometimes – which I realised that I liked best, thinking this was because she looked very stylish in it – she wore a quite short tennis skirt, of which she had several, in navy blue and in white.

On one of the first occasions that I was there, near the end of the time, when there were only two other people still in the large gym room, she walked over to check up on me. We had agreed that I should work on all my muscles evenly, partly to get fully fit, and partly not to strain my injury by working constantly on the legs, so I was using a weight-lift at the time, lying on my back on the flat bench support, a leg splayed out on either side. I was concentrating on this so much that I did not notice her approach, until she was standing almost next to my head. I turned to look at her, and then blushed and turned away – because from my position I had seen straight up her skirt, registering in the split second before looking aside that she was wearing a very nice pair of black panties in a high-hip thong style, decoratively edged with lace trimmings. I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry and my pulse quickening – I thought, due to embarrassment at making such a faux pas. It left me feeling a little funny, and I couldn’t get it out of my mind afterwards. In fact, curiousity began to consume me so that I deliberately contrived similar encounters on the days when she was wearing one of her short skirts, and I was rewarded with sights of a range of panties in different cuts and colours, but sharing one things – all were stylishly sexy.

So we went on, sometimes chatting for a while as Louise closed up the building (which was her responsibility as the duty manager on these evening shifts), before going our separate ways. I began to think of her more and more as a friend, and started to confide some of my secrets to her – such as how several of the boys at school were pressing me all the time to go out with them, and that I wasn’t keen because I knew they would just be trying to get my panties down and do whatever they wanted. Louise asked if I had had a boyfriend before, and I shook my head, explaining earnestly that I just did not feel ready for that kind of thing right now, but I supposed it would be different when I was older – at college, maybe. Louise smiled and nodded, and then delicately enquired:

‘So, ah … you’re still a … still … you know … um … not done it, yet, then?’

I blushed scarlet, and nodded confirmation of my unsullied virginity. I though she might laugh or think me childish, but my heart warmed when instead she smiled at me approvingly, patted my shoulder, and said:

‘Quite right, too! – most girls give it up far too soon, to someone who doesn’t deserve it, and then wish they hadn’t!’ For just a moment, I wondered if she was speaking about herself, but it would have been just too rude to ask.

A week or so after this, I was almost fully fit again – and thinking with regret that my visits to the gym (of which seeing Louise had become my special pleasure) might be coming to an end, although I had formed a plan to ask my parents to continue the subscription permanently, perhaps counting it as part of my next Christmas present or something like that.