You catch sight of yourself side on in the mirror, the same angle she would have had looking into it. There's no way she could have missed it, she must have seen.
Blushing, you hastily retreat to the locker room, thumping the wall with your fist in frustration, partly with yourself for your lack of self-control, partly because you know you'd better avoid being here when she's here for a while. Your mind races, searching for reasons why that doesn't need to happen while at the same time inventing a scenario where the next time you come and ogle her she's brought her meathead boyfriend along to kick the living bejaysus out of you. You shudder.
"That's quite a bulge you've got going on there."
Your heart stops. It's her voice, deeper than your average female.
Nine weeks ago you'd first seen her. You were later than usual, late leaving work, but you decided not to wimp out, to end the day on a high. And what a high that first sighting had been! Nine weeks ago minus one day you had changed your workout schedule and were coming in for your first (of many) late night sessions of - you had decided to call it - extreme female muscle perving with a little lifting thrown in.
You told yourself you were keeping well clear of her so as not to get in her way, but deep down you knew it was simply to get the best possible view of her going through her frighteningly intense workouts. You'd seen plenty of women doing hanging leg raises on your screen, but never with your own eyes before. Never seen a jumping squat. Never seen anyone go hand over hand up the side of a weights machine with their legs held out horizontally. This was superhero stuff. You were in awe.
One night you overheard two guys in the locker room. She was going to compete, six to seven weeks, one reckoned. And you'd thought the little she'd exposed until then had been ripped! "Don't go in there, mate," one of the guys had called out as you headed into the gym. "It's horrible!" And you could hear his pal had burst out laughing.
You didn't look back.
The weeks progressed. She did, as you had hoped, wear less and less and show off more and more of her gloriously chiselled, vascular physique. And - even more than you'd hoped for - she was spending more and more time posing in the mirror. You went through your exercises in a constant state of arousal, moving to another machine, another bench, if and only if you were sure you were outside her field of vision.
But slowly, you got foolish.
It started when you pointed it at her. The thought she might turn round and see you, see it. What a rush! You did it again, and again, and then you were doing it multiple times in an evening, and then you just got even more brazen. Even more stupid.
She's doing pulldowns, her back to you in all its pumped and defined glory. It's already pointing at her, and as if on some kind of auto-pilot, you're slowly pulling the front of your shorts down. Half exposed, you can feel the air from the AC unit above you on it. See her muscles working. It's throbbing, pulsing towards her, begging you to give it relief, then suddenly she's finished her set and you turn, and put it away again.
When you think about these moments in the cold light of day you feel shame. But back in the heat of the gym, however, hearing her grunt, watching her push that final rep out, all you can think of is manoeuvering yourself into a similar position again and feeling that air around it as you watch her. The thrill is addictive. You need it.
And you knew deep down this moment would come.
"Turn around. I want to see it."
Slowly, nervously, you comply.
She laughs. She hasn't so much scared you stiff as scared you limp.
"Oh dear," she says in a mocking, baby-ish voice. "Where's he gone?"
Your face burns with embarrassment.
"How can we get him back, do you think?" You could be wrong but it occurs to you her tone is rather playful. Your heart starts up again with a mighty thud.
"Does this help?" She's lifting her top, revealing a perfect six. You hear yourself gasp, and she breaks into a smile. I wasn't wrong, you realise, she really is playing with me. She flexes, hard ridges of muscle obey, explode, so beautiful, so much thicker and so much more defined than you had ever imagined. You're rushing once more.
"Here!" she commands, pointing at the floor in front of her.
You step towards her, breathing hard, mesmerised by her rippling abdomen, and drop to your knees. It's pointing at her again, and she seems pleased about it too.
"Well, well, well..."
Her hands reach down and take yours. Strong hands, though it's not that you're resisting or anything. You feel the heat from her body, your heart pounds in your ears, and she pulls your hands up towards those beautiful ridges of muscle...