bubbles

So, there's this girl...yea I know, it's always interesting when I start out that way. The trick is preparing yourself for how it's going to begin. Sweet and a little tarty? Or distastefully vulgar? But taking into consideration who's writing this, you probably already have a pretty good idea that it will be a vaudevillian mess with a boastful swagger and just a touch of insecurity. Or not. I mean really, that's a bit much, even for me.

Regardless, I've digressed. So yes, there is this girl with curly brown hair and those couture sweats that doesn't scream sexy in your face, but hints at the tastiness beneath them. She's got just the right amount of bounce, the perfect amount of jiggle, and I, with a disregard for all appropriateness, stared like dog - out of breath, jaw dropped, and one dirty thought away from a semi.

My friend Max and I have dubbed her bubbles. More precisely, my bubbles. And yes, for those of you eagerly anticipating it, I'll say it without further ado, I want to pop my bubbles so badly. Oh bubbles, you're so wonderfully sweaty.

Bubbles and I crossed paths one morning when I had left my glasses at the gym. I was in a hurry to hop in the shower and she had found them abandoned on the counter. As I rushed out to retrieve them, I literally almost ran into her. We caught eyes and she mentioned the glasses. Of course I wasn't wearing them, so we might not have caught eyes at all...anyways, I instinctively checked her out - gave her the ol' up and down. She giggled, and I slowed to a walk and said a simple, "thanks." So this is what James Bond must feel like. And without fail, my life reminded me that I am no where near that level of debonaire, as I crashed into one of the various tables set up outside the gym. In fact, my life saw to it that I never forget, and none better than a shot to the groin. In this case, my bundle of joy collided with the corner of a steel chair. I suppose if this ever happened to James Bond, he'd say, "So this is what Miguel feels like."

There was little in the way of interaction between the both of us for weeks after that. But in the early hours of Monday, Wednesday, Friday, I was content to admire the scenery - I was content to watch my bubbles float on by. And so it went, week after week, it kept me going to the gym so early in the morning, even after a grueling session the night before.

And then it happened. No, not that - it's me writing this, remember? I had just finished a set of pull ups and I was admittedly a little dizzy due to the lack of sleep and general exhaustion. Bubbles walked passed me, and in a lapse of judgement, filtering, and personal censorship, I thought out loud and said, "She's so hot!" Upon realizing this, my eyes widened and I ironically mouthed "fuck" in silence. She stopped and turned around. And for a split second I hesitated as she paused and gave me a quizzical look. Then, with about as much gumption as a newborn lamb, I whimpered, "...in here. I wanna take my clothes off..." *sigh...At this point, i would have much rather taken another nut shot.

No, the embarrassment doesn't end there. Weeks went by, and I fell back into the routine of lift, stare, drool, repeat. It was good, I was happy and bubbles knew no better. At the end of my workouts I try to squeeze in some abdominal work. My favorite is the crunch machine. Which I'm proud to say I can comfortably do with 170 pounds of resistance. These are great to make your six pack pop out, but do nothing in terms of trimming fat off. So I end up with strong abs under a layer of fat. If I were a steak, I'd be a sirloin. Fuck at least I'm tasty.

Anyways, I walked away from the machine in order to grab one of those sani-wipes as the one I had, had dried out. Just then bubbles unknowingly snuck in. And I wasn't about to kick her off the machine. But I left my water bottle and shirt (I had a tank-top on underneath) by the machine. So I walked over and said excuse me as I grabbed my stuff. And she stopped for a second, and the conversation went like this:

After looking at the weight, and then looking at me she said, "Oh, were you using this?"

me: "Yea, it's ok, I'm tired anyways."

And then I could have sworn she checked me out, only because I've been getting pretty good at recognizing it when my boobs get checked out. Hell, as Max says, I'm all tits and I know it.

She smiled, blushed, and giggled - "You go ahead, I'll come back later."

me: "Are you sure? You can go if you want."

her: "No, no. It's fine, I'll come back." and at that she made that hand gesture that just so happens to let her fingertips graze my chest.

At that, I finished up my sets with a much deserved smile. Well, kind of a smile, those crunches make me grimace like a mother fucker. I even managed to hold in a fart that really wanted to get out. For those of you who don't know, do not use that machine if you gotta go. Trust me...no sphincter should be trusted under such pressure.

I walked out of the gym that day and took a second to admire bubbles on that single leg kick back machine. Damn she's got a fine ass - I'm sorry, there's just no better way to say it. Hell, why do you think we call her bubbles? I almost went over and talked to her, but I was really tired - not to mention gassy. Probably not the best condition to approach bubbles. (That pun was not intended, but thoroughly enjoyed none-the-less.) So, I made my way to the locker rooms, undressed, and flexed a little in front of the mirrors - took note of the progress, some problem areas, and the definite need to trim. And after letting the water warm up, I got in and said, "Fuck you James Bond, she touched my boobies."