The Punisher

I had my second personal training session with The Pitbull. We (I) planned to do legs, so I decided to get some cardio in first, because I knew I wouldn't have the use of my legs after he worked me out. I told him I'd be there at 1 ish. I called him at 1:20 after I'd "warmed up" on the treadmill. I was sweating bullets and probably a medium shade of purple. He said he was downstairs waiting for me, and thought I wasn't going to show. Little did he know I had the foresight to get some cardio in first. I told him I'd be right down.
He's training me on his break, on his own time, out of the goodness of his Irish Italian Philly cheese steak heart. Or, maybe he's training me because the most beautiful, funniest girl in the gym (who he actually imitated prancing in there for the first time with her gold sandals and Boca facade, which he seemed fearless of and completely unfazed by) informed him that he was her new best friend, and he wants to get into her pants? Who could blame him? I can be pretty irresistable.
In any event, I'm trying to play the BFF card...because I don't know if there's anything more between us...even though I'm looking forward to seeing him, smile when I see his text messages, bought a new gym wardrobe, apply make-up before working out, and have so much fun while he's forcing my muscles beyond their comfort zone of stagnation, that I can't wait until my soreness subsides so he can force me to punish those muscles again. But, he's an uneducated brick layer from Philly, probably broke and likely drives a 10 year old car, and is covered with God knows how many tattoos beyond the two that I can see on his arms. Yet, he carries my purse around the gym for me, without me even asking. That, along with his light green Irish eyes, I notice.
So, I made my way down the swooping staircase of the gym. If I were wearing a wedding gown it would have been that perfect staircase shot. I spotted him sitting there waiting for me, watching me descend in all my sweaty purplish glory. We greeted each other with big smiles, and I told him my arms were still killing me from my workout three days ago...and we had to take it easy on the legs because I needed to be able to walk the next day! It soon became clear that he was blatantly ignoring my request. When he put me on the first machine and my quads were already burning after only a few reps I knew I was in trouble. I implored him, "Go easy on me. It's my first time". I honestly didn't mean to imply any innuendo...not consciously, anyway...but as soon as the words involuntarily came out of my mouth and I realized what I'd said..we both laughed. And through the pain that The Punisher continued to inflict upon me, the laughs, and good time, kept rolling.
He insisted I finish my leg workout by doing lunges across the floor. By this point, my legs felt like overcooked noodles. Limp and wobbley. As he walked backwards, just in front of me, encouraging me, telling me I had only a few steps more to go, he saw me failing and held out his hand. I reached for it, for the stability and support that I needed, and I lunged the rest of the way across the floor. He told me he did lunges yesterday, holding weights in each hand. Bragger. I said, "Yeah, well, look at your body and look at mine". To which he replied, "I am". I chuckled.
Before I had a chance to catch my breath, he demanded I lunge all the way back. Again, I held out my hand for his support. He kinda laughed. I could tell he wasn't expecting me to reach for him again...not yet, anyway. But, he obliged. And I lunged my way all the way back across the floor.
With my legs sufficiently noodle-ized, it was time to work on abs. We did machines and then he led me over to the mats. I told him about an ab exercise that I used to like to do, but he had his own ideas. He teased and tortured me, raising the bar with each rep. Next position...the grand finale. He was holding my towel, as he had me supporting my weight on my forearms and my toes, face down with my legs stretched out behind me, engaging my core, while he laid there beside me, timing me....watching me sweat and struggle. I asked him to at least tell me a story while we were there! ...something, anything, to distract me, help me pass the time. We ended up talking about where we're going on what he seems to like to call our "date" next weekend.
The sweat was beading up on my face....so I asked him to wipe it for me. Even I laughed as I made this request. He laughed at my overt comical silliness, but obligingly patted my forehead and cheek and asked, "Better?". I turned to him with beads of sweat about to drip off my upper lip and implored, "My lip!", and The Punisher wiped the sweat from my upper lip. I thanked him as I tried to squeeze out a few more seconds in that torturous position.
I assume he must get a kick out of me, and senses that I have a good heart...and I'm fun...or funny, anyway...amusing, entertaining, to say the least...that must be it, because even I'm not sure I'm hot enough to get away with these antics. How could I be, when the guy knows I'm comprised of one third fat?!? I still think that machine was broken. As was his scale. But, I think we just have a connection....like Shrek and Fiona, Beauty and the Beast, Cheese steaks and Pizza Bagels. We're simpatico.
As quickly as it started, the workout was over. As torturous as it was, I didn't want it to end. And I hate exercise. It was his turn to work out. I jokingly asked if he wanted me to spot him and count his reps...but he told me he had a friend coming in to work out with him. Then he walked me all the way out to my car. He sure is the personal trainer with the personal touch. And, yes, I'm sure he'd like to give me a personal touch. But, we're both playing it cool for now...so, I stuck out my hand and said, "Thank you, my friend". Because I don't think I like him like that. Although I think I might.