She looked like a sausage. Her casing was a tight, white tank top that rolled with each bulge around her waist. This was offset by a pair of short, bright orange, terry cloth shorts. Her face was spackled with heavy makeup that only served to make her look older. Her hair, framed by a pair of dangling earrings, was bleached blond and tossed into a fluffy ponytail that streamed down her back. She appeared to have spent the last several months toasting in a tanning bed. She had that deep, orange glow that you associated with those contraptions. She stepped into position in front of you. You checked yourself in the mirror. Did you commit any fashion sins? Nope, all was good. Your eyes strayed back to the specimen in front of you. You tried not to stare, but it was difficult.
The music started- a deep, thumping beat.
“March it out!” shouted the instructor. You marched, the sausage marched, the edges of her shorts fluttering in the air. This was going to be a long class.
You switched your moves, trying to arrange your uncooperative feet. This was the part of the class you liked the least because you had no coordination whatsoever. Who would have believed that you were spawned from two people who regularly won dancing competitions? Just trying to keep up in a fitness class was an ordeal. You concentrated on not tripping. The class moved right as you moved left. You corrected. The women around you were now kicking back their legs madly as they did the grapevine. When did they start doing that? You start to kick your legs back just as the rest of the class starts to kick their legs out. Almost over, hang in there.
“Inhale!” The instructor sucked in air and lifted her arms above her head. You followed, two beats behind.
“Exhale!” The instructor brought her arms down and followed with the rest of her body, ending in a stretch. You liked the stretching part. It felt good on your spine, the backs of your thighs and your calves. You hung suspended for a moment, then began to rise when cued.
A flash of blinding white. Whoa! Two cheeks puckered with cellulite stepped into view. You tried not to stare, but it was impossible. Your eyes were mesmerized by the show. You really wished that what lay beneath those shorts could have been left to your imagination. You frantically check yourself in the mirror again. Anything amiss? No, still good. You breathe a sigh of relief, but are quickly distracted as the sausage bends over and those two friendly cheeks wave hello. You look around you to see if anyone else has noticed. Then you wonder if anyone has noticed you staring at the other woman’s butt.
How embarrassing that would be!
You bend again at the waist, and this time close your eyes on the way up. Ah yes, that’s the ticket. You can’t be distracted by what you can’t see. You open your eyes again.
Too soon! Too soon!
The woman is bent over in front of you, the fabric of her shorts caught between her two cheeks, which peek out like pale belly dancers flirting behind a thin veil- two large belly dancers. You try not to laugh. How much more of this can you take? The instructor takes you through the stretches before you move to the floor. It’s time to work with the weights. There will be no more flashing buttocks in your direction. You feel for the woman who is positioned to the right of the sausage, though, because now the sausage lay there with her knees up in the air, her shorts riding up her crotch, giving the other woman a show. You can only imagine what the view is, and you are grateful for that.
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