New Year's Resolutions

New Year's resolutions -- 1

(c) 2023, 2024, by P.D. Vile

Story tags: MF

New Year's resolutions -- 1

This story is (unfortunately) pure fantasy

Sunday, January 1st, 11:10 AM

I put the duct tape aside for now, grab my pen, and add one more sentence, at the very bottom of the note.

"And this time, I

will

persist!"

Then I tape the note on the mirror. I position myself where I always stand when I shave, to check that it's clearly readable.

My New Year's resolution:

High time to now finally start to actually lose some weight. Going forward, I will visit the gym every week, for at least one full hour of hard training.

And this time, I

will

persist!

I nod contently. Large enough. Every time I shave, I'll see this. If that doesn't help to persist, then what will?

I quickly check myself in the mirror. If I didn't have those love handles around my stomach, I would actually look quite good for a 53-year-old. The full dark blonde hair on my head makes me look younger than I am, but the gray streaks in my beard compensate for that, to show the world that I've been around for a while. I'm not particularly muscles, the bane of a sitting occupation and years of insufficient willpower to exercise as much as I should. But at least I am not obese. Yet. Just that tummy. I still refuse to shave off the hair on my chest, even though that appears to be in fashion. For me, those small hairs on my chest are a token of my manliness. I do shave my arm pits and my pubes, since two years or so. A quick look, but I am still sufficiently smooth. No need to shave there again.

Still overflowing for energy and drive for action, I descend the stairs. I turn on the coffee maker, and while my hot poison is brewing, I grab my phone and start up the internet, to find the number of the nearest gym.

"Train-U-Fit, good morning!"

"Good morning. I have just checked your website, and your gym looks nice. Your rates are not a problem for me, so I decided to buy a subscription."

"You can buy one here at the ..."

"Yes, I know. That's not why I call. I have a different question. I would like to know what days and times are the most quiet at your gym."

"That would be Tuesday morning, sir. There's hardly anyone here at that time. But we do not have personal trainers available at that time, so you will have to make your own routine. That should not be a problem, all machines are labeled with clear instructions, and the receptionist can also help to explain how the machines work."

I briefly recall my last attempt to build a gym routine. I typically went in the evening, after work. It was always busy on the floor. I often had to wait until the station I wanted to use was available, or deviate from my prescribed routine, just to avoid waiting. But worst of all were the looks. Perhaps it was just my imagination, but I was sure that at least half of those insanely tight and very fit visitors in the gym shot me compassionate looks, filled with pity. That they had to suppress their laughter as they saw how little weight I set on the machine, how much I still suffered, how sweat dripped over my round belly, while I was not even doing half of what they did as a warm-up exercise. That feeling was one of the reasons why, back then, I quickly started to "forget" to go to the gym

I work for myself by now. I work from home, and I set my own hours. My clients don't care when I work on their assignments, as long as I'm ready at the agreed date. And I intend to use that freedom. This time I will visit the gym when the room is as empty as possible. The fewer people there are, the less I will feel watched. At least, that's what I hope.

"Thank you," I reply politely, "then I'll sign up next Tuesday. I guess that I can start working out immediately after signing up and paying?"

"That won't be a problem, sir. However, I must add that we always have lots of new sign-ups in January. So I cannot definitely guarantee that the Tuesday morning will still be as quiet as it was before. But most new members don't make it past the first month or so anyway, so after that the Tuesday morning will undoubtedly be quiet again."

I have to force myself not to respond. In between the nice words of the lady on the other side of the phone, I could just hear her assume that I, too, would be part of the group of people who start their New Year's resolutions in January, filled with confidence, and then don't even last a month. As, I have to admit, I have done in the past. Multiple times.

But not this time! This time I will really persevere! I am convinced of that, and that's why I feel very much attacked by the employee's suggestion.

But I control myself. I keep my mouth shut. I politely finish the conversation. And then it's time for coffee, and to watch the yearly ski jumping.

Tuesday, January 3rd, 9:45 AM

I know the gym opens at eight, but that's too early for me. After a light breakfast and two cups of coffee, I get in the car, and at about a quarter to ten, I am at the front desk of the gym. Just a bit of paperwork, and then I am officially a member, so I can work on my New Year's resolution.

"You can find the locker rooms up the stairs over there. You take the door to the left, the ladies locker room is on the right. Your keycard allows you to open a locker, for safekeeping of your possessions. There are showers in here, but we don't provide towels."

Luckily, I had already seen that on the website. I hate having to get back in my regular clothes when my body is still all sweaty, and I also refuse to drive home in my wet sportswear.

I change clothes, stow my stuff, descend the stairs, and open the door to the fitness room. To my relief, it is indeed nearly empty. I briefly look around. All the way in the back, in the weightlifting corner, I spot three guys wearing tight shirts that seem to be designed to show off their ample muscles. As they casually lift and lower the impossibly large dumbbells, they briefly look my way, but then return their attention to each other again. I am clearly not interesting enough to qualify for more than two seconds of their time. Not exactly a compliment, but at least it gives me confidence that they won't look at me while I do exercises at my own sorry level. As long as I steer clear of the dumbbells. Which I had planned to do anyway.

Left of the entrance, in the cardio corner, I see one other visitor. A young girl. that I estimate to be below thirty, is working the cross-trainer. She looks damn good! I startle and quickly look the other way. Was I staring? Did she notice? Gosh, I hope not!

I had planned to start with a warming up on the treadmill. But the treadmill is right next to the cross-trainer that this gorgeous young woman is using. Can I just start exercising on a station right next to her? Or would that seem creepy? Especially if she caught me staring just now?

I mentally scold my own stupidity. People come here to exercise. It's really not strange at all to use the treadmill. And yet, even though I know I am talking myself into nonsense, yet I don't dare go to that corner. I change my plans and skip my warming up, heading instantly to the area with the muscle strength stations.

After a quick glance, I opt to start on a machine for the upper leg muscles. Partly because I recall, from my last failed gym attempt, that those suit me well. But perhaps also because I just "happen to" have a direct line of sight to the cardio corner from that station. And hence also a direct line of sight to that beautiful woman. Is that wrong? Or can I allow myself to give in to my male instinct, as long as she doesn't notice, so I don't embarrass anyone?

As I push up the weight with my legs, and then slowly lower it again, I take a better look at the young woman. She has a nice face. Her brown hairs are tied in a ponytail that, when in rest, would flow to below her shoulders, but that is now dancing as a result of her activity on the cross-trainer. She wears a top that is tight enough to prove that her breasts are not very large, but nicely shaped. And dancing in a very nice way due to her exercising. It is clear that they muse be soft yet firm. The belly below her top is flat and nicely tanned. Below that are tight pants with sleeves to her knees, that I suspect hug her buttocks in a great way. Too bad I can't see that.

I of course make sure not to look all the time. I let my gaze wander through the room. But since I am directly opposite her, my eyes keep passing over her. Hopefully without her noticing that I am checking her out. As far as I can tell, she is indeed oblivious. She briefly looked at me as I entered, and again as I started on this station, but now once more looks straight ahead in an unseeing way, clearly absorbed in the music that enters her ears through two small wires.

After three sets of twenty, I have no excuse to remain on this station. I move to a station for pectoral muscles, where I sadly lose my nice view. But perhaps that is for the better, because I am still afraid that I stare too much, and she might notice. I don't want that. What would she think? A creepy old geezer, staring at a woman young enough to be his daughter? What is she complains? I would be kicked out of the gym and have my membership card tore up at the very first day of my membership!

After the pectoral muscles, I move to the oblique abdominal muscles, and after that continue to visit the stations one by one. Occasionally I get a chance for a quick peek at the gorgeous woman, who has by now switched to a rowing machine. But the strain on muscles I had forgotten existed is keeping me more and more occupied. Sweat flows from my forehead, and in my eyes, obscuring my vision. Plus I am by now lacking the energy to look at women, no matter how good looking.

Eventually I finish the last station, so I can allow myself to stop this torture. Totally exhausted, I drag myself to the door, then up the stairs (why do they have stairs,

why

?), and into the locker room, where I drop myself on the nearest bench. I don't even have the energy to shower, I just want to sit. Just a bit. A few minutes.

It ends up being a full fifteen minutes. The cooling sweat on my back makes me shiver more and more, and that is the motivation I need. I undress, put my sportswear in the locker, grab my shampoo and towel, and make for the shower area. One touch of the control, and nice and warm water flows from the shower-head. For minutes, I just stand there and enjoy the feeling, but then I grab the shampoo.

As I close my eyes and rinse my hairs, I hear the door of the shower area open and close. I am surprised. I have often heard that today's youth is too prude to even shower together, or that they keep their underwear on, so I had not expected that those tough dumbbell-dudes would shower here in the gym. Well, perhaps there is still hope for the world, I think to myself, as I rinse the last bits of shampoo from my hair.

"Oh, sorry. I figured ..."

What I hear is not a male voice. Not even a boy. It is clearly a woman.

Instantly, my eyes are wide open. There she is. The cross-trainer woman. Naked, the towel on her shoulder covering one breast, her one hand covering the other, and her other hand in front of her crotch.

"Shit!" I exclaim.

And only then realize that I, perhaps, should also put a hand in front of my crotch.

"Sorry," I then say, "but this is the ..."

"Men's locker room. Yeah, I know. But the showers at the women's are out of order. And you had left the room at least twenty minutes ago. I figured you'd be done by now, so I could safely take a quick shower here."

"Oh," is all I can say. I am very aware that I am totally nude, in the same area as a gorgeous young woman who is also nude. I can't see her breasts and her pubic area, but the rest of her is, now that I can see her up close, even better looking than I thought at first."

"So, shall I then return to the women's locker room? And return later, once you are done?"

I almost say yes. But then I feel ... I don't know what, perhaps fatherly instinct or so ... anyway, I realize that she would then have to put her sweaty sportswear back on, or wait naked in a cold area. Both feel wrong to me.

"I don't mind if you just shower now. I'll turn around and promise not to look. And you do the same. If that's okay with you?"

But then I suddenly hear her chuckle.

"No, that would be unfair," she says, and then she totally unexpected drops her hands, hangs her towel next to mine, and stand right in front of me, her arms hanging by her side.

"Sorry?" is all I can say, as I hastily turn my head away.

"No, just look," is her reply, "that's fair. When I came in here, I could see all of you. Your moved your hand down way too late, and I was way too curious. So I looked, and did not turn away. So let's not make this difficult now. I already saw you, and now you have seen me. So now we can just shower, without having to worry about turning away and perhaps seeing something by accident ... or not."

And so I look. A bit apprehensive at first, but as she has no negative response at all, my gaze becomes more and more attentive. Her breasts are nicely round and firm. They are pale in comparison to the rest of her skin, proof I get to see something that normally remains hidden. They are firmly upright, gravity has so far failed to pull them down. Her dark areolas are quite small, but her nipples are rather big.

I let my gaze wander down. From her wonderfully flat stomach, to a nicely groomed triangle of dark hairs. Underneath that is her vagina, with two labia barely peeking out.

"Do you like what you see?" she asks, with slightly mocking voice.

Startled, I look up. But she has a broad smile on her nice face. And before I can respond, she turns around.

"Here, just check my butt too. It seems men rather dig that."

I can't fault those men. Two beautiful white globes are staring back at me. Wonderfully round buns, that appear to be nice and firm, but soft to the touch.

"You are really very beautiful," I whisper.

"Thanks. I already noticed by how you looked at me, but it's nice to hear you say it."

I have lowered my hands as well. And when she turns back to face me, I notice that she now also inspects me. My whole body, but most of all my crotch. I feel a brief impulse to move my hands back in front of my penis, but I control myself and allow her to look.

"And that is a nice compliment too. That's how a woman knows that a man really means it," she remarks.

At first, I fail to understand what she means. Then the dots connect. I look down and see that my dick has indeed grown, and is now hanging semi-erect between my legs.

"I know I am supposed to be polite now, and compliment you on your looks," the woman continues, "but to be honest, there is just too much stomach for that."

"I know. That's why I'm here. First time today. I need to get rid of those love handles."

"But," she continues, "you do have a nice face. And your cock ain't bad either."

And then she looks me straight in the eyes again, and I see her smile broaden.

"And that red blush looks good on you too. Does it shock me to hear you talk about your cock like that?"

I hesitate before I reply.

"Yeah, I know it makes no sense. You know as well as I do that I have just extensively admired your tits and cunt. And yet it comes as a surprise when you so openly talk about looking at my cock."

Then she laughs out loud.

"And I had not expected you to see tits. But hey, enough gawking. I'm gonna shower."

I have actually already finished. The woman entered after I had already shampooed my hair for the second time. But I just can't get enough of looking at that wonderful body. So I push the button to start the flow of water and get back under the showerhead. I grab the shampoo bottle and rub another helping in my hair. And I keep watching her all the time, and enjoying the sight. I enjoy her happy face, that smiles every time she notices my stare. I enjoy her wonderful breasts. How they stretch and seem flatter when she reaches her arms up to wash her hair. How they dance to the rhythm of her hands distributing the shampoo in her hair. And how they bounce slightly and then return to their regular shape when she lowers her arms again.

I enjoy even more when she grabs a bottle of shower gel. She squirts a gob on her hands and then calmly massages it all over her body. I see a broad smile as she clearly spends more time than needed on her breasts. But I'm not complaining.

"That's it. Show's over. I'm tempted to add that I hope you enjoyed the show, but I can already see you did. But now I do need to just shower."

I don't need to look down to understand what she means. I know that my dick is now at full mast. I know it points diagonally up, as I feel the blood pumping in my cock. And I am secretly proud, when I think I see a hint of adoration in her eyes. Must be my wishful thinking. But it's a fantasy I don't want to lose. This will get me through another few lonely nights.

As she rubs shower gel on her legs, I grab my own bottle to wash myself another time. Even when she is not showing off, it is still nice to look at her, and I don't plan to leave as long as she is here. And so I rub shower on my chest, then rinse it off, all the while watching her. Now that she bends over to reach her legs, her breasts sway in yet different motions, perhaps even more enticing than when she washed her hair.

At least my dick relaxes a bit now. It lowers a bit, until it hangs merely semi-erect between my legs. Not that I am ashamed of it. Definitely not after I saw how she looked at it. But feeling my blood pulse in my hard dick distracted me a bit too much, and brought all kinds of weird thoughts into my head. Now that part of my blood has returned to my brain, I can once more see the situation as it really is: a huge stroke of luck for me to be allowed to see a woman who clearly enjoys showing off her body for me, and flirting a bit. But no more than that.

Once she is done washing and rinsing her legs, she suddenly turns towards me again.

"Hey, since you are here anyway ... is it weird to ask for help with my back?"

Weird? Of course it is weird, I think. But I don't say so. Of course not. To touch her back, to feel her undoubtedly deliciously soft skin, that would be a dream I don't even dare to dream. And now she asks me if I want to do that? Hell, yeah!

But I feel guilty too. Guilty, because I have the wrong motive. She just asks for help cleaning her back. That's all. There's nothing sexual to it. Yes, she briefly flirted with me, but that is over now. It's not her intention for me to enjoy her back, but I know I will. I can't help it.

And so I try to control my voice, and choose my words with extra care.

"Well, I don;t know whether it's weird. But does that matter? Isn't this whole situation weird already? And yet we are here, showering together. So, yeah, if you want help with your back," I pause briefly, as if I am still in doubt, "then why not?"

"Thanks," she says, as she approaches me.

Once she is so close to me that I would merely have to extend my hands to touch her wonderful breasts, to feel them, she hands me the bottle of shower gel and turns around. I swallow, but then squirt some gel on my hands and start soaping her up. First her shoulders. Her skin is even softer than I had dared to imagine, and feels nice and warm underneath my hands. Under the light pressure of my hands, the skin on he perfectly shaped shoulder blades subtly moves along. I slowly work my way down, first just under her shoulder blades, then at waist height. Once my hands almost touch the top of her buttocks, I force myself to stop.