She let her anger push the damn weight, straining her midsection, feeling the pull all the way to her pussy. Fuck you, machine. Fuck you. Take that. Ungh. And that. Suddenly, the first hint of a pull in her thigh warned her she had reached her body's limit. No matter what she did, which machine she used, her abs never twinged, never gave out. It was always the goddamn legs. In spite of the jogging.
Maggie lay there gasping, the bar still resting on the top of her feet, sweat pouring down her leotard between her fat tits. She knew she smelled different than all the honky bitches, a subtle sweetness, muskier than their pale, acrid odor. She liked hers best. Her mind buzzed as it always did when she was gasping like this. Shit. What the fuck's the point? She was gonna turn fifty next month, hadn't been laid in three years, beat her brains out keeping her tall, ripe body in shape, waiting for, what? Some young black stud? In this Midwestern town, with it's corn fed, handsome, all white farmboys, whose big night out was the Friday night high school football game? There was one other black family in town, the Smithers, two doors down, but Alma worried she'd tempt Horace, so they saw little of each other these days.
Her husband's police officer buddies tried, they couldn't have been nicer, really, but they were all married. They all felt an obligation to her since Eddie'd gotten himself shot in that botched robbery, and were amazingly kind about visiting him in the VA hospital every month or so. But, of course, he just lay there, the ventilator working his lungs, eyes closed, being fed through a tube. Maggie's heart twinged for the poor son of a bitch, trapped there, in a State that wouldn't let her pull the plug. The health coverage for the cops in this town was so good, he'd still be going three years from now, and meantime, Maggie was trapped.
She slipped her feet sideways to the floor and sat up, grabbing the towel and wiping her face and chest. She caught the skinny kid behind the towel rack ogling her. That was the thing that drove her nuts. She had the strangest collection of men hit on her. With the innate prejudice of this area that had been just north of the Mason-Dixon line, it took some courage to even consider dating a black woman, particularly one who was coal black, though her features were the small nosed, big eyed, distinctly non African, white style beauty of her quadroon grandmother. She'd never been sure, but there had always been talk about a white New Orleans politician way back there in the Smith family tree.
When she was younger, they used to say she looked like Dorothy Dandridge. She always scoffed, refusing to let the implied compliment go to her head. Her daddy always told her, keep your feet on the ground, Maggie. She felt a little twinge of guilt, even now, because she realized she still styled her hair like Dot. Anyway, she couldn't carry a goddamn tune in a bucket.
What she got was these skinny liberals from the local high school, wispy hair, glasses, she suspected they couldn't get a hard on in a million years. Thought they were doing her a favor. The fat Puerto Rican cop had made a pass at her too, but he was even worse. Wife had left him for beating on her. Her pussy twinged as she remembered Eddie, his big frame dominating her as no other man ever had, his big cock stroking in her cunt as he mumbled his jive, big city fuck words in her ear. "Hot tits, baby, hot cunt, move that fat ass Maggie, you whore. Love it baby, love that fat thing inside your wet pussy. Oh shit baby, yeah go ahead, feel good? Yeah well hang on, Daddy ain't finished yet honey. Y'okay? Yeah, well lets go, move that black ass. Third time's always the best for you anyway, baby." A shiver lanced through Maggie's pussy as that memory seemed suddenly so vivid. Oh Eddie, you poor, unlucky bastard.
He was otherwise the perfect model of the new black man, light skinned, handsome in a white way, well spoken, with his slight Boston accent, from BU, but he got a boot out of letting people occasionally assume that Harvard was the only school in Massachusetts. They had a good time during the six years they had lived here together, with a middle class bunch of nice white people, and the money, with his Army retirement pay and the Police Lieutenants salary, was terrific. Maggie had no money problems, but she sure wasn't happy.
As she rose and headed for the locker room, she caught a look at herself in the full length mirror. The leotard acted as a girdle, her big tits stood high on her chest, and her ass looked smooth and curvy. The exercise kept her hips from getting flabby, but she couldn't quite get rid of her tummy. Still, she knew it looked sexy, her body, and she had gotten good at detecting the little sideways glances all the young studs gave her. There wasn't a white woman over thirty whose body could hold a candle to hers.
