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07 Aralık 2023, 00:19
At midnight I texted Tony the address to my downtown apartment for next afternoon's workout. When I moved to the suburbs I couldn't part with my oasis in the city so I told myself I'd use it for friends that visited. But I always found myself too busy to join them. So I'd give them the keyless security code and send them a bottle of wine. They all complained until they realized they had a two-story apartment with a home gym, 15th floor roofdeck, gourmet kitchen and 360° views of the city all to themselves. The building was also full of athletes, musicians, actors and models. I knew very well that they had taken advantage of all of the buildings amenities.
Our workout appointment was scheduled for 4PM but I thought sending him the address at midnight would intrigue him. For the last few months I exclusively worked out in the gym he owned because it had a reputation for being athlete friendly, but I wanted to bring our sessions to a more secluded arena. I knew I wanted to fuck him but I still wanted my workout.
The next morning I brought a small suitcase of clothes to the apartment because I figured I'd take a vacation from my normal suburban life. A week downtown would be a fresh change considering I hadn't gone any where fun in three months. My chef Adrianne was especially thrilled when I asked her to stock the fridge downtown because she lived 5 minutes away.
With my life transposed from my lonely suburban castle to my modern urban getaway, I was aching for 4PM to arrive.
For the last three months I had savored my daily training with Tony. Before I blew out my knee I was never that focused on my body. I was blessed to have an Olympic body but I took everything for granted until it was all taken away from me 2 weeks before Olympic teams were to be set. My entire life revolved around track and investment banking, so when the team trainer, Leroy, realized how severely I had damaged my knee, he awkwardly joked that I was going to have plenty of time to watch the stock market from then on.
He was right.
For three years I kept myself walled off in the lavish suburban home my insurance paid for while I grew my money on Wall Street. I wrapped myself in numbers and found a sense of ease mastering something that few people understood. Investing money was empowering.
But it couldn't replace the high I'd get running the hurdles or training. Every time I looked at the scar on my knee from the surgery it reminded me how much I missed training at that level. My body was a race car parked in a garage on blocks. So I decided to get her a cover because I didn't want to be reminded of what could have been.
My freshman roommate from college, April, had a successful, upscale tattoo studio in Los Angeles so I let her design an elegant piece that ran from above my thigh to my ankle. It was my first and last ink, but it covered 1/5th of my body. Her inspiration came from the ornate design of the $100 bill mixed with a honeycomb pattern that she morphed to wrap elegantly around my leg. The piece was so good that she made me take some revealing photography that won a few awards. She clearly had gotten me drunk to agree to those photos but fortunately you couldn't tell that it was gaziantep escortları (http://www.gaziantepgazetesi.com/) me. To this day I rarely expose the tattoo in fear of someone recognizing it. April and I shared everything so I trusted her to cover everything.
Yet, with all of that ink and I still only saw the scar.
Ding Dong.
3:55.
Tony had arrived at the garage door so I buzzed him in. I watched him park his electric sedan in the visitor spot from my security camera. I texted him the code to my penthouse elevator and headed down one flight to my home gym. There had been an entire apartment in the space, but I fully renovated it to be my workout area. There were mostly free weights and a yoga area, but the treadmill and stationary cycle were high end. There were no walls so you could see out of the floor-to-ceiling windows from every corner of the gym. The 7 circular cement columns that held the building up were the only visible obstacles. The glassed shower area in the southwest corner overlooking the park was also visibly open. When I moved out of the city, I missed that gym the most.
As I began my preworkout stretch I heard Tony enter the apartment. I had grown somewhat anxious, but I didn't want to show any signs of my growing anticipation. I just listened to his paced footsteps as they navigated the top floor of the apartment. He was clearly scoping the place out and taking his time. Or maybe he was just as nervous as I was. Either way, he found himself walking down the staircase with his shoes in hand. Very respectful.
"Kara?" Tony shouted as he reached the landing. His tone was less of a search for me and more of a 'who the hell owns a home gym like this?'
"Over here stretching," I replied. "You can put your shoes on in here."
"Thank you," he said as he sat on a bench and pulled out a fresh pair of sneakers from his backpack to work out in. I took notice that the contents of his backpack weren't particularly overflowing. On one level I was pleased that he hadn't planned to overstay his visit, but on a another level I was disappointed that he might have only wanted to workout.
"Ready?" he asked as I finished stretching.
"Always," I nervously replied.
Once we got into the workout I forgot about how beautiful he looked in the white t-shirt he wore instead of the gym polo he wore for work. As amazing as he looked and smelled I was focused on tuning each muscle with precision. So I lost myself in my workout.
As usual I sweated like a pig. Tony was great about wiping me and the equipment down. That was essentially why I needed a trainer. I already had a workout regimen, but I needed a partner to spot me when I tackled the heavier weights and a clean up crew because I was like a hurricane in the gym - leaving a flood and debris in my trail.
Tony had that covered. More importantly, he was intensely professional. Most trainers would spend 45 minutes staring at my T
Our workout appointment was scheduled for 4PM but I thought sending him the address at midnight would intrigue him. For the last few months I exclusively worked out in the gym he owned because it had a reputation for being athlete friendly, but I wanted to bring our sessions to a more secluded arena. I knew I wanted to fuck him but I still wanted my workout.
The next morning I brought a small suitcase of clothes to the apartment because I figured I'd take a vacation from my normal suburban life. A week downtown would be a fresh change considering I hadn't gone any where fun in three months. My chef Adrianne was especially thrilled when I asked her to stock the fridge downtown because she lived 5 minutes away.
With my life transposed from my lonely suburban castle to my modern urban getaway, I was aching for 4PM to arrive.
For the last three months I had savored my daily training with Tony. Before I blew out my knee I was never that focused on my body. I was blessed to have an Olympic body but I took everything for granted until it was all taken away from me 2 weeks before Olympic teams were to be set. My entire life revolved around track and investment banking, so when the team trainer, Leroy, realized how severely I had damaged my knee, he awkwardly joked that I was going to have plenty of time to watch the stock market from then on.
He was right.
For three years I kept myself walled off in the lavish suburban home my insurance paid for while I grew my money on Wall Street. I wrapped myself in numbers and found a sense of ease mastering something that few people understood. Investing money was empowering.
But it couldn't replace the high I'd get running the hurdles or training. Every time I looked at the scar on my knee from the surgery it reminded me how much I missed training at that level. My body was a race car parked in a garage on blocks. So I decided to get her a cover because I didn't want to be reminded of what could have been.
My freshman roommate from college, April, had a successful, upscale tattoo studio in Los Angeles so I let her design an elegant piece that ran from above my thigh to my ankle. It was my first and last ink, but it covered 1/5th of my body. Her inspiration came from the ornate design of the $100 bill mixed with a honeycomb pattern that she morphed to wrap elegantly around my leg. The piece was so good that she made me take some revealing photography that won a few awards. She clearly had gotten me drunk to agree to those photos but fortunately you couldn't tell that it was gaziantep escortları (http://www.gaziantepgazetesi.com/) me. To this day I rarely expose the tattoo in fear of someone recognizing it. April and I shared everything so I trusted her to cover everything.
Yet, with all of that ink and I still only saw the scar.
Ding Dong.
3:55.
Tony had arrived at the garage door so I buzzed him in. I watched him park his electric sedan in the visitor spot from my security camera. I texted him the code to my penthouse elevator and headed down one flight to my home gym. There had been an entire apartment in the space, but I fully renovated it to be my workout area. There were mostly free weights and a yoga area, but the treadmill and stationary cycle were high end. There were no walls so you could see out of the floor-to-ceiling windows from every corner of the gym. The 7 circular cement columns that held the building up were the only visible obstacles. The glassed shower area in the southwest corner overlooking the park was also visibly open. When I moved out of the city, I missed that gym the most.
As I began my preworkout stretch I heard Tony enter the apartment. I had grown somewhat anxious, but I didn't want to show any signs of my growing anticipation. I just listened to his paced footsteps as they navigated the top floor of the apartment. He was clearly scoping the place out and taking his time. Or maybe he was just as nervous as I was. Either way, he found himself walking down the staircase with his shoes in hand. Very respectful.
"Kara?" Tony shouted as he reached the landing. His tone was less of a search for me and more of a 'who the hell owns a home gym like this?'
"Over here stretching," I replied. "You can put your shoes on in here."
"Thank you," he said as he sat on a bench and pulled out a fresh pair of sneakers from his backpack to work out in. I took notice that the contents of his backpack weren't particularly overflowing. On one level I was pleased that he hadn't planned to overstay his visit, but on a another level I was disappointed that he might have only wanted to workout.
"Ready?" he asked as I finished stretching.
"Always," I nervously replied.
Once we got into the workout I forgot about how beautiful he looked in the white t-shirt he wore instead of the gym polo he wore for work. As amazing as he looked and smelled I was focused on tuning each muscle with precision. So I lost myself in my workout.
As usual I sweated like a pig. Tony was great about wiping me and the equipment down. That was essentially why I needed a trainer. I already had a workout regimen, but I needed a partner to spot me when I tackled the heavier weights and a clean up crew because I was like a hurricane in the gym - leaving a flood and debris in my trail.
Tony had that covered. More importantly, he was intensely professional. Most trainers would spend 45 minutes staring at my T