GYM JENGA GIRL – Why Not Every Beautiful Woman You See At The Gym Makes You Feel Sexually Aroused

I See Women Doing Many Things When They Work Out, But Smiling Is Never One Of Them

I See Women Doing Many Things When They Work Out, But Smiling Is Never One Of Them

I saw a beautiful woman at the gym this morning. I’m calling her Gym Jenga Girl. I have little nicknames for a lot of the attractive females I see there. Let me see, there’s Running Girl; she just goes on the treadmill and nothing else. There’s Unnecessarily Fit Girl; she grapevines her legs together, sticks them in the air and then does crunches for half an hour at a time. I mean, seriously, what activity outside the gym do you have to be that fit for? No, not even that one. Not unless she’s in the habit of sleeping with Bonobo chimps. Then there’s…well, you get the idea.

But this one’s new and she’s called Gym Jenga girl. Not that she was playing jenga. That’s more of a drunken bar room activity, very useful for keeping your hands busy now the smoking ban is slowly strangling the pub trade to death. But she did remind me of it in an odd way.

She climbed onto a treadmill on the other side of the room, and it has to be said she did look darkly stunning. Nicely tanned –not orange- with fine features all topped off by a sleek black jaw length bob. My next twenty minutes of sweaty torture passed a lot more pleasantly than usual. Then she climbed of the exercise machine and walked towards me and the effect was somewhat spoiled. There was a distinct wobble about her, but not physically you understand. Physically, she was as close to gym honed perfection as you are ever likely to encounter. It was a kind of metaphorical wobble.

As she approached me – well, went past me- it was obvious that she was in her mid thirties, rather than her early twenties as it had appeared when she was a few yards away. You see a lot of this sort of thing if you work nights and have to go through your physical jerks in the morning, after your shift. Women with forty year old faces, twenty year old tits and sixty year old elbows.

But this one was not, as Alicia Silverstone’s character stated in “Clueless”, a Matisse. She was not beautiful from a distance but, close up, a big old mess. If anything, she was even more stunning close up. But she was clearly buffed and polished and physically pampered to within an inch of her life. Everything about her appearance screamed “Held together entirely with effort and money”. As opposed to held together entirely by hope, spit and sticky tape, as in my case.

This woman’s face and figure were finely sculpted, but in the same way a pile of jenga is. Each year a block taken from the tower and carefully placed somewhere else to create a more pleasing shape. How long, I thought, before this lady’s beauty – and she was really fucking beautiful- came crashing down. I’ve seen this happen before, and when it does, it happens really quickly. Not quite as quick as a tower of jenga toppling onto the top of a bar, but quickly enough. I hope I’m nowhere near when this finally happens. Or even that I see her after it has. She had been quite an uplifting sight that morning. Until she popped my little bubble by getting close and turning out to be human.

© Copyright Michael Grimes 2013


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About thedailygrime

At that awkward age - too young to be a grumpy old man, but just acerbic and downtrodden enough to have an opinion. Read it here.

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