Many thanks to PlatnumDoodles for insightful editing and valuable additions.
I’m writing this story to entertain my readers, but also, to suggest a strategy for men who want to meet attractive, fit and eligible women. It’s not for everyone, of course. A man must have the balls to pursue it. But, my experience was fairly successful and I got more sex with more partners than I ever imagined.
To qualify the events in this story, let me just say I’m an ordinary guy. I’m decent-looking, but no athlete or movie star. My body is basically trim, though I had been adding a few pounds over the years.
I was never very successful with women. It was very hard to ask girls out in high school and even worse in college. If I met a girl at a social event or in a class, I could carry on a conversation. But, turning that conversation into a date was always a challenge – I was deathly afraid of being turned down.
I got married at 22 when a determined woman convinced me she wanted me forever. Eighteen months later she informed me that I was an inadequate lover and she had been seeing a better man for a year. Emasculated is the right term for my condition at that time.
My lack of confidence with women stayed with me into my work life. I worked for a cyber security company, so there were plenty of people around my age in the building. It was an easy-going atmosphere in the office and groups would often go out for drinks together. I was fine in a group, contributing to the conversation. But I had a hard time carrying on a conversation with just one women at a time – and could never ask them out.
This was especially frustrating in regard to one women in my department – Gina. I had been working there for about 4 years when she was hired. She caught my eye the first time I met her. I was responsible for training her in some of the security software tools we used. I had a hard time staying on topic when seated next to her at a computer. She was quite attractive, about 5′ 8″, maybe 120 lbs. Nice, long, dark hair that seemed to glisten and move when she spoke. It framed a beautiful face with large dark eyes and a sincere smile. As far as I was concerned, her body was perfect. Slim and fit, her breasts seemed prominent but of average size, nice firm rounded ass and wonderful shapely legs. Obviously out of my league.
Her nicest feature was her personality – always outgoing and upbeat. It was pleasant just to be around her. She was feminine, but not afraid to assert herself if someone wasn’t showing her proper respect. She had a sharp tongue and got along well with everyone and everyone liked her – especially me. I would make up work assignments that required me to show her how it was to be done. Sitting next to her, smelling her hair, was addictive. She always smiled at me and she told me I was cute a few times. That made me feel wonderful. But, I never had the guts to take it any further – other than in my happy dreams. My real world wasn’t so happy.
At age 30, I started shopping around again for a fitness program to help me stay fit and healthy. Over the years, I had started several fitness programs at home and at a gym, but could never discipline myself to keep at it more than a few months. They always got very boring, very quickly.
A bunch of us from the office often went to the local bar after work on Mondays. One week, after a couple of rounds, I asked some of them for fitness program recommendations. The guys suggested the usual treadmill, elliptical and weight training – the boring things I had tried before. Gina looked up from her whiskey glass and suggested dance classes. Not ballroom dancing – dancing for exercise. I had often seen classes of women in leotards and leggings dancing in sync to fast tempo music in the studios at gyms. I loved to discreetly watch them jiggle. But I never saw any men in those classes.
Gina insisted that men were allowed in the classes – no sex discrimination there. Then she got up on her well-liquored soapbox and made her point. She could never understand why men didn’t try it. “It’s good, aerobic exercise that uses most muscles in the body. It won’t build big muscles, but will absolutely keep you fit while improving rhythm and balance. It’s also a lot of fun – dancing to popular music. Why don’t men want that?” She started to demonstrate a dance while seated and almost fell off her barstool.
I gently pushed her back upright and answered her question. “Because no man is going to go into a room full of women and try to display his dance skills with all of them staring at him.” I replied shyly.
She came back with the usual “Oh, the big bad man is afraid of a bunch of girls? You want to keep your shy, nerdy, insecure persona forever? You need to grow a pair Marty. You have to take social risks once in a while. That’s the way to expand your social skills and also make yourself more attractive to women. You do understand that women are attracted to men who demonstrate confidence don’t you? I know I am.”
I took a Ankara bayan escort long pull from my beer mug and thought about her statement. Yes, I knew that women – and men – are attracted to someone who appears confident in what they’re doing. I considered myself a little confident, but choreographed public dancing was way outside my personal comfort zone.
But isn’t that the measure of confidence? Going into an unknown and risky situation and not fearing the consequences? And what are the possible consequences of simply dancing in a room with 20 women? It can’t possibly hurt me. I wouldn’t break a leg or anything. I could do that.
I expanded my chest and was about to take another manly draft of beer when I realized there are some things worse than physical injuries – perhaps worse than death. One of those would be 20 women laughing at me after I missed a step and sprawled on the floor in front of them. It wouldn’t hurt the body. But it might well destroy a man’s ego. “I’ll think about it,” I evaded.
But Gina, leaning heavily against the bar and not wanting to let me off the hook, came right back. “I dare you Marty. I dare you to attend one dance fitness class at the gym. I’ll go with you to make sure you don’t chicken out. You’re not chicken are you?”
You may remember Marty McFly from the Back to the Future movies? Whenever someone called him chicken, he immediately made a bad decision and got in lots of trouble. The problem is – MY name is also Marty. Can movies really affect your density – err, destiny? I didn’t want to have to defend my honor and personal courage in front of work friends – especially Gina. I was secure in my masculinity and didn’t need to prove it to anyone – I thought.
My three other well-lubricated friends at the bar took up the cry. “Take the dare Marty. You can dance as well as any woman. Don’t let Gina shame you.”
I glared at Gina for putting me in this situation. She returned a sly smile. The three other guys were all gym rats. They went at least 3 days a week and spent hours grunting and thrusting on the workout machines. No question about their masculinity. Only mine was being doubted. I thought Gina liked me. Why did she have to make this a dare?
“OK, Gina. What if I take your dare? That’s is a pretty big ask, embarrassing myself in front of a bunch of women. What’s the reward if I do it?”
“Isn’t proving your courage enough reward?” she asked. Her face went very pensive. “All right, if you’re going to be a sissy about it, I’ll buy you beers for a week if you go to a class.”
I saw my escape hatch. “You expect me to do the most embarrassing thing in my life for a lousy few beers? I’ll need a lot more reward than that. You can’t afford all of the beers it would take to get me into that class.”
“You’re right. I’m just a working girl. I can’t afford any significant financial reward for you,” she replied, looking in her wallet.
I was feeling very beer-bold and wanted to shock her back down from her silly dare “Then how about a physical reward?” I countered. “How about you have sex with me if I go to a class?” I had shocked myself that I would say such a thing – out loud.
“In your dreams, Marty. No sex for you.” she said sternly. Then she seemed to waver a bit and took a long drink from her whiskey glass. She looked directly into my eyes and got a sinister smile on her face. She knew she had me by threatening my ego. But she wanted even more leverage on me. “All right. Since this is such a terribly frightening experience for our little chicken, and I really want to see you succeed, I’ll up the stakes – a lot. If you join a dance fitness class, and go to at least three classes, I’ll give you a blowjob.”
“What?” I squeaked. That got my attention. Gina and I had no sexual history. We worked together and occasionally met with other folks at the bar. She was very good looking and I had sometimes fantasized about her, but I’d never seen any sign that I was more than a platonic friend to her – while she was sober.
While I was pondering her intentions, the other guys chimed in. “Wow, you can’t beat that Marty. You gotta to take that dare. You prove your masculinity by accepting the dare and then she rewards your masculinity – orally. You gotta take it!”
Any man will understand that I could not possibly turn down the dare. My manhood was being questioned – and my manhood would be compensated in the best possible way. Whatever my fear of embarrassment in front of the dance class, my embarrassment in front of my friends would be much worse if I chickened out.
“Well, with an incentive like that, I gladly accept your challenge,” I answered confidently. Of course, my guts were a lot less confident.
Gina was gloating over her dare. She had a regular membership at a local luxury gym. I say “luxury” because they had clean showers, plenty of towels and hundreds of workout machines. It had just recently opened only a block from the bar. She pulled up the Escort bayan Ankara dance class calendar on her phone. “How about tomorrow at 6:00? Right after work? I can get you a free one month membership.” she prompted. I gulped and asked to postpone for a few days – I needed time to prepare myself.
After accepting her dare, I tried to anticipate what I would need beyond two brass balls and some good gym shoes. My current running shoes had too many miles on them and parts of them flapped when I ran. So, new shoes were definitely required. I had never bothered to consider what clothes I wore to a gym. My 10 year old running shorts and 15 year old T-shirts with permanent sweat stains worked fine for me. But now, for the first time, my appearance in the gym would matter. I couldn’t have the women giggle when a smelly, ragged-ass man lurched into their class.
That meant a trip to the sporting goods store. I bought three T-shirts in different colors, with the Nike logo on the chest. I needed to buy two pairs of gym shorts. But that raised some questions of the universe that I had never pondered before. How high should the hemline be? Really short shorts? Or basketball length? Would they make my ass look big? Fortunately, a helpful sales girl gave me some guidance when I told her what I needed them for. That also earned me a raised eyebrow and an audible smirk.
Gina finally insisted on Thursday at 6:00 and said she would meet me there. I smiled, confidently, and said “See you there!” Then I went back to my office and nearly puked. There was no way out now. Pretending to be sick would get me laughed out of the office. A fictional family funeral was an idea, but I knew I couldn’t pull off a big lie like that. It was time to put up or shut up.
On Thursday, I drove directly to the gym from the office. I had my dance workout clothes in a gym bag. I checked in at the desk and the guy confirmed I had a one month free membership. He pointed toward the locker room and I went to change. I have never been sensitive about being naked in a locker room, but that time, I was a bit nervous about how I looked in my new outfit. I put on a brave face and walked back over to the front desk and asked where the 6:00 dance fitness class was being held. The guy looked confused and asked “Dance fitness class?” I pretended to be confident and not intimidated by his question. “Yes” I responded bravely. “OK, that’s in studio A, at that end of the building.” Pause. “Good luck with that.”
There was no reason to be concerned. I was going to a class of light exercise where they played music. I was just one of many athletes who needed a workout. I have plenty of experience in gyms. Why am I so nervous?
Gina was standing by the studio door, clad in skin tight leggings and a sleeveless leotard top. I had only ever seen her in office attire. The detailed outline of her body was perfectly clear in every detail. I gasped and tried to make my mouth close again before I got to her. She was smiling in that “Now I’ve got you” way. “I’m impressed Marty. I didn’t really think that you would have the guts to show up. I like your outfit too, masculine but not stinky. Let’s see if you can survive the class.” I followed her into the studio and was stunned as I took in the scene.
I had never seen so much beautiful female anatomy in one place. About 20 young women – they all looked young to me – were standing around chatting or doing stretches. Most wore leggings, but some had short shorts, showing lots of bare leg. I quickly noted that the plain leggings with all one color and no patterns provided the clearest definition (VPL) of what was inside. No distracting lines or colors to camouflage the natural lines of the inhabitant. Some wore short or long-sleeved tops that were also skin-tight, showing clear definition of what perked up beneath. Others wore loose shirts with large armholes, providing teasing glimpses underneath. They all seemed to have sports bras underneath to control the bounce during dance moves.
While I stood and surveyed the group, they each sensed that something was different in the studio that day. All heads turned toward me and I saw lots of different expressions on their faces. One or two frowned, they clearly didn’t like having a male intruder in this holy feminine sanctuary. Others were simply surprised. Probably just like people who see aliens land in their backyard. The rest started to smile and leer. Yes, that’s right. Women do leer when their eyes encounter an unusual and appealing site. I wasn’t able to process the effects of so many opinions of my body. I wasn’t frightened, but I wasn’t proud either.
“Hi, I’m Janet, the instructor. Gina told me you might be joining our class. Welcome. Do you have any questions before we start?” She was stunning. I suppressed the real question that came to mind: “Where have you been all my life?” Instead, I politely asked “Is it all right for men to join this group?” She smiled sweetly and said, “Of Bayan escort Ankara course, we all like to have a man around sometimes.” and trotted up to the front of the room. I couldn’t take my eyes off her firm, shapely butt. I could see every muscle move!
She started the music on her phone and it came through the ceiling speakers. The women all took positions in 3 lines across the width of the room. The back 2 lines seemed full, but only 2 women stood in the first row. Although I had never been in a dance fitness class before, I instantly figured out that people in the back rows got to watch the backsides of the people in front of them. People in the front row could watch others in the mirror that covered the front wall, but it wasn’t nearly as interesting.
The more important downside to dancing in the front row was that everyone behind you can watch you and notice every mistake you make. If you’re self-conscious, like I wasn’t of course, you may feel insecure about flailing your uncoordinated limbs before a critical audience. I shuffled about, trying to wedge my way into the back row, but no none moved. I started hesitantly toward the front, feeling my nuts shrink with every step.
Janet saved me by asking for someone to move from the back row to the front to give me a place. Mercifully, Gina offered her spot in the last row. I mouthed “thank you” as we passed. She smiled. I took my place in the back row and said hi to the women on either side of me. They silently nodded and then looked forward. I’m sure you’ve heard the expression “Odd man out”.
Janet started moving quickly left and right in time with the music. “OK ladies, let’s start warming up. Oh. I’m sorry, ladies and gentleman.” The music was at a medium beat, some popular song from the 1990s, and everyone spread their legs a bit and started moving their weight from their left foot to their right in time. Even I could do that. Then Janet started extending her arms to match the direction of the weight shift. Still no problem. Then she started curling the unweighted leg up from the knee on each move. “Hamstring curls” to the cognoscenti. It took me a few beats before I got myself in sync with the rest of the class, but I started to feel that maybe I wouldn’t look a complete fool.
Just as I got my legs curling in time, Janet switched to double side step. Right foot out to the side. Left foot catch up next to it. Right foot out again. Left foot catch up again. I was proud that I quickly saw the pattern and matched it right away. I started to move my right foot out again and noticed, too late, that Janet had reversed and led out with the left foot – in the opposite direction. Before I could recall my right foot, it came down on the left foot of the woman next to me. She yelled once and glared at me as I tried to apologize.
After that I struggled to match the steps that Janet was demonstrating. My eyes were locked on her feet instead of the usual parts. She would repeat one step like the “grapevine” (three sideways steps with the trailing foot crossing over behind the other) several times in a row. It typically took me about 4 repetitions to figure out the step and get my feet moving to match. But, as I started the next repetition in perfect sync with the class, she switched to a new step and I was lost again. My nuts started to shrink and retract up into my body.
None of the steps were really complicated once you got into the rhythm. We went from the end of one song immediately into the next – only time for a quick sip of water from my bottle. I was getting a little winded, but less than running. I was proud of my obvious aerobic fitness, but then noticed the different styles of dancing among the women. The older, less-thin women just moved their weight from one foot to the other for each step – that’s called ‘low impact’. The fit women were leaving the floor – jumping from step to step – that’s ‘high impact’. I had to prove myself, so I tried the jumping style – for a while. I was soon out of breath and starting to trip occasionally. So, I swallowed what little pride I had left and settled for the low impact style.
The one hour class went on for about four days. At least I didn’t injure anyone else – only my pride. At the end, several women came up to me and commented how well I had done and encouraged me to come again. But, I could see it was sympathy and not really encouragement in their eyes. Janet also stopped by to encourage me. But, she failed at that when she said “Don’t worry. Men always have a hard time with this. You may get the hang of it someday.” I tried to slither out the door, but Gina was lying in wait.
“Well Marty, you really did it. You survived your first dance fitness class. I’m proud of you. You had the balls to actually come here and you didn’t bale after you stomped on that poor woman’s foot. Good for you. But, you have to endure two more classes to earn your reward. Do you think you’ll make it?”
I couldn’t think of a reply. My self-concept had been beaten down with too many self-inflicted insults. I felt like an uncoordinated spider who got caught up in his own legs. I tried to explain to myself that this didn’t matter. I was a decent, coordinated athlete. I could walk and chew gum at the same time – I just couldn’t dance and do anything else.