Page 25 of Maid in America

Barrett stomped out of bed, snatched a pair of gray sweatpants and a muscle tank from a pile on the floor, andsniffed them. He deemed the outfit ‘clean enough’ and dressed for the gym, desperate to burn off some steam.

Urinating with an erection was a particular skill Barrett had thankfully mastered already. After, he washed his hands, snatched up his truck keys, and bolted out the door, relieved that his dick was already down to what he liked to callhalf-mast.

After a brisk three-minute drive, he parked and jogged inside, looking up at the cluster of birds nesting in the bright red signage of his local gym,Swole.

Inside, the delightful combo of sweat and cleaning fluid wafted at him. He glanced around, seeing a few groggy regulars who looked perturbed about having to sweat this early on a Saturday.

In one corner, a scrawny man in a hoodie struggled at a weight bench. Nearby, an exhausted woman, presumably a mother -- if the spit-up stains on her shirt were any indication -- climbed a stair-stepper, half-asleep. An old man whose loose skin clung to surprising muscle mass pedaled a high-end stationary bike. His form and physique were something Barrett hoped for at such an advanced age.

Nearby, a busty redhead deadlifted a set of twenty-five-pound weights in front of a wall of mirrors. Her firm ass and toned thighs beckoned him. He made his way next to her, picking up a set of weights and starting in on his alternating bicep curls. Playing it cool, he ignored her for a bit, stealing glances in the mirror when she lowered her head in concentration. After several repetitions, she glanced up, puffing air as she contracted her muscles. Barrett cast a seductive smile at her in the mirror.

Like fish in a barrel.

Only her expression remained flat. She returned her gaze to the checkered floor, focusing on the task.

“Your form is perfect,” he finally said, pretending to admire her biceps but staring, instead, straight at her breasts in the mirror, ones firmly mashed down by a peach sports bra.

She never raised her head to look at him.

“That’s fair. If I was a beautiful woman like you, I wouldn’t want to talk to me either.”

She jerked an earbud out of her ear, previously obscured by her shoulder-length red hair. Tinny whispers of death metal blared from it. “What?”

“I was just saying—”

“I’m here to work out, not find a man,” she said curtly.

“Same,” he said quickly, trying to be funny.

She didn’t laugh. “You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree. I like chicks.”

He laughed. “Whaddaya know? Me too. Seems we have something in common already.”

“Yeah, makes sense. My gaydar was going off.” She snorted, focusing back on her weights.

He laughed and pumped the weights harder, shaking his head. “I meant, I like chicks, too.”

She stared at him in the mirror for a moment and then cracked a smile. “I’m Charlotte.”

“Me too!” he exclaimed.

She laughed, weights dangling at the ends of her relaxed arms.

“Just kidding. Barrett. I haven’t seen you around before. You just join?”

“Visitor pass. My brother goes here. I’m just in town visiting the poor sap.” She nodded to the far side of the gym where the waif of a man sat on the weight bench, bright white calves on display below a pair of basketball shorts. He lifted his chin, looking around to see if he was in anyone’s way.

Barrett immediately recognized his crooked nose and dark, sunken eyes.It was Anthony.

And he looked like shit.

“Wait, hold up. Anthony’s your brother?”

Charlotte nodded.

“So you’reChar! Like,theChar.”

“No one calls me Char and lives. Excepthim.” She threw a nod in her brother’s direction.

---