Abigail is supposed to come over after work to start our barter. I promised to teach her some basic weightlifting techniques and she’s going to help me sort out some funding applications. She did mention that it’s up to me to make the contacts and set up meetings, which gives me pause. My brother Archer says I need to find a hustler if I want to branch out on my own.
Abigail thinks I can land research funding to stay at Oak Creek College, and maybe even stop teaching. Just work there as a researcher professor.
I’m very eager to begin our trade. I’m not sure whether we should work out first or get started talking about my project. I feel a buzzing energy at the thought of moving forward with my work, an equally present fear that I won’t be able to communicate my needs clearly enough to interest an investor.
I see Abigail approach the back door and open it as she raises a hand to knock. I have to remind myself to focus on her eyes and not to stare at her luscious body. I can’t help but notice the rounded curves made visible by her tight workout gear. It occurs to me that she will get sweaty, and I hadn’t realized the thought of a sweaty woman would be so alluring. Focus on her eyes, I remind myself before my thoughts get away from me.
“Hey,” Abigail says, smiling. “I brought a chair.” I brave a quick look down to see she’s holding a camping chair. It looks new, and I feel a wash of guilt that I hadn’t thought to go buy a chair, since I knew I’d be having guests.
“I’ll reimburse you for the cost,” I say, but she laughs.
“Your mom gave me a bonus. Besides,” she plunks the chair over by my desk. “Now I have somewhere to sit for the Autumn Apple fireworks.” Abigail places a water bottle on the counter and asks if we can start with our workout. “I think it will help me focus on all your big science lingo if we exercise first.”
With a nod, I reach for the broom stick. “It’s important to learn how to safely move through the exercises before you add weight,” I tell her.
“And safely hit you in the guts with the stick?” Her eyes twinkle a bit when she asks this, so I feel certain she is making a joke about our last encounter. I just nod.
I show her how to thread the dowel across her shoulders and grip the handle. “Now,” I say, “the most important thing is to arch your back as you bend your knees.” I see her watching me intently as I demonstrate the motions. I like having her eyes on me like this and I realize I’m feeling comfortable around her. That in itself is unusual. “You look like you’d like to ask a question,” I say, putting down the broom.
“How come you are always barefoot when you’re working out?”
“Oh.” We both look down at my feet. I wiggle my toes. “It helps me balance and make sure I’m distributing my weight evenly when I move.”
Abigail nods and stoops, beginning to untie her shoes. My breath catches as I see the line of her cleavage at the neck of her tank top. Her breasts are magnificent. She tosses her shoes to the side and extends a hand for the broom. Our fingers brush together as she takes it from me, and I feel as though she’s rubbed a raw nerve. The contact pulses through my body, catching me totally off guard.
Prior to this, I had only read about such things. I never experienced a physical yearning like this. How remarkable, I think, wanting to touch her again to see if the zap returns.
I stand back as Abigail adjusts the broom stick across her shoulders and arches her back. “Like this?” She asks. I nod, watching. It feels strange to be invited to observe her so closely, and I have to remind myself I’m supposed to watch her form, to keep her safe so she doesn’t strain or injure a muscle when she adds weight. As Abigail bends her knees, I see her spine curve and I extend my hand to make a correction.
“Abigail,” I clear my throat. “Would it be all right if I put my hand on your back so you can feel how to move?”
“Oh.” She swallows. “Yes. Thank you for asking first.” I stretch open my fingers and place my palm on her back. I can feel the heat radiating through her shirt, and am relieved, thrilled by the tingle that climbs up my arm upon contact. Her body molds to my touch as she bends, her form perfect.
“That’s excellent,” I whisper. I hadn’t intended to whisper, but I find that I cannot concentrate when I am touching Abigail’s body. “Do you feel the difference?”
She seems breathless and nods, continuing to move through the exercise until I withdraw my hand. Abigail swallows. I can feel my heart pounding as if I had been working out, and I tell myself it’s because I’m working so hard on my social interactions. It’s always an exertion for me to be near people, especially new people. “Do you think I can add weights?” She looks at me hopefully. “I want to get strong as quickly as I can.”
“The only bar I have weighs 45 pounds. We could try that and see if it’s too much.” I help Abigail position the bar across her shoulders, feeling small zaps and jolts as my knuckles graze against her skin around the tank top. Evidence suggests I am physically attracted to Abigail, and I’m not sure what to do about that.
“Ok,” I say. “I’m going to put my hand on your back at first while you’ve got the weight on.”
“Got it.” Abigail bends her knees slowly until her thighs are parallel with the ground and she grunts a bit as she starts to rise back to standing. She laughs. “Oh man,” she says, leaning into my palm a bit. I feel her ribs expanding and contracting as she breathes. “Now I see why you make so much noise when you do this.”
I smile, even though she hasn’t said something amusing. I feel a deep yearning to touch her more, but also to watch her move, to see her delight in achieving something difficult.
I coach Abigail through a few more sets of squats and then show her a basic deadlift. She has a harder time with the proper form for a deadlift, even after watching me and feeling my hand on her back. “Could you take a picture of me so I can see what you’re talking about?” Her question makes me feel foolish. If we were in a gym, we’d have mirrors to use as a tool so she could see her form.
“That’s a good idea,” I tell her, reaching for my phone on the counter. I set up the camera and tell her to try again, snapping a few shots as she moves. “Hey,” I say as she executes a perfect lift. “You did it! Here, look.” She puts the bar down and we lean over my screen. “See how your back looks different on this last one?” Abigail nods, smiling.
She fans herself and looks away from the photos. I’m relieved when she asks if we can call it a day. Somewhere along the way, I developed a raging erection from watching her move.