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My hand reached out to open the door, and the first thing that hit me was the smell. To be honest, I’d been expecting some kind of disgusting sweat stench smell. But instead, a clean antiseptic scent hit my nostrils, and it soon became evident why.
Because peering inside, I could see that this wasn’t just any type of gym. This was a place that wrestlers frequented. All around me were square rings elevated off the floor, with padded mats and men grappling with one other. My breath caught, eyes going wide. Because these were gorgeous men, I could see. Guys whose bodies strained, their muscles flexing and gleaming under the low lights. Grunts ran out as they sought to best one another, a tangle of powerful limbs and sheer masculine power.
Suddenly, a voice cut through my reverie.
“You here to work out?” it asked in a reedy whine. “Because that’s what we do.”
I turned to find an old man staring at me, old and decrepit. He couldn’t have been more than five foot two with a tuft of white hair on his head and matching tufts sticking out of his ears. He was comically dressed in a red Adidas track suit, complete with a pair of sparkling, snow-white sneakers.
“Um, yes, I’m here for a gym membership,” I said, cheeks coloring. “Is this Petey’s Place?”
“Sign on the door says it is,” said the tiny gnome. “You here to wrestle?”
“Um, well not wrestle exactly, but work out,” I said, eyes darting around. “Do you have machines and stuff? Like an elliptical trainer or maybe some weights?”
“We got those,” he said with a cackle. “We got one elliptical trainer, one stationary bike, and one treadmill. You wanna see? I can give you a tour.”
“Um sure,” I said, ducking my head. The guys at the gym were so athletic that I felt like a lump of round curves compared to the hard, oiled bodies around me. “Sounds good.”
And with that, the old man turned.
“Follow me,” he cackled, beckoning me down a hallway. “I’m Petey, by the way. And you are?”
“Lily,” I said weakly, shaking his hand. The old man had a surprisingly strong grip with callouses, even if his hand was dry and weathered. “I’m here to work out.”
“Why do you want to come here?” Petey asked as I followed him down the hall. “Surely a nice girl like you wants to go to a fancy gym. Not a place like this,” he said stamping his foot emphatically on the bare concrete floor. I could see why he thought that. With my jazzy work-out clothes and top of the line exercise mat, I looked like I belonged at some yuppie gym that had blaring dance music and acres of exercise equipment.
But I’d already seen something in favor of Petey’s Place. There had been no computer at the front desk, and no scanner either. So how did they track visits in this place? Surely, they weren’t using the old library card system, with a signature stamped on a card? It was too easy to fake.
So I dissembled a little.
“Um, just want to lose a little weight,” I said with a weak smile. “This place seems as good as any.”
Petey cackled, which soon became a cough as he doubled over, hacking.
“You okay?” I asked, hurrying over to slap him on the back. The coughs continued, the old man wheezing and snorting.
“I’m okay,” he straightened finally, eyes tearing. “Gettin’ old,” he said, “But this place keeps me young.”
“Mm-hmm,” I said, eyeing him worriedly. “I have some water in my bag. Do you want some?”
Petey shook his head, waving his scrawny arms.
“No, I’m good, I’m good,” he said. “Now this here is our kickboxing room,” he said. “We keep the temperature up so that you get the best work-out possible.”
I peered into a room that had mirrors on all four walls, as well as huge sandbags suspended from the ceiling. An array of men kicked and punched the bags in unison, letting out fierce grunts. Every single one of the guys was ripped and gorgeous, muscles bulging as they slammed invisible opponents.
“Oh I see,” I said faintly.
“You can try it,” said Petey. “No problem.”
I shook my head.
“No, I’m good,” was my hasty reply. “I just want to use the treadmill and maybe lift some weights.”
“That’s good,” chortled Petey. “Because here we are at the weight room. We got more than a thousand free weights,” he boasted. “Not too much of those fancy machines that modern day people crave,” he said. “You use your body weight and free weights, and that’s more than enough.”
I peered inside. Again, the place seemed to be populated by Adonises. The men inside were uniformly gorgeous, dressed in work out clothes as their muscles bulged, staring at themselves as they lifted and strained, pumping iron.
I was just about to duck out of sight again when a figure caught my eye in the corner of the room. I almost didn’t see because the entire area was shadowy, dim, and easy to miss.
