Work It

A Short Story

By Maryanne Peters 

It was not just that the gym was offering half rates for signing up a friend, Tom genuinely felt that his old Friend Dakota J. Smith needed the program.  DJ was not a big guy, and not being inclined to muscle, it figured that he could get flabby easily.  In addition, he seemed a bit down of late, and Tom knew that a good flow of endorphins from vigorous exercise could only help.  

They used to work out together, but DJ seemed to have gone into his shell a bit lately.  A new gym membership and some fitness or weight loss targets were what was needed, and Tom needed to ensure that DJ was motivated not to fail.

“Weight loss, sure,” suggested Tom.  “And muscle performance.  Increasing the poundage and the reps.  You need targets that will see you develop a more manly shape.”

“Whatever”.  DJ shrugged.  He appreciated that it was a genuine friendship that has prompted Tom to reach out to him.  He would go along with it.  More than that, he was ready to make a commitment to pull himself out of this funk.

“The flabbier you get the girlier you look,” teased Tom.  “That’s it.  Achieve our targets or lose an item of masculinity.  Neither of us can cut our hair in the meantime.”

Tom had already formulated targets on a point system based on weight loss to be measured every three weeks, and muscle performance to be determined by doing exercise reps on matched weights every three weeks.  By having that combination, they would not be penalized for weight gain due to increased muscle mass.

“But you are bigger and stronger than me already,” complained DJ.

“Ok, so we will do it by percentage improvement on starting performance,” Tom suggested.

It was not a good idea and initially Tom paid the price, having to wear pink gym pants.  Others in the gym sniggered.  It was very annoying.  Tom suspected that DJ may have deliberately underperformed to keep his starting performance on weights low.  He was determined that he would not suffer further penalty.

“We need to address our diet too,” Tom said.  “I will prepare power shakes for us both and we will stick to a single meal other than those.”

“OK”, DJ agreed.  He did not really trust himself to stick to a strict diet, he was finding that difficult, but for the moment he was happy in the knowledge that he was not the one wearing pink.

But that was to change at the end of the next three weeks.  DJ was in pink, and Tom was back in black.  But it was not without effort by Tom.  He was adamant that he would not go backwards from here.  While he felt a little guilty for what he had done, three weeks in pink had been enough.

The day of the weigh in and exercise comparison came around, and DJ was a little worried.  He had not lost much weight if any, but he had been exercising well and only had to show a small improvement.  He was appalled that despite all his efforts his strength had being going backwards.

“From man-bun to girl-bun,” Tom grinned.  The penalty had been agreed on in advance.  With both of them wearing hair that needed to be tied back a rough knot had sufficed, but now for DJ that meant a neat girlish do, held in place with a colorful scrunchie, higher on his head.

Tom smirked when DJ appeared, and looked around for reaction.  But others attending the gym were now wise to the friendly contest and few commented.  It was easy until a few days later when Tom suggested that they go next door to catch a game on TV and shower at home.

“I can’t go out dressed like this,” said DJ.

“it’s athleisure wear,” said Tom.  “Everybody can wear it into a bar these days.”  He was grinning.  

“You can go by yourself,” said DJ.  “I will get changed here.”

DJ did his best over coming weeks, but Tom was on a roll.  His regime was producing results.  He had never felt stronger or fitter.  The gym instructors referred others to him as a success story.  But DJ was back in a funk, snacking to feel better.  He was putting on weight, not losing it.

It was inevitable.  The weigh-in took place.  The round of the weights was over.  DJ confronted the latest penalty; the sports bra top with the see-through panel in the front and a cross-over back.

“It looks like you might actually need that,” teased Tom.  “Your chest seems so flabby that it bounces around.  Now you have the perfect garment to keep everything in place.”

“I am not sure that I am up to this contest anymore,” said DJ glumly.  He was craving ice cream.  “Maybe I should just admit defeat and not put this on.

“Are you kidding me?” said Tom.  You have three weeks of exercise in this before you surrender.  But the important thing is, are you feeling fitter?”

“Fitter but fatter,” said DJ.  He did seem to have more flab on his body, but mainly on his chest and on his butt.  He put the top on.  It felt comfortable.  And it looked good.  DJ somehow felt that he could perform better dressed as he was.  Despite the odd body shape, he felt like he looked healthy.

“Looking good, DJ,” said Brett, one of the other regulars at the gym.  It didn’t seem to be a tease.  DJ saw himself in the mirror and struck a pose.

Even if he could not beat Tom, he was up for this.  Just keep working.

Three weeks later the prescribed penalty was a facial hard wax job.  Nothing up to that point meant any pain, but now was the time to call it quits.

“Ok,” said Tom.  “But after the penalty.  I agree that you can bail after that, but a deal is a deal.  Take it on the chin, or rather take it off the chin.”  Tom grinned.

“I am not paying for it,” said DJ.

“I will,” said Tom.  “I will organize it.  I will book you in round the corner after the weigh-in and contest.”

Tom actually considered throwing the contest in DJ’s favor, but as he watched him straining at the weights with a body that now seemed so soft and short of muscle, he imagined that he would look quite good with the last of those thinning whiskers removed.

Now he seemed to no longer suffer the pangs of guilt that he had felt earlier as he had laced DJ’s energy drinks with progesterone.  It was still an important ingredient, but for weeks he had added it without thought.  The original intention was clear – he was not going to suffer the ignominy of wearing those pink leggings again.  Besides, DJ looked so good in them.

DJ failed and Tom escorted him to the waxing salon.  

“This is going to take a while, so I will see you back at the gym tomorrow,” said Tom.

DJ was there the following day.  The face had been plucked, and the eyebrows had been shaped as Tom had instructed, but the face was inflamed.

“I hope you’re happy,” said DJ.  “I am applying all these creams to soothe my skin and it will be months before any whiskers grow back.”

“Well, you are released now,” said Tom.  “But look at yourself.  You are fit and healthy, and I think you look great.”

“Do you really think so,” said DJ.  “The girls at the salon think that I look like a girl.”  He was looking at himself in the mirror and adjusting his bun.  His face looked very red, but still the vision made Tom feel very strange.

A few days later there was another game on straight after their session.  Just as months before, Tom suggested that they go next door to watch the game.

“I can’t go out dressed like this,” said DJ, just as he had the time before.

“You look great in that outfit,” said Tom.  The leggings were new.  The deal was off, so they were not pink but a bright orange.  DJ still wore the top because it was comfortable, and the high bun because it was convenient.  And the face was no longer inflamed after constant use of the moisturizers.  In fact, after the session that smooth skin glowed with health.

“I guess everybody wears athleisure wear everywhere these days,” said DJ.

“I’m buying,” said Tom.  And he did.

“Tom has always come in here alone before,” said the barman while Tom was taking a piss.  “He has never brought a girl before.  Are you two together?”

DJ was momentarily puzzled.  Only for a moment, and then just another moment to collect his thoughts.  He was in a bar.  Tom was in the Gent’s.  He looked like a girl.  If he opened his mouth they would know.  He could only think to smile at the barman and raise his glass.

The message was unintended, but it was clearly affirming.

“Lucky guy,” said the barman, smiling back.

That smile and those words changed DJ.  Tom had always been trying to get him to improve himself and come out of his shell, but it seemed that he would forever be the little nobody tagging on Tom’s heels.  He was lucky to have somebody like Tom as a friend.  Tom was lucky to have him.  The idea seemed crazy, but delightful.  He looked at himself in the mirror behind the bar, catching a glimpse over the bottles.  A woman looked back.  Even without makeup and fresh out of the gym, a pretty woman.  The kind of woman that anybody would be happy to have as a girlfriend.

Tom was back, taking his stool and asking: “Another beer?”

“I think I would like a glass of white wine,” DJ whispered.  “But first I need to go to the restroom too.”

DJ walked lightly across the barroom floor to the back, and after just a second of consideration of what had changed, he walked into the Ladies’.

The End

© Maryanne Peters

Author’s Note:

Ashley is one of my special patrons, an admirer who contributes feedback and ideas.  One idea she suggested recently goes like this: “Two friends who used to frequent the gym together, but one has let himself go … The duo have always been super competitive so as a way to get him back into shape, his fit buddy incentivizes him … he slowly watches his buddy become a sexy gym girl … sports bras slowly fill out and the member that used to be clearly visible in his tight yoga pants slowly shrinks away”.  Tom and Dakota are Ashley’s names, but I jumbled her idea a bit to build the basis for this story.  Ashley’s profile picture is how I imagine DJ with a little makeup.  I bet Ashley looks great in athleisure gear.