How Touching

Story Sent in by Nina:

Carl was a well-toned guy I met at my gym. I had just started working out regularly when he approached me and began a conversation. He seemed experienced in toning and weight training, and I found a lot of what he said interesting, although a lot of it didn't directly apply to me.

A few days later, I saw him again, we talked, and he asked me out to dinner.

At dinner, he would not shut up about how strong he was, the competitions in which he had placed, the medals he had won, and how awesome it was to be strong and powerful. "Most weaklings I see at work have no idea that I could probably snap them in half. It's good to know that I can do that, if I have to."

"When would you have to?" I asked him.

"I'd snap my boss in half, first," he said, "She'd crack like old wood, then I'd sprinkle her bone dust like confetti all over the office."

"Great."

After dinner, we took a short walk around the block. He had gone from describing his own physique to critiquing mine. "Your arms are a bit flabby," he'd say, "You should work out more." He also said, "If you tightened up your stomach, people wouldn't think of you as a weakling anymore."

Finally, I grew tired of this insightful banter and I told him that I had to head home. He replied, "Show me your muscles, real quick."

I did, hoping that it would draw the evening to a close. "Ha!" he said, "Those aren't muscles! These are muscles!" He flexed for me. "Go ahead. Feel them."

I said, "Those are some nice muscles."

"Feel them if you want to."

"I don't want to."

"I want you to. Feel them."

"No thanks."

He flexed into a different posture and asked, "What the fuck is your problem? Why don't you want to feel what real muscles feel like?"

I replied, "I have real muscles. I don't need to go feeling yours."

He said, "But mine are larger and firmer than yours. Feel them."

"No thank you."

He flexed into a different position and stepped closer to me. "Feel them or go home."

I didn't reply, but instead turned and strode back to my vehicle. He jogged after me, ran in front, and turned toward me to block my way.

"Just feel them. That's all you have to do," he said, and reached for my hand, presumably to put it on his bicep, tricep, or perhaps another such muscle.

I jerked my arm away and continued on to my car. "You're being an idiot!" he called after me, "Most women would love to touch something like this!"

The next time I saw him at the gym, he came up to me and said, "Hey, sorry that things didn't work out. Did you have a good night? I did. Called up some friends, they brought some girls, and they felt my muscles all night long."

I asked, "All night long? Guess they never found the little one between your legs, huh?"

He replied, "Oh, they found it. Anyway, have a good workout."

We haven't spoken since.