Tomcat

Chapter Five-4

Tommy scanned the rack until she found the smallest scrap of material they had in her size. In the change room, she checked out her reflection. The fabric just barely covered her bits and she would have to do some judicious work with a razor, but she looked good. Damn, I can pull this off, Tommy surprised herself. Her body was lean, her skin clear, but she needed to work up a tan. She thought of the poolside patio at the Sand Dollar.

Tommy rolled her blouse up into her bag and pulled her shorts up over the bikini bottoms. She went out to the sales counter. “God, you dig ditches for a living?” The girl's eyes rested on Tommy's shoulders and biceps. “Will there be anything else?”

“Yes. I want five more... same size.” The sales girl's mouth dropped and she glanced up and quickly determined Tommy wasn't fooling. “Different colors,” Tommy said, tapping her plastic on the counter top. The girl laughed and took off; wiggling her cute round tushy.

Tommy was delighted when the girl returned with the colorful stings slung over an arm. Besides basic white there was a hot pink, lime green, a pretty blue and finally a very bright yellow. “You're way cool,” the girl said. “I wish you were my mom.”

Well that takes care of my “overly-dressed” problem, Tommy surmised on the walk back to the motel. The “old” bit might be a little harder to solve but she knew why she felt “frumpy”...it had been well over a week since her last workout. It was getting late in the day but she took the time to stop at a phone booth to check out the yellow pages. Great... Steve’s Gym was just a couple of blocks over and she memorized the address.

Tommy found Steve the next morning, humped behind the counter just inside the door of his storefront gym; his back was against the grubby wall. The place didn’t look up to much but then again, Tommy wasn't looking for a spa. Over Steve's shoulder, Tommy could see racks of weights, a couple of machines and the place wasn’t too dirty.

“How much for a couple of hours?” Tommy asked. Steve looked up from a magazine that showcased erotic tattoos displayed across the bodies of muscular young girls and mentally sized up Tommy's wallet.

“Thirty bucks,” he replied. He was a large man, in his fifties. The hound dog eyes and the deep, sun-dried, lines of his face made him look older. The curly hair was greasy and hung to his shoulders. It was dark and streaked with gray and his skin was olive. Italian or maybe Greek, Tommy guessed. His biceps hung from his torn sweatshirt, but they were flabby and he had a basketball paunch. It had been a long time since he pressed a weight.

Thirty dollars seemed high but Tommy shrugged and dropped the bills in front of him. He passed her a locker key and motioned with a thumb. “Change room is just to the left. Can’t miss it!” he smirked.

Tommy found the door easily enough; it had “p***y” scrolled across the painted wood in black marker. The interior was small and had been tastefully decorated with magazine pictures of naked men and some would-be artsy type had drawn eyeballs on the bellies and smiley lips below, making the p*****s appear to be elongated noses.

Tommy was happy to see the only mirror was hanging on the back of the door. She stripped off jeans, shirt and underwear and stashed them in the locker. From her bag she pulled out the yellow scrap of cloth, wiggled into it, adjusted the straps, then pulled the material out of her crack. Well here goes... Tommy locked her things up and headed out into the gym. She knew the outfit wasn't appropriate, but what the hell. She was in Daytona and hundreds of miles from home. Who was to know? Heads turned as she walked over to where Steve was ogling her chest.

“Here,” Tommy said, tossing him the key to the locker. “No pockets!”

He plucked the key out of the air; he was surprisingly quick. “So I see,” he shot back.

Tommy knew the men’s eyes were on her as she made her way to the free weights and had the first pangs of doubt. Was the bikini such a good idea? She pushed the thought back and warmed up with a few stretches. Too late to turn back now, she ignored the stares and hoisted a pair of weights above her head and, bending the elbows, lowered them to her shoulder blades. Then a deep breath and she straightened her arms. Two sets of ten each. More stretching. Then bend at the waist, the weights hanging down. Raise the arms parallel with the shoulders, hold, relax. Two sets of ten each. More stretching.

Her body began to hum and she pushed harder. Tommy curled twenty-five pounds, each hand, followed by deep knee bends with a barbell across her shoulders to torture her thighs. And then she bench-pressed one hundred and forty pounds. Some eighteen-year-old came over to ask if he could spot for her. She knew the spot he was interested in. He scurried away, quick enough, when she dropped a twenty-pound weigh from the bar, barely missing his toe.

It took Tommy an hour to work through the routine. Then she drank a quart of water, did fifty crunchies, a series of stretches and started in, all over again. At the end of two hours, Tommy was ready for the ocean. Wiping perspiration from her face, she went to retrieve her locker key from Steve. “You got a weekly rate?” Tommy was puffing hard.

“Lady. You dress like that, you can workout for free.” He was staring at her crotch. “Be good for business.”

Tommy looked down and stifled a yelp of astonishment. Her yellow bikini bottoms were soaked, the perspiration tuning the thin material transparent. She could see dark loops of pubic hair.

“Thanks,” Tommy managed and retreated to the change room. She pulled on a shirt. Thankfully it hung low enough to hide her swimsuit's shortcomings. Tommy grabbed everything else, chucked it into her bag and drove the two blocks to the beach. She locked her stuff in the back and waded out into the cool Atlantic Ocean. When it was waist high, she ducked under. It was fantastic.

Regaining her footing, Tommy squeezed water from her hair and pulled waterlogged legs back to the sand. She checked out the fit of the swimsuit. Damn, it sure wasn’t hiding much; saturated with water, it was damned near invisible. A swimsuit not made for the water; go figure! Tommy turned, looked up the beach and started to jog. She ran hard for twenty minutes, got back into the surf and swam back.

She was winded and dropped onto the sand; wondering if she could do it again. She gave herself exactly five minutes, then pushed off, feet churning.

Back at the motel, Tommy showered and dried off with the help of intense sunshine that seemed to penetrate her sore muscles, right to the bone. She put on clean clothes and headed for Mr. Randal’s little garden where she could position a chair against the sun and brush her hair dry. That evening she ate steamed fish... no carbs, no starch... before falling into bed at eight-thirty. She lay, thinking; the ocean breeze tickled her skin and the sound of the surf seemed close. Her mind moved on.

Tommy wondered about Cory and Beth's role in the plot to extort her money. Cory had fled the scene, leaving his sister to face the music. Very gallant of him. And the men had definitely forced Beth up onto that table, “To lube things up a bit, first!” someone had sneered.

One of them had pushed her head down and a terrified Beth, with no other choice, had schlepped up Tommy's elongated s*x-appendage between her lips; had come to it like a baby to a n****e. And after the men had got it all on camera, they had shoved her from the table top. Tommy had heard the shriek, the thump as Beth hit the tile and the sound of her scuttling away like a crab.

But Tommy had little time to consider Beth. One of the men was already on the table, positioning himself. She felt the hard roll of muscle between her legs; was keenly aware of the exploratory searching, the digging, the prodding. And when he found the softness, she anguished over her yielding flesh. The painful thrust. Followed by the unforgiving grinding of a loveless f**k.

But before the man could allay himself, he had rolled away from her; came to the head of the table, squeezing his c**k in his hand and thrusting it into her face. Tommy realized it was an effort to keep her clean, ready for the next candidate. She had balked at first, until the sharp edge of the blade was plied along her breast; the flesh plucked and held taunt. Only then, did she relinquish her mouth to him, allowed the man access. It was better than having her right n****e hacked off. He had immediately spewed into the cavity at the back of her throat. And as a second man was taking his place between her legs, reality had hit with all the subtleness of a jack-hammer. She was going to have to eat all four of them.

Next morning, Tommy had one moment’s hesitation before putting the lime green bikini into her bag. The men had clearly enjoyed the show the day before, and they had remained polite. Except for the kid, the guys had duly kept their distance. And pushing forty-one, after birthing two children, Tommy was genuinely pleased that men still found her sexually attractive. What the hell, her body wasn’t going to last forever, and besides, a deal's a deal: she got the use of the gym and, maybe, Steve got a little extra business swing his way. A win-win situation... no brainer. Tommy headed out the door.