“Do twelve reps!” she barked to me.
My triceps were burning. I didn’t think I could squeeze out five more reps, let alone twelve.
She leaned down in front of me, her cleavage in my face. “I know you can,” she said.
My eyes glued to her chest, I pulled the bar down in front of me. I don’t know how I managed to do it, but I did – twelve reps.
“Good boy,” she said. I always feel patronized when she praises me. She’s young, she’s in sick shape. I’m older, and not flabby, but not a gym rat either. There’s little I can do with weights that she can’t do, and she’s smaller, female, etc., so praise from her inevitably rings hollow.
And/but, when she praises me, when she says “good boy,” it always brings to mind the image of me throwing her around a little, making demands of her, saying, “Good girl” when she earns it….