Heavy Lifting

The gym loomed in front of us as I pulled into the parking lot, its sleek glass facade reflecting the soft glow of the setting sun. The building was all clean lines and polished metal, modern and intimidating, the kind of place where already-fit people came to get even more fit, to carve themselves into something even more perfect. Not a place for the weak-willed. And certainly not a place for someone like Cairo.

It was the gym I had been coming to for months, and ever since I joined, I had dreamed of this moment, walking through those doors with my fat, waddling feedee in tow. The thought had simmered in my mind, sitting on my bucket list. The guest pass had been burning a hole in my account for weeks. A friend had even asked to use it once, hopeful to tag along for a free session, but I had lied, telling her I’d already used it. In reality, I had been saving it for this. For him.

I turned to the passenger seat, my eyes flicking over Cairo’s wide, soft body. His faint unease was plain as day, written in the way his plump lips pressed into a thin line, the way his fingers fidgeted at the hem of his shirt. He shifted slightly, the motion making his belly quiver beneath the too-tight gym wear I had bought for him some weeks ago. The poor thing was packed into the clothes with his thick thighs pressing against the stretchy material of his shorts, his t-shirt just barely skimming the crest of his gut. It was just snug enough to make him feel on display without technically being inappropriate. Besides, it was a gym, after all—everyone wore tight clothes. His just happened to emphasize every single overfed inch of him.

I grinned as I turned off the car’s engine, unable to help myself.

“Let’s go, tubby.”

His eyes snapped to mine, and for a second, I saw the flicker of heat beneath his embarrassment. He swallowed thickly, the movement highlighting the softness of his double chin. Without waiting for him to respond, I pushed my door open and stepped out, making my way to the back seat. As I grabbed my gym bag, I positioned it carefully, angling the strap just so, hoping to keep what I had stashed inside hidden…for now.

Cairo grunted as he moved, the sound deep and labored, though he tried to cover it up. His size had made getting in and out of my little Prius a challenge for a while now, but lately, it had become something else entirely. More of an ordeal. A spectacle. I watched, my stomach tightening with something darkly pleased, as he struggled to pull himself free. His hips wedged against the door frame for just a moment, his belly pressing into his lap as he lifted one thick leg out onto the pavement. With a grunt of exertion, he shifted again, his love handles catching slightly before, finally, he popped free, standing upright with a deep, steadying breath.

God, I loved watching him do that.

Cairo knew it, too. He didn’t complain, even though I was sure it frustrated him. Instead, he dusted his hands off on his shorts—shorts that rode high on his thick, dimpled thighs, digging into the softness of his hips. The waistband cut into him ever so slightly, pressing into his plush middle where his t-shirt failed to fully meet the fabric. He gave an instinctual tug at the hem of his shirt, but nothing short of a bigger size would be able to hide his massive form. Not that I would allow it anyway.

I stepped closer, slipping my arm through his, feeling the comforting give of his plush body beneath my fingers. “Ready?” I asked, my voice light, teasing.

Cairo hesitated for a beat before nodding. His eyes flickered toward the entrance again, wary, like he was already bracing himself.

As if on cue, the doors swung open, and a fit couple stepped out. They were the kind of people who belonged here—trim, toned, glowing with post-workout exertion. The woman’s abs peeked below her sports bra, the man’s arms bulged as he wiped sweat from his forehead. They barely spared us a glance, too caught up in their own world. But Cairo noticed them.

I felt it in the way his body tensed against mine, in the way he bit his lip and shifted his weight, as if hoping to make himself smaller. As if that were possible.

I squeezed his arm, leaning in slightly, lowering my voice just for him. “Don’t worry, baby,” I murmured, letting my breath tickle his ear. “It’s only a workout.”

And with that, I led him inside.

________________

The gym’s lobby was all polished tile and cool, sterile air, the faint scent of lemon cleaner barely masking the underlying notes of sweat and rubber. Bright LED lights gleamed off the sleek, modern surfaces, and the soft hum of treadmills and clinking weights filled the space beyond the entrance, barely audible over the energetic pop music playing over the speakers. As we stepped inside, the employee at the front desk straightened, flashing us a bright, automatic smile.

She was young, fit, and vaguely familiar from my past visits, her black joggers and matching T-shirt bearing the gym’s crisp logo. Her blonde ponytail was pulled so tight it probably gave her a headache, but she had that fresh, clean-scrubbed look that screamed fitness enthusiast. Someone who probably spent hours in this place sculpting herself into perfection. Someone who likely couldn’t fathom why someone like Cairo was here.

“Hi there!” she chirped, her tone polished with customer service enthusiasm.

I smiled back. “Hey! I want to use my guest pass today.”

“Sure!” she replied, her voice carrying that forced lilt of practiced cheerfulness. But as she reached for her keyboard, her gaze flickered over to Cairo, giving him a once-over so obvious it might as well have been a double take.

I watched, amused, as her smile tightened, the corners of her mouth pinched in something that wasn’t quite disapproval but definitely wasn’t encouragement either. A closed-lipped, polite-but-wary look. The kind people gave when they were thinking something they knew better than to say.

I had to suppress my own smile.

I could only imagine what was running through her head. Maybe she thought Cairo needed this visit, that he was finally making a change. Maybe she assumed he was one of those New Year’s resolution types, determined to undo years of indulgence with a single visit to the treadmill. Or maybe, just maybe, she was thinking what so many others thought when they saw someone like him here—that he didn’t belong.

How ironic, really. The people who needed gyms the most were often the ones who felt the least welcome in them.

“Miss?”

The employee’s voice snapped me back to the present, and I blinked, realizing she was looking at me expectantly.

“You need to scan,” she said, her hand hovering near the barcode reader.

“Oh—yeah, sorry,” I said quickly, pulling out my phone. I tapped open the gym’s app and held my screen up to the scanner. A soft beep confirmed my check-in, and the employee nodded, tapping a few keys on her computer before giving me another smile.

“Okay, you’re good to go!” she said brightly.

A faint click sounded as the small glass swing gate unlocked.

“Thanks,” Cairo and I said in unison, stepping forward.

I passed through first, the motion smooth and effortless. But I turned to glance back at Cairo just in time to see the way his wide hips brushed against the sides of the narrow turnstile as he squeezed through.

Damn.

I had to admit, I was a little disappointed. Every time I came on my own, I wondered whether he’d fit. Whether he’d get stuck, forced to backtrack awkwardly, his face burning while some employee had to open the larger accessibility door for him. Unfortunately, not yet.

More work to do, I guess.

The thought sent a delicious thrill through me as I reached for his hand, lacing my fingers with his. He was warm, slightly clammy, probably from nerves rather than exertion.

Cairo let out a breath, his shoulders sagging slightly, but I could still see the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes darted around like he expected someone to say something. He tugged his shirt down again, not that it did much to cover him.

I smiled to myself as I led him further inside.

We weaved past sleek machines and perfectly toned bodies, until we reached the treadmills. The cardio section was less crowded than the strength area, where most gym-goers were clustered, grunting through reps and admiring their reflections in the endless expanse of mirrors. The hum of treadmills and the rhythmic pounding of feet filled the air, but there were still a few empty machines, one of which was about to become Cairo’s reluctant new home.

“Time for a warm-up,” I said, flashing him a teasing smile as I set my bag down.

Cairo hesitated, watching me as I slid the strap off my shoulder and placed the bag into the open box window in front of us. I angled it carefully, just so, making sure my little secret inside remained inconspicuous for now.

“You’re not gonna put your things up?” he asked, eyeing me with something between suspicion and amusement.

I turned to him, my grin widening. “No.” I tilted my head. “Are you stalling?”

Cairo smirked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Maybe.”

I chuckled, watching as he glanced around the room. His eyes flicked over the gym’s patrons—men and women sculpted to near perfection, lost in their own workouts. Though no one was paying him much mind, I could tell he felt out of place. He swallowed, then looked back at the treadmill in front of him, brow furrowing.

“Aren’t you worried I’ll burn too many calories?” he asked, throwing me a look of mock concern.

I laughed, loud and genuine, the sound echoing just a little in the open space. The thought of Cairo burning enough calories to matter was ridiculous. “Not at all,” I managed through a giggle, shaking my head.

His lips quirked up in a smile, but before he could say anything else, I turned back to my gym bag.

“Besides,” I added, reaching for the small duffle’s drink pocket. My fingers closed around cool plastic, and I pulled out a large vanilla shake, its fast food logo bold and unmistakable against the cup. The whipped cream had settled, but condensation clung to the sides, proof that it was still nice and cold.

Cairo’s face instantly flushed. His amusement faded, replaced with something caught between disbelief and mortification.

“You’re joking,” he muttered, not even reaching for it.

I giggled, stepping closer, holding it up to him. “I don’t joke,” I said cheerfully, tilting my head toward the treadmill. “Get on.”

He hesitated. I could see the internal war playing out on his face—the part of him that loved my attention, my control, my little games, battling the part of him that loathed the idea of making a spectacle of himself. But he knew me well enough to know I wasn’t going to let him back out.

With a sigh, he stepped onto the treadmill, gripping the side rails as he adjusted his footing. The machine’s belt dipped slightly under his weight. I tapped at the screen, setting the speed to 0.5, the slowest setting possible. At that pace, he’d be doing little more than a lazy stroll.

Cairo exhaled as he started moving, his thick legs shifting forward in slow, steady steps. Even at such a leisurely pace, his belly bounced slightly with each motion, the soft overhang of his gut quivering beneath his too-tight shirt. He breathed through his nose, slow and controlled, but I could already see the effort it took for him to keep his balance, to maintain his pace without losing his rhythm. The treadmill whirred beneath him, his heavy frame absorbing each gentle step.

I grinned up at him, watching the first hints of embarrassment creep across his cute, round face. “Hold this,” I said, handing him the shake.

This time, he took it, albeit reluctantly.

Turning back to my gym bag, I unzipped it, and immediately, the rich scent of greasy fast food filled the air. I felt a faint thrill run through me. It had been simple enough to swing by a drive-thru before picking him up, and I was relieved the food was still warm.

Cairo hadn’t noticed yet. He was focused on his slow shuffle, the shake already at his lips as he took an unconscious sip. Perfect.

I pulled out a carton of fries, still golden and fresh, and brought them over to him.

Despite his supposed embarrassment, he accepted them without argument, setting them in the treadmill’s cupholder.

“You can get off once you finish those,” I murmured.

Cairo opened his mouth—whether to protest or make a joke, I wasn’t sure—but I didn’t give him the chance. Instead, I turned away, hopping onto the treadmill beside him and starting at a brisk, inclined walk.

From the corner of my eye, I stole glances at him.

At first, he hesitated, his hand hovering near the fries, gaze darting around the gym like he was checking to see if anyone was watching. But hunger, indulgence, and, maybe, the need to obey won out. He grabbed a handful, stuffing them into his mouth and chewing quickly before washing them down with another sip of the shake.

I smirked. He kept looking around, paranoia settling in, but no one had seemed to notice yet.

By the time I was ready to switch from a walk to a light run, he was almost done with the fries. His sips from the shake had grown more frequent, his chewing faster, as if finishing them quicker would somehow make the situation less humiliating.

And then, a woman took the treadmill a few spots down, setting her water bottle in the holder before glancing toward us. Her gaze flickered to Cairo, to the shake in his hand and the fries he was still finishing off. Her brows pinched together, her expression hovering between confusion and distaste.

Cairo’s face burned instantly.

I saw the moment it hit him, the realization that someone had caught him here, in this gym, stuffing his face while barely moving on the treadmill. His eyes shot to me, wide and uncertain, and he tugged at his shirt again, a cute little habit, but still it did little to hide him.

Even as he sipped his shake, he looked at me like he wanted permission to stop.

I just laughed, my focus shifting to my run, leaving him to stew in his own embarrassment.

I finished my warm-up with a final deep breath, slowing the treadmill to a stop. My legs tingled pleasantly from the activity, but our real workout was just beginning.

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