Bench

Standing before the bench laid out before me, I sense a form of sadistic demeanour oozing from my friend's lucid smile. The iron bars look dirty, as though they've been used several times and nobody had bothered to wipe off the sweat stains visible under the glaring spotlight from the ceiling.

The leather bench has sweat stains on it and a funky smell, presumably from the previous user. My friend has always been a fan of leather. He doesn't know that I secretly enjoy the whole sado-machoistic aura of this place albeit the cringing anticipation of pain and discomfort.

He pushes me onto the bench and proceeds to wipe the bar with disinfectant. He must have done this a thousand times before; I can't claim credit to be more experienced even though he's one year my junior and had only recently came out to the whole gay-scene lifestyle.

He stretches my legs apart and I feel slightly shy as he gets a good look at me from where he's standing, and though I try my best to hide my feelings he senses that I'm uncomfortable. That unforgiving smirk he returns in reply sends shivers down my spine.

He tells me to not arch my back so that it won't hurt too much and I gently oblige... I am breathing very fast now. I can't help myself.

He tells me to relax and take deep breaths and I do as I'm told... but I trust him all the way. He's really good at this. I feel relaxed.

He leans over me and I get a whiff of his deodorant. Nothing expensive, could even have come from a 7-Eleven store but nonetheless suits his natural body odour perfectly. I can hear his fast paced breath as he finishes off adjusting the bench; he must be getting very excited.

I can now see beads of sweat on his brow and on his chest, and he casually wipes it away with his forearm sending droplets of sweat against the floor. I throw him a grunt of disgust only to realise that I myself am sweating from head to toe. My heart is beating fast and I can feel the blood in my veins...

Gripping my arms forcefully, he places them onto the bars and straps them on. Towering above me, I feel dominated and powerless. He lets out a smile, presumably in response to my cowardly facial expression.

He readies the bar and I groan in disbelief; voicing out my concerns to him doesn’t seem to make him budge. He simply persuades me to give it a shot and kisses my cheek. With persistence and adrenaline pumping through my blood, I resist the temptation to scream for help as I grab the bars and lift the 60kgs off the rests...

1... 2... 3...

My chest begins to hurt as the weights eat into my energy. He stands over me reassuringly, ready to grab the bar from me should I be unable to hold on to it, but I know I want to be able to do this...

5... 6... 7...

I realise that I've been slacking all this while; I've not been training on the bench for more than 4 weeks so even the tiniest of weights seem like a hundred kilos to me.

8... 9... 10...

One set down. Three more to go.

I feel my arm muscles tighten after the bench press and he gives me a smile of content. There's still a long way to go; past the leg press, seated dumbbell extension, bench dumbbell press, prone holds and lat-pulldown and I'll be ready to gorge on that "delicious" protein and egg shake.

Pump it up!