a session at the gym

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While I was studying in Dublin, to keep in shape I was going to a Gym once or twice a week.
The main central room of the gym looked over a park and the running machines and exercise area were set so you could train while enjoying the great view. On one side of the room there was an enormous window, taking up almost the whole wall. At least thirty foot wide. It was Sunday, late afternoon. I was doing my standard routine, starting with a quick run, then some floor exercises, free weights and more running if I felt like it.

This time as I was running, a young woman came in and went to a running machine behind mine, and three or four off to the left. She looked like she was in her late twenties. I just saw her in the reflection in the window in front of me, without turning round. I carried on running and after a short while, and as it got darker outside her reflection became clearer and clearer. She was medium height, had very dark hair to her shoulders. Her frame seemed light, her body toned and thin. She was wearing a black jogging top and a pair of very tight jogging trousers, with three or four inches of very pale looking stomach showing between them.

I was really enjoying being able to watch her jogging not too far away. She was in great shape, but none the less, I could tell she was getting sweaty and tired. The small necklace she was wearing had a white pendant which hung around her neck. It bounced with her movement and she occasionally played with it, putting it in her mouth. Now, it sat, wedged in the cleavage of her rounded, sports-bra-held breasts, held in place by the clamminess of her skin. From time to time, I wondered if she felt me looking at her and I often suspected that she was looking at me, from behind. Once or twice, her eyes caught mine in the glass. I gave a little smile but tried to look as if I was gazing out of the window.

I was sweating hard, and getting exhausted. I stopped my machine, and rested forwards on the panel to take some deep breaths. I looked up and saw in the window, she was definitely checking me out. I just stayed there, and I saw that she got off her machine and sat on a bench, not far behind, breathing heavily too. Otherwise it was silent.

"T’es Francais ? "
"Sorry ??..... no." Weird question, Am I French ?, and it was her who had spoken. There were few other people there, out of earshot.
"But, your T-shirt says ‘vis ta vie’, its French, ‘live your life’."
"Aaahh, yeah. No, well, its just from a holiday." I’d forgotten I was wearing a tight black t-shirt I’d got the previous summer in Quebec.
"Never mind. T’es trop mignon !!" She was French. She had a smooth, chocolaty french accent, which combined with the fact that we was slightly out of breath, sounded like something between panting and sensual pillow whispering. Wow.
She obviously thought i wouldn’t understand. I know that ‘mignon’ means cute or good looking, so I was sure it was a compliment.
"Thanks." She blushed, although she was already quite red, her cheeks got even rosier, realising that I had got it. It was so cute.

I got off the machine and sat on the exercise matt near her. As i got close, I offered a handshake, "Tom."

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