Enjoy Vagina
His voice says, “Go up another one,” but you’re not really paying attention to it. You’re too focused on the fucker with the slick grin in front of you. The one who is licking his lips in between sets and checking out the ass of the girl squatting in the far corner of the room near the treadmills. You kinda really hope he’d crane his neck so far back to see her that he’d end up breaking it in half. You’re smart enough to bust a soundless laugh at the thought. actually, scrap that. you just realized, you’d prefer to walk up to him and bash his face in with the plates you used to load up your machine.
It’s not like its his pig grunting that’s gotten you pissed or anything, although it really is annoying. It’s got nothing to do with the way he puffs out his cheeks when he heaves the weight overhead, like he’s training for the best blowfish look alike competition. It’s not even the fact that he flexes his biceps every minute on the minute obviously hoping that all this pageantry would make up for the areas he is lacking.
No.
It’s the audacity, the sheer audacity of a grown man to promote shit like that.
“Ey, I tell yuh move up one?” The voice shakes you out of it.
“What?”
“Move up. Come na, stay focused.”
You take the pin out from the 120 slot and ram it into the 160. It clanks going in against the metal. 160 isn’t your usual number but you don’t really care. You need the strain. You need to feel you legs buckling under the pressure. You’ll go for anything to work off the tension that’s bursting through your veins right now.
“Wham tuh you today, dread?”
“You not seeing the jersey that feller wearing?
“Wha feller?”
“That one over there on the bench.”
“It literally have a million guys by the bench.”
You direct him with your eyes and carefully hiss through clenched teeth, “The one on the bench
doing shoulder presses.”
“Yeah. Wha happen to him?”
“Seriously? You don’t find his jersey offensive at all?”
“Girl, daz wha you worried about?” The voice steupses and pushes the seat back. “Just do your
set and forget about him.”
You wish you could but how do you forget about a guy who feel like it is all right to walk around with the words “Enjoy Vagina” in coca cola font across his chest, as though it were another flavour the company brought out? As though a woman could be picked up for a mere 5 dollars and you could have her in any shape or size, from tall and skinny, hour glass, or full on massive and plastic. What the fuck did it mean anyway? Did he turn his girls- and you assume a man like that has more than one girl, because he clearly is the “I can’t be committed to anything other than myself” type -did he turn his girls upside down, insert a straw in their pussy and slurp up whatever liquid came out? Or was it an instruction? That women ought to be glad they had a vagina and therefore, should enjoy it. Or were you just getting it all wrong. That somehow it was a celebratory thing for vaginas and all the hard work they do. You had no clue really. You just knew you were calculating all the days you’d have to train in order to single handedly bury the weight of his limp body. “1...2...nice,” The voice came, “Real beast mode thing today, ah liking it.”