I Damn Near Died...

Dropped the Good Padre off for her quarterly overhaul with the Aesthetician, and, as I had some time to kill at the mall, thought I'd check out the various men's toy shops.. after poking through the bins at the video store, the electronic games, the ' sporting goods' , the ' adult shelf' in the - um - library, bought myself a refreshing frosty beverage in the food court before heading back to pick up the missus...

As I'm walking and slurping, two incredibly toned young women in ' tropical gear' exit the fitness centre and, as an automatic reaction, I suck in my abdominals and straighten up the slouch.. well.. stupid brain wasn't properly in gear, as I'm still sucking straw and fizz..switch gets thrown in the intake manoeuver and said liquid shifts into the wrong downspout..

Suddenly I'm gasping and choking on fizzy pop instead of showing off manly physique to babes.. double over coughing and hacking, turning blue with no air flow, while dribbling from corners of mouth.. Two babes, bless 'em , come rushing to my aid and assist me to bench while I gasp and wheeze.. eyes too filled with tears to fully enjoy the cleavage show their solicitations have offered..

There I am staring at four delicious boobies and can't enjoy the experience as I'm rapidly fogging up and seeing the light at the end of the tunnel instead of the dark delights of the interior of sports bras...

At that moment, who should reappear but the missus, all primped and buffed, and looking quite nice for a wife of 33 years, but with a decidely serious visage, no doubt wondering why I'm bookended by a buxom blonde and her raven tressed companion.. just as I'm about to offer a croaking explanation.. said blonde pipes up to the Good padre:

" I think your father had an episode, he couldn't breath and was about to collapse."

Wifie, has a brain fart of her own.. can't decide whether to be worried about my deteriorating condition and what it may imply, or revel in the fact that the bit of fluff in the tank top thinks she's young enough to be my daughter.. can see through my red eyes that her lips are quivering as she tries to hold in the smile..she calms the ladies down and reassures them that she can take it from this point.. off they go, feeling good for having done the samaritan and the missus helps me up and says in a loud voice.
" Better let me take you home, Dad. you've been out enough for one day . "

I'm unable to even curse as I'm still hacking out the last of the cola from my lungs and can't think of a snappy reply..

Cheers! That made my day! Almost snorted the coffee across my desk. Thank goodness I got my own office. :lol:

Your good lady could have been much meaner and burst into laughter right there and then. :twisted:
or revel in the fact that the bit of fluff in the tank top thinks she's young enough to be my daughter
Take my word for it, it was the latter. :D

Future/Not Future Mrs. PTP used to worry about her weight unduly. One day , while in the supermarket poring over her favourite purchase (chocolate) she happened to inadvertantly block a lady of errrr *cough* substantial 'prescence' . FMPTP , arms full of chocolate blurts out "Oh I'm sorry"

BBW snarls "Out of my way you skinny b*tch".

I think it made her year :D
Oh dear, ace story and oh so believable!!!!!! Must make mental note to learn from your experience,though faking it sounds like a plus!
Rock me old mangina, gyms are fricking dangerous to be around and best avoided. I learnt this long ago in a gym in Waterlooville; I assure you that this is a real place and is near a city on the south coast named Portsmouth (pron: Poltsmuff). There I was, rowing away on a concept rowing machine, checking out the sweaty front bottom on the becycling-shorted beauty who was practising walking on the running machine (I don't know why - if women can't be arrsed actually exercising in the gym, they shouldn't fecking whinge about being bloaters). Anyway, it's quite difficult to large-it on a rowing machine: do you row really fast to impress her with your speed, but risk labelling yourself as a likely sufferer of premature ejaculations, or do you go slow, but really power through the strokes, risking the fact that you'll only be able to do it 5 or 6 times before stopping and looking weak? I was buying time by sitting up, keeping slow time with one hand while consulting my 'heart rate monitor' (in reality a Casio 3000 calculator watch), when a gym queen walked past my mark and flashed his deltoids at her. He sat down on the rower beside me and started belting out a Redgrave like pace. Being a young lad, I decided to show the barbell b1tch how it was done.

At some point the non-exercising lass walked off, unbeknownst to the two of us, now hammering along like a nitro-boosted two-stroke engine. It was like something out of Ben Hur, it wouldn't have seemed weird if I had pulled a whip out and sliced it across his back, while he desperately threw a trident at me. My leags were like jelly, but I wasn't giving up. ten he just stopped, stood up - I had beaten him! - announced "Good warm Up" then went over to the bench press to start his ton-ups. I nonchalantly stood up and tried to make it to the changing rooms while still looking cool. I was hindered by my dysfunctional legs and the black curtains drawing slowly across my eyes. I vaguely remember crawling past reception before I lost consciousness. I awoke outside with the camp aerobics instructor fanning me with a copy of "Men's Health" magazine.

Similar threads

Latest Threads