Mystery Fitness Model

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It was early May in Chicago, and finally the weather had turned the corner. My job is at a medical supply firm in the suburbs, so I usually have to drive to work, but occasionally my workday is at a hospital downtown. That means I get a bike day!

My apartment in Uptown is just a few blocks from the Lakefront Trail, and I can cycle nearly the whole way to Streeterville in 25 minutes, basically no stoplights. The fresh air is welcome, it’s much nicer than the crowded train, and the view is great: the open water of Lake Michigan, some fit morning joggers, and occasionally some hotties in bikinis playing beach volleyball at North Avenue.

I was in my own world, gazing ahead, when I saw a woman jogging about 200ft in the distance. Plenty of fit women run the lakefront, but this girl’s body was next level. 5’4″, lean, tanned and toned, wearing just a sports bra and shorts. The first thing I clocked was her defined stomach, clearly the product of hard work in the gym. Most girls on the Chicago lakefront hide their tummy when running, some let a couple of inches peek out between a crop top and high leggings.. but this girl wasn’t shy about baring skin. Between a lime green sports bra and matching lycra shorts was a set of popping abs. Her six-pack rippled and glistened, showing obvious strength as it twisted with every step. Her face was cute too, mid-20s probably, button nose, luscious mouth, her blonde hair in a ponytail. She had big blue eyes focused on the path ahead, a picture of confidence, her breathing measured, her defined arms and tanned thighs pumping, her boobs bobbing lightly..

And that’s as much as I saw before I passed her and wobbled on the bike just a little bit. I overcorrected and put a foot out to keep balance. I came to a sudden stop in the middle of the bike lane. A middle-aged man cycling behind me swerved and yelled “What the fuck!”

I waddled my bike out of the way and over to the side. I turned around – might as well see if I could catch another glimpse of Mystery Fitness Model.. and from 30 feet away she was looking right at me and my tangled bike situation. Jogging backwards, she gave a little smirk at the mess I’d found myself in. She turned forward and jogged away, and I caught a view of a shapely ass for a second before she disappeared from view.

I’d always been attracted to women who had strong bodies and the confidence to match, and I’d just seen as fine an example as I could imagine. I could have drunk in the sight of her all day, but alas I’d only had a few seconds of watching her body in motion. I continued on my ride down to Streeterville, filing away this mystery fitness model in my brain for later.

—

A few days later, it was a perfect Chicago summer day: 78, sunny, a light breeze. I slipped out of work just after 3pm and drove from the suburbs to the lakefront in order to “get my bro on”. There’s an outdoor workout station in Lincoln Park with pull-up bars, dip bars, and rings: it’s just the right place to work your muscles and break a sweat in the open air. It’s also just close enough to the lake where it’s socially acceptable to work out shirtless.

Yeah, I know it’s a little vain to put myself on display like that among the neighborhood, but I enjoy the fresh air against my skin, wearing just running shorts and sneakers. Sure, I’m no bodybuilder and I’ve got a bit more body fat than I’d like – too many IPAs now and then – but my broad shoulders and built pecs give my 5’11” frame a trim, tapered look. I’m 185lb with 12% body fat, my ass is firm, and my abs are.. okay enough to show off. They’re visible, which is more than some of the guys I’ve seen there can say!

I found a parking spot on the inner drive, put my keys and phone in my shorts pockets, and got out of the car shirtless. Jogging over to the workout station, I hoped there wouldn’t be any other dude there so I could work my muscles in peace. I rounded the corner, and the pull-up bar was occupied. Ugh.

The figure got to three pull-ups and I noticed black booty shorts and the back of a blue sports bra. A woman! Unusual for this spot in the park. Six pull-ups. She had strong shoulders, coiled back muscles, and a shapely built ass. Nine pull-ups, peach sneakers, a blonde pony-tail. Twelve pull-ups. Wait, a blonde ponytail?

Dropping to her feet after a solid fifteen, she bent over to grab her water bottle, highlighting a muscled ass and hamstrings that were God’s gift to any straight man with eyes. Wow. She turned around, raising her bottle to take a swig, and I recognized her! That same cute mid-20s girl who I’d seen running on the Lakefront Trail a few days before, who almost made me crash my bike.

My heart skipped a beat at this vision of fitness perfection. Walking up to the workout station, I stole occasional glances at her fit body, and particularly her abs – indents between hard muscle that puffed in and out as she caught her breath. She was showing just as much stomach as the last time I saw her – this was a woman confident in her own body! Her sky blue sports bra stretched over her breasts, with a hint artemisbet yeni giriş of cleavage revealing strong pecs under firm B-cups. She didn’t have huge hulking bodybuilder muscles, she was a compact package, but with some muscle definition all over. Powerful quads, and those abs! No wonder she was comfortable showing off her body. Plus it didn’t hurt that her face was cute.

She clocked my silhouette approaching the fitness station – had she seen me staring at her? I quickly looked away, furrowed my brow, and fixed my gaze on the dip bars 10 feet to her right. But as I kept walking up, I couldn’t help sneaking further glances back at her. She was redoing her ponytail, which meant I could study her arms: long lean triceps and biceps. God, every part of her was heaven.

Then she made her biceps flex one by one, the quickest little dance. It was over in a flash, then she looked my way and caught me staring. Dammit.

Well, this was awkward. If I walked up and started exercising, I’d be a creepy shirtless stranger lurking nearby after she knew I knew she knew I’d been gawking. On the other hand, would it be creepier to veer off course? I was clearly already headed to work out, and there’s a not-zero chance of encountering this girl again; the North Side is a small town..

Well, he who dares wins. I’d been waiting all day for my outdoor workout, and more than one person can use the area at once. It’s a public park after all.

I stepped up. I began by stretching my arms out against the frame of the hanging ring rack, opening up my pecs, and deliberately facing away from Mystery Fitness Model’s striking figure. Was she actually a model? I’d have to be subtle about checking her out again. Heading over to the dip bars, I knocked out a dozen chest dips, before supersetting them with sit-ups, sitting my hamstrings on top of one bar with feet tucked under the other bar.

It’s during this exercise that I found myself facing her once more, and she’d started hanging leg raises. Oh my. Her hands gripping the bar, her arms taut, this magazine-worthy goddess was crunching her abs right in my eye line. Her core was seriously powerful. On each rep, her straightened legs flew from vertical to past horizontal before she slowly lowered them, straining and popping those cut abdominals. This motivated me to concentrate on my own form in crunches: I didn’t want her to see me half-ass any single exercise, especially one much easier than what she was doing. I fixed my eyes on the top of a tree in the distance, away from her – must not be a pervert, must not be a pervert..

I finished my dozen sit-ups and hopped down to the ground. Attempting to appear just the right amount out of breath, I looked around the park, and sensed eyes on me.. was Mystery Fitness Model looking my way? Before I could tell for sure, she spun 90 degrees on her peach-sneakered heel, raised her arms to the sky, then bent at the hip to grab her ankles and stretch out. That ass in those black lycra shorts. Oh now I stared. Long and hard.

Nope, nope, think of math problems! Back to my chest dips. I knocked out another dozen on the parallel bars, then turned around to hop up for sit-ups once more.. and there she was. Six feet away, right by the bars I’m using.

“Do you mind if I work in?” Her voice was assertive, but sweet. She looked me right in the eyes as she said it.

“Sure,” I stammered. I moved back and she stepped up to the parallel bars, hoisted herself up and did chest dips. And she made them look easy too – so much power in those trim arms and shoulders!

The pull-up bar now free, I went over there, facing away from my temptation, and started slow controlled pull-ups with proper technique. I got to eight, struggled through the ninth, and really struggled through the tenth.. but I got there. That felt good.

“Finally.”

That one word came from behind me. I couldn’t tell what that tone of voice was though. I turned around. “Finally what?”

“Finally, I see a dude out here actually doing an exercise properly. Not cheating.” She was standing confidently about ten feet away, facing me on an angle: hands on hips, her B-cups standing up proudly in that sky blue bra, her obliques cut, and her ass firm and rounded.

How daring should I be in my reply? I stood just a bit taller and tensed my pecs and abs a bit. “Well, there are no shortcuts to a hot body. I see you know that.”

She broke into the hint of a smile. “Heh, thanks for noticing.” Then she looked me up and down, lingering on the down for half a second.

Did she just check out my crotch?! I turned around partly to start my next set, but mostly so I could check myself.. nope, no raging hard-on, just my usual package. Yeah, it shows a little by default, there’s something to look at, but it’s not indecent. I was securely packed in boxer briefs under my running shorts, after all. That said, if blood started pumping to that particular muscle, I’d have had no way to hide in this open area of the park. Some dog-walker or senior would call the cops!

The only way to artemisbet giriş avoid that was committing to working out, no distractions, despite her statuesque form running through my mind. I jumped up to the pull-up bar, and swung by the arms into a muscle-up, pushing my shirtless torso above the bar. I was about three dips in when I heard her voice.

“Okay how do you actually do that?” Who talks to someone mid-set? This babe, obviously. I hesitated and paused at the bottom of a dip – though while I was there, I flexed my back muscles a little bit, might as well show off – then I kept going with my presses before dropping down to a dead hang.

“How do you get yourself above the bar? I’ve never figured out the movement.”

Well, okay then! She wants my help! I kipped into one last muscle-up to show her.

“Heh, showoff.”

I jumped down and faced her way. “Maybe a little,” I admitted.

She walked over my way, hips and booty shorts subtly sashaying. “What’s your name?”

“It’s Tim. What’s yours?” I offered a handshake.

“Rachel.” She put her right hand in mine, and reached her left hand to my arm, gripping my tricep. “So will you teach me?”

“With pleasure.” I said those words innocently enough, out of reflex, but my mind leapt to the idea of pleasuring her all day if needed, ripping off that tight blue sports bra, nuzzling those B-cup tits, working my tongue down her abs.. Tim! Back to reality. “Right. So it’s all about timing the swing. Start with a dead hang from the bar.”

“Wanna help me up?”

“Should I, uh..?”

“Yes you’ll need to touch me. Get round here.”

My first chance to feel Mystery Fitness Model’s. Well.. Rachel. I walked behind her, our shirtless figures just inches apart. I gripped onto her waist, and my fingertips touched her hard obliques.

“On three. One, two..”

Her abs tensed as I launched her skywards and she gripped the bar. At that moment I realized something.

“You jumped up there before just fine without my help.” I said with a grin.

“Every time I have to clamber up the side pole cause I’m short! It’s easier with a dance partner. So, where to from here?”

I stepped to the side. “Swing your legs up and your booty back.” Rachel slowly raised her legs to parallel to the ground and just held them there. I was a foot away from her tensed muscles: hard quads, an ass to die for, and her six-pack rippling with power.

I joked, “Okay who’s the showoff now? Now swing your legs back, your torso forward, arms behind your head. Swing back and forth.”

As her lithe figure flopped back and forth, her hands gripping the bar tight, her pert tits encased in that powder blue sports bra, her abs crunching with each leg spike.. I was getting distracted. I was starting to feel the tingle of a quarter-chub. “Okay jump down.”

Rachel turned to me. “Have we got a good rhythm, Tim?”

Not as good as the rhythm of me pinning you against a wall and pounding my cock inside you, I thought. “Pretty good,” I replied out loud. “On the back swing, you propel yourself upwards: you want to feel like you’re pulling the bar down toward you, then quickly change to pushing it down.”

“Let’s do it. Get me to the bar again? Hold me by the hips this time.”

I didn’t need to be asked twice. Any chance to lay my hands near a divine ass clearly built by iron will and thousands of squats. As she jumped up and grabbed the bar, my thumbs sensed her glutes flex through her black booty shorts.

I stepped to the side as Rachel did two swings back and forth before each attempt at a muscle-up. Her first few attempts, her arms couldn’t get above parallel. Oh, her arms had strength: long lean biceps, even a bit of horseshoe definition in her triceps, but she just didn’t have the movement down.

“Agh, what am I missing?”

“Try to swing your shoulders forward over the bar as you launch up. It helps your center of gravity.”

A couple more unsuccessful attempts. God, she looked perfect. Smooth tanned skin, taut hard muscle, lean and tight, sports bra, booty shorts: I’ve always been into fit women who revel being at their physical peak, and Rachel ticked all the boxes. But she was in a rut. She dropped to her feet once more.

“Shit shit shit.”

“Don’t worry, this one takes practice. Hardly anyone gets it straight away.”

“I don’t get what I’m missing.”

My face in your tits, I thought. “It’s tricky, but you can do it with me. With my help, I mean.” I walked over.

She shot those blue eyes straight at me and her mouth raised into a little smirk. Then she traced her eyes down my broad shoulders, my pecs, my abs, and to my dick. Yep, she definitely picked up on that little double entendre alright.

She reached for my hands, and yanked them around to rest directly on her ass cheeks. Holy moly her glutes were heavenly. Round, hard, and mine to squeeze in this moment.

“Lift me,” Rachel purred into my ear.

Sweet Jesus. Facing her at this angle, that meant her jumping up and wrapping her legs round my waist, her snatch an inch artemisbet güvenilirmi from my abs, and her breasts leaning into my face as she reached up to the bar. Her pert little nipples were poking a little through her light blue sports bra.. I thought about sticking my tongue out but..

The moment passed as Rachel grabbed the bar and released me from her thigh grip. I took two steps back so she wouldn’t kick me in the chin. She swung herself backward, then forward, back, forth, then she launched herself up. Tucking her arms in at the top, she was a bit awkward for a second.. before pushing herself free to a full arm extension!

“Woohoo!”, she cried. Rachel had nailed her first muscle-up! “And yeah, I can show off too.” She did a dozen dips, pumping her arms, flaring her triceps, and keeping her toned abs and bangin’ booty tight at all times. “Tim, you rock!”

She jumped to the ground and hugged me tight. “Thank you!” She pressed her body against mine, I felt her nipples through the bra, and if she hadn’t noticed the stirring in my crotch before, she did now. My dick was against her abs.. and it was on its way to becoming about as hard as that six-pack of hers.

She pulled away from me and did a quick jokey flex pose. “Nailed it!” My mouth fell open. “Would you take a photo for my Insta?”

She unlocked her phone and handed it to me. She posed on a half-turn as I lined up the shot, hands on hips, abs proudly on display. I replied: “Only if I can slide into your DMs.”

“Slide in, huh? Interesting choice of words. Now your turn.”

“My turn?”

“I gave you a show, you give me a show. Flex for me, stud.”

I handed back her phone “You and I will be giving the whole park a show at this rate.” Again, I’m 5’11” and 185lb with 12% body fat, so I’m no professional bodybuilder, despite my vain posing in the bathroom mirror. But since I’d never had this eager an audience, I gave it all I had.

I turned my back to her and showed off a bicep flex from the rear: a slow squeeze of my arms and back muscles to full definition. Halfway through I remembered: oops, should tighten my core and glutes too. After that, I tried a lat spread. This isn’t something I’d ever nailed, but I gave it a go, tucking my hands to my hips and flaring my lat muscles to make my back as wide as possible.

Preparing to turn around, I tensed my pecs, my quads, and most importantly, my abs. I did a slow turn to give her the front view, and Rachel’s eyes go wide. She fixed her view on my clenched stomach. Her mouth opened just a little bit and she did the tiniest lick of her lips. I liked working out shirtless in the park, and this is more direct attention than I’d ever had.

“That’s a nine point five from the Russian judge.”

“Oh yeah?” I doubled my efforts. “How much from the American judge?”

“A six.”

“Come on, really?” I dropped the pose.

“…point nine.” She fixed her eyes on me for what felt like a minute, and licked her lips for real.

“Well, if I’m a 6.9, you’re like an eleven. Like, wow. How did you get your body?”

“Track and field through school, plus yoga and lately lifting. The gym is for the heavy work, but I look forward to summer when I can get sweaty and tone muscle outdoors. I prefer the lake front’s dress code too.”

“Ugh, clothing. Overrated, am I right?” I winked.

“In the gym? Definitely! I hate wearing tops – they stick, they overheat, they’re more laundry. What’s the point of a cute sports bra if no one can see it?” She reached a hand to her abs and massaged in the grooves. “Plus when your core is on display, you _know_ you can’t use bad form, which keeps everything tighter.” She punched her own abs twice. “I just feel more powerful shirtless. You too, right?”

She took a step forward and held a hand against my abs – I tightened them just in time! She nodded approvingly and said, “Yes, you do feel powerful. Nice work.”

I beamed inside – no one had so brazenly complimented my body before! “I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a thrill showing off my muscles to strangers. I’m a little bit exhibitionist that way.”

Rachel rubbed my abs, before moving her hand slowly downwards over my shorts, and brushing my now dangerously visible semi.

“Not too exhibitionist, I hope. You could scare the neighborhood with that thing.” Oh my god!

I swallowed hard, froze for a second, then stepped away and dropped to my hands and feet.

Rachel was confused. “What was that?”

“You’re going to get me arrested if you make my package grow any bigger! I have to face the ground and do like 75 push-ups to make it go away.”

“Let’s do 75 push-ups together! Should be fun.”

Oops. Couldn’t I have said 50, or 20? But I couldn’t very well back down. Rachel dropped to her hands and feet alongside me, five feet away. Thankfully she wasn’t in my eyeline: looking into her eyes and down her cleavage would have been far too motivating for one muscle in particular.

We went rep for rep until about push-up 57: I started struggling, but Rachel powered through with perfect form. 11 out of 10 from the American judge for sure. She got to her feet and crouched beside me, egging me on through my last few reps: “Come on, eight to go, don’t you want your arms huge? Build that chest! Gotta give the ladies something to rest their heads against. Three to go..”

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