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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Adult Reading Material
There's a moment during rush hour at the gym that feel special to anywhere else on the planet. It comes after most people have arrived and are halfway through their workouts. There's a distinct lack of the "Hi, how are you?" chit-chaty bullshit that we feign interest in during our outside lives. It's the moment when the heavy clank of metal weights and the hum of treadmill belts take over. It's when we put on our headphones and pretend to go further into our little heads while our eyes do exactly the opposite. Our eyes scan the room with a reflexive speed that our conscious mind never notices. It’s when the animalistic parts of our brains emerge to remind us when we're in the same room with a capable mate. All the while we simultaneously analyze and assess those we would consider reproductive competition. The gym brings this out of us easier than any place else. Let's be honest, without the alcohol or the dimmed lights or the music, the club would be just as uncomfortable as the DMV. But the gym needs none of that. Experienced gym members know it's the only place that feels like a fight or an orgy could break out at any moment. And as much as we'd like to insist our attendance is strictly health focused, there's a part of us that understands and craves the animalistic atmosphere. That’s why we keep going back. Even if we never realize it on our own.
I first met Kevin when I was sixteen, which was also the same day I started working out. Throughout most of my childhood I was an insecure, chubby, uncoordinated mess and I showed no hope of getting better. I was intimidated by nearly every woman in my life, which especially included my mother, who had the poise and grace of a Greek Goddess. My mother was a tall and striking brunette that looked fifteen years younger than the forty year-old she was. She could walk into a room and not only seize the attention of everyone there, she had the confidence to command the respect of anyone she met. She cast a shadow so large that sometimes I assumed I simply spawned out of it rather than the anonymous sperm donor that was my biological father. Though she prized motherhood, she never found the time to settle into a marriage. Some might say that was her only failing, but I suppose in truth it was the secret to her success. Her rampant earnings as a tax-attorney and success as a single mother lifted her to the inspirational ‘how did she do it?’ status for every woman in our neighborhood. Her single-status also made her the envy and desire of every possible male (and female) suitor in our suburban town. Of course, I too envied my mother, but above all I wanted to be her. I prized any time I had alone with her, hoping to absorb whatever secret taught her how attain the public notoriety she had. I would try anything to be less of the chunky, acne-faced dope that I was, and more like her. “ Mel, what are your plans for after school today?” she asked one morning. “ I don’t know, there’s going to be a Jim Carey movie marathon on after school,” I replied between mouthfuls of my sugar-saturated cereal. My mother, very astutely, recognized this as a cry for help. “ Why don’t you come with