Within days, the fidgeting returns, the hormonal build up bringing distraction at work. There is only so much time one can spend in a cold shower. Plus there is the psychological side of long term denial... and more than a few days is long term for a male of my age. It’s like I need to talk about my condition... counseling... and such is not included in the arrangement with Miss Monique.
‘I do not do silly phone stuff, Robert. Come to your appointment on time or wait another week. Text if you must cancel.’
So by Tuesday, a visit to Willie’s Workouts is much in order... many miles on the treadmill to calm the jitters. Should I stretch as well?
After the many weeks, I suppose I can do so on my own, no trainer. The so termed burn demanded by Liz may not be as proficiently achieved, her compact yet powerful arms pressing at my thighs, assuring the gracilis and abductor longus tendons are stressed to the point of anguish. But will doing without suffice... continue my progress in being able to properly pose for Miss Monique?
She has already found disappointment in my inability to ‘perform’. And after this stressful ten day interval concludes, dare I show regression when I am tabled?
No I must stretch and do so properly... continue my journey.
I reach for my cell phone. Before calling I click to the photo gallery finding the libidinous depiction of me being tabled, legs splayed, feet well parted, hands to the back of my head, balls dangling, penis standing.
I stare. Prostatic fluid oozing, my quirky enjoyment is evident. And trainer Elizabeth Doyer has the photo... presumably... in her gallery as well. And the coy invitation... the cage only comes off at a woman’s behest.
What is it I am to say in trying to make an appointment to stretch?
Then comes to mind Miss Monique’s observation... the look on Elizabeth Doyer’s face when posing in the aerobics room... her hand lowering to mischievously push aside the spandex covering my steel cock cage and momentarily palm my shaven compressed scrotal sac.
I move to that photo in my gallery. Miss Monique is a good study. The look on the face of Elizabeth Doyer sends a message. The act could be interpreted as one of childish playfulness in so exposing me... and my secretive forced chastity... but she appears ascendant... as would a big game hunter posing with his latest challenging kill... that being my steel encapsulated male package. Telling!
I thus decide to call... feeling out the young girl’s reaction. It may be she sees my number pop up and simply cares not to answer, relegating me as a creep. That would certainly resolve any indecision concerning an appointment.
The phone rings, she answers. Now I’ll need to find words for sure.
“Mr. Partland... hello,” the greeting coming with a giggle.
“Liz, I... ah... wanted to explain...”
“Oh, Mr. Partland, the sexting thing went out years ago... kind of a craze when smart phones came in. Kids aren’t doing that any more. Cute picture though... nice of you to show me the progress you’re making... you know... that special stretching I have you do for me.”.
Curious choice of words... ‘I have you do for me’... as in performing for her... as I do for Miss Monique.
“And that steel thing... gone. I saw the lock, Mr. Partland. Someone has the key. It’s called a cage. And the message said it only comes off for a woman.”
“Yes, as I said... it’s sort of a game. I’d like to see you, Liz... ah... make an appointment for stretching... at the gym,” changing the subject matter in desperation.
There is a pause... unexpected.
“Well... I... ah... it’s kind of weird... you sending me that photo. Yes, you said before it’s a game. It’s kind of like you want me to play as well.”
How do I explain... it was not I sending it.
Guess I can just end the call... back off... suggest another time. But there is this desperation. I need to not only work out and quell the fidgeting... but talk to someone as well.
“Let’s talk about it at the gym,” words uttered in hope.
Another pause, then comes a telling reply, the words firm for an eighteen year old girl. It is a directive.
“8:00 p.m. The aerobics room. Wear your tight pink shorts again. You’ll take off your shoes and socks for me. You decide whether to keep your shirt on as well.”
“But... but...” I sputter, “I’ll be practically naked!”
“So you will do it. That’s interesting. And, Mr. Partland... why so shy? I’ve already seen you naked.”
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