1 1) What kind of sport can be practiced with the miniskirt and the thong ?!

Seattle Boxing Gym, Seattle, WA, United States

I arrive at my destination in a hurry, before my boss notices I'm late: I have

always hated working on Sundays, but I'm often obliged to do that because of that man.

As soon as I enter the gym a stench of Men Expert deodorants invades my nostrils,

even if after four years of work I'm used to it.

"Did you fight wirh a pigeon again,?" - Hardin blocks my passage,

wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

I don't know how our relationship lasted more than a year, but he's the only one that has

learned to deal with all my vices, and above all regardless of my continuous mistakes.

Our first date, in fact, ended with me hitting a bird with an umbrella,

after he had stained my sweatshirt with his feces.

He gives me a kiss on my lips, rolling his eyes: he has also learned that I don't take

never the initiative to kiss him.

"I forgot to put the alarm clock." - I snort and I'm not surprised when from his mouth

comes out a:

"In fact, you're in trouble, the new boss is waiting for you in his office!"

New boss?

I take a frown as my boyfriend talks in vain about I don't know what.

I'm both surprised and happy I finally got rid of that hypocritical, pedophile and old William,

I was looking forward to his retirement, although I have to admit he was really cool type, and even funny sometimes.

In fact, I've never known a boxing instructor that seems as old as Merlin before with

muscles and with the brazenness of a nuisance teenager and naivety

of the inductivist turkey.

As I think about his character I also understand how impossible it is that he went in

retirement: the only explanation that explains his absence is that he is dead ...

Even better.

At least I won't risk to meet him again outside my apartment: we live in the same

palace, as he recently moved to Seattle, and since I learned he was also

my boss I curse the day I decided to live right there.

«Well, condolences!» - I sigh smiling, as I walk away with a proud attitude, ready to face the

new gym manager.

"Why? Who died? "- I hear Hardin stammering behind me, but I leave him perplexed,

crossing the gigantic gymnasium without telling another word.

I reach the corridor between the sweaty bodies of the various instructors, although I try not to notice

to blondes full of plastic surgery from the tips of the hair to the nails.

I have never liked my appearance: my hair is neither dark like coal, nor

blonde like the rays of the sun, but a kind brown in the shades of poop.

Among other things, they are not really wavy, but now curly now straight, it depends on my mood.

My eyes deal with two gray balls that make me look more depressed than I already am.

I don't know much about my mother, but they say she had clear eyes too.

Without even knocking on the door, finding it half open, I burst into the office of the new

manager, but I jump back when I see a woman with fiery red hair sitting

on a man as he sneaks his long fingers into her hair.

I hear her moan, which really makes me want to throw up, but I resist and witness that


I cross my arms and lean on the door jamb, waiting for one of them to leave


"Fuck!" - the man's eyes fall on my figure, while he abruptly pushes away his ginger hair


Only now I realize that the woman is none other than William's granddaughter, and also his

employee in this gym, but the face of this whoremonger is new to me.

«Do you usually stare at people while they fuck?» - he gives me a cold look, which almost makes me chill.

"Do you usually fuck in the manager's office?" - I raise an eyebrow with a bully face.

I like this guy just as much as I like the redhead who is addressing me weird looks.

I never spoke to her: knowing William I could already imagine how

would be the niece.

By the way, what kind of sport can be practiced with the miniskirt and the thong?!

Perhaps the only activity she practices in this gym is climbing over the instructors ...

The man's expression does not change as he keeps his gaze fixed on mine.

"You can go." - for a moment I think those words are meant for me, but then his

look shifts to the figure beside me.

She snorts, but then walks away looking like a stoned chihuahua, not without cursing me

in a low tone.

"And you are?" - I don't know whether to answer him badly or be serious. Most likely he is my

new boss, given the authoritative tone of his voice.

" About to throw up on you ..." - I whisper to myself, as I approach his

professorship: who knows what they will have done before I arrived, but I can imagine it from how

he adjusts his belt with a serene air, but clearly annoyed by my answer.

I look at the chair twice before sitting down, almost afraid to see sperm streaks


I frown while looking around: he has already changed the room. Where before

there was William's photo, now there is a trophy, but there are no other frames around.

There aren't even the physiotherapy books that filled the shelves and made of

William a more mature man:

'it's a tactic to look more attractive'-he used to say, in fact.

And most likely it worked, as he managed to seduce even the cleaner.

"Charlotte Cooper." - I go back to look at him - "The SBG dietician" - I introduce myself and try to appear a normal and serious woman, but I can't help rolling my eyes.

"So we have a dietician? Apparently my father didn't know what to do with his

money? "- he seems to be saying it more to himself than to me, while I sink my fingers into my thigh:

he is literally slamming me in the face of being useless when he is the first to spend his time

fucking in her office.

This explains everything: stupidity is handed down with DNA, and I have proof of it when

I see the photo of him and the old manager smiling.

He is the son of William, apparently, and it could not be otherwise, given the superficiality of his words.

It took me fifteen years and a lot of study to get to where I am, and here I hear a

a man that the work of a dietician is useless.

"Why did you call me?"-I dare to open my mouth.

"I ask the questions! And when you talk to me ... »- he lingers on his words, while

tries to threaten me with a harsh and hoarse tone:

"... pay attention to what you say."

I don't answer, slightly shaken by his gaze, again, as he picks it up

a folder.

"You were born in Seattle and raised in the New York City orphanage ..." -he begins to read aloud while I clench my fingers in a fist on the lap.

He reads those sentences as if he was reading Dante's Divine Comedy, without stopping:

"You grew up an orphan, but I don't give a shit ...

Your Sunday schedule is: from 07:30 to 19:00, including three breaks. "- I half-close my

eyes to his cold words, trying to meet his eyes again to make him understand

how much it annoys me the way he talks about me and the fact that he already knows so much about

my life.

"Since it's already eight, you can avoid the lunch break for today." - he still looks at me seriously,

which pisses me off and I would love to answer him through the words that pass through my

head, but I just say: "Asshole."

He holds my briefcase in his fingers, while I try to hold his illegible gaze:

he says nothing this time, so I just get up and walk out of his hole of whores.

"Was he tough?" - my boyfriend's head pops out of my office door, while I am

too busy squeezing neurons and making them work in the middle of the summer.

It's terribly hot outside and all I want to fall asleep on the full desk

of sheets.

The new boss left me with a bad impression and having to deal with him from now on

demoralizes me a lot.

I almost preferred the immortal man of two weeks ago.

"He definitely was on the readhad." - I reply shrugging my shoulders, while he frowns.

I shake my head, letting him know to let it go, but he still insists without realizing the annoyance he gives me at this moment:

"That man is a myth!" Do you know what people say? »- he begins excitedly, as if he were

in love with the new owner of the gym.

"I don't know what people say." - I repeat his words, while I try to avoid him and concentrate

on the customer cards I have in my hands.

The gymnasiums are very attentive to nutrition, but in a gym of five hundred

trained, only fifteen want my help for proper nutrition.

They're all ' brawn and no brain' , starting with the man in front of me:

"He has a python of three meters ..." - she begins, but I interrupt him disgusted:

"No need for details!" - I take him back, throwing him also a dirty look, but to

answer he limites to raise up his hands at shoulder height:

"He also has two pitbulls ..." - he adds perplexed to make me understand that for

'python' he did not mean the one between the legs, but the one that normally lives in

equatorial forests.

«He trained John Cena!» - I roll my eyes, realizing that he has no intention to

stop, then I stand up and join him on the other side of the desk:

"Go away!" - I scream impatiently, pushing him out of my modest office, and he doesn't object to go out, but not before having insisted on praising that jerk:

«It is said that he has fucked with seven women at the same time!» - I close the door on his

face before he could continue to stimulate my vomit.

I sigh and enjoy my solitude in silence, walking back to my place:

no matter how boring it might seem in an environment like this, I love my

I work and I prefer to sit on a chair from morning to night, or at most stare at the

backsides of the coaches, rather than sweating between them.

Being a dietician was a last-minute decision, since initially

I wanted to be a hairdresser, but then I learned to adapt and be satisfied with my


It took me six years to get a job in this gym: the old man hired me only

for the courage to have shown him the middle finger and offended him at the end of my first interview to get this place.

'You have a great character, you are one of us.'

He said in response, so I shrugged and walked away, showing up the next day only with my

diploma, which is now attached to the wall.

Since then my office has always remained empty: there are no books or photos of the family.

I don't actually have one.

The only frame next to my computer was given to me by my best friend, who

decided to fit a photo of me so that in ten years I could remember the face

I had when it was wrinkle-free.

I make a face as I watch my long brown hair frame my face while my

dull eyes look annoyed at the lens.

My friend, on the other hand, shows a great smile as the wind blows her blond hair

and her clear eyes light up at how happy she is.

I look at the clock at the exact moment when it marks the arrival of the noon, then I get up and

pass my chair as I adjust my sweatshirt, stretching it to make me

cover my lower back, even if it's already wrapped in a pair of black pants: I sweat like a

pig, when outside 40 ° C is exceeded, but I feel more comfortable regardless.

I grab the handle and swiftly open the door, but I jump when I hear a groan

behind it: I frown and start to apologize, but I am interrupted when I notice of

hitting the jerk with the python ... at home.

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