“Are you nuts? You want ME to lead the pregnant women’s class?”
Harold, the owner of the fitness club where I work, shrugged and leaned back behind his desk. “Fred, you know that Mimi went in to have her own baby last night. Her students will be here in half an hour and there’s no one else.” He pointed to the door. “Go on, get ready. It’s only for a few weeks, and it won’t hurt you.”
Fuming, I stalked out of his office and headed for the instructors’ locker room. Damn! A roomful of pregnant women, and Harold expected ME to lead the exercises.
It wasn’t that I objected to the job. Oh, sure, I expected to feel like a fool being the only man there showing all those women how to work out – but that wasn’t the problem.
I LIKE pregnant women. They’ve been my favorite sexual- fantasy objects for years. The problem was this: How in hell was I going to get through a forty-five minute class in front of a half-dozen young preggies in leotards – without everyone seeing that I had a colossal hard-on? If they complained, I could lose my job!
(…)
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