THE JOY OF SEX

Rest assured, I’m not getting any. This is me, after all and I simply never get any. However, that doesn’t mean that I don’t enjoy passing by the buffet and I really enjoy reading the menu. My favorite tasty treat of late has been Tank at the gym. Though I cannot take him home, I can certainly do anything I choose to him, in my mind. And, rest assured, I do.

Tank’s classes just rock. He’s fantastically fabulous and his music kicks ass. He’s passionate about his job (I find very little sexier than capacity for unbridled passion) and while he’s very clear on what you need to be doing, what you need to look out for physically and the reasons for maintaining proper form, I’ve never once discerned discussion about losing fat or the beautiful thing your body will become. Frankly, the reason and restrain that beauty requires just kills it for me. He talks about strength and power; two very unreasonable, unrestrained qualities. In a country where they’re still regularly binding infant baby girls’ hips in order to prevent hip development because the pre-pubescent look is the most desirable (one of the West Eggers married a PRC woman and his mother-in-law immediately set out to binding the infant’s hips; as most of the West Eggers were highly concerned about said practice when they heard the story, they spoke to their translators and the consistent answer from all the translators was, without batting an eye, “It is done to maintain the attractive shape”), it is unheard of that a woman wouldn’t have at least three mirrors on her at all time and the women talk of nothing but eating food that will make them slim, Tank makes no mention of the aesthetic traits gained (or lost) by his workouts. His body shape alone is a declaration of his love of athletics without bowing to the conformity of “lithe” here. His attention to me, above all others, is a statement of how little he is put off by a full hourglass shaped woman who is a full head taller than he. I am all the things an attractive woman should not be but he is still very clear with me that I am attractive beyond all others.

In his classes, he plays Pink as well as lots of House, R&B, Dance and House music. Without fail, I know almost all of the lyrics to his songs and they await me on my iPod as I leave his class. When the classes get rough, I find myself screaming the lyrics (which I feel safe doing as the music is so loud, it mostly drowns me out) to whatever is playing to push through the runner’s wall and he loves it. Frankly, screaming the lyrics to Pink’s “Who Knew” while my legs burn in some sort of exorcism of the broken heart encapsulated by that song is feels phenomenally good. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again, “His classes are the best sex I’ve had in years.”

Today (5/28), I was warming up before his Combat Class (a shadowboxing/ kickboxing class) on a stationary bike and he came over to me to find out if I was going to his class. Casually, as he and I have a very casual relationship, he leaned over on the consol of my bike and we spoke quite close. Around him, I feel infinitely comfortable, forgetting myself completely and I get the sense that the feeling is mutual. Ironically, with the lack of personal boundaries in China, I am overly conscious of my personal space here but in a rare moment of peace, I simply don’t consider it with Tank. He does his best to speak English to help me and, unlike the other teachers who make a half effort to speak English that is actually less comprehendible to me than their Chinese, he studies his English language workout DVDs so closely that he’s got the New Zealand accent of the trainers on his DVDs.

So there we were, muddling through our conversation (primarily in Chinese, so you know we were in trouble), I was leaning in close and he was leaning on the consol of my bike and then he stood up straight, something behind us having caught his eye. It wasn’t until he returned to his professional, hands-behind-his-back, ramrod straight back and appropriate distance that I realized just how casual we were being. Irritated at having had my parade rained on, I turned around to see what was cock-blocking me.

There was my Brazilian Angel’s favorite trainer, looking at Tank with amused disapproval. He had a wide smile on his face but it was clear that they both knew Tank was doing something somewhat unprofessional. The trainer briefly looked at me and I gave him a “Yeah, and what of it” teasing look, which made him laugh to himself. It was in that moment that I realized that, in this case, the professional boundaries were there to protect Tank, not me. This afternoon my students nicknamed me “Tigress” and I suspect they maybe more right than they know.

It was clear that he wanted to tell me more but my boy had to go before he got in any more trouble. I suspect he’s up for a promotion to lead trainer and I didn’t want to fuck any of that up for him.

So, we met up again at his class and spoke a bit more. I warned him I was beat from a full day of naughty students and he did his best to get me ready for the ass kicking class to come. Per usual, he gave lots of Chinese instructions and then switch to English for me. As we were all laughing and grunting away, I looked to the back of the room and there was my Brazilian Angel’s trainer again. He was smiling and observing the class and Tank was super amped; fake taking hits from some of the weaker students who needed the inspiration. Frankly, such comfort with silly, self-effacement in a world of infinite concern over “losing face” is enough to make this addict flare up again.

How can a girl not be completely taken with that? Frankly, I have no idea how not to be, so I’m just going to revel in the joy of it all while it lasts.