Page 57 of Detention with Daddies

He compliments my curves. Calls me soft. Says he’s obsessed with thoughts of fucking me. Even the way he explored my body the first time in his office at the university, it felt more like…a new fetish that seemed to surprise him rather than his attraction to me as a person.

Dread fills my belly.

It all feels so sexual and shallow, which wouldn’t be so bad if he’d stood up for me. Said anything to counter the ridicule aimed my way at the idea of him being interested in me. And he seems to be.

At least, that’s what he says when we are intimate.

I shake my head and get back to my tests. I can’t dissect his intentions.

But I do know that this isn’t the first time a man hasn’t stood up for me when negative comments are thrown my way, especially by those who fit that attractive mold.

Maybe if I hadn’t just had this issue with Nick this weekend, it wouldn’t hit me so hard. Maybe I wouldn’t be falling into a tailspin thinking about it when I should be concentrating on getting my work done.

I want to be able to present these results to my subjects today, show them their progress and fire them up before another workout session, but it’s so damn hard to stay focused.

I haven’t always been confident in my body, but I’ve grown into it. I’ve worked hard to value myself regardless of what others think of me and how they think I should look.

The silence surrounding the whirring of the machines as they spit out data for me drains my post-coital high and replaces it with a pounding headache. I need a break from this place. From the shit I’ve let myself get into.

Maybe being an open and free woman isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Maybe I should have known better than to let myself get in this kind of situation. With three men. All of them older than me. All of them with positions of power.

All of them with fangirls and hanger-ons who are willing to take swipes at me without any repercussions. Printing all of the readouts as the machines spit them out on the network database, I don’t have the mental fortitude to analyze them right now. So, they all go in their designated folders, and I sit and rub my eyes and forehead as I give in to feeling sorry for myself.

Sometimes, it’s just not worth fighting.

After another half hour of this, I get off my stool and flip through the results again, jotting notes in pencil and merely highlighting the differences between the first labs and the recent ones. As I expected, as I told my subjects to expect, the results show minor improvements. But minor or not, they’re improvements.

I stuff them in my bag and go to change in the locker room by the studio where I meet my group. I smile at them as they enter, chitchatting about their weekends and their families. Marcy has a new granddaughter that she’s over the moon about, and it’s easy tooooandaahover the pictures she shows me.

Frederick went on a walk with his son this weekend and pushed him on the swing at the park, which is more than he’s been able to do before. The pride in him has me grinning back.

The small changes in their lives fill me with the gusto that I let deflate earlier in the day.

When we start, it’s an easy workout. Still, thirty minutes of movement, but I incorporated some yoga positions that test their stability and balance. They all wobble a little.

“Don’t worry about wobbling. That means your muscles are working. So, if you’re not wobbling, you’re not challengingyourself enough.” They all smile back at my encouragement, but my head isn’t in the game as well as it should be.

By the time we’re done, I remind them that we will be adding light weights to our next workout, so be prepared to sweat, and be prepared to be sore the next day.

“You want good shoes on Wednesday. Good stable shoes.” I clap my hands. “Okay. Before you all leave, I want to hand off your new test results. Come grab them.”

I’d summarized my notes on a small card for each of them, showing what changes they’ve been making and what it means in layman’s terms. Their shocked faces make pushing through today more than worth it.

Sandra, one of my older ladies, squeezes my arm. “Thanks, dear. And remember, for someone who’s been around for a lot longer than you have, whatever’s got you down today, it ain’t gonna last forever. Okay?”

My smile is small but genuine. “No. It’s not. Thank you.”

She nods at me, sweat plastering her gray hair to her forehead, and walks toward the door to share results with one of the other women.

I’m glad they are making connections with each other.

My phone buzzes in my bag, and I’ve never been so relieved to see my bestie’s name on my phone.

Hey, girlie. Things okay over there?

Sighing, I shoot a text back to her.In some ways, yes. In others, no.

Then, I lay out what happened with Dr. Wright.

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