How to Convince your Personal Trainer to Fuck You

Just once, you swear, and then it will be totally back to normal

This is my personal trainer Jeff, isn’t he sexy? Photo by Matthew LeJune on Unsplash

Personal trainers are hot — men or women. But they don’t want to fuck their clients because — well, that’s their livelihood. They probably already fucked a client, he or she got mad at them for whatever reason, and then they lost that money.

So now, even if they are attracted to you, they won’t fuck you.

I interviewed a personal trainer as research for this article, because I’m not one of those Medium writers who just makes shit up and doesn’t do any research. No, I did research for this, so I know what I’m talking about.

I interviewed my personal trainer, Jeff. We were working out as usual in a little outdoor pergola in Griffth Park.

“Would you ever fuck me?” was my first question. I was doing burpees, which are basically squat thrusts but they suck even more than squat thrusts suck, and I was out of breath, so the question came out more like this: “Would you….humph humph humph…ever…humph…fuck me..humpth?”

“Excuse me!” he said. He was shocked.

It was time for the next exercise.

“Lie down on your back, lift your legs in the air, and then spread them apart as far as they can go.”

I did that. I lay there with on my back with my legs spread as far as they would go, showing him my crotch.

“You’re telling me you never thought about fucking me?”

“Jesus, Christine,” he said. “Of course not. I’m a professional.”

“Hmm,” I said, suspicious. I didn’t feel like I was getting a straight answer. But I’ve never been a very good interviewer. I just take people’s word and I don’t press them as a good journalist would.

“Alright,” he said, “for the next exercise, get on all fours, and arch your back, then pull your back in, and hold it in that position with your butt up as high as you can press it. That’s right. Squeeze those glutes. Press that butt up. Now shake it around a little, loosen up your glutes. Shake your butt.”

I stopped.

“Are you just messing with me now?” I said, turning around and looking at him. He looked totally innocent.

“What? These are the glute presses. Are you not comfortable doing them? We can do something else.”

“Is it that you’re afraid that you will lose this hundred bucks three times a week that I pay you? Is that why you won’t fuck me?”

“Why would I be afraid of that? he said. “Christine, you know I’ve got a waiting list of people that want to be trained by me.”

We went on to the next exercise.

“Alright, chest stretches. Stand in front of me, with your hands clasped behind your back, and press, press, press, press your chest up toward the sky and hold your breath for as long as you can.”

To get the picture, imagine me in my nice baby blue push up sports bra, pushing my pert little breasts up to the sky and holding my breath, getting all red in the face.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Why are you having me hold my breath?”

“So you’ll shut the fuck up, Christine,” he said, good-naturedly. “I really don’t want any more of these questions.”

“But what if I’m writing an article?” I said. “About why personal trainers won’t fuck their clients?”

“It’s against the USPTA code, if you really wanna know,” he explained. “We take an oath. Not only do we swear not to have sex with our clients, but we also promise not to have any sexual feelings whatsoever toward them during these somewhat intimate moments that we share. That’s called just being professional.”

I didn’t buy it. It sounded pat when he said it, like it was a boy scout oath or something.

“What’s wrong with me?” I pouted. “Am I not your type? Are my boobs too small.”

“Come on, Christine,” he complained. “We’ve been training together for like two years. We’re like brother and sister. I don’t think of you that way.”

“Brothers and sisters sometimes have sex,” I suggested. “It’s called incest.”

“That’s gross,” he said. “Alright. Let’s do the pelvic thrusts. I’ll hold your ankles. You lie there on your back and thrust your pelvis up and down, up and down like…”

“Like I’m being fucked?”

“Jesus no!” he said, mortified. “Like you’re riding a horse across the desert and it’s bucking your pelvis up, up, up.”

“And the saddle is pressing up against my clit?” I said, thrusting my pelvis up against an imaginary saddle.

“Christine!”

We went on to the next exercise.

“Put these knee pads on,” he said, tossing me a pair. “Alright, now get on your knees in front of me. Go ahead, put your arms around my waist so you don’t fall down. Now, stretch your head all the way back, and then all the way forward.”

“This is a blow job!” I said, stretching my neck forward so my mouth just about hit his crotch.

“It’s a neck stretch!” he said. “Jees, why do you have such a one-track mind?”

“Because I’m on my knees and your dick is like two inches from my mouth!”

“No, we’re working the trapezius, and also the rhomboids and deltoids in your back, here.”

He pressed down on my back up by the shoulders. Then he held my head down, even closer to his cock. And I saw that he had a half-chub.

“You have a half-erection,” I said.

“That’s ridiculous,” he said. “I’m a certified personal trainer with the USPTA, that’s the United States Personal Trainer Association, for your information.”

“Is that a real thing?” I said dubiously.

“Maybe,” he responded. “Alright, let’s work with the elastic bands on some resistance.”

He put my wrists in two large exercise elastic bands. Then he tied the top of the elastic bands to a beam above my head on either side. I realized I was now his prisoner.

“I’m really feelin’ the resistance,” I said. “Should I call you Master?”

“Christine!” he scolded. “This is your final warning. No more sexy talk. Promise me!”

“Alright, I promise.”

“Great. So I’m going to apply a little pressure here on the upper part of your thighs, as you do squats with your arms tied above your head like this.”

“Pressure between my thighs?”

“That’s right.”

“Now I’m going to stand behind you, and with my arms around you, I’m going to push your glutes forward during the stretch, so you will feel it all the way down. Do you feel that?”

“Oh I feel it, yes,” I breathed.

I felt his breath warm against my neck. I felt him pressing his hard-on against my ass. And then he whispered to my ear sexily.

“You know, I’d fuck you in a minute, Christine,” he whispered. “Just like this, with your hands tied up, from behind, I’d fuck you so good.”

“Yummy,” I said.

“But I’m not an idiot. So it will never happen.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” he began. “I’ve known you all this time. I’ve seen you make mincemeat out of men. You’re a force of nature. You’re a frickin tornado. And you know what? I’m no storm chaser.”

“Then why, sir, despite your membership in the very fake sounding USPTA, do you now seem to have not just a half erection, but a fully monty right now?”

“Because,” he confessed. “I like to tie women up and fuck them in the ass just like this.”

“See!” I enthused. “We have that in common! I like to tie girls up too. And fuck them in the ass with my strap on. Exactly like this.”

“You’re a tornado, Christine,” he said.

“I try,” I said, humbly.

“Alright,” he said. “We’re done for today. Good work. I’ll see you Wednesday, same time.”

And he walked away awkwardly, trying to hide his erection from the other passersby in the park.

So, that’s how you get your personal trainer to fuck you — almost. You just ask. And that really clears away all the months and months of sexual subtext that’s been on the table and brings you both straight to the point.

However, depending on which “force of nature” you’re perceived as, it may or may not work out for you. If you’re a tornado, forget it, I guess.

Personal trainers…they’re probably looking for sunshine and rainbows.

Me, I’m still searching for that storm chaser. That’s why I keep working out so hard. When I finally find him this tornado is going to need to be fit and strong — how else am I going to be able to spin him around at a million miles an hour without getting dizzy?