I am a reluctant exerciser. I don’t mind walking but anything more energetic doesn’t float my boat. However, I love to dance, as anyone who was at the ETO awards recently will attest to.
So the only exercise I’ve ever really loved is Zumba. I’m quite convinced I look like a loon when I’m shaking and hopping and bogeying about but I love it. That’s the inspiration behind red rag to a bull. My Zumba classes have always been full of women, I think I can only remember 2 guys joining in ever. I wondered what might happen if a hot hunk of a man turned up at a Zumba class and from there a story was born!
Here’s an excerpt:
“Are you ready ladies?” Tina shouted.
“And Dean.” We all echoed together. It was a long standing joke after the first week when Tina had to apologise half way through for calling him a lady. Every Monday, every class, Dean took it with an affable smile. What a gentleman.
I was sure he wasn’t so gentlemanly in bed, though.
It was strange dancing in my new clothes, they pulled in when I least expected them to. I was far more aware of my breasts as my t-shirt stretched with my movements and when I reached up a little band of flesh was revealed to the cool air, chilling me. I wondered if Dean had noticed and my cheeks glowed red after far fewer songs than usual.
It was in one of the fast numbers where things started to feel weird. One of the moves involved squatting. Now squatting wasn’t bad if I did it slowly, I could hitch the material at the front of my shorts to loosen things off. But the squats in a particular song were rapid and between other moves so I didn’t have time to alter myself. My buttocks were cupped firmly, the crotch dug into parts I rather they didn’t and by the midpoint I had sworn never to wear the bastard things again. I didn’t care that Dean was getting a good eyeful of my bum, there was too much chafing for me to feel sexy.
Then it happened, that moment that all of us dread. I squatted, maybe I pushed it a bit lower than the rest or maybe the poor stitching just couldn’t take any more but either way I heard a disconcerting rip followed by gasps and giggles from all around me. The damn shorts had split showing off the bright red knickers I had on beneath.
I quickly straightened and stood still. I reached round behind myself and surreptitiously checked out the damage. Yep, the seam had blown from top to bottom, I was completely undone. I had nothing with me to cover up with either. The hot day meant I hadn’t thought to put on a coat before leaving. How the hell was I going to make it home with a big rip down the back of my pants? I wish I’d thought of that earlier, my mum always said I should plan and prepare for all eventualities.
Dean sprinted past me and I wondered what was going on, as the song hadn’t finished. I smiled at Tina who flashed me a sympathetic look, although I had heard her laugh into the microphone a minute earlier, so maybe she was feeling a bit sheepish. There was a low murmur of conversation around me as the song continued and the class moved in unison, but many of them whispered to their friends about the tragedy of the poor woman on the front row.
I was seconds away from running out in sheer panic when Dean ran past me again. He came up close behind me and draped something over my backside. I moved my hands away and he embraced me from behind to push the arms of his hoodie around me.
“This will cover your blushes,” he whispered. His breath tickled my ear.
I pulled the arms of the top around my waist and tied them in a knot. He stepped back and I looked over my shoulder. I smiled and mouthed a thank you. He grinned back before resuming the dance.
I continued too. It felt a little funny. The split material rubbed against me as I danced and the hole extended further. I just hoped it wouldn’t run all the way round to the front. Then I would be in trouble.
“Thanks for that,” I said to Dean after I swigged back my water. “You’re a life saver.”
“No worries,” he responded with a smile. “As much as I appreciated the view, I knew it must have been mortifying for you. I’m glad I could help.”
“Will I be okay to take this home with me, I mean, I don’t want to get on the bus with split shorts.”
“No.” He took a sip from his water bottle and my stomach churned. Was he really telling me I’d have to go home displaying my knickers to the world?
“You’re not going home on the bus, you don’t know what kind of perv might be on there. I’ll give you a lift home.”
“Are you sure?” I let out a sigh of relief and tried to hold in my excitement. He was only giving me a lift home, it didn’t mean he’d want to come in and help me take care of business afterwards.
“Positive.” He pushed the top down on his bottle and slammed it down on the sill beside me.
“Thanks.” I took one last calming suck of water from my bottle then joined him back on the dance floor. I was definitely distracted for the last few routines. It was a combination of feeling the gap in my shorts as I moved and the anticipation of getting a lift home with Dean. The crotch of my knickers chafed against me, the damp cotton clung to my flesh as the stitching of my useless shorts rubbed up between my pussy lips. By the last song, the rip had extended right down the cleft of my buttocks, I could feel where the split stopped just at the bottom of my pussy. When I bent forward to stretch out my legs I imagined Dean behind me, clasping my waist and driving his cock into me. He’d only have to rip my knickers and he could do it.
“Are you ready?” he said afterwards.
I picked up my bag and my water bottle after slipping out of my dance shoes and into my trainers with as little movement as was possible. I didn’t want to rip the shorts any further.
“Yep,” I replied. “Thanks again for helping me out.”
“No worries.” he flashed me that heart melting smile once more. “I couldn’t resist saving the damsel in distress.”
“My hero.” I clasped my hands before me and fluttered my eyelashes dramatically. We laughed together and I almost forgot about the mortifying embarrassment of what had happened earlier. That was until I overheard a stinging comment.
“Well, that’s what you get for stuffing so much arse into such small shorts.”
The words were followed by a gale of titters and I felt tears prick at my eyes. I love my curves, I’m not ashamed of them but it still upsets me when someone makes fun of me because of my shape. I am only human.
Dean put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me. I looked up and smiled, I knew he’d be able to see the tears glistening in my eyes.
“At least you’ve got some arse.” He said to me in a very loud stage whisper. “Some of the girls here just talk out of theirs.”
I chuckled and looked across at the gaggle of women who’d been so cruelly discussing my misfortune. Each one looked mortified.
“You should be ashamed.” He looked directly at the woman in the middle, the clear ring leader. She at least had the decency to look down at the tips of her expensive trainers.
“And the rest of you too.” None of them could meet his gaze. One lady stepped away from the others and looked at me.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I hope you’re all right.”
I nodded, I couldn’t say anything. I was very grateful for her stand on the matter. She grabbed her workout stuff and walked out of the door, not hesitating to look back on the group who still huddled together, looking to the woman in the middle to see what they should do next.
Dean kept his arm around me and we walked away, out of the hall and down the corridor.
“Some people are just plain nasty,” he said, squeezing me.
I shrugged gently, not wanting him to let go. I loved the feel of him so close to me. “I’m kinda used to it,” I sighed. “And I did kinda bring this down on myself.”
“No,” he said forcefully. “It’s not your fault, shoddy workmanship in the shorts and downright bitchiness from that woman, neither of them are your concern.”
“Thanks,” I smiled. “From me and my bum.”
“You’re welcome,” he squeezed me again. “Now let’s get you home.”
Victoria Blisse is a mother, wife, Christian, Manchester United fan and award winning erotica author. She is also the editor of several Bigger Briefs collections, and the co-editor of the fabulous Smut Alfresco, Smut in the City and Smut by the Sea Anthologies.
Victoria is also one of the brains behind the fabulous Smut events, days dedicated to erotica, fun and prizes. Check out http://smutters.co.uk for more details.
She is equally at home behind a laptop or a cooker and she loves to create stories, poems, cakes and biscuits that make people happy. She was born near Manchester, England and her northern English quirkiness shows through in all of her stories.
Passion, love and laughter fill her works, just as they fill her busy life.
To find out more check out http://victoriablisse.co.uk
Many thanks Victoria!!
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