Kickin' the Bosu

She is 30 per cent silicon, 10 per cent peroxide, eight per cent Rimmel (the London look) and 15 per cent spray tan. Whatever is left (don't ask her to work it out) is sprayed with a micrometre of lycra and rolls in sparkling new Nike Shox.

I hate that I think this bitch is hot.

I know beneath all the synthetics she'd be pretty average, but that's not how we get to see "Paris"*.

I'm still not convinced she pays membership fees, but instead receives them free on the proviso that she grinds the swiss ball ONLY during the evening peak-hour gronk shift. Whether I'm more angry when she's there than if she isn't is yet to be decided. I need the fury to get me through the useless repetitions anyway, so I'm good either way.

At any one moment I will guarantee that 30 pairs of hungry eyes are aimed at the humps in her otherwise rake (or hoe) like form. With the same certainty, there are words exchanged between training partners. Without knowing what they are saying, I'll put my lunch money on something like:

"Fuck she's hot."

"She's fuckin' hot, but."

"Fuckin' hot little slut."

"Bro, she is fully hot."

I look at her, too. But I don't stare. Not because I think it's rude, but because somewhere deep inside my useless brain is some nerdy love scientist who thinks that she'll notice me not noticing her and think to herself, "Who's that guy who isn't staring at me. He's not like all the other guys who are staring at me. I want him inside me."

Alas, it appears she has recently selected a suitor from the abundance of available muscle I have the pleasure of smelling three or four times a week. Some dickhead with an exotic DNA mix of coup-havin' Pacific Island countries, dark skin and butterflied chicken breast calves tapering into Reebok Iversons. I bet he plays Sunday night basketball and throws about 50 no-look passes when he isn't pattin' guys arses like its crunch time in the Eastern Conference finals. I knew he had sealed the deal when I saw the two of them kickin' the Bosu at one another and racing through the playlist of hands-on exercises I used to recommend to chicks I was hoping to score with.

Enjoy your time in Paris, Lebron. Cunt.

PWT

*Probably not her real name