A bunch of men

Jenn sat frozen on the bench, clutching her tiny towel like it was her last line of defense against a cruel universe. She was still trying to piece together a plan, when the locker room door creaked open again.

Heavy footsteps. Deep voices.

“Man, that treadmill almost ate her alive!” one guy said, chuckling.

Another snorted. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Whole thong, dude. I haven’t seen an ass that think in awhile.”

Jenn’s blood ran cold. Those were not women’s voices.

She turned her head slowly, like someone in a horror movie who didn’t want to see the monster but couldn’t stop themselves. Three men walked into the room, gym bags slung over their shoulders. One of them was already tugging his shirt off, revealing biceps Jenn had previously only seen in Marvel movies.

Her brain short-circuited.

Oh my God. I ran into the wrong locker room.

Jenn’s first instinct was denial. Maybe she could just blend in, pretend like she belonged. Then she remembered she was sitting there pantless, in a pink thong, clutching half a hand towel against her thighs like some tragic burlesque act. Blending in was not an option.