Warily

You had to go through a full-body scan to enter her work-out space. This is a new experience, most of the gym is definitely a 'free-love' kind of environment. Besides, what could you be hiding when you're wearing gym clothes designed to be stripped off during the workout?

AOC is wearing a battered old Boston University shirt that looks oddly familiar and form-fitting pants. She looks at you suspiciously. Maybe she's not worth all this. But still, firecracker.

"Who else have you trained with at this gym?"

Wow, not even a hi. You rattle off a list of names that sound like a Google search. You've been a member of the gym long enough to have quite the list of contacts and conquests. You watch her soften ever so slightly.

"I'm trying to work out if this makes you more trustworthy or a horndog."

That's fair. A lot of members stick to a short list of trainers, after all the better know someone the more satisfying the fuck. But you're committed to your sexual gratification (and your body) than any trainer here.

"Take your clothes off. Shoes and socks too."

She watches with arms folded as you shed your gym clothes. It's somewhat unusual for you to be this naked at the gym, there are a lot of cold floors so keeping footwear on is preferable. She clearly pre-planned this as you're in a rare carpeted area. After all, if you're freezing your tootsies off you're going to find it harder to stay aroused.

"Turn around."

The kind of short, clear instructions that serve her well in her day job. You rotate on the spot, sticking your arms out.

"Good. Thank you."

She smiles for the first time, then takes her shirt off.

"Let's begin. Do you have any preferences?"