I Like Your Form: Confessions of a Personal Trainer
After graduating from high school and working several dead-end jobs, JD landed a job as a personal trainer at a newly opened gym. It puzzled him just how much money people were willing to spend to train with him despite the fact he was so inexperienced. He then started learning the ropes of the business and carved a niche for himself training well-to-do housewives and successful older women. As time goes on, he finds that not only can he help with their physical demands, he can also help them out with their erotic ones.
JD starts to fight an internal struggle between making money satisfying his clients and knowing what he is doing is wrong. All it would take is his girlfriend or any one of his clients’ spouses to find out about their sultry affairs, and everything could blow up in his face causing him to lose his career. However, it’s very difficult to turn away from the attention of many attractive and sexy women.
I Like Your Form is a hilarious and honest collection of stories giving advice for personal trainers and clients. Based on a true story, JD’s real-life confessions provide a look at the lesser-known aspects of personal training.
JD Holmes is a certified strength and conditioning specialist with over 15 years experience in the health & fitness industry. He holds a master’s degree in physical therapy and is a certified athletic trainer. JD currently resides in Tampa, FL. For more information, visit http://jdconfessions.com/
I’m not gonna lie. I was enjoying the fruits of my labor. My job at Precision Fitness was awesome. I was in the midst of what seemed like an endless stream of women who needed my services. I couldn’t turn my head without running into a client who was hounding me to “hang out” or “get together.” I will be the first to admit that things were quickly getting out of hand, but it was getting so easy that I was beginning to feel like I was on a yearlong tour with Mötley Crüe, complete with all the backstage debauchery one only dreams about. With my managers sending me all the women between the ages of twenty-seven and forty-seven who walked through the doors of the gym, I felt compelled to do what I needed to do to keep this train rolling. I was making great money and having a good time doing it. I wasn’t about to possibly jeopardize all that by turning a woman down and, in the process, possibly stopping my steady influx of women from management. As far as I was concerned, I had built up a reputation and needed to uphold it—like when that order of extra anchovies came in, someone had to deliver. Call it some sort of sick pride thing, but I felt obligated to continue my ways. I had also managed to stay drama-free. The way I saw it, I would continue to steer my present course as long as I didn’t get caught or experience something that would make me look in the mirror a little harder and seriously reconsider my ways.
So how about Mary Ann? Could I possibly make room for one more? I sure could. She fit the description of my typical female client perfectly: Already in shape, check. Very cute, with a golden-brown tan year-round, double check. In addition, Mary Ann was legally divorced, so any extracurricular affairs would be in the clear, triple check.
Tony, one of the sales managers, introduced us. Within seconds of meeting me, Mary Ann completely shifted her focus to me and seemingly forgot that she had just spent the last ten minutes talking to Tony. It was as if Tony ceased to exist. I hadn’t done much more than say hello to her, yet she already had this huge smile on her face. Could she already tell that she would end up in bed with me? When this type of shit happens to an average guy, how could he not think of himself as awesome? Tony just laughed and left us to talk, as he quickly noticed the connection and knew immediately where this was going to eventually lead.
Mary Ann was a petite thirty-nine-year-old Italian woman with a dark complexion that seemed to stay sun-soaked tan no matter what time of year it was. Her hair was a satin-like dark black, and fortunately, she lacked hairy arms, a feature that plagues some Italian women. If there was a trace of a mustache, she must have had that thing well waxed or lasered because I didn’t notice a furry upper lip. She had these thin little legs and weighed no more than 110 pounds. She had long, curly black hair and always wore a little extra makeup to the gym. At first glance, Mary Ann didn’t appear to be in need of a trainer, but who was I to turn away a paying customer?