02/09/2025
My Gym Instructor Was Hotter Than My Husband, And I Won’t Even Lie About That
It wasn’t just his muscles, though God knows they were carved like stone.
It was the way he moved—confident, assured, like the world bent its rhythm around his steps. His smile lit up the fitness room, and his voice, deep and commanding, curled around my name like velvet.
Each time he corrected my stance, his hand hovering near my waist, his breath warm on my ear as he said,
“Madam Sophia, tighten your core… yes, like that,”
My heart betrayed me. It raced.
I told myself it was just exercise, but deep down, I knew—it was more. His presence was intoxicating, each rep pulling me deeper into a fantasy I knew I had no business entertaining.
Soon, my gym hours became sweeter than my hours at home. I was glowing, sweating, alive in ways I hadn’t felt in months. His encouragement became my drug.
But that Friday morning, as I pulled out my leggings and sneakers, tying my hair into a ponytail, a soft voice interrupted me.
“Honey… you’re still going to the gym today?”
I froze. My husband stood by the door, his eyes tired yet tender, his voice carrying that same softness that had wooed me years ago.
“Yes,” I replied quickly. “Why do you ask?”
He stepped closer, his rough carpenter’s hands brushing mine as he helped adjust the water bottle strap I struggled with. His touch was familiar, but heavy with unspoken words.
“Nothing,” he said quietly. “I just noticed… you haven’t really been here with us lately. With me, with the kids. You seem… far away. But maybe it’s the stress.”
His words pierced me. For the first time in weeks, I really looked at him. That was when I noticed it—the faint burn mark across his wrist.
My heart clenched. “What happened here?” I asked, gently taking his hand.
He shrugged. “Two days ago. The generator backfired when I was trying to fix it. The pain was deep, but it’s healing.”
He tried to chuckle, but his laugh was strained.
My chest burned.
My husband, barely three weeks after I gave birth, had been carrying the load of the house, the children, the repairs, while I was busy chasing endorphins at the gym, letting temptation creep into my thoughts.
I dropped the sneakers instantly. “I’m not going anywhere today. After all, I’m my own boss.”
He blinked, surprised, then smiled, as though he couldn’t believe he heard me right.
That day, I stayed. I held our baby, rocked him as his tiny cries filled the room. I cooked dinner, cleaned the living room, even helped him patch the leaking roof sheet.
We used to have house helps, but we sent them away after we discovered they were stealing foodstuff and money, pretending they didn’t know what happened. We decided to manage on our own.
After clearing up, I told my husband, “I’ll hire new help, responsible ones this time. You won’t go through this stress again.”
I saw his shoulders relax. His lips curved into that kind of smile that reminded me why I married him.
That night, when we lay side by side, I turned to him. My heart whispered a confession only my silence had been hiding.
“You’re my strength,” I told him. “No gym, no instructor, no man can ever replace what you’ve built with me.”
His eyes softened, and he pulled me close.
But come Monday morning, temptation tried again.
I was determined not to return to the gym, but I had paid for a month, and guilt about wasting money tugged me. So I went, with a firm resolve in my heart.
As soon as I walked in, there he was—my instructor, tall and commanding, his smile spreading like honey across his face.
“Madam Sophia,” he said warmly, “I prepared something for you today. Special diet meal—grilled chicken and brown rice. Good for your body goals. Please don’t say no.”
He opened the container, and the aroma of perfectly seasoned chicken filled the air. My stomach betrayed me, my body tempted by both the food and the man.
For a moment, I almost gave in. His eyes, his charm, the scent… everything tugged at me.
But then I remembered my husband’s burn mark, his quiet endurance, his tired smile as he still found a way to hold me close.
I straightened, my voice firm.
“No, thank you. I only eat meals prepared by my husband.”
The smile on his face faltered. He tried to mask it, covering the container quickly.
“And one more thing,” I added, my tone colder now. “From today, I won’t be continuing with these sessions. Please transfer my balance to another client.”
His eyes widened, shock flashing across his face. He opened his mouth to protest, but I turned away. The dev!l had been entertained long enough.
That evening, I passed by a boutique. I bought my husband a fine shirt and shoes.
When I got home, I handed him the bag.
“You are my husband,” I said, looking deep into his eyes. “Only you have the right to intoxicate me.”
His laughter filled the house, chasing away the silence that had lived there for weeks.
As he hugged me and ki$sed me softly, I could only whisper,
“Killiii me killiii me, my Baby… nah you be onye nwem.”
He laughed even harder, pulling me close as we sat down to eat together.
Marriage is sweet, forget!
But sometimes, we have to make choices that will keep it sweet.
Two days later, my instructor resigned from the gym. That was when I realized—it wasn’t just about fitness. I was his main target. And I had almost fallen.
Thank God I didn’t.
So, Sister, if your gym instructor dey enter your eyes, abeg run o. Your home should be your priority.
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✨ Moral Lessons
Guard your home like a fortress; distractions will always come dressed as gifts.
Temptation isn’t always about muscles or beauty—it’s about neglect. Pay attention to those who sacrifice for you daily.
The grass isn’t greener elsewhere. It only grows where you water it.
If this story inspired you, kindly share ❤️
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