The Gym Machine is one of those places associated in my mind with dentists and school bullies and all the other things that exist to give you pain. There are people who love gathering in sweaty spaces where they can wear nearly-nothing outfits and show off their tuned up bodies to each other. I’m not one of them. Just walking into that space of torture machines and floor-to-ceiling mirrors makes my heart accelerate. I try to imagine myself as one of the converted, making love to metal and pumping muscle in the mirror. My brain starts to hyperventilate with the strain. But if this is what it takes to be a babe catcher, then game on.

I hang about the juice bar area, waiting for Prince to get a breathing break so he could come out and talk to me. It is better out here than in the chill-zone where the exercising went on. I’d put my head in there so he could see I was around and the air conditioning almost froze me to the spot. It was always on high, even when it was winter outside. I don’t know how anyone can move in that cold, let alone work out. But maybe all that heated sexual attraction kept the bodies warm.

Funny thing was, there didn’t seem to be much chatting up going on in there. Everyone too busy using their breath for work out. None of it makes sense to me. I don’t see the point of all the hard work if you aren’t going to use it to score rewards. It’s like being in a cake shop without the money to buy anything. But this is my brother’s world and he seems to love it.

I can see him through the window partition, moving through the packed work-out area like a celebrity; helping there, advising here, adjusting machinery, correcting and encouraging. Amazing how many females need his help.

A girl comes through the change-room turnstile into the juice-bar area. Cute. Pointy chin, big eyes, natural hair, just the way I like it. Nice bod. You can see she works out; those tight-fit outfits don’t leave much to the imagination. I slide my eyes away quickly in case she thinks I am staring. Then I remember: confidence. I straighten up in my chair and rearrange my face into an inviting smile. I say my new motto to myself: “Expect her to like you and she will.”

The babe’s eyes slide to me for a moment and away again. Quickly. Shy, obviously. Or maybe she didn’t realise the smile was for her. I lean forward a bit and raise one inviting eyebrow, in case the smile wasn’t enough. “Heyi,” I say, deepening my voice. I had remembered the guy from the restaurant. “Ntombiyihle, come over here and show me what you’ve got.” It had worked for him.

The cute babe stops dead. Then she turns around and scuttles back through the turnstile like she’d forgotten something. No prob. There’d be another one to practise on. All I have to do is think positive.

I order two juices, fast-forwarding in my head. I think how proud my brother will be when he walks out and sees me deep in chat-up with some gorgeous superbabe.

Another girl comes out. Not bad at all. Just my type: female. I wait till she is level with me.

“Hey,” I say, giving the eyebrow some exercise again. “How about a drink with me? I slide the orange juice over along the counter. It sloshes a bit, but most of it gets there.

The girl carries on going. Maybe she has earplugs stuck in her ears and couldn’t hear me. No prob. Ntombiyihle is back. She has an escort with her this time. One of the bouncer types the gym pay to look threatening. He has muscles on top of muscles.

“Hey you,” he says. “You a member here?”

“Not yet,” I say. “But I’m thinking of joining up.”

“Go think somewhere else,” he tells me. “You’re scaring our customers.”

***

Tell us: What is Macgina doing wrong?