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A monologue from the play by Gary Richards
ELLIE (twenties-forties)
Ellie is trying her best to get in shape.
I go to the gym to work out. I do. Really. But even I have to admit it. I go there to socialize too. I mean, it’s not like I’m the Rapmaster trying to make it with every guy I see. I’m more discerning than that.
I mean, guys are like Chinese restaurants, there are good ones and there are bad ones, and all the menus are pretty much the same. And they all think their Moo Shoo Pork is the best.
I mean, there are some guys who go to the club for a good reason: it gets their heads out of their refrigerators for an hour. I personally think the club should have a rule prohibiting those guys from wearing Spandex.
But, it’s cool. I give those guys a lot of credit for trying to uncover the Adonis living inside them. Then there are the guys who are on the maintenance program keeping their perfect bodies perfect.
Those are the guys who drive me crazy. They’re all gay. Hey, what can I say? There’s something about watching a guy work out that really turns me on. They sit in the seat and strap themselves in with this big leather belt.
They’re surrounded by metal and steel. And they pump! Hard! They sweat! They pump and they throb. They pump and they pulsate. They’re dripping, dripping, dripping…man,
if there’s a better turn-on than watching a guy work up a good sweat, I’d like to know about it. But I do go to the club to work out. I do. Hey, check it out… (She displays her biceps.) Arms like bombs! (pause)
And if a guy gets turned on by watching me work out, watching me drip, so much the better. I mean, why not, right? It’s there, so you look. What? You’re not going to look? C’mon…you gotta look.
