Erotic Story:
Taking Care of My Body
I ran every morning, rain
or shine, aching muscles or no aching muscles, energy or no energy
and I had begun to question my own sanity. I was in good health,
reasonably fit and every damn morning I was out thudding up and
down the street like some kind of obsessed locomotive, all in
search of...something. I no longer knew what. Even the tight-assed
young men running past me lost their ability to cheer me. That
was scary. That had once been the best part of the run. Now they
were an annoyance. I was never going to look like that, and had
stopped giving a shit about it. A particularly fine specimen raced
past, muscled legs carrying him easily, firm ass filling out his
shorts, long hair flowing behind him. He flashed me a perfect
smile, and I gave him a half-hearted one in return. I heard a
snort from behind me. "Is it unhealthy how much I want to shoot
that fucker?" asked a voice.
I slowed and turned. Behind me, leaning
forward with his palms on his knees, gulping air into starved
lungs, was a man my age, my general build, and blessings upon us
both, my general attitude. I walked around him to cool down and
grinned. "I don't know," I said. "I started out wanting to just
punch him in his capped teeth. Then it progressed rapidly through
running him down with a car, a high-powered rifle, and finally a
machete." He grinned and managed to straighten, wincing slightly.
"Machete," he said. "I like your style." We stood there staring at
each other, appreciating each other's style, and there was a
"click" so loud I thought somebody had shot little Mr. Perfect
Body.
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