It's official, I've become a gym addict. I'm there at least 5 hours a week, sweating to the beat of the satellite radio (always playing upbeat music to keep my ass motivated). Addiction is in my blood, as the daughter of an only recently sober alcoholic, so I fight the bad habits and encourage the good ones. It's a coping mechanism, I admit, since beating the demon is something that I gave up long ago. Obsessive compulsion is in my genetics, so "going with the flow" tempers the desire to drink myself into oblivion (although I do tie one on with my friends every other weekend or so) or cut myself like I used to in high school (I have someone to do that for me now, even though we rarely take advantage of it).

I find the gym an incredibly erotic experience. Although getting out to run in the beautiful weather helps me in my solitary moments, the gym provides the perfect combination of atmosphere, personality and eye candy. Watching the pretty women's ponytails bop up and down with the elliptical machine or eyeballing the pectoral muscles on the shirtless dude running on the treadmill... it definitely keeps me moving and motivated. The knowledge that the people behind me are watching my cute ass move up and down also helps. *smile*

I can't even begin to tell you all the fantasies I've had while at the gym. Being taken in the men's locker room or bent over a weight bench while sweaty, testosterone-filled men have their way with me... faux-victimization has always been a hot button for me.

In the end, all the sweat and panting leaves me with the need to drive home as quickly as possible and fuck myself stupid (which I usually do). Some things I will simply never be too tired for.

This entry was posted by Mellie, on Wednesday, April 19, 2006.