I can feel the thump of my heart beat inside my chest. It is strong and steady as it pumps hot rich blood around my body, feeding my muscles as they carry me forward
The sweat gathers on my brow and runs down, threatening to blind me as it attempts to find its way around my eyebrows and down into my eyes. I grab the towel and wipe the salty liquid away. beneath my clothes is a different story though, droplets of my heat gather across my shoulders and chest, slowly at first, each one blooming and growing before finally its own weight cause it to break and travel down my skin in cooling little rivers. Running between my breasts, down my neck, across my back I weep the tear-drops of my skin.
My muscles tense and taunt carrying me on. I can feel them, strong and solid within me. They hold my frame and give it power and strength. Their response to my demands don’t come without protest though and if I ask to much of them they are swift to tell me. Their message clear; enough. I pace myself, they settle. Onwards we go.
I can smell myself, the heat, the sweat, releases my scent into the air around me, musky, raw and human. The smell delights me, I breathe it in. It is me and I love it.
The gym isn’t sexy, it is hard work. I huff and puff and sweat and strain and by the time I am done I look a mess. I am not a gym bunny, I am not particularly strong or fit, I am 42 (for just over one more week) I have had 2 kids, I was once very overweight. My body is marked by the life it has led but when the endorphins flow I have come to realise that none of that stuff actually matters because I feel good. I feel alive and that makes me as horny as hell.