The day started out without much promise... really early in other words. Refusing to give in one popped on the TV and drowsed for about an hour before falling into a deep sleep, lulled by the sound of gusting, torrential rain. In fact it was about 8.30 when the eyelids reluctantly cranked open again. So one shuffled out to the bathroom to make an unpleasant discovery... there was a very tender spot in one's anatomy...
It might have been the rough, brutal arse fucking that was delivered last night. The one that made one utter the prophetic words of shit that's going to hurt tomorrow. Why do things that feel so good at the time always come back to bite you in the arse later. It doesn't seem to matter if it is chocolate cake or sex. Always the body gets its own back L
So with lingering thoughts of abuse one finally cranked it up enough to trudge out the door to go to the gym... where one was given very explicit orders to not overdo it. Anyone witnessing that little discussion probably thought we looked like a loving couple... they couldn't feel the threatening hand on the scruff off the neck as He chatted to one small slave. Finally free from the hand of the oppressor one scampered off... to be good.
Half the fun of going to the gym is guessing what sport the older members used to play or do. Honestly it is rare to find people in the 50-60 range going to the gym without a life time of exercise habits compelling them. Usually you can tell by their bodies, how they carry themselves and the actual shape of them, what they did in a past life. A guy that one often chats to... well he did pick one of a street corner in his very sweet ride and give one a lift home one day... we actually live round the corner from each other... was in the boxing room.
As one watched he did this fabulous turtle movement... chin went down, neck disappeared into his shoulders... and one thought, ahhh ex boxer. He was showing someone a series of moves on the bag and after all these years he still has good hands. Mostly though it was fascinating watching a body slip into a stance guided purely by muscle memory... it was quite beautiful to watch. Umm... it was not perving... it was appreciation J
After that He took one to lunch, where one inhaled a rather decent burger and then he took one small and sweaty slave home for a shower. Sitting there all warm and relaxed, watching the rain skid across a slate grey sky, one realised there was a perfect place to experience all this... in bed. So scampering off to it one made a nest, colonising part of His doona, and drifted back to sleep. It was a very good day indeed J
2 comments:
*mutters about spoiled slaves as she gets ready for work*
Finished your fabric clean out have you? You seem a little... crabby :D
Seriously you sleep because the muscle is trying to repair itself... which is how muscle grows. Little tears are filled in with muscle fibers, which in turn make the muscle bigger... a bit like scar tissue. Well that is the very short version... the whole thing is fascinating reading if ever you have five minutes :)
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