Psst.
Over here.
Yes. You.
I see you over there sitting on your butt and getting glazed and and drooling and stupid going from website to website
looking for that perfect formula of speed, distance and frequency to transform you in to the tireless, lithe cheetah you were a few years ago.
Give it up.
Work and family and a lack of committment have allowed the belly fairy to make nightly deposits, but you're not too far gone. Come with me,
and I'll show you that with a little bit of sweat and determination you can again become a machine of lungs and muscle.
So come on. I want you.
Shut down that masturbating television. You're not getting any harder, better, faster, stronger sitting over there, and you know you want to. Your wife and kids are asleep. They'll never know.
That's it.
Come here to me. You don't need socks. I love the feel of your skin inside me. Lace me up. Tighter. I want a good fit. There. Mmmmmm, good. Now let's go outside.
Smell the sweet, thick night air. Take off your shirt. It's summer, lover, and time to sweat. That's right, start slow and easy, light quick steps flicking along my last. Stay just like that for a couple of miles. Let your body loosen and warm, get a feel for the rhythm of our movement, allow the nighttime miles to untangle you like a comb through your wife's dark hair.
Turn this corner. You like this part. A long, well-lit straightaway where you open your stride and pick up the pace. Yes. Just like that. Faster. I want to feel you push-off deep inside my toe box. Deeper deeper oh God yes. Harder. I can see you sweat now, the drops springing off your body with every thrust. More more more more more.
You're slowing down. Don't play with me like that. You know how I like it. Don't worry. In a month or so you'll be flying, an effortless ghost of endless power.
Oh. Still frisky, I see. And taking a new way home. That dirt path beside the creek. Grind me in to it, boy. Make me feel dirty. I'm your sole slut. Yeah. I love the mud smearing on my uppers. And you're picking up the pace again, lover. You must want it bad.
Back on pavement. My GOD -- how long can you keep this up? Up that last hill. Jesuschrist, you are going so hard. Pump me pump me. You're driving me over the top. Ohgodohgodohgodohgod. Yesyesyesyesyesyesyes. See your porch lights, stud? Kick in that extra gear. Ohohohohohohoh. Aaaauuuuhhhhhwwwwweheheh.
Walk for a bit. Let's catch out breath. Whew. You're all slick and slippery. My laces are matted and wet. My tongue laps up your juices. That was good, but think of what you'll be like with some training. Whew. Thanks.
Be gentle sliding out of me. Linger. Loosen my laces so I can breathe. Aaahhhh. This night air on my dampness feels soooo good.
Put me on the front porch where I can dry and keep an eye on the roads and weather for you. I'd love to join you in the shower, but that would ruin me for you, and we can't have that.
Now drink some water and stretch. Eat a peach. I want you ready for tomorrow. I want to feel us rushing through the night air and you pounding me over and over and over again. My gel is getting twitchy just thinking about it.
We are doing this again tomorrow.
Aren't we?