Spun Out

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The morning after Valentine’s Day began with my regular routine. I had to work off a lot of pent up energy (read: frustration) and a vibrator wouldn’t do the trick. The duck and chocolate souffle didn’t bother me that much, it’s just that whenever I gorge out on rich food that every once in a while, I tend to feel like crap the morning after and it had to be Monday morning.

Monday is a dual physical torture day, but I don’t like to think about it as torture. If I do that, then the day is over before it begins and for me, that beginning takes place at the gym at 9 in the morning, with a one hour cardio class that involves weights. The rest of the day is ho-hum. I’m doing all my reading, research and what have you, the fun stuff that postgrad students do, and after spending six to seven hours on my ass reading, I leave feeling sluggish, so I am on my way to the second cardio torture session of the day: a spinning class.

What gets me about these classes is their intensity, but like everything else that is physical, sex included, it’s something one builds up towards. The other thing that makes me laugh a little is watching those who peddle in the back row, most of whom are body building types who aren’t accustomed to hardcore cardio, unless it’s a powerwalk on a treadmill. Most are male and most tend to leave twenty minutes before the class ends and I have to say that it makes me feel really good when those beefed up men do that. Then I don’t feel like a sloth. I actually feel a little smug, all right, a little superior. Then again, I’ve never been into body builder types. They tend to hang around in gendered groups, talking about things that actually don’t tug my brain cells: cars, which girl they fancy, who they’ve fucked, and their favorite gadgets. Those are the dudes I avoid. I only go to the gym for the exercise and the post exercise endorphin rush that it gives. That aside, exercise is basically great for everything, sex included. I don’t get how people ignore their physical fitness, thinking it doesn’t affect their sex life on some level.

Anyway, so my day ended in a bath of sweat. My goodness, I thought. I did meet the intensity head on. It’s not easy to love spinning classes if the instructor is a tough ass or one isn’t physically fit. It takes a few weeks to adapt and even then, an irregular routine can ruin the pleasure. But if there is a regular routine, then the endorphin release following the class is exquisite and if I use a vibe a few hours later, then my body feels as though it has endured a rigorous sex session. Sad, I know, but I’ve basically screwed my chances with Luke. It’s not that it bothers me. What does bother me is the reason why I can’t just roll with the sex and leave it at that.

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