I might have developed a bad habit.
I pretend that the guys at my gym are my husbands.
I mean. Not all of them. And one at a time, obviously.
I haven`t lost my mind completely.
There has probably been a lack of men. Then it`s a bit offbeat, I guess, having them close again. I`m just not familiar, anymore. So things have started to happen. I`ve begun fantasising. Clearly, I don`t do it intentionally, and I apologize sincerely, to the ones affected. Here, naturally, and not directly to them.
Let`s face it.
You don`t want these women running around.
Women with fantasies. Women without men.
I`m not entirely sure, but I think it started this fall. I noticed that I liked it. I liked having them close. I was caught up by the rhythm. I discovered the pace. Then, all of a sudden, I adjusted. Just like that, I adjusted. Soon, we were walking together. We walked hand in hand. On the mountains. By the sea. In the woods. There were plenty of images, and a collection of details. Husband of course, and far from a date. Beard and Chest and Legs. He was active. Energetic. And not to mention, of the utmost importance; he was LUSTY and VITAL.
Come to think of it, this make- believe works out quite well. I need the intimacy, and they could need the workout.
So there we are then.
Some sort of a couple
in a fairly odd world