The gym is not busy, mid morning. The session is fine. Nothing special. Drop sets. Chest, back, arms. I’m lifting heavier than I have before. This makes me happy.
I work hard enough to get kitten arms, where everything trembles, right down to the tips of my fingers which shake when I enter stats into the app I use.
I finish and feel a build up of energy as I get water, mix up a protein shake. It’s a feeling that I get rarely from workouts, but I recognise it.
I crackle with energy, it fills the spaces inside me, radiating out to the points where my body meets the world, and it has nowhere to go from there. Tiny hairs on my arms stand out, it makes my dick hard, my already exhausted muscles tense with it.
It’s aggression and sex and it feels like it wants out of my chest, blossoming out in shock waves, silent sonic booms.
I want to close my fingers around some beautiful boy’s neck and run him backwards full tilt until I smash him into a wall. Feel the grunt as the air leaves his body, the crack of his skull against the immovable object. To snarl in his face and shove up against him, desperate to feel his hot skin against me, to hold back the instinct to bite his lips right off his face, to see that combination of fear and desire and confusion. To let loose fists and digging fingers and teeth, and shock him into surrender, to come undone in the strength of his beauty.
I curse that I don’t have someone to aim this energy at. It will dissipate, quietly, a slow release, a hissing, a drop, and then it will be gone.