Motivation comes in various forms.
I’m going to share one of mine with you’s that happens during my free-for-all ovulation mode, which captures my salacious thoughts and uncanny desires.
Before I go on I want to mention, you must at least be eighteen years of age or at the very least be of a responsible mind for the explicit material (if you consider them to be) you’re about to read. Many who follow and read my blog already know I write exactly what’s on my mind or what life experience has brought to my attention and this is based on my biased perception of the world. Without further ado, either click away or enjoy please.
It was a semi-cloudy day off in the busy streets with the New York City breeze sliding its carefree attitude into my straight hair. I strolled to the gym visualizing exactly which two Cardio machines I’m going to split my time on although deep down inside I was low on Cardio inspiration. Fast forward my barcode gets scanned and I thought to look pass the male receptionist where I saw the hunk of a Personal Trainer Rock who I’ve always had a mammoth crush on.
Quickly he jumped out his seat both gentlemanly and nervous walking up to me tripping over his tongue with a heavy Spanish accent, “Hi, how are you doing?” And in between his glowing pecan-rican complexion and sensational authentic smile the universe turned on the engine in the middle of my sex chakra.
I thought almost out loud and caught myself with the words, he needs to stop teasing me with his flirtatiousness as I’m going to drop my clothes and have sex with him in front of all the gym members so they can take a lesson or two in sex fitness.
All of a sudden the motivation I was lacking was found. The sexual charge became the intense fuel I needed for the Rower and Stationary Bike. But mind you, I never made it to the Bike. I happily stood on the Rower machine for over forty minutes with heart-pounding cardio sex electrifying my head.
I closed my eyes and rolled them back slowly and listened to the sensuality of Sade: Show me how deep love can be. The instruments within the song seeped into my aspiring soul and I clenched onto the plastic bar pulling towards the bottom of my bulging breasts as I deeply fantasized on exerting force to match his muscular hard pecs.
We’d embrace like titanic lovers and swallow the glands of one another. Our skin would vomit sweat and we’d slip and slide in multiple active positions. The grinding would complete mine into synergy. During this time I called out to the universe and all its frequencies for Personal Trainer Rock to sense the lovemaking creation I was embarking.
I tensed my entire body in a collective kegel and chanted: I want him to feel me. I want him to feel me. I want him to feel me buck from incomprehensible pleasure. I want him to feel me right on his cock, exploding, shivering, and full of moisture, rhythm and reason. I want him to fuck out all the cum I have in this body of mine, in which he would ask me if this was indeed the kind of training I needed.
Time was up said all the energy I gave to the Rower. The back of my neck was slapped with an ounce of rower sex sweat and my calluses formed into blood moon pearls of irritation, perspiring like bubbling fire and like cold sores no matter what season of the year. I shook off my lustful anger with the inhalations and exhalations of cardio sex I entertained and when I turned around, guess who has been watching me sitting out and chilling on the massage table smiling?
The universe is good and motivation comes in different forms. Get some! 😉