Last night I was working out, which I must tell you, next to writing and thinking of what to write, is my favorite pass-time. I get sooo many good ideas while I’m working out…and it’s so invigorating…I really don’t know why I put it off until the last minute so often. Because once I get started I don’t want to stop…honestly!!

Anyway, while I was working out, the memory of an ex-boyfriend sprang into my mind.  He and I used to workout together at least three nights a week in the gym of the university we were attending at the time. Ladies, if you haven’t worked out with your man you really don’t know what you’re missing. We’d meet up at the gym or sometimes come together and then go our separate ways. I’d usually head to the treadmill to get my heart pumping and he’d start with the bikes. But we were always very conscious of each other…our eyes would meet a lot. I’d notice when he would begin to sweat.  And when I got to the most challenging part of my workout (squats with a weighted bar, ugh)…of which my procrastinating nature would cause me to put off until the very end…he’d be there to spot me and push me.

But I tell you…the best part was after the workout, after we showered. The very best part was when he stretched me. If you’ve  ever observed before a basketball game starts how sometimes one player will stretch another player who’s lying flat on the floor…then you have a perfect idea of his technique.

Oh my…what a technique!! Allow me to break it down for you. Let me take you there…

I’m at his apartment, in his bedroom, in his bed. The light is dim…there’ s a candle burning on his desk…or maybe it’s the soft glow of his lamp.  I’m laying on my back, wearing only his t-shirt. His boxer clad, 6′2 ripped self is kneeled between my thighs. He slowly takes my left leg and puts it over his right shoulder… holding it there, he leans into me…over me. His eyes never leave mine. The energy is very intense, very erotic…and the stretch feels amazingly good…even though it hurts a bit. The pain and pleasure mix is mind-blowing.  When he’s done with my left leg…he starts with my right.  He works on my lower body a bit more, then moves to my upper body.

The whole thing is quite slow and methodical. For that period of time…while he’s attending to me in that way…nothing else exists. There is only his body, his eyes, his hands, the smell of him, the sound of his breathing, his restraint…paired with my body, my eyes on him, my sigh of contentment, or intake of breath when it hurts…my restraint. 

 The rest is quiet. A bedroom becomes a temple. Love making becomes prayer.

Mmmm…wow…so thankful for my memories.