I was at the gym the other day. Most of the time when I’m there I’m doing cardio. I like to run outside, but when I do it can sometimes get uncomfortable, as I garner a lot of attention in tight fitting outfits. It’s not that I’m not used to wearing tight and/or revealing clothing (it’s kind of my norm), but when I’m out and about I’m dressed to impress. If a girl with a body like mine wears her tits in a big way, she has to be ready for the inevitable stares, smirks, and comments. It’s a way of life I’ve grown accustomed to since my mid-teen years. But when I’m working out, I don’t wear such clothing to put my body on display, I wear them for comfort and efficiency of movement.
The same way you might ask me to wear a sweet, little summer dress to make it easier for you to take me from behind; I won’t wear something that inhibits movement. If my tight body can be seen by others outside, it’s amazing how many guys are just by coincidence running at the same pace as me, just behind me or just beside me. They also seem to take breaks and start up again at the same time. I don’t need that. When I’m working out, I’m in a zone.
At the gym I don’t escape stares, but it’s limited to only the people there. And the regular visitors are people I become familiar with after seeing them there regularly. There’s always those people who turn over a new leaf and get motivated to go 3 times before petering out, but I just ignore them for the most part. What I want to see from guys at the gym is dedication and effort. I’m not impressed with a muscle-bound jock who is more attracted to his chest than mine. I’m attracted to the guy who is there, pushing himself to do things he wasn’t able to do just 2-3 weeks before. Seeing men work hard is what does it for me. It shows me that when they want something, they know that they need to earn it and they’re not afraid to. They don’t expect it to be easy, and that’s okay.
I’ll answer the phone for any man (the first time). I am just a courteous person that way. But the size of his wallet or his cock is not going to impress me. What good is a man who drives a Ferrari but then asks me to meet him at the restaurant? I don’t care if his cock looks like a baby’s arm if he’s not willing to do what it takes to make me want to touch it.
Pick me up in a Mazda hatchback; take me a moderately priced restaurant that you enjoy, gently direct my hand to your crotch as we’re making out. But don’t be that guy who runs behind me in the park or thinks I’m going to straddle him when he’s bench pressing just because he grunts loudly when he lifts. Be the guy who is aware that earning the chance to see me put my mouth on it, making love to your cock with my moist, eager lips, is a reward that goes to the man who is willing to work for it.