Cleaning my Glock and my man just walked by shirtless, still sweaty from his workout. My brain short-circuited between 'maintain proper trigger discipline' and 'drop everything and ride that cock until we both forget our names.' The duality of my existence: trained to assess threats in milliseconds but completely disarmed by the sight of his back muscles flexing. This is why we have safeties on weapons but not on my libido when he's around. Think I'm gonna 'accidentally' need help with field-stripping this thing in the bedroom.