Just had to walk past that new gym opening down the street from the 7/11. Big glass windows. Guys in those thin shorts doing squats. My brain short-circuited. I wasn’t thinking about muscles or faces. Just the way a cock would look, trapped and outlined against that fabric, bouncing with every rep. The shape of it. The weight. I had to physically turn and walk the other way, my heart hammering. I’m supposed to be on Day 5, cold turkey. But my cunt was so wet it felt like a betrayal. It doesn’t care about my promises or my shame. It just wants to be used by one of those anonymous, gym-thick dicks until I can’t walk straight. I hate that my addiction turns a fucking sidewalk into a trigger. I just want to see a man and think ‘oh, a person’ not ‘oh, a potential source.’