Out the couch sockets

Ah

Forbidden delight with the bodybuilder who flexes himself towards the mirror in that gym.

At that point, though, I guess a glance of some knees has raised something. Or, within my imagination.

Apologies, now I know what the voyeur feels like when he peaks. It's not the monotony of this workout regime that gets me, neither the loneliness of this entire gig opportunity.

It's an entire box, one that must work out and log it all in within fitnotes, return to for it. Then continue to do some holy, creative ritual.

Can't help being lonely, can't help to stare absent-mindedly.

I had to behave politely, then move on. Constant re-edit. Gazes kept to oneself.