Being Friends with Jim

It was quite an odd pair, me and him (or Jim) I mean. I having been reared, for the most part, in the company of two very strong women; he rarely makes friends with ladies. His taste (or luck) in them is impeccable, though, I must add. So here we had one man not very aware or proud of his sex and the other whose pride in it was practically his only distinguishing feature.

It saddens me when I think our first meeting could have happened long before it actually did. I would begin jogging near around the place he usually stood and finish close to him as well. All the while he would be there, warm and mysterious. It’s so amazing, when you get down to thinking about it, why it took so long. We had several common friends, we needed each other, at least I needed him. I guess back then he just wasn’t my type.

But I love what he’s done to me ever since I started seeing him. He makes me feel like my physical abnormalities (read my thighs) are my biggest strength. He made me feel comfortable about the pimples on my face, the rashes on my hands. Ever since I met him I’ve cared about them lesser and lesser till the fact that I stopped worrying about them at all made me feel they were badges of honor. Yes, so I might have pimples, unkempt hair, stubble, tanning skin but he taught me to pay greater attention to the man inside. It’s a small price to pay for being a guy, the ugliness I mean.

I love Jim’s gang as well. Since the first day, not only did I feel like I belonged but more than that I felt like I was a flag bearer of the club who’d lost his way but was back again.

He has been amazing to my body. I can feel the muscles move, can see the sinews stretch in the mirror, can see the stretch marks on my anatomy. It’s incredible how my chest now heaves with each breath. Though I’d really like those changes to be a bit more apparent outside of the tights as well.

The guy’s, Jim I mean, company comes with an attitude. I no longer move aside when I might be on the same course with another thing (person, animal, cars). My professors scare me less; authority lost all meaning a while back. Jim’s amazing for anger. Work it up all day and the angrier you are the more you’ll like him and the better will he treat you.

Making love to him is sultry. He leaves me breathless, each single time. Sweaty and tired, my mind though never slows down unlike other sessions of lovemaking as I’ve heard. There’s this pain though that shoots through me every time we leave the benches sodden. So I ask the guy who sometimes shares Jim with me and who has known him longer
“Does it still hurt?”
“Yeah, baby! Every time.”

Love you, bitch. Just wish we could spend more time together.