My Fictional Journal 5/2/24
Although these entries are written in the first person, they are fictional. As such, any experiences, viewpoints, or behaviors expressed in these stories do not necessarily reflect my own. While I may loosely draw upon several influences to create these stories (my life, my imagination, other people’s lives, other fictional characters, etc.), each entry should not be viewed as a complete depiction of any given individual’s life.
There she is, standing tall by the fixed-weight barbell rack. Baby blue tank top. All-white, relaxed-fit exercise pants. Blonde hair. Fair skin. God damn motherfucker.
Her long, lean body glides around the gym as she searches for the barbell that suits her. I hope it’s the one I’m using. Maybe then she’ll stroll on over and ask if she can have it after me. Bingo. Conversation started.
Although there are plenty of other girls in the gym, there’s something different about her. Sure, she has a stunning figure (gently toned without being too masculine), but she also exudes a rare, enigmatic energy: confident while also a little lost in her own head. Ahh, a true introvert.
A part of me fantasizes about her being a little bit…assertive while we’re being intimate with one another. But let me clarify what I mean before the simple-minded rush in and deem me a full-fledged submissive.
This “feminine” side, as one may call it, is smaller in comparison to my masculine side, and she serves him. He is always leading, even when from below. If she, or the he in gym girl, tries to take charge, this makes the he in me very angry, as it intrudes upon my masculine boundaries. This is not an insecurity, but an identity. And no, not a trans identity. God damnit, I wish I didn’t have to fucking say this, but given the current social and political climate, I do. I’m not trying to pass any judgment or make any political statement, I simply don’t like being mistaken for what I’m not. I’m a straight man, through and through. I was born that way, and I will die that way.
Don’t put me in a box. Don’t force your projections and ideologies upon me. Don’t let the current climate color your perception of me. It’s so easy to see life through the time and place in which we live. That’s why we think that staring at phones while chomping down on shitty food and slurping up piss-poor beverages is just fine and dandy.
We all have multiple parts inside us. I don’t mean that we all have the same multiple parts inside us, but we all have multiple parts inside us, whether or not they match the parts in another person. These parts, whatever they may be for you, will naturally interact and form inner relationships. As with any relationship, conflicts will sometimes arise between one part and another part. I don’t automatically view this conflict as a bad thing. Only if the conflict is too big or chronically unresolved does it damage us. But a little tension here and there, whether it’s between my own inner parts or between me and the gym girl, creates strength.
It’s not that I want a masculine woman. I like feminine women, but one who can access a touch, just a touch, of the other side.
And no, I’m not putting gym girl on a pedestal. Gross. While it’s true that I admire her, I also admire myself. If I only admired her, it would be desperation, and if I only admired myself, it would be narcissism. But admiring myself and her simultaneously is fun.