A good body starts with a good motivation. When the Purple Fairy refuses to heed your call, refuses to grant your wish, you realize that maybe the time has come to work on the body that you’ve always wanted. You hem and haw over it for a few days, but your mind is already made up. Before the week is up, you’ve already signed up for your local gym, and despite the dirty looks that some of the guys there shoot your way, you tell yourself that soon enough they’ll be tripping over one another for you.

The first day that you go, you decide that maybe hopping on the treadmill is best thing to do. A good cardio workout has never hurt anyone. Besides, it’s a good place to start. You’re not used to this whole working out thing, so you might as well do something easy for your first time.

Much to your surprise, it ends up being more fun than you anticipated. Well, there isn’t really much there that is stimulating. But there’s something about that mindless space in between the rhythmic thumping of your feet on the belt that lulls you into a pleasant haze.

You feel the heat building up in your body, the burn tingling through your muscles. You lose track of time, and you don’t know how long you’re on that treadmill before you start to tire. You’re sweating like a race-horse, but when you finally try to slow down, you feel a large hand clap on your back.

A man walks into view. His physique is droolworthy. He’s a veritable god of a man. Around his neck he wears a leather cord with a deep rich purple whistle at the end. He has a purple snapback on, affixed backwards to the top of his head. “Good job, kid,” he says, “But did I tell you to stop?”

You stare at him. He blows his whistle. The shrill sound forces you back into action. And again you lose track of time. By the time that you come back around, you can see a twink on the treadmill next to yours. He’s making googly eyes at you. You smile at him. Smirk. Wink. You stand a bit straighter and run a bit straighter. You know you’ve got him.

You step off the treadmill, slinging your sweat-soaked crop top over your shoulder. You rub your fingers over your slender twink body, the fat of your old self having melted away during your workout. You try to think if you’ve got anything on your schedule, but you find it very difficult to think. You don’t try after that. It’s a waste of time.

Before you know it, you’ve got the twink pinned up against the wall of your modest little apartment. He’s taking gasping breaths against your neck as you suck on the skin of his collarbone and dig your fingers into his tight little ass. Your slender arms are tangled, and his legs are wound around your slim waist.

You drag him over to the couch and practically rip the clothes off of him. By the time that you’re done with him, he’s begging you to keep your cock inside him. You just grunt and pull out, letting your cum spill out of his hole. But you’re still horny. Your empty head is filled with thoughts of sex. Fucking and getting fucked.

The twink hasn’t even finished dressing when you’ve already arranged for a hookup with a hot jock on Grindr. Your hole twitches eagerly.