I ran every morning, rain or shine, aching muscles or no aching muscles, energy or no energy and I had begun to question my own sanity. I was in good health, reasonably fit and every damn morning I was out thudding up and down the street like some kind of obsessed locomotive, all in search of...something. I no longer knew what. Even the tight-assed young men running past me lost their ability to cheer me.  That was scary. That had once been the best part of the run. Now they were an annoyance. I was never going to look like that, and had stopped giving a shit about it. A particularly fine specimen raced past, muscled legs carrying him easily, firm ass filling out his shorts, long hair flowing behind him. He flashed me a perfect smile, and I gave him a half-hearted one in return. I heard a snort from behind me. "Is it unhealthy how much I want to shoot that fucker?" asked a voice.
   I slowed and turned. Behind me, leaning forward with his palms on his knees, gulping air into starved lungs, was a man my age, my general build, and blessings upon us both, my general attitude. I walked around  him to cool down and grinned. "I don't know," I said. "I started out wanting to just punch him in his capped teeth. Then it  progressed rapidly through running him down with a car, a high-powered rifle, and finally a machete." He grinned and managed to straighten, wincing slightly. "Machete," he said. "I like your style." We stood there staring at each other, appreciating each other's style, and there was a "click" so loud I thought somebody had shot  little Mr. Perfect Body.  We ended up back in  my kitchen with juice and bran muffins, bitching about how good health was going to be the death of us both. Layers kept peeling off. My first impression of him was intelligent eyes. I later discovered the damn things were green...emeralds full of fire. He looked like a nice person when he smiled, I thought at first. Then I realized his mouth was so sensuous I wanted no more out of life than to kiss him forever. He started out with brown hair. Then I realized it was thick, and soft and laced with gold threads that reflected the light. At first I had thought he was  built just like me. Then I realized my body could not possibly be that hot and desirable. But...there was an enormous bulge in his running shorts, so there was something about me he liked. "Tub or shower?" he asked suddenly. "Huh?" I said stupidly. He stood up and stripped off his T-shirt and my fingertips went automatically to the hair on his chest. "Do you want to take a bath together," he said quietly, "or a shower?"
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