dcran1975

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He stands in the dim light, the air around him warm and heavy from training, his body gleaming with sweat. The leather tank top clings to his skin, emphasizing every line, every muscle he’s painstakingly built. His reflection stares back at him – massive, imposing, almost intimidating. But there’s an emptiness in his gaze that refuses to leave.

Who am I doing this for? The thought isn’t new, but tonight it feels louder. Is this really his own desire – to be bigger, harder, more perfect? Or is he just playing a role others have assigned to him? The muscular guy, the walking dream – or maybe just a cliché? The leather, the aesthetic, the hungry eyes of the men who devour him – he thought he enjoyed it. At least, he convinced himself he did. But the more often those eyes land on him, the more he wonders: Do they even see him?

A piece of meat. That’s what he feels like sometimes. Desired, sure – but what’s left when the gazes move on? What he’s built is admired, consumed even, but is it enough to truly be seen? The way they look at him is full of lust, but devoid of depth. They see the chest, the arms, the broad shoulders – but do they ever notice what’s behind all that?

He exhales, deep and heavy, the questions weighing more than any barbell. He doesn’t want to stop; this body is part of him, a testament to his discipline and self-determination. But he wants to be more than just a body. More than an ideal or a fantasy.

“Who am I in all of this?” he whispers quietly, his gaze drifting into the darkness. He doesn’t have the answer – not yet. But deep down, he feels the yearning for someone who will see more. Someone who will look beyond the perfect shell and recognize the real person inside.

[dcran1975]

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