Monte

I have no idea how James could possibly find me sexy. He calls me sexy all the time, but when we’re naked together, I feel like my body is nothing but a hairy, squishy pile of skin. I am by no means fat, of course, only out of shape—severely out of shape—to the point where I’m afraid to sit down naked for fear that James might see my hairy tummy rolls. A couple of nights ago, after James and I had sex, I literally had to kneel down on the floor for a minute to catch my breath. God, I’m only 20 years old. Four minutes of sex (literally) should not leave me winded.

Yuck. I’m so disgusted with myself, and I realize I need to change my lifestyle now more than ever. I recently browsed the Internet for underwear, a habit I think I’m beginning to pick up from my friend, Matt. The problem is that I know that buying those cute underwear on topdrawers.com won’t actually make me look as hunky as the men modeling them do. Stupid advertising.

I’m going to make a commitment for myself, and for James, to start some sort of exercise regime. It’s not going to be easy, but I seriously want to feel healthy and sexy and young again. Right now I just feel downright pitiful.

And why the fuck won’t this indigestion go away? This is the third day in a row, and I’m beginning to actually believe that I have acid reflux disease. Damn pharmaceutical advertising.

I feel like such an old man.