Teach me, Mr Blackwood
And yet, every day at the same time, he was there.
And so was I.
He showed me how to adjust the machines properly.
How to position my feet.
How to breathe.
Yes, you heard right.
Apparently, ypur breathing was so much important when working out.
Bitch, I just wanted to grow my muscles, why do I have to control how I breathe in and out or whatever.
“Slow,” he would say quietly behind me. “You’re rushing.”
His hand would hover near my waist sometimes. Never touching. Just there.