Below is my working cover (thanks to the simply amazing OnlyTease, which you should all check out for letting me use the image, which I'm super pumped about because that image was the inspiration for the story).
And here is an excerpt:
The run didn’t clear my head, didn’t even come close. I tried, I really did, to lose myself in the road, but I couldn’t. Every time my thoughts drifted, every time I started to just myself go, mentally, two images flashed into my brain: the picture of the pilot Mrs. Peterson gave me and the white lace bra and panty set. I couldn’t let it go because I kept coming back to imagining myself dressed like, looking like, that pilot in the picture. She was beautiful, stunning even. And Mrs. Peterson, with some apparent help from my fiancée, expected me to look like that. I couldn’t let it go, because I was marching to my execution. I felt emasculated enough when I was out of work—though I assumed finding work would end that—but now the job itself, by design, was going to emasculate me even further.
Up until two days ago, I was only mentally emasculated, but not it was going to be physical emasculated, too, a physical manifestation of the feelings I’d had for weeks and weeks. That wouldn’t help my thoughts and feelings, it would make them so much worse. I thought work would restore my masculinity, but it was going to do just the opposite. And all with my fiancée’s fucking support!
I tried to let it go, because there was another thought in my mind, a creeping suspicion, a lingering fear. What if I…no, no, I couldn’t think that, no. There was no way. Stop, Dana, stop, I told myself, stop. Run, let it go, run. Run.