I’m racing up I-5 so fast I’m afraid I’m going to get pulled over by a cop. Right now I’m driving in the far left lane (the furthest left lane is for carpools) doing 75 mph. I should probably slow down. The police are usually out in droves on Saturday nights.
Grace Gonzalez. I had no idea she went by a different name. I’ve seen about a half dozen videos of her online. She only posts videos showing her working out and displaying feats of strength. Nothing pornographic in nature. A lot of FBBs also work in porn because bodybuilding isn’t a terribly lucrative enterprise. But trust me; there will always be horny guys like me who want to see their beautiful bodies in “action.”
It’s a little unusual for a woman to want to meet an unknown man alone at her house. Despite her freakish strength, this doesn’t seem very safe. I could be a serial killer. Or a rapist.
Hell, she could be the serial killer.
Nah, that can’t be true. She’s legit. I’ve seen her work. She’s definitely an athlete, not a psychotic killer.
I exit I-5 and head west toward her home. Fifteen minutes later I’m in a quiet residential neighborhood filled with upper middle class homes. How much do bodybuilders get paid? I suppose that depends on how much money they win competing in contests.
Because it’s so dark I slowly peer to my left to try to catch her house number. I think I spot it and I pull over to the side of the road and park. My heart is thumping at least a thousand beats per minute. I feel sweat dripping down my back. I think my fingers are shaking. I’m surprised I made it here without crashing into a light post first.
I step out of my car and look closely at a modest two story off-white (at least I think the house is off-white. It’s difficult to say for sure in these conditions) house surrounded by a chain link fence, several green hedges and a tall oak tree in the front lawn. I don’t see any guard dogs anywhere. The house number matches the address she gave me. I take a deep breath and approach the front door.
As I step on her porch I see a handwritten note taped to the door. It reads:
If you’re reading this message I can assume you found my house. Right now I’m sitting at a coffee shop just four blocks away from here. It’s called Anytime Espresso and it’s right down this street heading east. I look forward to seeing you there.
Of course! She would never meet me alone at her house. She would much rather meet me in a public setting. I follow her directions and briskly approach a small business area adjacent to the residential homes. Sure enough, there is an establishment called Anytime Espresso. I’m guessing this place gets its name because it’s open 24/7. But I could be wrong.
What I hope I’m not wrong about is Cindi being here. I didn’t come all this way just to be stood up. Why did she originally tell me to meet her at her home when all along she intended to meet me in a public place? Did she decide to meet me here at the last minute? Or is this going to lead to some scavenger hunt where I have to snoop all over Everett looking for this woman?
Before I can finish asking myself more useless and incoherent questions, I open the door and look around. My blood pressure must be through the roof.
I see a barista sitting at the counter looking at her phone. She peers up and sees me standing there like an idiot.
“Welcome. What can I get you?”
“Hi. I’m meeting someone. Did you—”
“She’s in the back. Over there.”
She points to a door that leads to a separate room. I casually nod to her and head toward my destiny. She continues to read whatever is on her phone.
Every step makes my knees shake. My breathing turns heavy. I can now feel the sweat dripping down my legs. If Cindi is actually in this building, I think I’m going to faint.
Standing right in front of a closed wooden door, I slowly extend my right hand and grab the doorknob. It feels cold, like the ominous opening to a haunted mansion. I twist the knob and push the door open. It creaks noisily. I take a deep breath, wipe a drip of sweat off my cheek and walk in.
I look around.
I see her.
She’s sitting at a small table in the far left corner sipping an espresso and reading a fitness magazine.
The Woman, the Myth, the Legend.
She looks up and sees me standing there like a horny bastard.
“Hello there. Ryan, I presume?”
“Yes. That’s me. Cindi, right?”
“Yeah. Come on over. Have a seat. Do you want anything?”
Besides the obvious?
“No thank you. I’m not thirsty.”
I creep over to her table and give her a look over.
Oh. My. God.
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
Look at this woman’s body. I mean, look at her! (I realize you can’t see her, but let me tell you, she has a body that could stop the space-time continuum)
She’s an eye-popping specimen. Wearing tight blue jeans that show off her tree stump thighs and a short sleeved low-cut blouse that shamelessly exposes her massive biceps, Cindi is everything I dreamed she would be. Ripped, tanned, ridiculously muscular and wearing clothing that intentionally flaunts her gargantuan figure, Cindi is without a doubt the real deal. I feel my penis harden. I’m surprised it isn’t hard already.
She stands up and shakes my hand. Her grip is firm. I can feel her hard, callused fingers as they wrap around my soft fingers.
“I’m glad to finally meet you in person. I’ve been anxiously waiting for you to show up.”
That’s the best I can do? Great.
“Sit down. Let’s talk.”
Wow! She’s tall! I couldn’t tell from her photograph how tall she is, but she definitely looks down at me when we meet face-to-face. I’m a good 5’7”, so she must be at least 6’3” or maybe even 6’4”. She has light brown skin that looks like a very dark tan. And from the looks of it, her skin appears to be as smooth as leather. She speaks with a deep, gravelly voice that I guess is caused by taking steroids. I bet she sings baritone in the choir.
Standing next to her, I’m amazed at how massive she is. Her wide shoulders take up the whole room. Her forearms are as thick as my legs. She looks like she could carry a refrigerator on her back. And let’s not forget about her legs. Holy cow, I’ll bet she could crush a bowling ball between her magnificent thighs.
“Did you find my place alright?”
“Oh, yes. And I obviously found your note.”
“Yes you did. Good job. Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink?”
“I’m very sure. I just want to talk.”
“That’s fine with me. Tell me about yourself, Ryan. Or do you want me to go first?”
“Nah, I can go first. Unless you’re dying to share something with me.”
“Well, I sort of am. You probably want to know why I’m specifically seeking out an Asian guy.”
She’s right. I am dying to know that. But I can’t force her to reveal that yet. It’s too soon. I’ll let that pass and change the subject to something else.
“I do, but let’s not go there yet. I’ll start with myself. My name is Ryan Takahashi. I’m single, I work at a gym doing janitorial work and I desperately want a career change.”
Cindi laughs. Her laugh is deep, melodious and very sexy. I feel my stomach twitch.
“Why do you want a career change? Don’t like mopping up other people’s sweat?”
“That’s certainly part of it, yes. I think I could be doing something better with my life. I want to be a writer. But jobs for professional writers are scarce. Very scarce.”
“Hm. I’ll bet. Try being a professional bodybuilder. There’s very little money in that.”
Should I ask her how she makes a living? Of course not! Talking about money would be a horrible idea. I…uh…wow! I can’t stop staring at her amazing body! She’s so incredibly thick and defined. Every inch of her body is covered in muscle. She must have muscles layered on top of other muscles. God, I just want to lick her arms right now. I want to bury my face in her bulging biceps and-
“Are you going to ask me how I make a living?”
That woke me up from my mini-day dream.
“Oh? Uh, no. You don’t need to answer that. Money might not be the best thing to talk about at this moment.”
“Okay. Fair enough. Why are you into female bodybuilders?”
“Why do you think I’m into female bodybuilders?”
“Ooh, good answer! Let me guess…you’ve probably never met someone like me before, right?”
I nod my head silently.
“There has to be the element of curiosity. I’m guessing you’ve seen a lot of pictures of female bodybuilders, am I right?”
I nod my head silently again.
“Okay, okay. You probably get turned on by looking at women with muscles. Is it that simple?”
“Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner!”
Cindi laughs again. She’s a very pleasant lady. For some reason I get this impression that all FBBs are serious man-hating meatheads who would rather crush your skull than tell a joke. I realize this is an atrocious social stereotype with absolutely no merit whatsoever, but that’s the impression I get. Cindi (or Grace, depending on which name she goes by) is a nice woman. Very nice. I could get used to this.
“Well, if you’re looking for a woman with muscles, look no further. Do you think you’ll ever meet somebody stronger than me?”
“I highly doubt it. You’re stunning, Cindi. Or should I call you Grace?”
A slight smile creeps across her face. There has got to be a story behind this.
“Grace Gonzalez is my professional name. My birth name is Cindi North. I was adopted when I was a baby and I’ve never met my biological parents. I know I’m part Puerto Rican, so I go by Grace Gonzalez to honor that part of my heritage.”
“Have you ever sought to locate your birth parents?”
Cindi’s smile disappears. Oh, shit. I may have asked too personal of a question!
“Yes. But they don’t want to know me. My birth mother was fourteen when she had me. My birth father was in this 40s. As you can expect the circumstances of my birth were not pretty.”
Her father was a pedophile? Was her mother raped? Dear God, this is getting heavy.
“If you don’t want to talk about this, you don’t have to. We can talk about something else if you’d like.”
“That’s okay. I’m not ashamed of my life. What I can’t control I shouldn’t worry about.”
“Hm. Have you ever been married?”
“Yes, twice. I divorced my second husband almost three years ago.”
“Are you looking to remarry?”
“No, I’m looking to have fun. That’s why I put that message on Craigslist.”
“All work and no play makes Cindi a dull girl?”
Cindi chuckles again. If she’s laughing, I must be doing something right. Right?
“Something like that. In addition to having two husbands, I have four kids.”
Holy shit! Four kids? She’s a MILF!!!
“Four kids? How old are they?”
“This might shock you, but I’ve had four kids from four different fathers. I’ll admit, that kind of makes me a whore. I had my first-born daughter when I was sixteen with a boy I knew in high school. My second child, another girl, came when I was eighteen. Her father was a neighborhood boy I grew up with. I had my third child, a son, with my first husband when I was twenty-five. We divorced and I had my fourth child, my third daughter, with my second husband. I was twenty-seven.”
Let me add these things in my head. According to her bio, she’s 48-years-old, which means her eldest daughter is 32, her second oldest is 30, her son is 23, and her youngest daughter is 21. Wow. I’m younger than at least two of her children. Damn!
“That’s quite a life. I have no kids. Nor have I ever been married.”
“Do you plan on getting married?”
“Sure, but not yet. I need to meet the right girl first.”
“Do you think that girl could be me?”
I stare at her in disbelief. I can’t think of a good come-back.
“I’m kidding, Ryan! I know you’re not looking for a serious relationship with me. You’re looking to fuck.”
That slightly startled me. Somehow, when she said the word “fuck,” it hit me on a gut level that I’m going to have sex with this woman in a short while. Wow! That realization is enough to give my already erected penis an additional jolt.
“That’s rather crass, but yes.”
“Can I ask you another question?”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“Are you a virgin?”
I’m stunned again. Did she just ask me that? How do I answer? Do I tell her the truth, or do I make up some story about how I’ve had sex with so many girls I’ve lost track?
“I’m, uh, well, I…”
“You are. Just admit it. It’s okay. Don’t be embarrassed.”
She sounds very reassuring and nonjudgmental. Her eyes glow with love like a mother tending her young. How can I not answer her honestly?
“Yes, I am.”
“I knew it! Somehow, I knew it the moment you walked into the room. But that’s okay. We’ll change that. Follow me.”
And with that, Cindi gets up, pushes her chair in, drinks the last of her coffee, puts the magazine back on a bookshelf and walks toward the exit.
“You seem harmless enough, Ryan. Let’s go to my place.”
That last line is delivered weakly and almost to myself. Is this real? Is she inviting me over to her place for sex? Well, that shouldn’t be too surprising, considering the fact she posted a sexual ad on Craigslist in the first place. But it’s getting real! Like, really real! I’m about to have sex with a strong, muscular female bodybuilder!
If this is all a dream, I’m going to murder someone.