The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi: Chapter Fourteen – Losing My Virginity

Cindi carries me all the way up to her bedroom (which includes a long flight of stairs) as if I were as light as a feather. But I’m not actually light as a feather. This is a testament to her tremendous strength.

The entire time she’s carrying me we kiss like there’s no tomorrow. To hell with it; tomorrow can wait. Today, in this moment, it’s all about us.

Cindi and Ryan.

Two friends.

Who are about to express their newfound friendship through the act of physical love.

By now I know where her bedroom is so I take every opportunity to kiss Cindi and stare deeply into her eyes. I almost forget I’m being carried by her like a baby in arms. Cindi can carry me around all day and I’d never feel emasculated by it.

When we get to her bedroom she flips on the light switch and drops me on my feet. Dazed and confused, my head is swimming with all the possibilities of what is about to happen. I’m about to make love to Cindi North: The Divine Muscle Goddess, The Most Muscular Woman in the World, the Female Hercules.

Opportunities like this don’t happen every day!

Cindi closes the door and walks over to the window to pull down the blinds. She turns to me and beckons me to come to her.

“Come.”

I do as I’m told.

I approach her with the hesitancy of a naughty child visiting the principal’s office. She cups my face and plants a long, wet kiss on my lips. I feel her tongue wrestling my tongue into submission. Holy shit. Even her TONGUE is powerful! Is there nothing about this woman that isn’t strong?

“You taste good,” Cindi says.

“That’s because I just ate your cooking.”

Cindi giggles. “That’s what I like to hear!”

She expresses her gratitude by nibbling on my ear. I’d nibble back if I were a good eight inches taller. It must be weird seeing such a large woman have to bend so far down to display affection for her man. I stroke her back to return the favor.

“Strip me. Strip me now.” Cindi moans as my tongue explores her neck. I follow her orders by lifting her t-shirt off her body. I struggle to wrap my arms around her thick chest. Cindi cooperates by taking off her shirt for me.

“You’re so strong. I love it.” I’m completely hypnotized by her bulging muscles.

“Thank you. I take pride in my strength.”

Cindi isn’t wearing a bra. Her small, flat breasts still look tempting to touch. I pinch both of her nipples gently, making Cindi let out another moan. I cup both of her breasts in my hands, feeling her femininity in a way no other man could. Some men are scared of her. Some men are disgusted by her. Not me. I am enamored by her. Every inch of her. That’s the difference between me and most other men.

Out of nowhere, Cindi lifts my shirt off my back so quickly I barely even notice it. She squats down and kisses my abs (yes, I do have some visible abdominal muscles going on!!!) with a delicate finesse of an experienced seductress. Before I know it, she unbuckles my belt and lowers my pants to the floor. I kick them off to the side as Cindi removes my socks.

“You’re beautiful, Cindi.”

“Save the compliments for later. Let your actions do the talking.”

“Alright, if you insist.” I lean over and pull her sweatpants to the floor. Her tree trunk thighs welcome me, insisting I kiss them. I oblige, sending a long streak of kisses down her left leg. The feel of her veins against my lips makes me quiver with need.

Naked except for our underwear, Cindi and I look at each other to size ourselves up. Clearly, she is the physically dominant one in this relationship. I’m puny compared to her.

“There’s only one piece of clothing left,” she says.

“Let’s lose it,” I suggest.

With that, we both strip off our underwear and look at each other’s bodies. Cindi’s muscles look as large as ever. She looks even bigger naked than when she’s fully clothed. Every detail of her heavenly body is on display here in this room. My penis is fully engorged and standing at attention, ready to meet its destiny.

Cindi pulls back the covers on her bed and sits down on it. Her face becomes serious.

“I have a serious question to ask you.”

“What is it?”

“Do you want to use a condom?”

“What? Excuse me? You’re asking me if I want to use a condom? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? I always thought men never had a choice in the matter.”

“Not in this case. So I’ll ask you again. Do you want to use a condom? I have a whole box of them in my dresser drawer. I’ll be glad to take one out.”

“Uh, sure. We should to be safe.”

“Safe from what? Diseases? Are you saying I might have some sort of STD?”

“No! I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about pregnancy. You know, that process that creates babies.”

“Don’t worry about pregnancy. I’m too old for that.”

“But you’re 48. Women at that age can still have children, right?”

“Some might. But not me. Trust me, Ryan. I’m done with that part of my life. I have four kids and I don’t plan on having any more. We’re safe.”

“Okay, if you insist. No condom then.”

“Great! I’m glad you think the same way. Nothing beats the feeling of a pure man inside of you.”

And just like that, when she uttered the words “inside of you,” my heart leaped into my throat. I’m actually about to enter into a woman! I’m about to do it, I’m on the verge of crossing that sacred threshold between virginity and…uh, non-virginity. Manhood, or manliness, or something like that. I’m about to become a man!

“I know you’re excited. Don’t worry. We can take it slow, darling.” Cindi’s reassuring attitude calms me down. I want to make lover to her soooooooooooooo badly, but I don’t want to do anything foolish or embarrassing. I still remember what happened last week.

“Kiss me, Ryan.”

“Yes, Cindi.”

I sit on the bed next to her and kiss her lips fervently. I linger to taste her feminine essence. She caresses my right leg with one hand and rubs my neck with the other. I reach down and lightly press my middle and index finger against her enlarged clitoris. Fully engorged and hot to the touch, I rub it lovingly, stroking back and forth, up and down, side to side, whatever it will take to please her.

I want to please her. Badly.

Cindi groans loudly as my fingers increase their intensity. She falls on her back and raises her arms over her head. Her long, thick legs shake as my two fingers pinch her clitoris as I continue to stimulate her. With my free hand, I stick three fingers inside her vagina. Her womanhood welcomes my penetration, hot and moist, ready for her impending climax.

While my two hands work simultaneously to bring Cindi to orgasm, I take one of her nipples into my mouth and suck on it with reckless abandon. By now Cindi is moaning loudly, her deep masculine voice sending bellowing vibrations across the entire room. She is close and I know it.

Finally, Cindi climaxes and I feel her strong vaginal muscles contract around my fingers. I ease off her swollen clitoris and watch her body shake like an earthquake. Cindi’s heavy breathing makes me think about her pumping iron at the gym. Is this what she sounds like when she’s bench pressing or bicep curling?

I notice a small moisture stain between her legs on the bed sheet. This turns me on even more.

“God, that was amazing. I’ve missed that. Thank you.” Cindi’s heavy breathing subsides.

“You’re welcome. My pleasure.”

“Uh, no. My pleasure! And now, I shall return the favor.”

Sweating bullets, Cindi repositions herself so her head rests against the pillow and I’m on my knees looking down on her. She spreads her legs wide, inviting me to enter her Temple.

“Take me. Now.”

I have no response to that. None at all.

I look down at my penis and realize this is the last moment in my life that I’ll be a virgin. No more wondering what sex is like. No more being a loser. It’s time, Ryan. It’s time to become a man. A real man. It’s time to cross that sacred threshold and live life to the fullest!

We look at each other’s eyes. She’s grinning, exposing every age line on her face. I have no idea what expression I’m currently sporting. She nods, telling me to do it. She wants me to do it. She wants me to enter her.

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, exhale, open my eyes, take one quick glance at Cindi’s face, look down at her moist engorged vulva, pinch the base of my erect penis with two fingers, grab her hip with my other hand, and….

I enter her.

With one smooth, gentle and loving movement, my penis enters Cindi North’s vagina.

Wow.

As we speak, at this particular moment, my penis is now inside a woman’s body. And not just any woman. A strong, dynamic, physically dominating female bodybuilder.

She feels warm inside. I can’t describe it any better than that. Warm. I peer up at her face and see Cindi has an even larger grin on her face. She feels proud of me, without a single judgmental bone in her flawless body.

“Make love to me, Ryan Takahashi.”

Once again, I fail to come up with a verbal response.

With me on top, I slowly rock back and forth, completely improvising everything. This is my first time! I have no idea what comes next. I’ve seen tons of movies and pornos, but this is the REAL DEAL!!! No amount of watching sex on camera can prepare you for this.

My pace increases as I gain confidence. Cindi kisses my neck and chest as I continue to pump into her. My strokes in and out of her become longer and more authoritative as I feel my orgasm build. I almost forgot, I’m supposed to experience pleasure from this too! I was so caught up in the idea of loving my virginity that I completely forgot about, you know…having fun.

Silly me.

My breathing intensifies as my orgasm engulfs my entire being. Cindi, meanwhile, grabs my face and kisses me hard. I quietly call out her name as our lips come apart. She calls out my name in response. We stare deeply into each other’s eyes as I reach my inevitable climax.

Nothing else matters now. There is no other world outside of this bedroom. Right now, all that matters is Cindi and me. Nothing else. For all I care, we could be the only two people on this Earth. There is no one else other than me and…

Oh, yes! YESSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

With one last thrust, I reach the climax of my orgasm and release five hot squirts of semen into her. A couple of smaller squirts follow afterward. Maybe it’s because I’m caught up in the moment, but that might be the most pleasurable orgasm I’ve ever felt. Real sex is SOOOOOOOO much better than masturbation!

My spasms finally end. I kiss Cindi once more, this time with emotion. I feel my eyes water as I kiss her. I think I’m crying.

Wow. I never cry. But here I am, weeping like a baby. What’s making me do this?

Sensing my flood of emotion, Cindi strokes my hair and rubs my bottom. Still hard as a rock, my penis continues to be lodged inside her even though my ejaculation has finished. I let out a deep sigh and collapse onto her. Cindi hugs me affectionately.

“That was amazing, Cindi.” I can hardly think right now. There are too many emotions running through my mind. My heart is content beyond words. I’m not that excited that I lost my virginity. I’m happier that I got to make love to a wonderful, strong, compassionate woman.

“I agree. That was amazing.”

We say nothing for what seems like forever. All this time we’re laying in each other’s arms, basking in the afterglow of our lovemaking. Though softer and smaller now, my penis has still not left her vagina yet.

“I feel like a man now,” I finally manage to speak.

Cindi turns her head toward me and kisses my cheek.

“No, Ryan. You were always a man.”

The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi: Chapter Thirteen – Dinner Party

The rest of my week flew by faster than a turkey on Thanksgiving morning. Tuesday turned to Wednesday, which turned to Thursday, which turned to Friday, which at last, after much eager waiting and anticipation, turned to Saturday.

Saturday! My date with Cindi North is finally here!

And a dinner date, no less. Very classy of us.

Cindi instructed me to bring a bottle of wine, so that is exactly what I will do. There’s a little wine and cheese shop about eight blocks away from my apartment. I visited it on Thursday after work. Believe it or not, I saw Monifa there buying a bottle of pinot noir and some fancy Swiss sharp white cheddar. Not only is she The Most Beautiful Woman in the World, Monifa has high-class taste.

I like her more and more.

I asked the employee working there what kind of wine he’d recommend (I like wine, but I don’t know much about it). He pointed to a moderately priced bottle of Beaujolais (it’s French, so it must be good!) sitting on a shelf behind him. I decided right then and there to go with that and immediately paid for it without looking at the other selections.

I hope my choice of something French will score me points. Perhaps I should have asked Monifa what kind of wine she likes. She seems to be a very urbane and cultured woman. This is definitely part of her charm. Ah, Monifa. She is SOOOOOOO gorgeous.

SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO gorgeous!!!

But enough about Monifa! This weekend is all about Cindi North, The Most Muscular Woman in the World. She told me to arrive at her house at 5 p.m., so I decide to leave my apartment at 4:30. I think thirty minutes will be enough to get me there.

In anticipation of Cindi seeing me naked, I went to the gym bright and early today to work out my arms, chest and hamstrings. I threw in the random leg exercise for good measure. The entire time I was busting my butt at Wellford Fitness Center I kept thinking about Cindi and her goddess figure. If that’s not enough motivation to torture your muscles for two hours, I don’t know what will properly motivate you!

At about 4:54 I arrive and park right by Cindi’s front lawn. I still have no idea which car is hers. I see three cars parked on her side of the street. One is red, the other is white and the other is black. I’m going to guess that her car is the black one. I have no idea why. It’s just a random guess.

With my bottle of moderately priced Beaujolais in hand (alright, if you must know, it cost me $46 plus tax. It’s not too much, but that’s generally speaking more than what I’d normally pay for a bottle of fermented grape juice), I approach her house as if it were a divine temple of worship. I’d worship Cindi’s body, no doubt about it. No Greek god ever had a body that was half as spectacular as Miss North’s.

Before I could extend my arm to knock on her door, the door opens and I see Cindi standing there to greet me.

Dear God! Even though it’s only been a week since I last saw her, seeing her again brings a whole new set of chills down my spine. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I will continue to be amazed of her large, muscular body. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to feasting my eyes upon it. Yowza!

“Ryan! You’re back! Come in!” Today she’s wearing gray sweatpants, a sporty t-shirt and a sweater. She looks like someone who just returned from the gym. I’m going to take a wild guess and say that’s exactly where she just came from.

“Hi Cindi, it’s good to see you after such a long week. I brought this.” I hand her the bottle of wine as I step into her house and take off my shoes. Taking off your shoes before entering into someone’s house is a very Japanese-y thing to do. I do it because I don’t want to get dirt on her carpet. It’s a pain in the rear to clean.

“Oooooh, it’s a French wine! And a Beaujolais. One of my favorites. Come in and make yourself at home. I’ve been cooking for the past hour and I think dinner is almost ready to eat.” Cindi takes the bottle of wine and goes back into the kitchen. After taking off my shoes I think about whether I should hang out in the living room or follow her into the kitchen. I decide to follow her to see what she’s preparing.

Wow, whatever it is, it smells really good!

I enter the kitchen and see Cindi mixing a salad together in a large green bowl. That salad must be taking the mixing of the century, judging from the size of her massive forearms.

“What are you making?”

“Something really healthy. I’ve cooked a vegan vegetable stew with a tossed arugula salad, quinoa and grilled asparagus. Just the type of good, nutritious food bodybuilders like us need to be eating,” she says with a silly grin.

“Ahem! Excuse me? Bodybuilders like us? You’re the only real bodybuilder here. I’m just a dude who works at a gym and exercises on a regular basis. I’m not even close to being in your league, sister.”

“I’m kidding, Ryan sweetie,” she says, kissing me on the cheek. “But to be honest with you, I consider everyone who works out their body on a regular basis to be a bodybuilder. Some are more…professional than others. And some are more accomplished than others, if that makes any sense.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” I say, trying not to swoon from that kiss. “And I think you would definitely be put in the category of “more accomplished.” Did you work out today?”

“Yes I did. Today was legs. Never skip leg day!” Cindi puts down the salad bowl and opens the soup pot to check out the vegan vegetable soup. She stirs it slowly. My mouth proceeds to water.

“That’s right. Friends never let friends skip leg day.”

“The table is set and I think dinner is ready. There are two wine glasses on the counter. Grab them and I’ll join you in the dining room.”

“Alright.” I pick up the wine glasses and leave Cindi to tend to her last minute preparations. I set the glasses down at our respective spots (all the silverware and dishes are already in place) and take a seat. I can’t wait for dinner. It smells so delicious!

But mostly, I can’t wait for after dinner.

Yeah baby!

Cindi comes out of the kitchen with the salad bowl in one hand and a plate of grilled asparagus in the other.

“I’ll get the quinoa and I think we can then serve ourselves the soup.”

“I can’t wait. It smells divine.”

“Thanks. I hope it tastes divine as well. Uh, go ahead and serve yourself up.”

“Will do.” I take my soup bowl and follow her back into the kitchen.

Dinner was absolutely delicious, as expected. The soup was very good and had a rich aroma of various spices and flavors. The arugula salad made me almost want to become a vegan, but I still like meat. Speaking of which, our meal had absolutely no meat; just vegetables, starch and quinoa. Come to think of it, this might be the second or third time I’ve ever tasted quinoa.

Cindi and I talked for at least an hour about all sorts of subjects. Between sips of wine (which, I must say, was very delectable) we chatted about sports (BTW, Cindi can kick anybody’s butt at fantasy football), movies, observations about people at the gym (there are very specific groups of people at the gym who can all be neatly categorized. Trust us on this one), exercise in general and reminiscing on last week’s adventures.

“What really upsets me is when people sit on a bench and do nothing but talk on their cell phones, text or chat with their buddies. Other people want to use that, you know!”

“I totally agree!” Cindi exclaims. “That really pisses me off. Fortunately for me, I go to the gym when there’s hardly anybody there, so when idiots do show up I have other places to work out. But if it’s really busy, I’d just pick the guy up and toss him onto the streets.”

We both laugh. I can just imagine Cindi’s strong arms wrapping around some clueless dude and tossing him onto the side of the road. She wouldn’t do that, but she totally could.

“How do you feel about women who go to the gym and do nothing but run on the treadmill for 45 minutes and then leave?”

“You can do that in your neighborhood. Would it KILL you to pick up a weight every so often?” I can tell Cindi is a bit peeved that more women don’t weight train. She hates the stereotype of the ‘feeble, weak girl’ who can’t help herself. Cindi is anything but feeble and weak.

We laugh again.

As you can tell, we laugh a lot. A ton. Cindi is a very funny person. Who would’ve thought a massive, 6’4” female bodybuilder would also be hilarious in addition to possessing superhuman strength?

“Once again, I am so sorry I laughed at you after you came all over my face. I really didn’t mean to insult you. It was, like, the funniest thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”

“Hey, no problem. I laughed about it too on the drive home. Don’t worry about it.”

“I have a good idea. How about instead of talking about the past, why don’t we create a whole new set of memories that will be a lot more positive?”

My right eyebrow raises up.

“Ah, new memories you say? What are you trying to say?” I hope she likes teasing. I think she does.

“Thank you for joining me for dinner. But we all know the real reason why you’re here.”

Suddenly, a weird feeling came over me. Yes, I am here to have sex with Cindi, but that’s not exactly the whole picture. Something about the way she said that made me feel strangely uncomfortable.

“True, but let’s hold on a minute. Aren’t we also here to become friends? I don’t mean best friends or the kind of friends who hang out all the time. I also don’t mean friends with benefits. But I’m not here just for meaningless sex.”

Cindi’s face became serious.

“Look, I didn’t mean it like that. Not at all. I’m not implying our relationship is like that of a prostitute and her john. That’s not us. And I’m not ruling out the possibility of a friendship between us. I think we have very good chemistry together. Look at the time. It’s been almost an hour after we began eating and it feels like it’s only been ten minutes.”

“Wow. It has been an hour. Time flies when you’re having fun.”

There is a long silence. We stare at each other. This evening hasn’t had too many awkward silences. This is probably our first.

“I’m serious, Ryan. This relationship isn’t just about sex.”

“I know. I want to become friends.”

“I think we’ve become that already.”

“Really? But we’ve known each other for only a week. Is that enough time to become friends?”

“Sure it is. A friendship can start instantaneously and last a lifetime. That’s the beauty of friendships, no matter how unconventional.”

“Unconventional?”

“Yes. How many female bodybuilders are you friends with?”

“Only one. You.”

“And to be honest, I don’t have too many 23-year-old Japanese-American friends. You’re my only one.”

“I’m glad to be your only one.”

Cindi smiles. When she smiles it reveals the deep wrinkles around her eyes and age lines across her face. But I don’t see that as distracting from her beauty.

Yes, you heard me. I think Cindi’s beautiful.

Very beautiful.

“So….our friendship isn’t just based on sex?”

“That’s right. Not just sex.”

“But, we…uh, haven’t actually had sex yet.”

Pause.

A wicked grin flashes across her face. Almost instantaneously, Cindi rises from her chair, walks over to my side of the table, picks me up with her strong arms like a baby, kisses me passionately on the lips and carries me upstairs to her bedroom.

“Let’s change that.”

The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi: Chapter Twelve – The Most Beautiful Woman in the World

I am convinced that Monifa is The Most Beautiful Woman in the World. There is no doubting my conviction in this. Granted, I haven’t met every single woman in the world, but compared to the supermodels and movie stars I see in magazines, Monifa beats them all by a mile.

A very LONG mile.

Monifa and I have been sitting at D’Angelo’s Café for nearly twenty minutes, chatting over lattes and grilled hummus sandwiches (which, I might add, are incredibly delicious!). Thankfully, Sam is nowhere to be found. It’s just the two of us, a couple of businessmen in the back, an elderly woman sipping coffee and reading the newspaper, Cathy and her assistant, Micah. Micah is a college student who’s studying art. And yes, he looks and acts like a stereotypical hipster. Whatever.

“I have to know, Ryan. If you could pursue your dream job, what would it be?” Monifa asks me.

“Hm. I would say I would love to be a professional biographer. I love reading biographies and think I would do a good job at writing one.” I’m not lying when I say this. Obviously, slaving away over smelly gym towels isn’t what I’d like to be doing for the next twenty years.

“Biographies? That’s so interesting. Is there anybody in particular you would like to write about?”

“Oh, no one really. I’m mostly fascinated with ordinary, average people who do extraordinary things with their lives.” I stirred a half package of sugar into my latte. I hope my waistline doesn’t object to this!

“So you have no interest in celebrities?”

“Or politicians, for that matter. I think they’re over-exposed as it is.”

I see Cathy eyeing us from her corner in the café. She’s fixing a sandwich at the moment, of which variety I cannot tell. She must be thinking how unusual it is for me to come in here with a beautiful black woman. The two of us do make an odd couple.

“I love adventure stories. You should write one of those.” Monifa’s posture is upright and proper. I don’t think she ever slouches in real life.

“What kind of adventure stories? I’m not really interested in writing any of those kinds of books, but I suppose I shouldn’t knock it unless I’ve tried it.”

Monifa smiles. Her face is so beautiful I want to take a picture of her and frame it on my wall. Her beauty transcends any feelings of lust or sexual attraction. Her beauty is like staring at a divinely perfect piece of art. If Cindi’s body is art, Monifa’s face is also art (but don’t get me wrong; her body is also VERY fine. But it’s obviously not as muscular or unusual as Miss North’s epic physique). I wonder how she can still be single. How can any heterosexual man resist this incredible woman?

“I like adventure stories involving most anything. The high seas, deadly volcanoes, mysterious islands, intergalactic planets, tropical excursions, pirate ships, anything. I guess this is what happens when your real life is so boring.”

“Boring? How could your life be boring? You’re a conceptual artist. Aren’t they the most inventive and wackiest of all people?”

Monifa lets out a quiet laugh. “I told you, conceptual art is my hobby. By day I’m a software tester. I wish I had more time to pursue art, but that’s what happens when you work too many hours in a cubicle.”

“Nonsense. I don’t consider what you do for a living to be your life. I think what you love to do to should define your life. Just look at me, for example. I work at a dead-end job cleaning mirrors, windows, dirty towels and locker room floors. That’s not even close to what I consider to be my life. It’s just what pays the bills.”

“I guess you’re right. I should find more time for my art.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what type of conceptual art do you do? I have little to no knowledge about this sort of thing.”

“Essentially, I like to fuse all sorts of art into a cohesive whole to tell a larger story. In Ethiopia, I briefly worked as an actress when I was a young girl. Then I started to do modeling. Then I got into photography. When I moved to America I took classes in filmmaking and drawing. Everything fascinates me. I feel like I’m great at taking big ideas and making them simple to understand.”

“Taking big ideas and making them simple to understand? That’s almost what a historian does. Except they work in recording human activity, not creating art.”

“They can almost be considered the same thing,” Monifa says.

Wow. That’s…kind of deep. Monifa takes a last sip of her coffee and places the cup on the table. Does she want a refill? Or does she want something else to eat? I told her when we first got here that I’d pay because she’s new and I wanted to welcome her to the neighborhood. I also pointed out to her that I’ll probably be the only neighbor that she’ll know in our building. The people who live there aren’t terribly open to meeting those who live no more than twenty feet away from them.

Almost on cue, Cathy walks over to our table.

“Hello you two. Can I get you anything else?” Cathy takes a long look at Monifa. I think she would agree with me that her beauty is almost beyond compare.

“No thank you,” Monifa says sweetly. I nod my head in agreement.

“Alright. Holler if you need anything. You know where I am.” With that, Cathy walks away and winks at me when she’s out of Monifa’s line of sight. Does she think we’re on a date? Who goes on a date on a Monday afternoon?

There is a long pause. Oh great. What should I say next?

“If you had unlimited resources and unlimited time, what type of…art project would you want to create?” Ah ha! I just asked an art question that allows her to express herself. When it comes to attracting intelligent women, I hope I’m on to something.

Monifa pauses to think and finally speaks: “I would love to create a series of tableaus. Do you know what that is?”

“Uh, sort of. It has something to do with pictures, right?”

“Yes, it has a lot to do with photography, but the type of tableaus I’m interested in created involve real people in real situations. I’d love, for example, to create a series of still images of people, all types of people, young and old, every body type, every shape, color and ethnicity, relating to each other in the real world.”

This is my chance to shine. I’ve read about artists doing these sorts of projects. If I can impress her with this, who knows how far I can go with her?

“You’re referring to a ‘tableau vivant.’” I smile as these words leave my mouth.

“Yes! A “tableau vivant!” You’ve heard the term before.” Monifa looks impressed with my knowledge of art. Score for me!

“I have heard the term before. They’re living pictures. So, you’d like to create living pictures of all sorts of people doing what they do in real life.”

“Not just real life; but in a surreal, enhanced version of life. Picture this: A large group of skinny, beautiful women surrounding a larger, overweight woman in a circle and pointing fingers at her, while the woman in the middle crouches over and weeps. Or a group of racially-homogeneous schoolchildren turning their backs to a mixed-race    child–”

“Or an interracial couple,” I blurt out. I hope my interruption doesn’t bother her.

“Yes, that would also be powerful, especially if the schoolchildren were in their teens.”

“What’s stopping you from pursuing this sort of project? I realize you said time is always a factor, but isn’t that just an excuse we use? I tend to think we use the “time” excuse because we’re afraid of what actually doing this project could lead to.”

“What do you mean?” Monifa finishes her sandwich and turns her attention completely upon me. Her dazzling black eyes pierce through me like an Olympic archer’s arrow.

“Well, I think we’re afraid of pursuing our dreams because we’re afraid we might fail, which wouldn’t just shatter you accomplishing our dreams, but your desire to dream of anything again. If our dreams remain fantasy, we can always take comfort in knowing that we’ll never fail.”

“But how do you know you’ll fail if you never try it? If you keep on wishing for things, they’ll never happen unless you take action.”

This is where I can definitely go in for the intellectual kill.

“Maybe this is why you should pursue your dreams instead of just talking about it.”

Silence. DEAD SILENCE. DEAD, DEAFENING SILENCE.

Just what I thought would happen. Dead, deafening silence. Monifa’s gorgeous face wrinkles as she thinks hard about what I just said. I genuinely hope she gets out of her artistic funk and pursues her photography, or whatever art she likes to do. It’s a damn shame when young people talk about wanting to do something but never even try to do it. Rationalizing your behavior can be the ultimate form of suicide.

Gee, I should write a book about this.

“You know what, Ryan? You’re right. You’re absolutely right, one hundred percent right. I should pursue my art. Of course, in small chunks. I can’t do everything overnight, you would agree?” I see that Cathy has returned to the back kitchen. I think she’s conceded that we’re not going to order anything else today.

“Of course, I completely agree. Start out small. Right now, you’re doing nothing. So doing something would definitely be an improvement. Start with something modest. How about creating two or three person tableaus? I’m sure we can totally find volunteers who’d be willing to pose for a few shots. Seattle is full of artsy-types who would do anything do get into the “art scene.’”

Monifa grins. “I’ll think about this. I’m confident I can get something off the ground. But I just moved here, so I–”

“Ah, ah, ah! There’s that thing about making excuses. Do you have a camera?”

“Yes.”

“Great. Is it unpacked?”

“No, but it’s not hard to find.”

“Great. Think about some ideas, and feel free to knock on my door any time to run them by me. My ear is always open to new ideas.” Holy shit, did I just give her an open invitation to come over to my apartment whenever she likes? I’m really getting bold.

“I would like that. I like you, Ryan. I’m glad we’re neighbors.”

“I’m glad, too.”

There is another period of silence, but this time it’s way more awkward. I think it is time for us to depart from here and go our separate ways.

“Pablo should be done with your unit by now.”

“Yes, he should be. I’ll pay for us.”

“No, no, no! Your money is no good here, at least not today. I’ll cover this, my treat.”

“Thanks! You’re very sweet.” Monifa leans over and kisses me on the cheek. I feel my entire body melt at the sensation of her soft lips covering my face. Is it possible to get a heart attack just by being kissed by a beautiful woman?

We get up, push our chairs in and I walk over to the counter. Cathy has since returned, reading a trashy fashion magazine.

“I’m paying for the both of us.”

“Who’s the girl, Ryan? She’s quite a looker,” Cathy whispers to me as I hand her my debit card. She swipes it and returns it to me. I put it back in my wallet.

“New neighbor. Next door. Sweet thing. I’m looking forward to getting to know her better.”

“Holy fucking shit. She’s gorgeous, honey. You better act fast or else someone else will, trust me.” Cathy’s advice is always straight and to-the-point. There’s nothing inherently wrong with that.

“I trust you, Cathy. I trust you. I’ll see you later.”

“Bye,” Cathy says to me. “Bye!” she yells to Monifa as we head out the door.

“Good bye, Cathy. It was nice to meet you. You have a lovely establishment. I’ll be returning here often,” Monifa declares as we leave.

We stroll back to the apartment building across the street. Sure enough, Pablo is finished with his work. Monifa and I shake hands as we retreat to our respected units, separated by nothing but a thin, sound-proof wall. I close the door and collapse onto the couch.

“Wow, what a day. What a way to spend my Monday,” I tell myself.

Imagine this: I’m now next-door neighbors with The Most Beautiful Woman in the World and this Saturday I’ll be losing my virginity to The Most Muscular Woman in the World.

Not bad, Ryan Takahashi, not bad at all. Looks like I’m finally starting to move up in the world.

It’s about time!

The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi: Chapter Eleven – The Girl Next Door

I return home at 2:30 p.m. after getting off my shift and doing an arms work out. I didn’t see Monifa after I saw her deadlifting, so I’m assuming she finished her work out before I got done washing those God-forsaken towels.

The walk back to my apartment was hellish because to the rain. I didn’t bring a jacket because, judging from the conditions earlier this morning, I didn’t think I needed one. That’s a testament to how unpredictable the Seattle weather can be on any given day.

I live on the seventh floor of my apartment, so I have a pretty good view of the neighborhood. But today the view isn’t terribly spectacular.

As I exit the elevator and proceed toward my room, I notice the unit next to mine is being cleaned out by the building staff. I see Pablo, our resident maintenance man, repairing the drywall in unit #724 (I live in unit #725). He looks hard at work.

“Good day, Pablo. New tenant?”

“Yes, sir. She’s moving in today. But I didn’t know about this drywall problem until the boss told me about it an hour ago. This shit is going to take all day to fix.”

“That sucks,” I say to him, unlocking my door. “Who is it? A family? A couple? A loner like me?”

“It’s a girl. A black girl. Very cute. You’ll like her.”

A black girl? Who’s new? It can’t be…

“Did you catch her name?” I ask casually.

“Nope. But I don’t think she’s married. She’s only bringing her cat with her. Why? Are you looking for a girlfriend?”

I laugh. “No, no. Of course not. I just want to say hello to her whenever I run into her. It’s nice to know her name in advance. How cute is she?”

Pablo puts down his tools and looks at me straight.

“Very cute. So hot. She has a fine ass. Fine ass, my friend. I’d tap her in a heartbeat.” Pablo then starts to do an obscene dance that I’m guessing is intended to simulate sex.

“I’m sure you would. And your taste in women is very similar to mine. Maybe we could both tap her.” I’m not usually that crass, but sometimes I get a little overzealous after working out. All that panting, sweating and extra blood flow does something to my mind.

“Oh yeah, like takes turns, right?”

“Uh huh. We’ll see how that goes. Take care, Pablo.”

“Take care, hombre.”

Cutting our conversation short, I slam the door shut behind me forcefully, so to tell him I’m retreating into my own little world and I am no longer interested in talking about “tapping asses.” Gee, what if Monifa is the girl who’s moving in next to me? That would be epic.

Monifa is one hell of a gorgeous woman. She’s not nearly as buff as Cindi, but she has a whole plethora of redeeming qualities: She has a beautiful face (honestly, one of the most beautiful faces I’ve ever seen!), a curvy body, large breasts (I consider myself a “leg guy,” but her breasts are something special), gorgeous black skin, toned muscles, abdominal muscles that can hold their own against any female peer (like Cindi) and enough booty to last a lifetime.

I have no idea what “enough booty to last a lifetime” means exactly, but you get the picture. Her butt is FINE. And it definitely deserves all capital letters.

But enough of that. For all I know, some other woman could be moving in next to me. What interests me at the moment is lunch. If I recall correctly, I have leftover lasagna in the refrigerator as well as a half-eaten take-out box of chow mein from a Chinese restaurant across the street from Wellford Fitness Center. There’s a 20-something Chinese girl who works there who’s one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen in my life. She’s also shorter than a midget (that’s an exaggeration, but I highly doubt she even cracks five feet tall).

Hm…I think I hear the lasagna calling my name.

“Ryan! Eat me! Eat me before I turn black and you have to throw me away!” the lasagna says to me. Believe it or not, there once was a time when I buried a container of clam chowder in the back of the refrigerator and forgot about it for nearly a year. When I discovered it, it became not green, but completely black.

And, it smelled like nobody’s business. Seriously, I wanted to puke after looking at it. Luckily, I did not. But I do not envy the garbage man who had to toss it in the back of his truck the next day. Ew.

Putting a slice of lasagna on a plate and placing it in the microwave, I set it for two minutes and wait. In the meantime, I reflect upon the beautiful specimen that is Monifa Okendu.

Wow. As if having Cindi in my life isn’t enough, I now have someone else I can fantasize about when I masturbate before going to bed. I consider women of all colors to be beautiful. Of course, ugly people (both men and women) exist across the entire ethnic spectrum, but I find a beautiful black woman to be especially pleasing to the eye. I have no idea why, I just do.

Maybe it’s because you very rarely see a black woman dating an Asian man. You see more of the other way around, but Asian guys tend to either stay with Asian women or venture out into the land of the paler skin ladies.

I wonder how many Asian guys have married a female bodybuilder. Who the hell knows?

Cindi is a Latina and she looks very exotic. Light brown skin and silky jet black hair (with streaks of gray sprinkled all around), Miss North makes for one hell of a woman. Even without all her gorgeous muscles, her 6’4” height is enough to make basketball coaches drool at the possibility of her playing center for their team.

Ding!

The lasagna is done. Finally!

After taking it out of the microwave and grabbing a fork, I plop down on my sofa and turn on the TV. Flipping through endless channels with nothing interesting going on, I decide on the safe choice of ESPN. Maybe I can catch highlights of all the action around the NFL yesterday.

The Seahawks lost. No surprises there. The Patriots wiped out the Bills. No surprise there. The Rams barely edged the Packers. That’s sort of surprising. I guess it’s true what they say about football: on any given Sunday, anybody can win.

Speaking of “winning,” who would have thought a month ago that I would be with a female bodybuilder like Cindi North? Who would have thought that I–”

Wait, am I still thinking about her? Holy shit. She can’t leave my mind. And let’s be serious for a moment: I’m not exactly “with” her in the traditional sense. We hooked up via Craigslist. In fact, we haven’t even officially “done it” yet. I just came on her face and she thanked me by giving me oral sex; which felt amazing, by the way!

Then she let me come on her abs. How hot is that? Yowzzzaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Then I hear outside my door Pablo striking up a conversation with somebody. And from the sound of it, he’s talking with a woman! Holy smokes, it could be her!

I put my plate of lasagna on my computer desk and run to my front door. I close one eye and peek through the little hole in the middle of the door. I see Pablo holding a drill and an orange extension cord but the person he’s talking to is hidden from view. Dude, just move to the left a little! Or maybe the woman he’s chatting with should move within my line of sight.

I could make the excuse of checking my mail. I could do that. But the mail carrier comes at 4 p.m. every day. Checking my mail now would make no sense. Hm. I could always–”

Suddenly, Pablo enters back into the apartment, presumably to finish working. But where is the woman? I don’t see her! Maybe she went back into the apartment with him. Are they about to have sex?

Wait, that’s ridiculous! Pablo is there to repair the drywall, not to participate in a conjugal visit. Whoa, my mind can wander into some unusual places sometimes.

You know what? It’s stupid of me to just stand here and peek at her like a horny middle school boy peeping at girls during gym class. I’m a man! I can just walk into the hallway and say I heard people talking (which is true) and that I want to meet my new neighbor (which is also true) because I’m a friendly guy who wants to welcome everybody to the neighborhood (which is not even close to true. I hardly know any of my neighbors. We all sort of live in our own little worlds independent of each other).

I’ll do it. I’ll just open the door, poke my head in her apartment and say “hi.” What’s the harm in that? People do it all the time to meet their new neighbors. I should handle this like an adult.

I open the door and step outside. Closing the door behind me, I creep over to unit #724 and poke my curious head inside. I see Pablo diligently working, but nobody else. Was I imagining their whole conversation together? I probably was–”

“Oh, hi there!”

I turn around and see Her. The same woman I saw at work earlier today. Monifa Okendu. I take a look at her from head to toe. She’s dressed in gray sweat pants, a tight black shirt (that gratuitously shows off her large, beautiful breasts), a blue denim jacket and a bright orange scarf around her long neck. The last time I saw her she was dressed in a pink spandex bra and a pair of tight pink shorts that left very little to the imagination. I nearly fainted at the sight of her curvaceous, jaw-dropping figure.

And she still doesn’t look half bad.

“Hey! Monifa, right?”

“Yes. You remembered my name. Is your name Tim?”

“No, it’s Ryan.”

“Sorry. Excuse me. I’m new in town. I’m meeting a lot of people for the first time. Forgive me.”

“Oh, no. Don’t be sorry. I completely understand. It’s difficult trying to remember everybody’s names. But now you definitely remember mine.”

“Do you live here?”

“Yes. I live in this unit right here. Are you just moving in?”

Pablo is still hard at work. I’m not sure if he knows we’re having a conversation right here in the hallway. Otherwise, I’d expect him to come on out and crack an inappropriate joke at our expense. He’s the kind of guy who would do that sort of thing.

“I am,” Monifa says, taking a quick peek into my unit. “I guess now we’re going to be next door neighbors. How exciting!”

Exciting? I was thinking the exact same thing. Dear lord, she has an incredibly BEAUTIFUL face! Yikes. It’s perfectly angular with sharp features that accentuate her flawless facial characteristics. If Cindi’s beauty is her strength, Monifa’s beauty is her…beauty. My God, what a beautiful woman!

“This is going to be very exciting. Is it just you moving in?” I hope I’m not being too forward by asking her this.

“Yes. Just me. Are you married?”

“No, not at the moment. Just me. Living the single life!” How lame is that response?

Monifa laughs. She has a strong, deep voice that gives her authority. I wonder if she ever uses it to her advantage…

“Well…” Monifa begins, “while he’s working on fixing my dry wall, I have no place to stay. Do you know of any good places to spend a few hours around here?”

Should I invite her into my room? Hell no! That’s being WAY too forward. I think I’ll recommend D’Angelo’s Café to her. It’s close, safe, serves good food and Sam shouldn’t be there. At least, for Monifa’s sake, I hope not.

“You can go across the street to D’Angelo’s Café. It’s a great local coffee shop that serves some very good pastries. You’re probably in the mood for something to eat, so you should get one of their grilled sandwiches. I haven’t tried a lot of them, but I’m sure they’re all delicious.”

“Thank you Ryan! I really appreciate the advice. I think I’ll do that. Want to join me?”

I almost fell down in disbelief. Monifa wants me to join her? Of course I will! It’s not every day a woman with superhuman beauty asks you to join her for coffee (I understand that Cindi also asked to meet me at a coffee shop, but that’s beside the point). I think I’ll take her up on this offer.

“Sure. Sounds great. Let’s go.”

“Great!” Monifa says. Her silky black skin almost makes her glow like an angel. I think she actually is an angel.

As we turn to leave, I lock my door and see Pablo out of the corner of my eye, deep inside Monifa’s apartment. He gives me a quick wink. I wink back. He gives me a wicked smile. I return the wicked smile.

We have an understanding.

The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi: Chapter Ten – Monday Morning Blues

Good God. Is it Monday already?

I look at my alarm clock and see it is 4:58 a.m. I turn it off before it decides to ring.

Shit. Garfield the cat is right. Mondays do suck.

My shift at Wellford Fitness Center starts at 6 a.m., which is when the gym opens to the public. That means I have to wake up at 5 a.m. to give myself enough time to eat breakfast and get some coffee in me.

I usually make my own coffee. Today is no exception. I only buy already-brewed coffee on Sunday mornings when I make my weekly trek across the street to D’Angelo’s Café. This is partly the reason why I didn’t order anything at the espresso bar when I first met Cindi. Why pay two dollars for coffee that I could make for myself at a much cheaper price?

After a hearty breakfast of Wheaties and a bagel with cream cheese, I chase down a cup of iced coffee (I’m too lazy to heat it up in the microwave) and head out the door.

Five minutes later I enter through the back door and put on my dark red Wellford Fitness Center t-shirt that’s sitting in my employee locker. Believe it or not, the company gives us four pairs of these shirts in order to prevent us from wearing the same shirt all week. I think this is a good policy. Gyms smell bad enough. We don’t want the foul stench of employees making things worse.

I usually feel a bit depressed on Monday mornings (who doesn’t?), but today I’m feeling especially down-trodden considering my week ahead. I have five whole days before I see the Goddess Cindi again. I wonder what time she gets up every morning to start her workout? Is she an early riser, or does she workout in the afternoons/evenings? I should ask her the next time I see her.

It is my turn today to man the front desk. I’m in charge of the front desk from 6 to 9 a.m. From 9 to noon I clean and do laundry (we provide workout towels for everyone).

As the clock approaches 6 a.m., I see our first customer of the day show up. And right on schedule. It’s Dale, a 40-something businessman who’s always here right when we open. Dale and his wife are both former college athletes who have raised two ridiculously athletic children. Their daughter is currently training for the Olympics as a gymnast and their older son is a high school track star. No big deal.

I unlock the front door at the stroke of 6 and let Dale in, who waits outside patiently like always.

“Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning to you, Ryan.”

I scan his membership card and he strolls toward the locker rooms. Next I see Frances, an elderly 80-something woman who does water aerobics every morning. The class doesn’t start until 7, but she likes to be here early so she can read the newspaper before her workout.

“Hi Frances. How are the grandchildren?”

“They’re rude and they don’t listen,” she sheepishly says. I scan her membership card and wisely choose not to ask any more questions. She’s always in a pissy mood. But she seems to have a positive relationship with her grandchildren, so I’m a little taken aback that she thinks they’re rude and don’t listen.

Us whippersnappers are a real pain in the butt, aren’t we?

“Have a good workout,” I tell her as she leaves.

Frances doesn’t respond.

Somehow, my feelings aren’t hurt. My heart will go on.

Minutes later more people start to come in large groups. We’re talking people ranging from the very old to people my age looking to become as buff as possible. Try as they might, but they’ll never have anything on my Cindi. She’s buffer than anyone on the planet.

“My” Cindi? Am I claiming ownership over her? She should claim ownership over ME. She deserves that much.

As it approaches 7:30, the gym finally becomes lively with the noises of chit chat, treadmills running at full blast, the clank of 45-pound metal plates rubbing against each other and the usually grunts and groans of people getting a quality workout.

My mind starts to wander. What is Cindi doing right now? She’s definitely at the gym. She has to be. If she works out early on a Sunday morning, there’s no reason why she wouldn’t be at the gym earlier on a Monday morning.

“This sucks,” I tell myself out loud. It sucks that I have to wait five days before I can see her again. God, she’s like a drug. I’ve only met her once and I’m already at the stage where I can’t get her out of my mind.

Cindi North, you Beautiful Muscular Temptress. You’ve cast a spell on me. And I like it. A lot.

I giggle when I think about our first sexual encounter together. I totally prematurely ejaculated all over her face. I was humiliated at the time, but I can laugh at it now. It’s true when they say that time heals all wounds. But everything was totally worth it when she performed oral sex on me later. That felt divine. Absolutely divine. And I got to come on her eight-pack abdominal muscles. That was ridiculously hot.

I continue to daydream until I hear a woman’s voice call out to me.

“Excuse me, sir. Uh, excuse me?”

I immediately wake up from my mini-daydream.

“Uh, sorry. What is it? How may I help you?”

I look at the woman speaking to me and I almost stop breathing when I see her.

Hot damn.

She’s a young black woman who looks to be anywhere between 25 and 30. She’s fairly tall, maybe between 5’10” and 6”. She’s wearing a bright pink sports bra and a matching pair of tight spandex shorts that leaves nothing to the imagination. She has very dark skin that looks as black as night and as smooth as silk. Her angular face looks very exotic and unbelievably beautiful. I’m not a world-renowned traveler, but there’s something in her look and in her voice that tells me she wasn’t born in this country. I don’t know. But she’s simply gorgeous.

“I’m new in town and I have a free one-week pass. Do I give this to you?” she asks politely.

Her voice does sound like it has a slight African accent to it. I struggle to look at her face once I take a peek at her large, plump, bountiful breasts. Unlike Cindi, this woman has breasts. And very enticing. I want to squeeze them right now. But that would get me fired.

“Yes, you can give that to me. Can I see it?”

She hands it to me and I see that it’s legit.

“Alright, this is good for exactly one week, so it expires next Monday. Let me scan it for you.” I scan it and give it back to her. I take a quick look at her midriff and see she has a modest four-pack of abs developing. After I scan her paper card I look at the computer and see her name is Monifa Okendu. That’s a name you don’t hear too often around here.

“Thank you,” she says.

“Alright, have you ever been here before, Monifa?”

“No. I just moved here yesterday morning.”

“Oh! Welcome into town. Where are you originally from?”

“Ethiopia. But I’ve lived in New York City for the past three years.”

“In that case, welcome to Seattle. Would you like someone to give you a tour of our facility? I can ask a staff person to show you around.”

“Thank you, but no thanks. I think I can find everything I need just fine.”

“Alright. The women’s locker room is on the opposite side of the men’s locker room to your left. You will have to provide your own locks, however. Did you bring your own today?”

“Yes.”

“Good. It’s wise to do whatever you can to prevent against theft. We’re usually pretty good around here, but you never know. So, we offer workout towels for all our clients, including guests. Just drop them off in this box after you’re finished. Any other questions?”

“I don’t think so. Thank you very much.”

“Oh, I forgot to mention. Guests are allowed to attend all the classes we offer except for the advanced ones. Here’s a brochure explaining everything we offer here.”

I hand her a brochure and she puts it in her gym bag. Her toned arms look delicious.

“Thank you very much. You’ve been very helpful. What’s your name?”

“My name is Ryan. Enjoy your workout, Monifa.”

With that, Monifa turns around and walks toward the locker rooms. I take a look at her butt as she leaves. Holy mackerel! Lush, ample, perfectly rounded and taut, she nearly competes with Cindi’s impeccable derriere, but not quite. No one can compare to Goddess Cindi.

Well, that Monifa is quite a physical specimen! I hope she chooses to work out here long-term. That would make my mornings a lot easier to bear.

Just when I thought my morning got a little better, I look outside and see it has begun to rain. Hard. I mean, pouring down rain. Cats and dogs. Sheesh. Typical Seattle weather. Whenever a Monday seems to become somewhat tolerable, Mother Nature finds a way to slap you in the face and bring you back to reality.

The rest of my morning passes without a hitch. Nothing too spectacular. Later when I return to the front desk to pick up the box of dirty towels, I catch a peek of Monifa (whose bright pink and revealing outfit is extremely hard to miss) deadlifting what looks to be about 135 pounds, which is the metal bar plus a 45-pound plate on both sides. Not bad. It’s not quite the 500 pounds that Cindi can do, but that’s pretty darn impressive for a woman.

Wow, will Cindi ever leave my mind? Not for a long time, let me tell you.

As I walk into the laundry room I bump into Michelle, the ridiculously cute receptionist/personal trainer who works here.

“Hi Michelle. How many clients do you have today?”

“Only three. But they’re real clients, not the fake ones I’m usually stuck with.”

“You mean real athletes?”

“Yeah. One girl plays high school volleyball. Another girl wants to be a competitive figure model. And the other is a lady who’s determined to lose all her baby fat before Thanksgiving.”

“Before Thanksgiving? She better get on it. That’ll be here sooner than you think.”

“Well, she seems determined enough. See you around, sugar.”

Michelle, wearing a black Wellford Fitness Center sports bra and tight black shorts (not unlike what Monifa is wearing today), takes a swig from her coffee tumbler and goes into the workout area, leaving me alone holding a box of smelly towels. Dear God, these reek. Holy shit. If I don’t load these into the machine right away, I might just barf.

Ugg!

Oh, and by the way, Michelle usually calls every guy she knows “sugar,” so don’t get too excited on my behalf.

“That Monifa looks like she could become a competitive figure model,” I say to myself.

Loading the towels into a washing machine, I (for some really odd reason) start to think about Sam’s job offer he talked about yesterday. How would I like to be a drug dealer for the rich and wealthy? It would be easy money, these are people who don’t typically get involved in random street shootings and if I ever get caught, they could use their power and influence to get me off without any trouble. I mean, they’d do that, right?

And depending on what kind of drugs I’d be dealing, I might be able to meet more FBBs like Cindi North. Steroids and other human growth hormones are considered drugs, right?

But I’d never be able to meet another woman quite like Cindi. She’s a statuesque Goddess. But if women like her exist, there should be others like her. That makes sense. And I seriously don’t want to work here for the rest of my life. These smelly towels can always be washed by someone without a college degree.

I hope I’m not sounding too elitist.

But I digress. Sam and his buddies probably aren’t the type of people I want to associate myself with on a regular basis. I’d much rather hang out with Cindi and make love to her. Hell, who wouldn’t?

The thought of making love to a celestial muscle Goddess like Cindi is enough to carry me through the rest of the day.

What’s So Alluring About Female Bodybuilders?

FBB and Miss Universe 2007 Alina Popa.

Here’s a question that might be on some of your minds:

So, Ryan: Why are you so into female bodybuilders?

As any reader of my blog can attest to, the subject of female bodybuilding is very prevalent in “The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi” fiction series. The central character, Ryan Takahashi, is engaging in a budding romantic relationship with Cindi North, a fictitious female bodybuilder who exemplifies all the fetishistic qualities of a superhuman woman.

She’s tall (described as being 6 foot 4 inches).

She’s thick.

She has bulging muscles all over her body (her biceps are compared to cantaloupes).

She possesses strength that many male bodybuilders cannot attain.

These are all qualities not normally associated with “average” women. And society tends not to put these types of women on a pedestal. We tend to prefer our females not to look like she could bend steel with her bare hands or play defensive end in the NFL.

So…what’s so alluring about female bodybuilders? Why am I, your humble blogger living in Seattle (or at least, a suburb of Seattle), so obsessed and attracted to female bodybuilders? What’s my deal? Am I some freak? Did my parents raise me wrong? Do I have a messed up relationship with my mother?

The answer is, quite frankly, no. I am not a freak. My parents raised me just fine. And I regularly go to church with my mother on Sunday mornings. I’m pretty normal, outside of me being Japanese-American, which is a group of people you don’t meet very often.

To answer your question, here are my top five reasons why I’m attracted to female bodybuilders:

1. Muscle is sexy

From the times of ancient Greece to today, people with muscles have traditionally been revered for their strength, agility, physical superiority, hard work, dedication and aesthetic. From Michelangelo’s David, to the mythical character of Hercules, to modern day professional athletes, muscle has always been sexy.

Hard, ripped muscles convey all the qualities listed above. Strength means power. Hard work and dedication are positive characteristics valued by every society throughout time. And, of course, there’s the aesthetic aspect to it. Muscles catch our eye because they tell us this person has taken the time to improve themselves. This puts them on a higher level than the rest of us. We can trust them to do any of the “heavy lifting” needed by our society.

Victoria Dominguez, a.k.a. “Mistress Treasure.”

However, historically muscled supermen have been just that: men. Women very rarely have been valued for their physical strength. In addition to sexism (a subject that is beyond the scope of this essay), there might be a biological explanation.

It is no mystery that women are not as naturally strong as men. This brings me to my next point.

2. Muscular women boldly break stereotypes and cultural expectations

Because women are not expected to be as strong as men, what’s there not to like about those few brave women who aim to shatter these expectations?

This is probably why a lot of men are repulsed, disgusted or offended by women with muscles. They make them feel weak, emasculated and less of a man. If a woman has bigger biceps than you, what does that say about you? Our culture would say you’re puny and not worthy of your “man” status.

As I write this, the 2012 London Olympics is happening. This is a time when hundreds of millions of people around the globe (apparently, 1 billion people watched the Opening Ceremony) are seeing right in their homes a multitude of young men and women in the prime physical condition of their lives. This is when women with muscles (and other amazing physical abilities) are showcased like never before. And this has caused some cultural clashes.

Some Internet trolls are calling these women “gross,” “man-like” and any other hurtful labels. These are not women who aspire to be men. These are women who aspire to be great.

Deidre Pagnanelli. She’s in her 40s and has 4 kids. Impressed?

While bodybuilding is not an Olympic sport, female bodybuilders nevertheless are also vulnerable to these kinds of verbal attacks, even if it’s at a smaller scale. But they persevere and boldly break these social stereotypes with no shame, embarrassment or second-guessing. Though I’ve never met an FBB, I’m going to guess a majority of them are not doing what they do to emasculate men. They’re doing it to raise the bar for their fellow women.

There’s something to admire about those who are fearless about shattering stereotypes and defying cultural expectations. Do women belong in the kitchen? Hell no! They belong in the gym, pumping iron to become as strong as they can possibly be.

3. Female bodybuilders earn their beauty

Not all of us are born with the genetic material necessary to become a supermodel. Not all of us, even with the graces of Photoshop and other digital image editing software, have what it takes to be featured on the cover of magazines.

Essentially, beauty (or, our personal and collective standards of beauty) is something you are born with. No amount of cosmetic surgery will make you more beautiful than the limitations of what you are given (we all know how off-putting it is to see someone who has had a little too much work done. It can, ironically, make them look less attractive).

But this is not true with female bodybuilders.

Bodybuilding is a sport unlike any other sport. Winners of bodybuilding competitions win because of their aesthetic appeal more than their ability to shoot a basketball, catch a football or hit a baseball. They are judged by their size, shape, symmetry and presentability.

Krissy Chin, an Asian muscle goddess.

In this regard, female bodybuilders earn their beauty. Even if they are not born with a naturally beautiful face, they have direct control over the look of the rest of their body. No one can control what their face looks like, but everyone can control the appearance of their quadriceps, biceps, triceps, pecs, abs and other muscle groups.

To put it in another way, female bodybuilders redefine their beauty by creating their own personal standards of beauty.

And this is something to admire. How many of us genuinely admire a gorgeous supermodel? We brush them off and say things like, “They’re only rich and famous because of the way they look.” Unfortunately, this perspective has some truth to it. Gorgeous people are born gorgeous. But nobody is born with ripped muscles.

I respect a female bodybuilder’s beauty because she has earned it through years of training, long hours of hard work, radically changing her diet, sacrificing her personal comfort for the sake of making her body strong and investing a large chunk of her free time toward achieving her lofty goals.

She has my respect because she deserves her beauty; nothing was given to her for free. There’s nothing sexier than a woman whose beauty comes from her relentless pursuit of perfection through excruciatingly hard work, not a surgeon’s knife.

4. Female bodybuilders treat their bodies like a piece of art

While bodybuilding is technically a sport, one could also argue it is an art. Like traditional athletes, bodybuilders train endlessly to perfect their craft in the name of competition. However, unlike football or hockey players, bodybuilders are more concerned by how they look versus how well they can outmaneuver a cornerback or slap a puck past a goalie.

Bodybuilders willingly put themselves in a position where they are judged by their looks. As a society, we already judge women by their looks, so it must take extra courage for a woman to put herself in a situation where not only is she judged by her looks, but she’s judged by standards that are far outside the norm.

Which brings us to the concept of “art:”

Painters have their canvases, brushes and paints. Musicians have their instruments. Singers have their voices. Writers have their pens and imagination. Sculptors have their clay. Bodybuilders have….their body.

For a woman to put herself in that vulnerable of a position, where she is outwardly judged by her looks while shattering our typical conventions of “femininity,” takes guts that must border on obsession. Her chiseled look doesn’t happen by accident. It’s all a product of her taking a pro-active stance on how she wants to live her life.

Sounds like an artist, doesn’t it? The mindset of a female bodybuilder is no different from Ernest Hemingway, Salvador Dali, William Shakespeare or Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Their dedication takes on a life of its own. She must sacrifice more than most of us are willing to sacrifice in order to make her body look the way she wants it.

Sounds very artistic, doesn’t it?

A true artist should strive for perfection even if the general public considers their work to be just fine. A true artist should never be satisfied with their art, as they are perpetually searching for the “truth” in their art. The French poet Paul Valery once said “A poem is never finished, only abandoned.”

Miss Cross is one of my favorites. She’s beautiful, muscular and British. What’s there not to like?

Likewise, even on the day of a competition, a female bodybuilder’s body is never finished; it is always a work in progress. That day happens to be the day that people will finally judge her.

Like any astute art critic, may they judge her harshly but fairly.

5. The concept of a female bodybuilder is both intellectually and sexually arousing

Aren’t women supposed to be the weaker sex?

If you’re a female bodybuilder, the answer is a resounding “NO!”

But, alas, society at large still views women as weaker and frailer compared to their male counterparts. Generally, they’re shorter, smaller in stature and have less muscle mass. In short, they ARE the weaker sex.

Biologically speaking, none of this can be proven false. This is why the concept of a female bodybuilder is both intellectually and sexually exciting.

A woman who takes it upon herself to make herself strong definitely has my vote of confidence. I’d vote for her if she ran for president. It takes a strong mind to want to prove the entirety of human history to be wrong. It takes an even stronger mind to actually go out and do it.

By defying our entire paradigm of maleness vs. femaleness, she seeks to redefine her identity by tearing down the status quo. Or does she?

Female bodybuilders are often at odds with society because they are expected to exhibit many cultural dualities: She must be strong, but nurturing; she must be muscular, but feminine; she must be tough, but not “unlady-like;” she must be as strong as a man, but not emasculate him. In other words, she must walk that fine (and impossible) line between being strong and being a woman.

Colette Nelson’s chest is out of this world. And I’m not referring to her breasts!

Often female bodybuilders are automatically accused of being lesbians. While plenty of professional bodybuilders (and figure and fitness competitors) are lesbians, a lot of them are not. Many of them are married to a man. Some have children. Some have many children. Some compete professionally, take some time off to become a mother, and resume her bodybuilding career once her children become old enough.

An FBB is always juggling multiple social and internal pressures that are nearly impossible to balance. She must do what she does because she wants to do it. There will always be people out there who say she is “becoming a man” or “compromising her femininity.”

No wonder why you need the heart of a poet to put yourself through all this agony!

And this is why female bodybuilders are so sexually exciting. In addition to looking visually stunning, their open defiance of our culture’s expectations of “femaleness” should make them popular to any anti-establishment, pro-freedom intellectual.

I find female bodybuilders alluring because by lifting weights, they are saying “FUCK YOU” to society (even if they don’t consciously carry around this negative attitude).

So go for it, honey. Pump those weights. Don’t be ashamed to drip with gallons of sweat after a grueling work out. Drink those protein shakes. Do what it takes to make your muscles huge.

Become as beautiful as you can be.

The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi: Chapter Nine – Job Offer

I wake up the next morning at 10:30 a.m. feeling like a million dollars. My morning erection greets me as I roll on my stomach.

“It’s 10:30? God, Cindi’s already been in the gym for an hour and a half already,” I say to myself.

Lord, that Cindi North. That Muscular Angel is sure something. I’ve never met anybody who even closely resembles Miss North. She’s big, tall, thick, strong as an Olympic weightlifter, funny, compassionate, unapologetically sexual and cute (not super cute, but she’s not bad to look at). Come to think of it, Cindi’s a very pretty woman. Her sharp nose, low cheekbones and masculine-looking eyes may not appear to be too attractive at first, but once I got to know her, she just…became more beautiful. Some women become more beautiful the longer you know them. Cindi is one of those types of women.

After spending a few more minutes fantasizing about Cindi and her incredible body, I hop out of bed and put on a pair of jeans and whatever shirt I can find that doesn’t smell too offensive. This dark red shirt seems sufficient.

*SNIFF*

Yeah, “sufficient” is the right word.

Every Sunday morning I go across the street to D’Angelo’s Café, a cute little neighborhood coffee and sandwich shop. The owner is the mother of one of my best friends from college. I’ve become a regular there and have since come to know all the other regulars. That’s one of the dangers of living within walking distance of a great java dispenser.

I walk outside and take a deep breath. The crisp autumn air smells great against a chilly sunny day. These are the type of fall days I like. I don’t particularly care for the rainy days that we often get here in Seattle. But I’m used to those by now.

As I walk across the street I see a pretty brunette girl jogging by me. She’s wearing a blue tank top and tight black spandex shorts. She’s cute, but she’s no Cindi North. Cindi would dominate that chick.

The moment I walk into D’Angelo’s Café I’m greeted by Sam, a regular patron who happens to be a former 1960s hippie. I’m convinced he’s still a stoner. That has to explain why he’s always eating the blueberry scones, which I don’t particularly like. Sam is an older guy who has long shaggy hair, a white goatee, tattoos all over the place and a wardrobe that looks like something out of the clearance sale at a thrift shop. “Tacky” is Sam’s modus operandi.

“Good morning, chum,” Sam says.

“It’s practically lunchtime, but good morning to you too.”

Sam is reading a Seattle Times and chewing on a day-old croissant. Sam is notorious for always purchasing half-off day-old goods instead of buying anything new. That’s his choice. There’s no law against buying the marked-down stuff.

I look around for Cathy (the owner) and see that she’s nowhere to be found.

“Where’s Cathy?”

Sam is the only other patron in the café at the moment. “I don’t know. She went into the back kitchen a few moments ago and hasn’t come out since.”

Oh great. Now I’m stuck having to talk to this guy. Sam is a nice man, but he can be a real work of art at times. This is the guy who will talk your ear off about whatever governmental conspiracy theory he’s into at the time. Yes, he’s one of those types. But strangely, I can’t quite pinpoint where his political views lie. He believes in conspiracies that draw unflattering conclusions about people on both the left and the right. Maybe even he doesn’t know what he believes.

“I’ll just wait here. She should be coming back soon.”

Sam takes this opportunity to strike.

“I hear you’re looking for another part-time job. Is this true?”

“Yes, sir, that is true. Why? Do you have a lead for me?”

He triumphantly leans back in his chair and flashes a broad, megawatt smile. I think Sam suspects I don’t think the world about him. He obviously has something juicy he wants to share with me and will milk it for all it’s worth.

“As a matter of fact, I do have something for you. Do you want to hear what it is?” he slyly asks. I’m convinced this is going to be something either illegal or related to an impending political and/or social revolution. Is he planning to topple the government and crown himself King of America?

“Sure, I do want to hear what it is. I’m always open to hearing what’s available out there. Tell me, please.”

I look over my shoulder to see if Cathy has returned yet. She has not. Dammit.

Sam slowly stands up like a creeper and grabs my left hand. He pulls me away from the counter and sits me down opposite of him at his table. He burps loudly.

“Pardon me.”

“No problem.” I’m trying not to barf.

“I have a friend who knows someone who can give you a job.”

“So, you’ve never met this person?”

“No, not directly. But I know of him, and that’s all that really matters at this point.”

This sounds suspicious, but what was I expecting? I should be polite and listen to what he has to say. I have no doubt I’ll end up saying “no” at the end. All I really want to do is get my cup of coffee and pastry and GTFO. Where the hell is Cathy?

“What sort of business does this person do?”

“He buys things and sells them back to people.”

“Okay. What sort of things?”

Sam snorts loudly and ogles a young lady walking by the café. She’s a tall blonde wearing long white pants and a dark blue blouse. She’s not the prettiest thing out there, but her long legs are really something to regard. As the girl passes Sam returns his attention to me.

“His name is Theo. A good buddy of mine used to work for him. He doesn’t anymore because he recently moved to Texas. But I’ve heard good things about him.”

“You didn’t answer my question. What sort of things does he sell?” Why was I getting impatient and demanding an answer from him? It’s not like I actually care.

“He sells, well, things that aren’t…uh, quite legal…um, to the rich and wealthy.” Sam’s selective revealing of information tells me what he knows is both very juicy and probably shouldn’t be discussed in a public setting. I guess discretion isn’t terribly important to him.

“Let me guess. He sells cocaine to rich Hollywood types.” It’s an honest guess.

“Not Hollywood types. Theo works and lives up here. He sells stuff like that to those rich Microsoft and Amazon types over on the east side.”

“He’s a dope dealer to the software and Internet moguls in Bellevue and Redmond. Beautiful. And why would you think I’d be interested in this sort of job?”

“It pays really well. And you don’t have to pay taxes, for obvious reasons.”

Sam leans back in his chair and takes a small bite out of his croissant. Out of the corner of my eye I see Cathy come out of the backroom. She looks embarrassed to have a customer present in her establishment and she wasn’t there to serve them immediately. She rushes to the counter and apologizes profusely.

“Ryan! I’m so sorry. I didn’t know anyone was here. I was in the back room making soup, and I had no idea-”

“Don’t worry, Cathy. I was having a pleasant chat with Sam here.”

Cathy is a 50-something year old woman who might be the nicest person I’ve ever met. Cathy was married to her husband for 19 years before he came out of the closet as being gay. That was very surprising. But apparently she wasn’t totally shocked and took it all in stride. They had only one child (Stan, my buddy from college) and their sex life was essentially nonexistent. I know all this because she’s very open about her personal life (Stan is too embarrassed to tell me anything and I don’t blame him), almost to the point that I try to order my coffee and food as quickly as possible so I don’t have to listen to her go off on another one of her stories. Between Cathy and Sam, this can be quite a colorful little place. And I don’t mean color in terms of skin color, if you know what I mean.

“What would you like today?”

“I’ll have a 12 ounce nonfat latte and a strawberry muffin, please. That sounds like that would hit the spot.” Cathy’s strawberry muffins are almost orgasmic. Better than her blueberry scones, which are as dry as the Arizona desert.

“Alright. Are you doing okay there, Sam?”

“I couldn’t be better,” Sam says, still leaning back in his chair dangerously. I’m afraid he’ll fall over and break his neck. That would ruin everybody’s morning.

“Okay. Don’t fall down on me,” Cathy says, placing a newly baked, crisp muffin on a plate. My mouth waters as she hands it to me.

I sit down at a table next to Sam and instantly realize I should have asked for the muffin and the latte “to go,” but that would be weird considering I rarely ask for things to go. Besides, as much as I can’t stand Sam, I wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings by running off on him in the middle of our conversation.

“So….are you in?” Sam says, leaning in close to me. I doubt Cathy will be able to hear, considering the sound of her steaming milk is about as quite as a hundred jackhammers working on a busy street all at once.

“I’ll consider it,” I tell him. I really won’t consider it, because committing illegal acts for a living does not sound like my cup of tea. Even though these clients are supposedly “high class,” that doesn’t make it any less illegal. I guess it would limit the chances of me being caught by the police.

“Good. A job offer this good doesn’t happen every day. If you really want to work for my buddy, you know where to find me every week,” he says. With that, Sam gets up, throws away his coffee cup and leaves the café. I breathe a sigh of relief as I watch him clumsily cross the street in the middle of a green light. I’m amazed he hasn’t been hit by a car yet.

By that time Cathy (who can make a great tasting latte faster than a speeding bullet) is done with my drink and places it on the front counter. I get up to retrieve it. I take a small sip and make a subtle sound of approval. Cathy, washing her hands, looks at me with a bright smile on her face.

“What did he want?”

I take another sip and savor the flavor. “Nothing, really. He wanted to offer me a job.”

“A job? What kind of job?”

“Oh, nothing serious. He has a friend who’s looking for some help with a few random things. I told him I’ll consider it, but I won’t really.”

“Good. Anything involving him will be nothing but trouble.”

I sit down and grab the newspaper Sam was previously reading. I take a small nibble at my delicious strawberry muffin and look up at Cathy.

“I agree.”

The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi: Chapter Eight – My Small Asian Penis

“Please don’t get me wrong, Ryan. I love your body. You have a very nice body.” Cindi assures me.

I sense a “but” somewhere.

“Thank you, Cindi. But I think you’ve just let the cat out of the bag.”

Cindi strokes my thigh and works up to my scrotum. I think now is the best time to talk about something like this. And believe it or not, we still haven’t had “sex” yet. Am I still a virgin, or does oral sex count as actual sex (insert your own presidential joke here)?

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t think you’re small down there. I’m serious.”

“Look, you don’t have to be nice to me. I don’t think I’m tiny, but I know for a fact that I’m not big. You at least have to admit that.”

Cindi kisses me on the shoulder and starts to rub up and down my flaccid shaft. It shows no signs of life.

“Let’s not talk about this.”

“I sort of…do want to talk about this. It’s a major insecurity of mine.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. We’ve all heard the stereotype, right?”

I look straight into Cindi’s dark black eyes. She stops stroking me and understands this is a “serious” conversation. Cindi sighs.

“That Asian men have small penises?”

“Yes. That stereotype.”

“It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Very much. It hurts deeply. But not in a way that makes me angry. In a way that makes me feel…less of a man.”

This revelation causes Cindi to hug me tightly. The feel of her strong arms wrapping around my body sends shivers down my spine. I wonder if she can feel that.

“You’re a man. There’s no doubt about it. You’re definitely a man. You’re more of a man than a lot of men I’ve met.”

“Really? How so?”

“I’ve met hundreds of male bodybuilders in my life. Most of them are very nice, but some can be total douchebags. When I work out at the gym, I hear what guys talk about. There’s so much sexism in weight rooms.”

I nod my head in agreement. “Tell me about it. At the gym I work at, I meet tons of guys who are total jerks. I don’t talk to them.”

Cindi massages my shoulders with her strong hands. I feel my penis start to come to life, but I still need some more time.

“But you’re different, Ryan. You’re kind, respectful, smart, funny and the total opposite of a douchebag.”

“Thank you. I try to be nice.”

“That’s why I invited you up here to my home. That’s why I felt comfortable to take you to my bed. From the moment I saw you at the coffee shop, you looked like a nice boy. You’re someone I can talk to without having to be someone else.”

“Someone else? Who else can you be?”

“It’s complicated, but for a female bodybuilder like me, you have to take on several personalities. You have to be strong, but feminine. You have to be tough, but nurturing. You have to be muscular, but still sexy. You have to be strong-willed, but still approachable. That sort of thing.”

“Is there a lot of pressure for FBBs to act a certain way?”

The question causes Cindi to fall to her back and stretch out. The sight of her eight-pack abs lying right beside me is enough to make my penis half-engorged.

“Oh, I could write a whole book on that subject. We’ll save that for another day.”

Cindi releases another sigh and I lie down on my side and stroke her abs. I admire her chiseled body like it’s a piece of valuable art. As far as I’m concerned, her body is art.

“Do you mind if I ask you a personal question, Cindi?”

She purrs like a cat as I stroke her tummy. I think she appreciates my appreciation of all her long, hard hours working out at the gym.

“Go for it. In this room, there are no such things as personal questions. This is a no-bullshit zone.”

“Alright.” I let out a sigh of my own. “Does size really matter?”

The look on Cindi’s face changes from mellow to full-of-concern. It appears she’s struggling to find the proper words to answer my question.

“Honestly?”

“Yes. Honestly. I want to know your opinion.”

Silence.

“For me, size does matter,” Cindi finally says.

My mouth forms a defensive smile. Inside I feel like I want to scream bloody murder.

“Really?”

Cindi gets up and wraps her muscular arms around me again. She kisses my shoulder again (this is a move she’s done a few times before. What’s with her and kissing shoulders?)

“Yeah. Size does matter for me. Do you want to know more?”

“Yes. As unusual as that sounds, I do want to know more. Do you not want to share?”

“No, no. I have nothing to hide. I’m perfectly willing to share anything. Well, I’ve had many sex partners, both men and women. As far as men are concerned, the best sex I’ve ever had was with men who were, more, uh, better endowed.”

“Uh huh.” This is my cue for her to continue speaking. She takes the hint.

“One lover of mine, his name was Jake, was a fellow bodybuilder. He was a natural bodybuilder who competed at a lot of the same shows as me. We became casual friends after a few encounters and quickly became lovers. He was gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. He was tall, muscular, handsome as a movie star and gentle as a can be. We made love constantly.”

“How long were you in a relationship with him?”

“A long time. About eleven years. He’s the father of my third child.”

“Were you close to marrying him?”

“Very close. We were briefly engaged, before I caught him with another woman. His ex. Apparently, he hadn’t completely gotten over her. That was eleven years down the drain.”

“But you had a child with him.”

“True, so I suppose there were benefits. But he was a beautiful man, even though he broke my heart.”

I quickly change the subject.

“So…he was a good lover?”

“Yes! He was obviously beautifully built, but even more impressive was his penis. God, it was gorgeous. That penis was a work of art.”

“How big was it?”

“We measured him one time. Fully erect, he was seven and a half inches long.”

Seven and a half inches long? Holy shit!!!

“That’s…big. Very big. I’m not nearly as big.”

Ironically, it was at this moment that my erection returned. Right on schedule. Cindi sees it and strokes it tenderly. What was she thinking as she stroked my small penis? Was she longing for the days when Jake was ramming his mammoth manhood into her?

“Don’t worry about that. You’re fine. Just fine.”

“How do you know? We haven’t had sex yet.”

Cindi kisses me on the lips and cups my face. She looks directly into my eyes.

“Darling, don’t compare yourself to others. Ever. You’re a beautiful man, regardless of how you measure up to other guys. Size isn’t the only thing that’s important during sex.”

Size isn’t the only thing that matters? Was she being serious or was she lying? I had to know.

“What else is important?”

Sensing my insecurity, Cindi kisses my neck (wow, she can kiss me all day and I’d never complain!) before she speaks. Her face expresses concern, respect and oddly, love.

“First, love has to be there. And I don’t necessarily mean love between life partners, or soul mates, or anything like that. Love between two people.”

“Do you sense that type of love between us?”

“Strangely enough, yes I do. I do sense a certain type of love between us. Do you respect me?”

“I have nothing but respect for you.”

“Good. I respect you as well. Do you want me to be happy?”

“Everyone deserves happiness.”

“Great. I want you to be happy too.”

I kiss her lips. She kisses me back. Her left hand strokes my penis as her right hand interlocks with mine. My free hand starts to rub her enormous clitoris.

“In that case, we do love each other. We’re lovers.”

I laugh. “That’s funny considering we just met each other.”

“It is funny, but do you feel that special feeling for me?”

I think about it for a moment. The more I thought about it, the more I understood what she was saying. I do feel a degree of affection for her. Cindi North, a female bodybuilder, is a woman I am falling in love with. How can this be?

“Yes, I feel that special feeling toward you. Lover.”

Maybe it was the way I said the word “lover,” but Cindi looks very touched and a single tear falls down her cheek. I wipe it away and taste it. She tastes sweet.

“I want to make love to you, Cindi,” I whisper in her ear.

Did I just say that? Did that just come out of my mouth? As if she’d just been hit in the stomach with a sledgehammer, Cindi kisses me on the cheek and stands up.

“Not tonight. Not tonight. Maybe next time,” she says.

“Did I do something wrong?” I feebly ask.

“No, not at all. I just think we should hold off on that until later. It’s just that…we’ve done enough for one night. We don’t want to use up all our tricks at once, right?”

I ponder about what she’s telling me. If she’s implying that there’s going to be a “later,” does that mean she likes me? Or at the very least, does this mean she tolerates me and wants to see me again? And why did she just suddenly get up? Is she falling in love with me too? I’m starting to have feelings for her, which makes no sense. We just met. Life can be so complicated!

“Do you want to see me again?” I meekly ask her.

She grins.

“The better question is: do you want to see me again?” she replies.

“Yes, Cindi. No doubt about it. I definitely want to see you again!”

“Good,” Cindi says, getting up and putting on her panties. It’s amazing how such a small piece of clothing can fit around her enormously tight butt. “I have to be at the gym tomorrow at 9 a.m. sharp. My weight training partner will be waiting for me.”

I take the hint and start to put my clothes back on. I marvel at Cindi as she stretches in front of a tall mirror. The marvelous structure of her amazing body will never get old to look at. I could stare at her lovely figure all day if I could. But, alas, my time tonight has come to an end.

“Who’s your training partner?”

“One of my best friends. Her name is Julie.”

“Is she the one who took the picture of you at the beach?”

“You mean the photo I sent you? Yes, she did. How’d you know?”

“A wild guess,” I say, now fully dressed. Cindi puts on a white silk bathrobe and escorts me out the door. My erection subsides.

As we walk down the stairs, I look up at a clock and see it’s nearing 11 p.m. Gee, where did the time go? Cindi takes me back to the living room and turns toward me.

“Did you have a good time?” she asks.

“Despite my, uh, unflattering beginning, yes. I did have a good time. Did you?”

“I had a great time. It’s been a while since a man has pleased me orally.”

“When was the last time a woman pleased you orally?” I ask jokingly.

Cindi laughs and snorts. She’s cute when she snorts, I’ve decided.

“You’d be surprised, Ryan honey. Do you need help finding your way home?”

“Nah, I can figure it out on my own. It’s just a bunch of backtracking.”

Neither of us says anything for a moment. We both know what needs to come next. Finally, she speaks.

“Do you want to come back here next Saturday night? You can come earlier and we could do dinner. I’ll make something nice and healthy.”

“Yes! That sounds great. When would be a good time?”

“Oh, I usually finish my Saturday workout at 4ish, so how about 5 o’clock? You can bring a bottle of wine. That could be your contribution.”

“A bottle of wine. I can handle that. I’ll be here right on the dot.”

“Great. I’ll see you then. Good night, Ryan,” she says, pecking me on the cheek.

I lean over, look up at her (remember, Cindi’s well over six feet tall) and kiss her back on the lips. The kiss lingers for a long time, as if it’s an expression of gratitude more than a way of saying good bye. Our lips come apart and I walk out the door toward my car.

Every single memory of what just transpired during the last few hours rush back to me. I don’t think I’ll be able to fully comprehend what I just experienced until tomorrow morning. I return to my car, start the engine and look back to see Cindi waving at me. I wave back as I drive off toward I-5. My evening with Cindi North has just come to an end.

And what a night it was.

The drive home did not take long. I drive carefully, seeing numerous cop cars on patrol looking for drunks. Finally, I reach my apartment and release a deep sigh as I close the door. I really need a shower. Badly. All that oral sex made me sweat bullets. I probably lost a lot of weight between sweating in anticipation, sweating during our bedroom time and my two ejaculations. Holy shit. Did all that just happen to me?

After turning on the hot water I undress and look down at my penis. My small Asian penis. I look at it not with scorn or embarrassment (as I would in a gym locker room), but with pride. Hell, my little penis was inside a strong, muscular woman’s mouth not too long ago. That’s quite an accomplishment for someone who’s still technically a virgin (I guess you need to do the whole “vaginal penetration” thing before you officially lose your virginity). Tonight, I look at my small penis proudly.

“We did it, little buddy. Maybe not all the way, but it’s a great start. We did it.”

I hop into the shower, clean myself, dry off, brush my teeth and collapse into bed. I must have fallen asleep instantly because I don’t remember much after that.

The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi: Chapter Seven – Oral Fixation

“Orally? You mean…”

“You know exactly what I mean,” Cindi says with a wicked grin on her face. She extends her hand toward me and lightly strokes my cheek.

I grab her hips and feel my way up and down her beautiful, bulky body. Cindi escorts us to the bed and sits us down. I inch my way closer to her, with the hesitation of a naïve child approaching a wild animal. She then spreads her legs wide and reveals her enlarged, dark brown genitalia. Completely hairless. Her vaginal lips look hot, moist, inviting and sensitive to the touch. I’ve already talked about her massive clitoris that resembles a small penis. Her clitoris is standing at attention, ready to be pleased. Dear God! Can a woman’s labia really be that big?

“Shave much down there?” I shyly ask.

“No. Waxed. Every other week.”

“Uh huh,” I respond unintelligently.

I lick my lips in anticipation of giving a woman oral sex for the first time. Hell, I’m doing a lot of things for the first time tonight! I’ve never come on a woman’s face before…

“What are you waiting for? Please me,” she commands.

Knowing this is my cue to begin; I get down on my stomach and stick my face right into her sex. Up close and personal, she looks gorgeous down there. Absolutely gorgeous.

Time to go in for the kill, Ryan!

Slowly I wrap my lips around Cindi’s clitoris and tease the tip of it with my tongue. My mind still cannot comprehend the size of her clit. Her womanhood, without a doubt, resembles a tiny manhood. I wonder, have steroids have affected its sensitivity?

I hear her moan quietly in delight. I think that answers my question.

Not knowing what to do next, I improvise by sucking her clitoris like I’m sucking liquid out of a juice box. I open my mouth and stick out my tongue to lap her labia. It feels hard like a baseball glove. Cindi’s legs squirm, making me almost fall off the bed. Not wanting to deprive her from her ecstasy, my tongue explores the inside of her vagina. This is the first time I’ve ever been inside a woman!!!

Her vaginal juices taste bitter, but not in a bad way. I can’t describe to you what it tastes like. There are certain experiences in life that cannot be put into words. This is one of them.

“I like that,” Cindi dreamily tells me.

She likes it? How much does she like it? Enough for me to continue what I’m doing? I think I’ll stroke her labia a little longer.

My tongue covers her entire inner and outer labia like I’m eating an ice cream cone. So this is why they call it “eating out.” I’ve only seen this sort of thing done in porn. I hope all those hours watching free online porn have properly “trained” me for this moment.

Cindi’s legs aren’t squirming like they were. Maybe I should go back to her clitoris. I return to her massive clit by pressing against it with my entire tongue. A deep groan tears from her throat the moment this happens. I think this is a movement I should keep doing!

Her breathing increases in both volume and intensity as I continue to tease her clitoris with my mouth. Sucking, licking and pressing with my entire mouth, I can sense the tension building up inside of her. She struggles to control her body. Here I am, in total domination over this powerful female bodybuilder. She is weakened by my tongue.

I can get used to this!

I increase the pace of my licking as Cindi’s orgasm begins to build toward its inevitable peak. It’s going to be a powerful one, no doubt about it. Her moans grow louder as she reaches the point of no return.

“Ahhhhgggggg!!!!!!” she screams in delight.

Her climax is potent. I feel her vaginal walls contract powerfully. Cindi’s heavy breathing stops as she enjoys her orgasm. Finally, her contractions subside and she is left breathing deeply with contentment.

My lips wet from her juices, I lap them with my tired tongue and get on my knees to look at Cindi. Her eyes are closed, smiling with childish delight. She looks like she just won the lottery. I look down and see my penis is hard as a rock.

“Can I kiss you?” I ask.

“Do it.”

Our lips join together as my manhood lies across her abdominal muscles. I swear I can actually feel her six-pack (or is it eight-pack?) against my penis.

We come apart and stare into each other’s eyes.

“Thank you,” Cindi sincerely says.

“You’re welcome,” I sincerely reply back.

Our eyes meet for what seems like an eternity. She may not be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, but in this moment, she looks very pretty. Nobody might agree with me, but when she smiles, Cindi can be very pretty.

“I want to return the favor.”

“You mean, you want to…”

“Yes. To you. I masturbate a lot, but nothing beats the feel of a real person pleasuring you. I want to please you now.”

Cindi gets up and out of the bed. Her muscles appear more relaxed and less tense. She looks at the condom sitting on her dresser drawer. I know what she’s thinking.

“Should we use it?” she asks.

“Would it make you feel safer if we did?”

“Not necessarily. I trust you.”

Trust. That’s a dangerous thing to have for a stranger you just met.

“You trust me? Thank you,” I say.

“You’re welcome. I won’t use the condom. Not tonight. Maybe later when we make love for real.”

Cindi reaches over and picks me up like a mother holding her baby. I feel powerless in her strong arms. She kisses me and lays me down on the bed with my back resting comfortably against her pillows. Taking my former position, Cindi spreads my legs and stares down my erect penis. Will I last longer than I did last time? I sure hope so.

Gently, Cindi grabs the base of my penis and strokes up and down my shaft. Memories of what happened the last time she did this start to flood back.

“Let’s see how long you last this time,” she teases.

“You better get some Kleenex ready just in case.”

Cindi giggles at this remark.

“I have a feeling you’re going to be just fine, lover.”

And just like that, Cindi takes my entire manhood in her mouth and closes her lips around me. I start to squirm just like she did when I covered my mouth around her clit. What comes around goes around, as they say.

She experiments with a few tongue lashes against the head of my penis which cause me to groan in delight. Cindi is absolutely right. I’ve masturbated plenty of times in my life, but nothing beats the feeling of a real woman stimulating you.

As she continues to please my penis, I think at this moment I’ve officially lasted longer than I did before. Cindi’s mouth moves up and down my shaft in a slow, sensual manner. She is in no rush to bring me to climax. I am also in no rush to reach my climax.

I have no choice but to close my eyes and experience every sensual moment like it will be my last. The feel of her mouth covering my manhood is divine. All the insecurities I have about my penis size dissipate as her tongue sweeps across my manhood’s sensitive tip. Her gentle tickling of my scrotum with her fingers makes me to let out another loud moan.

With her free hand, Cindi brushes her other fingers across my lips. I take her middle finger inside my mouth and suck it with the same force she is sucking my manhood. The fact that my dainty Asian penis is being sucked by a powerful female bodybuilder is a realization that has not fully sunk in yet.

My orgasm builds and I sense my climax is not far off. Cindi must sense the same thing because she immediately stops sucking and kisses up my shaft from the bottom up. When she reaches the tip, she stops and looks at me.

“I want you to come on my stomach. Can you do that?”

“You want me to come on your abs?”

“Yes, my abs. Are you okay with that?”

The luxurious pleasure I was experiencing is causing me to barely comprehend what she’s saying. If she’s making a specific sexual request, I can’t say “no” to her.

“Sure. I’m okay with anything.”

“Good. You’re close to the end, right?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m very close.”

“You know what? I’m okay with you calling me ma’am. It’s kind of a turn-on.”

Before I can respond, Cindi grabs my shoulders and hauls my body upright to a kneeling position. Experiencing her brute strength is almost enough to make me come right then and there. She lies on her back and wraps her dominating legs around my waist.

“Oh, Cindi…” I wail to her.

Feeding off my desire and my pure lust for her, Cindi grips my penis and strokes it. I feel the anticipation of my climax building to a wild frenzy. I’ve never felt pleasure like this before in my life. The nerve endings in my manhood explode with every lingering stroke of her mighty hand.

I look down and see her impeccably chiseled eight-pack abs flexing in front of me. Every individual abdominal muscle on her tummy is bulging with eagerness of receiving my seed.

“Come for me, Ryan. Come for me!” Cindi yells passionately.

With one last hard stroke, I finally come and release several powerful squirts of my hot semen onto her eight-pack abs. Shivers roll down my spine as Cindi continues to grip my penis until every last drop spurts out. I look at her tummy and see every inch of her perfect abs is covered in my seed.

“Rub it in.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Rub it in!”

I reach down with both hands and massage my semen into her skin. It forms a hard and sticky shell over her statuesque abs. I fall onto my back the moment she releases my softened penis from her grip.

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” she says.

“I should be thanking you! That was amazing. It felt divine.”

“You weren’t too bad yourself. I think you released more this time around. You covered my entire abs. Good job, Ryan.”

“You’re welcome,” I murmur breathlessly.

Cindi gets up off the bed and goes for the bathroom to wash my semen off her body for the second time tonight. But this time it’s expected. As she wets a paper towel and washes her midsection, I look at my little penis and smile at it triumphantly.

“Looks like we redeemed ourselves, buddy,” I utter under my breath to my manhood.

“What was that, darling?” Cindi asks from the bathroom.

“Nothing. I was just talking to myself.”

“I think I overheard what you said. Were you talking to your penis?”

Oh great. Caught! Well, I better fess up and admit to it.

“Yeah, I was talking to it. I was saying that I think we redeemed ourselves.”

“You did. You definitely lasted longer than the first time. And I’ll have to admit; usually I don’t like giving oral sex. But I had a lot of fun with you.”

“Really? What made it more fun with me?” I casually ask, still basking in the glow of the moment.

“Hm. I’d rather not say. You might not like it.”

“Go ahead. Tell me. You said you enjoyed giving me oral. I want to know why.”

Cindi exits the bathroom and walks straight to me. She sits down on the bed and lightly strokes my soft manhood.

“To be honest, usually I hate giving oral because it’s too much to put in my mouth. But with you…um, you…”

Oh shit. I think I know where she’s getting at!

“You mean, I’m small down there, so you were able to fit it all into your mouth,” I chime in.

There is a very long and awkward pause.

“Yes,” Cindi says.

Fuck.

25 Things About My Sexuality

On March 24, 2012 yours truly was featured on the blog 25 Things About My Sexuality.

25 Things About My Sexuality is a blog where people anonymously submit 25 facts about their sexuality, much like that Facebook trend a few years back when people wrote notes expressing 25 (or 15 or 16, depending on how you first heard of this trend) interesting facts about themselves.

People are very open about themselves on this blog, mostly because talking about one’s own sexuality can be very liberating and because of the blanket of anonymity that goes with it. Nobody knows your name or where you live. What they do know about you is everything from your sexual orientation to how you lost your virginity to what kinds of dildos you prefer. Reading through these posts can be very enlightening, completely voyeuristic, a bit disturbing and sometimes hilarious.

I submitted my 25 facts to the blog’s editor and you can read them here or down below. You will definitely see how many similarities I share with my alter-ego, Ryan Takahashi. Enjoy!

1. I am a 25 year old heterosexual Japanese American man.

2. I am single and have never had a girlfriend. I reside in the Pacific Northwest and could very well be a victim of the infamous “Seattle freeze” syndrome where people in this city have a difficult time making friends. Maybe it’s the rain that brings us all down emotionally.

3. I am a virgin (laugh all you want!).

4. Please don’t get the image in your mind that I’m a hopeless loser who can’t talk to women. I can talk to women and have plenty female friends. I can be a bit shy and introverted at times, but the major reason why I’ve never had sex before is due to Item #4.

5. I grew up in a conservative Christian household. My mom is a moderate but my dad is definitely on the right side of the religious spectrum. I love them both and would never trade them for different parents. I grew up in the church believing sex outside of marriage is a sin that can lead to damnation in Hell. Though I’m a Protestant, I definitely have that “Catholic guilt” complex going on in my life even as an adult. I still go to church (I go to my mom’s church), but I don’t go as often as I did when I was a child. I still believe in God, even though I tend to question the church’s teachings.

6. I went to a private Christian university and received a great education there. I’m definitely a proud alumnus. But as expected, casual sex was not something that happened openly on my campus. Yes, non-marital sex does happen there, but it isn’t nearly as prevalent as it is on other campuses across America.

7. A smaller reason why I am still a virgin, outside of religious guilt, is my ethnicity. I’m Asian. And we all know the stereotype associated with Asian men: They all have small penises. It’s a stereotype that I openly laugh at and joke about in public (when I’m with friends, of course), but it’s a stereotype that deeply hurts me inside. The “Asian Men Have Baby Penises” stereotype goes deeper than just external anatomy. It desexualizes Asian men and places us in the category of being “less than a man” or “not a real man.” This social emasculation gives me a somewhat low self-esteem in the romance/sex department. I need to work on changing that.

8. Though there are plenty of exceptions, I find in my life that white Caucasian women are far less likely to date an Asian man than a man of any other race. Though interracial relationships are more common today than it used to be, the white woman/Asian man dynamic is still a very rare occurrence.

9. Related to Item #6 (this is more of a long essay than a list of 25 Things!), I find women of all colors to be beautiful. White, black, brown, red, yellow or mixed, women are unbelievably beautiful creatures. While most of my crushes have been on young Asian women (my current crush is a young lady who is half Japanese and half white), a gorgeous woman of any race or ethnicity will make my head turn. While I personally understand why some people prefer one race over the other, my sexual attraction is colorblind.

10. While my sexual attraction is colorblind, my preference in relationships is not. For reasons I cannot explain, I’d prefer to settle down with an Asian woman than a woman of any other color. Does this make me racist or tribalist? Perhaps. This unexplainable preference slightly bothers me.

11. Returning to the subject of Asian men and penis size, I am somewhat of a gym rat and spend anywhere between 6 to 8 hours at the gym per week working out. I mostly lift weights and do light cardio and stretching. While I don’t look anything like a bodybuilder or a professional athlete by any stretch of the imagination (I love watching football and baseball, but playing sports has never been my strength), I think I look fairly good naked. But my major insecurity when naked is that little penis hanging between my legs.

12. Is my penis really small? Truthfully, probably not. But that belief is so ingrained in my psyche that I believe it is. There’s an old joke that guys who have small penises drive large trucks and SUVs to compensate. Because I drive a medium-sized sedan, I compensate by building muscles at the gym. My toned body is my way of compensating. I have no idea if it works.

13. I’ve come to define my fear of having a small penis as “Small Penis Syndrome.” Those who suffer from SPS don’t necessarily have a small penis; they just think they do. SPS is all psychological and has little to do with reality.

14. Speaking of going to the gym, in the locker room I do what every guy does: I do research to see how I “measure” up. As far as my empirical observations go, flaccid penises come in all shapes and sizes. What really matters is the size of an erect penis, which of course no one has in a locker room. That would be awkward. But my casual observations lean toward Asian guys tending to have smaller endowments than our white, black and Latino peers. Is it true that black men have larger penises? Maybe. Some of the black guys that work out at my gym seem to be very well endowed.

15. I have two main fetishes that I don’t consider to be that odd: older women and female bodybuilders.

16. Being attracted to older women is pretty normal and has been explained many times. Older women are seen as more experienced, in need of sexual liberation (or awakening), it’s taboo, it’s looked down upon by society at large, etc. I won’t go into much detail about this.

17. Attraction toward female bodybuilders is a little less common but still not too far out there. I love women with large muscles. I find them incredibly sexy. I don’t find skinny, bony women to be that attractive. A thick, strong woman with big, bulging muscles is a major turn-on. Though I’ve never personally met an FBB, I’ve seen toned, athletic women at the gym. And trust me, they make it difficult to concentrate on my workout.

18. My idea of heaven on Earth would be to spend the night with a female bodybuilder. Just Google Lisa Cross, Karen Zaremba, Lynn McCrossin, Yvette Bova, Victoria Dominguez or Denise Masino to get an idea of what I’m talking about.

19. I watch porn occasionally, but what really turns me on is reading sexy scenes from romance books. Romance books written by women are preferable. One chapter out of a Linda Howard novel can turn me on more than watching an hour of mind-numbing predictable porn. I find most porn to be boring or disgusting.

20. I sometimes watch porn to see how well-endowed the male performers are. Some are very large, others appear more normal. Because I’m not attracted to men, I have no idea what sizes of penises straight women and gay men prefer to see in their porn.

21. I think there should be more Asian men doing porn, which is odd considering I don’t consider doing porn to be that noble of a profession. The more we see Asian men as sexual beings, the better society will become (and the dating pool for me!).

22. When I do watch or look at porn, I usually search for muscular women. Whether it’s two FBBs doing a lesbian scene, an FBB going solo or an FBB having sex with a man or fellow male bodybuilder, I prefer to see a muscular woman in action than a skinny, surgery-enhanced girl with fake breasts.

23. Speaking of which, I am not terribly crazy about breasts. I find a woman with small breasts to be more beautiful than a woman with large melons on her chest. And I consider myself to be a leg guy. A great pair of legs will make me go crazy. If the stereotype is that Asian men have small penises, there’s also the hurtful stereotype that Asian women have small breasts. I would imagine this stereotype would hurt them just as much as the small penis stereotype hurts me.

24. I masturbate about 4 to 5 times a week. Since I was 12, I’ve masturbated using the same method: I lay face-down naked in my bed and rub my penis against the mattress till climax. Essentially, this simulates missionary sex. Never once have I manually stimulated myself to orgasm, which is how we normally picture male masturbation.

25. And now, a factoid you’ve all been waiting for: When erect, my penis is 5.5 inches long and 4.75 inches in circumference. There you go. Is that small? Or normal? Or in between? I’ll let you decide.

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