The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi

The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi: Chapter Four – Meeting Cindi

I’m racing up I-5 so fast I’m afraid I’m going to get pulled over by a cop. Right now I’m driving in the far left lane (the furthest left lane is for carpools) doing 75 mph. I should probably slow down. The police are usually out in droves on Saturday nights.

Grace Gonzalez. I had no idea she went by a different name. I’ve seen about a half dozen videos of her online. She only posts videos showing her working out and displaying feats of strength. Nothing pornographic in nature. A lot of FBBs also work in porn because bodybuilding isn’t a terribly lucrative enterprise. But trust me; there will always be horny guys like me who want to see their beautiful bodies in “action.”

It’s a little unusual for a woman to want to meet an unknown man alone at her house. Despite her freakish strength, this doesn’t seem very safe. I could be a serial killer. Or a rapist.

Hell, she could be the serial killer.

Oh shit.

Nah, that can’t be true. She’s legit. I’ve seen her work. She’s definitely an athlete, not a psychotic killer.

I exit I-5 and head west toward her home. Fifteen minutes later I’m in a quiet residential neighborhood filled with upper middle class homes. How much do bodybuilders get paid? I suppose that depends on how much money they win competing in contests.

Because it’s so dark I slowly peer to my left to try to catch her house number. I think I spot it and I pull over to the side of the road and park. My heart is thumping at least a thousand beats per minute. I feel sweat dripping down my back. I think my fingers are shaking. I’m surprised I made it here without crashing into a light post first.

I step out of my car and look closely at a modest two story off-white (at least I think the house is off-white. It’s difficult to say for sure in these conditions) house surrounded by a chain link fence, several green hedges and a tall oak tree in the front lawn. I don’t see any guard dogs anywhere. The house number matches the address she gave me. I take a deep breath and approach the front door.

As I step on her porch I see a handwritten note taped to the door. It reads:

Dear Ryan,

If you’re reading this message I can assume you found my house. Right now I’m sitting at a coffee shop just four blocks away from here. It’s called Anytime Espresso and it’s right down this street heading east. I look forward to seeing you there.

Kisses,

Cindi.

Of course! She would never meet me alone at her house. She would much rather meet me in a public setting. I follow her directions and briskly approach a small business area adjacent to the residential homes. Sure enough, there is an establishment called Anytime Espresso. I’m guessing this place gets its name because it’s open 24/7. But I could be wrong.

What I hope I’m not wrong about is Cindi being here. I didn’t come all this way just to be stood up. Why did she originally tell me to meet her at her home when all along she intended to meet me in a public place? Did she decide to meet me here at the last minute? Or is this going to lead to some scavenger hunt where I have to snoop all over Everett looking for this woman?

Before I can finish asking myself more useless and incoherent questions, I open the door and look around. My blood pressure must be through the roof.

I see a barista sitting at the counter looking at her phone. She peers up and sees me standing there like an idiot.

“Welcome. What can I get you?”

“Hi. I’m meeting someone. Did you—”

“She’s in the back. Over there.”

She points to a door that leads to a separate room. I casually nod to her and head toward my destiny. She continues to read whatever is on her phone.

Every step makes my knees shake. My breathing turns heavy. I can now feel the sweat dripping down my legs. If Cindi is actually in this building, I think I’m going to faint.

Standing right in front of a closed wooden door, I slowly extend my right hand and grab the doorknob. It feels cold, like the ominous opening to a haunted mansion. I twist the knob and push the door open. It creaks noisily. I take a deep breath, wipe a drip of sweat off my cheek and walk in.

I look around.

I see her.

She’s sitting at a small table in the far left corner sipping an espresso and reading a fitness magazine.

Cindi North.

The Woman, the Myth, the Legend.

She looks up and sees me standing there like a horny bastard.

“Hello there. Ryan, I presume?”

“Yes. That’s me. Cindi, right?”

“Yeah. Come on over. Have a seat. Do you want anything?”

Besides the obvious?

“No thank you. I’m not thirsty.”

I creep over to her table and give her a look over.

Oh. My. God.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

Look at this woman’s body. I mean, look at her! (I realize you can’t see her, but let me tell you, she has a body that could stop the space-time continuum)

She’s an eye-popping specimen. Wearing tight blue jeans that show off her tree stump thighs and a short sleeved low-cut blouse that shamelessly exposes her massive biceps, Cindi is everything I dreamed she would be. Ripped, tanned, ridiculously muscular and wearing clothing that intentionally flaunts her gargantuan figure, Cindi is without a doubt the real deal. I feel my penis harden. I’m surprised it isn’t hard already.

She stands up and shakes my hand. Her grip is firm. I can feel her hard, callused fingers as they wrap around my soft fingers.

“I’m glad to finally meet you in person. I’ve been anxiously waiting for you to show up.”

“Likewise.”

That’s the best I can do? Great.

“Sit down. Let’s talk.”

Wow! She’s tall! I couldn’t tell from her photograph how tall she is, but she definitely looks down at me when we meet face-to-face. I’m a good 5’7”, so she must be at least 6’3” or maybe even 6’4”. She has light brown skin that looks like a very dark tan. And from the looks of it, her skin appears to be as smooth as leather. She speaks with a deep, gravelly voice that I guess is caused by taking steroids. I bet she sings baritone in the choir.

Standing next to her, I’m amazed at how massive she is. Her wide shoulders take up the whole room. Her forearms are as thick as my legs. She looks like she could carry a refrigerator on her back. And let’s not forget about her legs. Holy cow, I’ll bet she could crush a bowling ball between her magnificent thighs.

“Did you find my place alright?”

“Oh, yes. And I obviously found your note.”

“Yes you did. Good job. Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink?”

“I’m very sure. I just want to talk.”

“That’s fine with me. Tell me about yourself, Ryan. Or do you want me to go first?”

“Nah, I can go first. Unless you’re dying to share something with me.”

“Well, I sort of am. You probably want to know why I’m specifically seeking out an Asian guy.”

She’s right. I am dying to know that. But I can’t force her to reveal that yet. It’s too soon. I’ll let that pass and change the subject to something else.

“I do, but let’s not go there yet. I’ll start with myself. My name is Ryan Takahashi. I’m single, I work at a gym doing janitorial work and I desperately want a career change.”

Cindi laughs. Her laugh is deep, melodious and very sexy. I feel my stomach twitch.

“Why do you want a career change? Don’t like mopping up other people’s sweat?”

“That’s certainly part of it, yes. I think I could be doing something better with my life. I want to be a writer. But jobs for professional writers are scarce. Very scarce.”

“Hm. I’ll bet. Try being a professional bodybuilder. There’s very little money in that.”

Should I ask her how she makes a living? Of course not! Talking about money would be a horrible idea. I…uh…wow! I can’t stop staring at her amazing body! She’s so incredibly thick and defined. Every inch of her body is covered in muscle. She must have muscles layered on top of other muscles. God, I just want to lick her arms right now. I want to bury my face in her bulging biceps and-

“Are you going to ask me how I make a living?”

That woke me up from my mini-day dream.

“Oh? Uh, no. You don’t need to answer that. Money might not be the best thing to talk about at this moment.”

“Okay. Fair enough. Why are you into female bodybuilders?”

“Why do you think I’m into female bodybuilders?”

“Ooh, good answer! Let me guess…you’ve probably never met someone like me before, right?”

I nod my head silently.

“There has to be the element of curiosity. I’m guessing you’ve seen a lot of pictures of female bodybuilders, am I right?”

I nod my head silently again.

“Okay, okay. You probably get turned on by looking at women with muscles. Is it that simple?”

“Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner!”

Cindi laughs again. She’s a very pleasant lady. For some reason I get this impression that all FBBs are serious man-hating meatheads who would rather crush your skull than tell a joke. I realize this is an atrocious social stereotype with absolutely no merit whatsoever, but that’s the impression I get. Cindi (or Grace, depending on which name she goes by) is a nice woman. Very nice. I could get used to this.

“Well, if you’re looking for a woman with muscles, look no further. Do you think you’ll ever meet somebody stronger than me?”

“I highly doubt it. You’re stunning, Cindi. Or should I call you Grace?”

A slight smile creeps across her face. There has got to be a story behind this.

“Grace Gonzalez is my professional name. My birth name is Cindi North. I was adopted when I was a baby and I’ve never met my biological parents. I know I’m part Puerto Rican, so I go by Grace Gonzalez to honor that part of my heritage.”

“Have you ever sought to locate your birth parents?”

Cindi’s smile disappears. Oh, shit. I may have asked too personal of a question!

“Yes. But they don’t want to know me. My birth mother was fourteen when she had me. My birth father was in this 40s. As you can expect the circumstances of my birth were not pretty.”

Her father was a pedophile? Was her mother raped? Dear God, this is getting heavy.

“If you don’t want to talk about this, you don’t have to. We can talk about something else if you’d like.”

“That’s okay. I’m not ashamed of my life. What I can’t control I shouldn’t worry about.”

“Hm. Have you ever been married?”

“Yes, twice. I divorced my second husband almost three years ago.”

“Are you looking to remarry?”

“No, I’m looking to have fun. That’s why I put that message on Craigslist.”

“All work and no play makes Cindi a dull girl?”

Cindi chuckles again. If she’s laughing, I must be doing something right. Right?

“Something like that. In addition to having two husbands, I have four kids.”

Holy shit! Four kids? She’s a MILF!!!

“Four kids? How old are they?”

“This might shock you, but I’ve had four kids from four different fathers. I’ll admit, that kind of makes me a whore. I had my first-born daughter when I was sixteen with a boy I knew in high school. My second child, another girl, came when I was eighteen. Her father was a neighborhood boy I grew up with. I had my third child, a son, with my first husband when I was twenty-five. We divorced and I had my fourth child, my third daughter, with my second husband. I was twenty-seven.”

Let me add these things in my head. According to her bio, she’s 48-years-old, which means her eldest daughter is 32, her second oldest is 30, her son is 23, and her youngest daughter is 21. Wow. I’m younger than at least two of her children. Damn!

“That’s quite a life. I have no kids. Nor have I ever been married.”

“Do you plan on getting married?”

“Sure, but not yet. I need to meet the right girl first.”

“Do you think that girl could be me?”

I stare at her in disbelief. I can’t think of a good come-back.

“I’m kidding, Ryan! I know you’re not looking for a serious relationship with me. You’re looking to fuck.”

That slightly startled me. Somehow, when she said the word “fuck,” it hit me on a gut level that I’m going to have sex with this woman in a short while. Wow! That realization is enough to give my already erected penis an additional jolt.

“That’s rather crass, but yes.”

“Can I ask you another question?”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“Are you a virgin?”

I’m stunned again. Did she just ask me that? How do I answer? Do I tell her the truth, or do I make up some story about how I’ve had sex with so many girls I’ve lost track?

“I’m, uh, well, I…”

“You are. Just admit it. It’s okay. Don’t be embarrassed.”

She sounds very reassuring and nonjudgmental. Her eyes glow with love like a mother tending her young. How can I not answer her honestly?

“Yes, I am.”

“I knew it! Somehow, I knew it the moment you walked into the room. But that’s okay. We’ll change that. Follow me.”

And with that, Cindi gets up, pushes her chair in, drinks the last of her coffee, puts the magazine back on a bookshelf and walks toward the exit.

“You seem harmless enough, Ryan. Let’s go to my place.”

“Okay.”

That last line is delivered weakly and almost to myself. Is this real? Is she inviting me over to her place for sex? Well, that shouldn’t be too surprising, considering the fact she posted a sexual ad on Craigslist in the first place. But it’s getting real! Like, really real! I’m about to have sex with a strong, muscular female bodybuilder!

If this is all a dream, I’m going to murder someone.

The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi: Chapter Three – Saturday Night Gmail Chat

6:30 p.m.

Tick, tick, tick…

6:31 p.m.

Tick, tick, tick…

6:32 p.m.

Tick, tick, tick…

6:33 p.m.

Arg! When will it be 8 o’clock? The wait is killing me!

Sigh. I really need to take a chill pill. Or down a shot of whiskey. I need to do something to calm my nerves. I can’t remember the last time I’ve ever anticipated something quite like this. Not even the release of Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace as an eagerly geeky 12-year-old boy can top this. Yeah, that about sums it up.

So…where is that bottle of scotch?

Let’s hope, unlike Episode I, this chat with Cindi isn’t a colossal disappointment. I still need to keep in mind that Cindi might not even be a real person. It’s possible “she” could be a Craigslist scammer trying to pry money out of my female muscle-obsessed hands.

God, I hope not!

The more I look at her picture the more I fall in love with her. Wow, did I just use the word “love?” How can I love somebody I’ve never met? Can you fall in love with someone when a single e-mail exchange is the total extent of your relationship?

I also need to remember that even if she is real, she doesn’t appear to be looking for a long-term relationship. She wants a “young Asian male for a night of NSA sex,” to quote her Craigslist ad. Does she want to “test ride” me to see if I fit her standards? What standards is she using? Attractiveness? Sexual performance? Intelligence? All of the above? None of the above?

6:45 p.m.

Good. Time is moving.

Maybe I should go on Gmail right now and see if she’s on. Even though she said 8 o’clock, if she sees we’re on at the same time, maybe she’ll want to chat earlier. Let’s give it a try.

I log in to my Gmail account and check out who’s active. So far, not a whole lot. I see Annie Nakamura is on. She’s an old friend who’s essentially the female version of myself. We’re the same age and grew up together. We went to the same daycare, church, school and college. We’ve gone on a few dates before but we never crossed that threshold into “boyfriend/girlfriend.” Maybe it’s because we’re practically brother and sister. It feels weird dating someone you’ve known your whole life.

I don’t know for sure, but I’m going to assume Annie is a virgin like me. She’s never had a boyfriend, much like I’ve never had a girlfriend. She’s quiet, moderately cute, not terribly outspoken and spends way too much time practicing the piano. She’s a wizard at the piano. You should have listened to her senior recital. I’m not much of a music guy, but it blew me and everybody in attendance away. That girl can play.

Like a lot of Japanese girls, Annie is short, petite and has very small breasts. Her breasts are so small, I don’t even know if she wears a bra. I’ve known her all her life and I can never recall a “blossoming” period. But I don’t count that against her. She’s sort of cute and very smart and kind-hearted. She’ll make some guy very happy someday. But not me.

I’ve often thought about the possibility of dating her. This is sort of an awkward subject for us. Neither of us has ever said we want to enter into a relationship. However, neither of us has ever said we don’t want to enter into a relationship. It’s a topic we keep quiet so it doesn’t affect our friendship. Maybe it’s best we stay friends.

But am I “friend-zoning” her? Does she want to be boyfriend/girlfriend but she’s too timid to ask me? Annie is not the type of person who will open up about her feelings. Don’t get me wrong, she’s not a boring person, but she just doesn’t wear her emotions on her sleeves.

Heck, this should tell you something about us. Here it is, a Saturday night, and the two of us are on Gmail chat instead of socializing with friends. What sucks is that she lives in Tacoma and I live in Seattle so we don’t get to see each other very often. Maybe if we lived closer we’d be able to explore our relationship further. But that doesn’t appear to be happening any time soon.

As usual, neither of us wants to chat. Oh, Annie just left. Now it’s just me.

6:53 p.m.

Can time move any slower?

It still perplexes me that Cindi North is nowhere to be found on search engines. I know some people do everything possible to make themselves invisible. Some go as far as to hire a web expert. But why would Cindi do such a thing? Is she a fugitive from the law?

I then look at my Gmail chat list and see Cindi North has just checked in! Holy crap! She’s on now! What do I do? Do I do nothing? Or should I initiate the contact? In her e-mail message she never says who is expected to initiate the conversation. Should I message her and ask if she’s available to chat? Or would that come off as being desperate? Or is this a test to see if I’d message her first, which would tell her I’m earnest in my interest in her? I hate mind games. Or maybe this isn’t a mind game at all…

Suddenly a chat box pops up from a “Cindi North.”

Well, that puts an end to all that speculation.

Her message reads “Ryan! Do you want to talk now?”

I sure do! I respond with “Yes! I’m free to talk now.”

I wait a few seconds which seem like hours. Finally, she writes “Great! How are you doing?”

Sweeeeeeeeeeeeeet! She wants to chat now, not an hour from now. Our conversation thread unfolds like this:

Me: I’m doing awesome! How are you?

Cindi: Spectacular! I got a good workout in today.

Me: Me too. Where do you work out?

Cindi: I work out at the Everyday Fitness in Everett. You live in Seattle, right?

Me: Yes, I do.

(I instantly open a new screen and Google “Everyday Fitness” in Everett. The place is real, apparently. It’s a small chain with five locations across western Washington and one randomly in Kentucky. I click on their company website to see if they have any photos of famous clients. Gyms that are frequented by professional bodybuilders almost always post photos of them to show they’re a legit place to be.)

Cindi: I like your photo. We should meet up. You okay with that?

Me: I’m very okay with that. Who are you, exactly?

Cindi: I’m Cindi.

Me: I know that. But are you a real bodybuilder?

Cindi: I am. Do you think I’m lying?

Me: I Googled you and nothing came up.

(As I type this, I see there are no photos of famous patrons. In fact, there aren’t much photos of anything. This website sucks.)

Cindi: Cindi North is my birth name. But when I work I use a different name.

(Hm. She’s toying with me. She speaks in short, direct sentences and prods me to ask further questions. This doesn’t smell right.)

Me: I’m not saying you’re a liar. I just think it’s weird for someone not to have an online presence these days.

Me: You can’t blame me for doing research, huh? 😉

(There is a long pause. Finally she begins to type again.)

Cindi: My bodybuilding name is Grace Gonzalez.

(Holy shit! Grace Gonzalez? I recognize her! She’s put up some crazy awesome YouTube videos showing her deadlifting 500 pounds and doing some freakish Turkish Getups. I close the Everyday Fitness website and Google Grace Gonzalez. Sure enough, she has a much larger online presence. I enter her personal website and read her biography.)

Me: Wow! You’re really Grace Gonzalez?

Cindi: Yes! That’s me. Cindi North is the name my adopted parents gave me. I never knew my biological parents but I always knew I had some Puerto Rican blood in me. I go by Grace Gonzalez to honor my heritage.

(According to her website, Grace “was born and raised in Los Angeles, California and has been currently living in the Pacific Northwest for the past two years.”)

Me: That’s so cool. I was a little concerned when I researched “Cindi North” and nothing came up. 🙂

Cindi: No problem. LOL

Cindi: If you didn’t look me up, I’d be worried.

Cindi: Do you like strong women?

(Goodness. She won’t let me respond fast enough.)

Me: I love strong women. I especially love muscular women like you.

Cindi: Have you ever met a woman as strong as me?

Me: No, ma’am. I’ve never met an FBB before.

Cindi: It looks like you’re interested. I’m looking for NSA sex, understand?

Me: Yes.

Cindi: I’m not looking for a relationship.

Me: I know.

Cindi: Are you looking for a relationship?

Me: I’m not looking for anything that’s beyond my reach.

(Pause)

Cindi: Smart answer. I like you already. You know your boundaries. I like that in a man.

(She likes that in a man? So she’s interested in men, huh? Her bio claims that she’s “Interested in: Women.” Is she a true lesbian or is she bisexual? Maybe she lies on her website in order to avoid horny muscle-loving men like me!)

Me: You use proper grammar and punctuation when chatting. I like that in a woman.

Cindi: LOL! You’re funny. Do you approve of “LOL?”

Me: Traditionally, no. But I’ll make an exception in your case.

(There is a very long pause. I feel a drip of sweat roll off my cheek.)

Cindi: Let’s meet at my house. I live in north Everett. Do you want to visit tonight?

(My heart stops. She wants to meet me at her house? TONIGHT??????)

Me: I’d love to.

Cindi: Great! Make sure to bring protection!

(I can supply condoms, no problem. Holy fuck. I almost never swear, but this merits an f-bomb. She really wants to meet me at her house right now?)

Cindi gives me her home address and I type it into Google Maps like a madman. She wishes me “good luck” and says I can come over as soon as possible. This shit is getting real, folks! She then leaves Gmail chat. I stare at the computer monitor in still silence.

So…I have her address, her real name, her fake name and that’s about it. I can spend time Googling “Grace Gonzalez,” but I don’t have time for that! I recognize her, so that should be enough to guarantee my safety. Now is the time for me to live out my dream.

I feel my penis harden as I think about having sex with her. Wow! I’m about to make love to an FBB! I want to shout this at the top of my lungs, but that would not go over well with the other people in my apartment building. I have better things to do than to cause a disturbance.

I grab my box of condoms, look in the mirror, inspect my appearance, put on my coat, grab my car keys and head out the door.

The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi: Chapter Two – Lazy Saturday Afternoon Workout

I woke up Saturday morning with a massive erection that refused to go away. All throughout breakfast my penis remained as hard as a rock. What a way to begin a lazy Saturday.

All I could think about was her. Cindi North. Cindi North. Beautiful and gorgeous Cindi North.

Cindi North.

Who is this woman? I’ve never heard of her. I thought I was familiar with all the major FBBs, especially the ones who are local. When I finally rolled out of bed at 10:30 a.m., I switched on my computer and Googled her.

And what did I find? Nothing much.

There’s a Cindi North who’s a real estate agent in Tennessee. I don’t think it’s her. There’s a couple in Texas who recently gave birth to a daughter named Cindi North. That’s definitely not her. There are women named Cindy North, but none are even close to being an FBB (the one who comes closest is a Zumba instructor in San Diego). This does not sit right with me. Female bodybuilders are usually very searchable. I then tried Bing and Yahoo and still got the same results. What if I searched for her directly on bodybuilding websites?

Twenty minutes later, I still got nothing. Who is this woman? Is she even real? She has to be real. I know she’s real.

“Damn. Maybe I’m being delusional. She might not be real,” I say to myself.

I can’t deny the possibility that I’m being had by some jerk. Anyone can steal the image of an anonymous FBB and pretend it’s them. Anyone who’s even remotely computer literate can pose as someone else. Dammit! I’m being duped by some asshole on Craigslist!!!

This realization makes me both angry and devastated. I want to kick something and then bawl my eyes out.

Bawl my eyes out? Over someone who’s not even real? Shit, I’m getting desperate. This is what happens when you’re a 20-something virgin.

Huh? Have I not mentioned this yet? Yes, laugh all you want. I’m a virgin. A virgin. I’ve never had sex. My penis has never been inside a woman. That kind of virgin. I’m 23-years-old. Go ahead! Laugh. I’ll wait while you get it out of your system.

*Pause*

Okay, let’s resume.

Suddenly, it hit me. Maybe, just maybe, her real name is Cindi North but professionally she goes by something else. Of course! Plenty of female bodybuilders go by different names when they compete. She probably has a completely different identity that’s separate from “Cindi North.” That’s not outside the realm of possibility.

I hope that’s it. That has to be it. If not, I’m going to be disappointed all over again.

As I mentioned earlier, this is a dream come true. But a dream can shatter in an instant. As they say, if it’s too good to be true, it usually is. I hope this is an exception.

Now, on to video games.

I attempt to distract myself with Halo 3 and Call of Duty, but all I could see on the screen is her. I watch a few episodes of Family Guy. It helps temporarily, but I still can not get her out of my mind. I eat some leftover spaghetti and pack my gym bag. I think I should get a good workout in before dinner. That should prepare me for my chat tonight at 8 p.m.

To help me get in the mood for working out, I reopen Cindi’s picture and stare at it for a good two minutes.

Look at her body. Her thighs could crush a bowling ball. Her shoulders could lift a truck. Her abs look so delicious. I want this woman so badly!

Cindi North. Cindi North. Cindi North. Cindi North. Cindi North…

Great. My erection has returned. Let’s hope it disappears before I have to take off my pants.

I work out at Wellford Fitness Center, a local family-owned gym that’s been in existence for nearly half a century. The owner, Thomas Wellford, inherited the business from his mother, Eliza Wellford, a former Olympic bronze medalist weightlifter. Thomas is a nice man and hired me as a part-time janitor (I work early mornings Monday through Friday) after I started working out there a year ago. One perk from working at WFC is that I get to exercise there for free. I can even take all the Yoga and Zumba classes at no charge. This is something usually reserved for Gold Level members.

I can walk to the gym because it’s only six blocks away from my apartment. Onward!

Three minutes later, I stroll through the front doors and say hi to Michelle, the cute receptionist/personal trainer who usually mans the front desk on Saturdays.

“Hi Michelle.”

“Hey Ryan. What are you doing today? Legs? Arms?” she asks as she scans my membership card.

“Neither. Shoulders and chest,” I inform her as she hands the card back to me.

“My mistake. It’s lighter than usual today for some reason.”

“There’s a big game today. The Huskies are playing USC. The winner is guaranteed a spot in the Rose Bowl.”

“Oh. Who’s going to win?”

“Well, they don’t play until later today. I think the Trojans are going to win. Even though the game’s here, they have a more talented team.”

“We’ll definitely turn it on when the game starts. Enjoy your workout.”

“Thanks, Michelle.”

Michelle waves to me and immediately helps the next person in line, just as a professional should. She’s 36-years-old but looks 20. Michelle has beach blonde hair, large perky breasts and a very toned body you cannot help but stare at lustfully. Michelle is the type of person every woman hates. She’s gorgeous, looks 15 years younger than she actually is, has two children (ages 10 and 8, if my memory serves me correctly) and has a body that makes every man stop dead in his tracks. She recently divorced her husband when she discovered he was having an affair with another woman. I find this perplexing because how on earth can you possibly find a woman sexier than Michelle?

Her ex-husband is a typical musclehead jerk who spends way too much time at the gym (it’s no surprise that they met here) and does nothing but show off. I’ve met him many times and I think he’s the douchebag to end all douchebags. What did Michelle see in him?

Dan (he calls himself “Big Danny”) is definitely your stereotypical asshole who looks like a male model, treats people like garbage, but always keeps getting women. He’s fairly handsome, built like a linebacker, and, from what I’ve seen in the locker room shower, he’s hung like a horse.

Dan is the type of guy who parades around the locker room naked for long periods of time because he wants to show off his body to everybody. In addition to having way too much muscle, his very large penis does nothing to tame his ego. Maybe that’s what Michelle saw in him. A great roll in the hay.

Of course, Michelle would never date me. I’m the boring Asian guy nobody wants to hang out with except for fellow Asians. Michelle always smiles at me but I know she has no intention to do anything with me outside of work. There’s no doubt I can’t compete with Dan in the category of physical beauty.

But enough about that douche. I remember the first time he saw me naked. I saw him glance down at my penis and smile condescendingly. I’ll never forgive him for that.

Thankfully, since the divorce Dan has switched gyms. I have not seen him in more than two months. Good riddance.

I walk into the locker room and choose my favorite locker, #218. I have no idea why it’s my favorite. I picked this one the first time I came here and have stuck with it ever since. If that one is being used, my backup is #220. But today, #218 is empty.

“How’s it going, buddy?” a familiar voice says to me.

I turn around and see Jason Marquee, an old friend from high school. Jason is a black guy who was a standout wide receiver on our football team. He received a lot of interest from Division I colleges (including UCLA, Baylor, Boston College and Michigan State), but unfortunately during the last game of his senior year he suffered a catastrophic injury when a free safety tackled him by the knees and tore his ACL. Jason eventually recovered from this injury but his speed and quickness never fully returned. I feel really bad for him. He’s definitely the type of guy you want to root for to succeed.

“I’m doing pretty well. Are you going to watch the game later today?”

“Yeah. I just got done with my workout and I’m on my way out. Who are you pulling for?”

“I don’t really care either way. I just want a good game.”

“Cop out answer! Just kidding, bro. I guess I do too.”

“Are you going to watch it with your girlfriend?”

“Yes, sir. She’s a proud Husky and wouldn’t miss it for anything. But I have to go. She’s expecting me right about now.”

“Awesome. Have fun. Say hello to her for me.”

“Yeah, yeah. I will. Have a good workout, Ryan.”

“Take care, Jason. See you around.”

Jason leaves with his gym back slung over his left shoulder. I undress and slap on my smelly workout clothes. Oh, God. I need to do laundry this week.

Jason, like Dan, is also hung like a horse. But unlike Dan, Jason is very modest about himself and is a very likeable guy. The injury really humbled him. I remember how cocky he was in high school. Hell, you would be too if you had national talent scouts watching you on the sidelines every week. Jason is the only guy with a penis that’s large enough to compete with Dan. But Dan still wins. I shudder to think what Big Dan looks like when he’s, uh, big.

I really start to shudder when I think about Dan’s large package ramming into Michelle’s tight little body. Michelle is not a large woman. But she must have enjoyed the sex. Why else would she have stayed with him for so long and have two kids from him?

Whatever. Time to work out.

Today is a chest and shoulder day. I can bench press 155, which doesn’t seem like much because… well, it’s not much. But I do 4 sets of 12 so I think I get a decent workout every time I do it. I’m slowly working my way up and hope I can get to 200 pounds by the end of the year.

I wonder how much Cindi can bench. Probably 300 or 350. She looks pretty damn strong. I can just imagine her massive chest heaving up and down as she grunts, huffs, puffs and sweat drips off her pretty face.

Dang. My erection is back. I hope nobody notices.

The workout area is sparse as most people are more interested in college football than burning calories. Personally, I’d also rather eat potato chips and drink beer than bust my butt at the gym, but my conscious wouldn’t let me rest easy. Sloth is the easiest path toward failure. Whatever “failure” means in this case.

I begin with a little cardio. The cardio area usually has ESPN playing. Maybe I can catch the tail end of some other game before the Big Game starts. The upstairs section is dedicated to treadmills, Stair Masters, elliptical machines, rowing machines and other cardio equipment. This area is usually dominated by women and high school kids training for track. Today there’s an old black lady, two college-aged Asian girls who appear to be friends (don’t worry; neither of them are particularly attractive), a really buff middle-aged guy and myself. The really buff middle-aged guy is named Tony. We’ve talked a few times and he’s a very nice guy. He’s the type who spends too much time flirting with the pretty young ladies at the gym between his sets. And his sets are pretty insane. Tony can lift with the best of them.

Tony sees me and nods his head. I nod back. This is usually the extent of our conversations together.

I choose a treadmill and see there’s an NBA pre-season game playing instead of college football. Whatever. I’ll watch anything.

After running a good two miles, I go downstairs, take a long drink at the water fountain and head to the weightlifting area. Hm. No one’s here. Tony has moved on and is currently squatting what looks to be about 315 pounds. Out of the corner of my eye I see Hot Blondie, a young woman who comes here constantly. I don’t know her real name, but she’s as gorgeous as a supermodel and keeps her body in ridiculously good shape. From what I’ve gathered overhearing her conversations with other people (some call it eavesdropping, I call it the consequences of exercising in close quarters), she works at one of those bikini coffee shops. I’ve never been to one of those but I’d love to see her in a bikini. Oh, baby…

Today Hot Blondie is wearing a bright red athletic bra, matching spandex shorts (which are tight as hell), white tennis shoes and her iPod. She has no qualms about showing off her figure in public. Hell, she gets paid to do it for a living (while making lattes and Americanos, of course).

Usually I get distracted when Hot Blondie works out near me. But today all I can think about is Miss North and her magnificently buff body. It’s almost to the point where I’m seeing her everywhere. There she is squatting next to Tony. There she is bench pressing right next to me. There she is blasting her biceps with 80 pound dumbbells. There she is doing shoulder presses with 70 pound dumbbells. Yikes. This erection has been with me for at least fifteen minutes!

During my sets I try to think of nothing but my lifts. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, being unfocused at the gym is a recipe for disaster. I’ve witnessed too many accidents during my time working here. One time a bunch of brainless high school jocks were messing around and accidentally bumped into someone doing lunges. That person fell down and badly twisted their ankle. Thomas did not think twice about banning them forever after that unfortunate incident. Good riddance.

Holy crap. Hot Blondie’s doing squats. Don’t get distracted, Tony. I love surreptitiously watching her do squats. Watching her long, toned legs and butt move up and down is enough to make me climax on the spot. That would be messy if this were to actually happen.

As expected, Tony has finished his set and is now striking up a conversation with Hot Blondie. I have no doubt they’ve had sex before. Tony has hinted to me that they have and I can believe it. Rumor has it Hot Blondie is not the monogamous type. But would she ever sleep with me? Definitely not. Like Michelle, she has alternate tastes in guys. Particularly guys who aren’t Asian.

But enough of that. There’s an FBB out there who wants to do me (or is it she wants me to do her?). That’s enough to be proud of for the moment.

Time to resume my workout.

After I finish bench pressing I move on to various shoulder exercises. I usually cap off my workout with stretching and doing 800 crunches. Yes, I do that many crunches. I have a fairly decent four-pack that you can see when I suck in my gut. I’m still working on the other two to show up. But not Cindi. She has at least an eight-pack going on.

The closest I ever get to talking with Hot Blondie is during my stretching. Not too many guys stretch after lifting, which is something that could be very dangerous. Lots of women come to the stretching mats. Some are young and shapely, others are old and baggy. When Hot Blondie starts doing her yoga stretches right next to me, it’s difficult to not get an erection. And it’s even more difficult to hide it when you’re wearing gym shorts.

Now it’s time to take a shower. I probably smell like a third-world prison. Shower time is an odd time because it’s when all the guys get to see each other naked. Wellford Fitness Center has a large communal shower room where up to twenty guys can shower at once. And this is when we “compare” each other to see how we “measure up.”

When I say “measure up,” I don’t just mean penis size (even though that’s what I was really referring to). We silently compare the size of our biceps, chests, shoulders, backs, legs, abs and other muscle areas. Guys with the biggest muscles get the respect. Guys who don’t are quietly judged. As for me, I’m somewhere in the middle. I look toned but I’m not buff by any means. I’m someone people mildly respect but don’t revere. Dan, Tony and Jason are all guys people revere.

I’ve already said Dan and Jason are very well-endowed. Tony is not quite in their range but he doesn’t seem embarrassed about letting everything hang loose. At the moment there’s me and two other guys. Both are near elderly and probably couldn’t get it up if they tried. At least I have them beat on that front.

But then Big Mark walks in.

Big Mark is the only guy who can physically compare with Dan. Big Danny and Big Mark were rivals back in the day. Every time the two of them worked out together it clearly became a contest to see who could lift more. Big Mark was at least 6 foot 5 and looked like a power forward on steroids (to be honest with you, I wouldn’t be surprised if he actually were on the juice). I didn’t see Big Mark in the weight room, so I’m going to guess he just got out of the swimming pool. Big Mark usually swims a few laps in the pool, showers, lifts insane amounts of weight and showers again.

“Hey there,” Big Mark says to me.

“Hi,” I reply back.

“Are you going to watch the game today?”

“Yes, sir. I’m pulling for UW to win.”

“Yeah, me too. But it’s not going to happen. No way, man.”

“Got to keep the faith, bro. Got to keep the faith.”

“True that.”

Big Mark is a lot nicer than Dan. Big Mark can get a little douchey at times, but I usually keep my distance from him. Besides, it hurts my neck to have to look up all the time to talk to him.

Completely naked, Big Mark looks like a Greek god. He has a body covered with large muscles and a face that looks like an Abercrombie & Fitch model. His penis is not as long as Dan’s or Jason’s, but it looks a lot thicker. Do women prefer length or girth?

Big Mark quickly rinses off and heads out.

“Have a good work out,” I say.

“Thanks. You heading out?”

“Yeah, I’m done here.”

“Alright. See you around,” he says.

Yeah, I’ll see him around. Hopefully the next time I see him I’ll be devirginized. Then I-

Wait.

Losing my virginity? Soon? To a beautiful female bodybuilder? Yes, please.

It’s time to get out of here and see where destiny takes me.

The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi: Chapter One – A Friday Night on Craigslist

It was a dream come true.

There it was, right in front of me on Craigslist. A personal ad that was almost too good to be true. So good, I’m almost positive it’s a joke.

Nothing could be this perfect. Nothing at all. This was the equivalency of a billion dollars falling from the sky and landing right in my lap with no one around to fight me for it. Heck, this was WAY better than that.

The ad reads:

“FBB seeking young Asian male for a night of NSA sex. Please send pic of yourself and I will send you a pic right back.”

If my knowledge of acronyms is correct, “FBB” stands for “female bodybuilder” and “NSA” stands for “no strings attached” (it also stands for “National Security Agency,” but somehow I doubt this has anything to do with protecting the home front).

So there you have it. Supposedly, there is a female bodybuilder in my area who’s specifically looking for a young Asian male for a night of no strings attached sex. This is too good to be true (I think I’ve said this before). This is just like a billion boxes of take-out teriyaki falling from the sky and not a single person around to laugh at this horrible stereotype.

So here I sit at my computer desk reading this particular Craigslist ad on a Friday evening. The time is currently 7:21 p.m. I decide to respond to the ad.

There’s a photo of me that my mom took last month during our family vacation to Hawaii. It has me with my shirt off wearing a swimsuit. I think I look fairly decent in it, so this will do. I’ll omit the fact that my mom took it. I don’t think women find that particularly flattering in a man.

My name is Ryan Takahashi. I’m 23 years old and a recent college graduate still looking for a full-time job. I have a part-time job as a janitor at a gym; a position quite suited for someone with a degree in history (please note my sarcasm). If this woman is local, it’s possible I may have seen her at the gym. But that seems doubtful. I haven’t seen any female bodybuilders there. I’ve seen some guys who look like bodybuilders, but none of the female persuasion. Maybe she works out somewhere else.

Or maybe she’s lying. Maybe “she” is some teenage kid who thinks it’ll be funny to pose as a muscular lady to entice some poor schmuck like me into sending them a tacky-looking photo. I sure hope not.

Here’s what my e-mail message to this woman looks like:

Dear FBB,

My name is Ryan and I am responding to your Craigslist ad. I am a 23-year-old Japanese American male who is single and ready to meet someone new. You sound like an interesting person judging from your ad and your specific needs. I’ve attached a photograph of myself that I hope shows off what I look like. I hope I fit what a woman like you is looking for in a man.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Ryan

This sounds genuine enough. I tell her just enough about myself and don’t sound desperate. I refer to her as a “woman” instead of a “girl,” something that should score huge points for me. If I learned one thing in college, it’s that in our post-feminist society, calling an adult woman a “girl” is a sure ticket to being labeled as a misogynist (or some other similar euphemism). I guess I’m more aware of these things than most people.

Now all I have to do is click “send.”

Deep breath. Calm down, Ryan. What’s the worst that could happen? You’re using an alternate e-mail account separate from your personal one. If she’s a fraud, so what? Just don’t give her your bank account number. If she thinks you’re butt ugly, move on and pretend like this never happened. Drink a few shots of whiskey and call it a night. There’s no pressure in clicking “send.”

Whew.

Here goes nothing.

Click.

Your Message Has Been Sent.

Bingo.

Now the waiting game begins. What should I do?

Play video games? Jog around the block a few times? Take a shower? Watch something on Netflix? Waste time on YouTube? Explore what’s on Technorati? I could read a book.

Wow. Books. There’s something I haven’t picked up in a while. And that’s embarrassing considering I’m a history major. Maybe this explains why I work at a dead-end part-time job doing work they mostly give to people who can’t speak English. Maybe the hiring manager assumed English was my second language. That’s probably it. Bastard.

“I think I’ll take a shower,” I say out loud to myself.

I get up and push my chair into my desk. I strip naked and dump my clothes in front of my bed. I then walk into the bathroom, turn on the ceiling fan and look at myself in the full-body mirror.

Looking good, Ryan. Looking good.

“Does this female bodybuilder have a better body than me? Ha. It’s doubtful,” I say sarcastically to my reflection. My reflection seems to be in on the joke.

Thinking about the possibility of having sex with an FBB is enough to give me an erection. My penis slowly grows and stands upright at attention. I look down at my little penis that’s decided to come to life. Cute little thing. Will you get any action in the near future? We’ll see.

Dear God, having sex with an FBB would be awesome! Just imagine licking those big, hard bulging muscles while her thick, massive body surrounds me like a blanket. Then she lifts me up and plops me onto the bed as she goes down on me like a wild animal. Her massive body grinds into me like a bulldozer. Her wet vagina and enlarged clitoris enveloping my penis unmercifully. Her vaginal muscles are so strong I can feel her climax from head to toe. Her-

“I should probably take this shower before I come all over the floor.”

I turn on the hot water, close the shower curtains and clean off the grime of the day.

During my shower all I can think about is whether this mysterious Craigslist character will respond. Will it be some lame automatic response that clearly isn’t a real person? That would suck big time. Or will it be written in broken English by someone who doesn’t even live in the United States? That would also suck. I hope I don’t have to wait until tomorrow evening. Or next week. That would suck even more.

After my shower I choose not to put on my clothes and instead walk around completely naked. I love doing this after a shower. My body feels clean and I want to go about the rest of my business in my birthday suit. It can be a very liberating feeling.

As I began to wash some of the dishes in my sink, I hear a “ding” sound from my computer. This sound means I have a new e-mail in my inbox.

Holy crap! It could be her!

I placed the dishes back into the sink and race toward my computer. Sure enough, I do have a new e-mail message. There’s no subject line. And it’s from a “Cindi North.”

Cindi North? Never heard of this woman. My heart rate increases rapidly as I open her message.

Her e-mail reads as follows:

Dear Ryan,

I’m glad you responded to my Craigslist message! My name is Cindi and I would love to chat with you online sometime! I can’t tonight because I’m going to be busy early tomorrow morning, but if you could be on Gmail at 8:00 tomorrow night, we could get to know each other.

Hugs and kisses. XOXO

Thank you for sending me a pic. You look very handsome. Here’s a pic of me also at the beach. Enjoy! Good night, Ryan.

Love,

Cindi

P.S.: Are you married? I hope you’re not. I don’t like drama.

She seems nice. And the message seems like it was written by a real person, not a computerized program. Now I have to open her photo.

Catching my breath, I hover the mouse over the JPEG photo and click on it.

The image opens in a new window and fills nearly the entire screen. I look at it eagerly.

Damn.

No, seriously. Damn.

Damn.

Damn!

DAMN!!!

DAAAAAAAAAAAMN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

She’s gorgeous! And very muscular! She’s perfect! There’s no doubt she’s an FBB.

Looking at her photo literally steals my breath. I take a deep inhale, exhale and look at the picture again.

She’s wearing sunglasses and a skimpy red bikini. She’s standing on a white sandy beach on a perfect sunny day. I can’t tell where she is, but she is the only person in the photo. It’s difficult to say how tall she is because there’s no one around to compare her with. She looks anywhere between 5’3” and 5’8”. I could be totally wrong about this.

DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

She has long dark brown hair and tanned skin. She appears to be Caucasian but could have some Hispanic in her. She doesn’t appear to be mixed race, but her tanned skin could be due to being in the sun too long. It’s a full body shot and exposes her entire figure. And what a figure she has!

Her entire body is covered in enormous, bulging muscles. Her biceps look like they could bend steel. Her legs appear to be as thick as tree stumps. Her six-pack abs look delicious and ready for me to stroke my tongue across. She has very small breasts which could be explained by repeated steroid use. She’s fantastically muscular and veiny all over. I like what I’m seeing.

She appears to be in her early 40s, maybe late 30s. Her dark brown hair might have some gray in it, but that could be the sun’s reflection. Then again, she could be coloring her hair. She’s definitely not in her 20s.

This Cindi woman looks very delectable! I would make love to her in an instant. I look down at my penis and see that it has hardened again. This is definitely an image that I can masturbate to in a few minutes. Not only is it hot that I’m looking at her gorgeous figure, but the fact that she just communicated with me is turning me on even more!

This beautiful muscular woman wants to have sex with me and even called me “handsome?”

SWOON!

I like her already.

I immediately turn off all the lights and leave her image on the computer screen. I pull back the covers on my bed and get in. I open my dresser drawer and take out a condom (yes, I keep a stash of condoms for the purposes of masturbation). I rip open the package, take out the condom and wrap it around my very hard penis. I toss the package in the waste basket and start rubbing my penis against the bed facing down. I look up and stare at her picture. I image her buff body pounding into my smaller body as we kiss and explore each other with our hands.

My hips move right to left at a quicker pace and I feel my orgasm build as I continue to grind my penis into the mattress. As I imagine her tongue exploring the inside of my mouth, I climax and feel several strong pulses of semen release from my manhood. My hips slow down and I collapse onto the bed with my face buried into the pillow. I catch my breath. I look up at the computer and still see Cindi’s beautiful body looking back at me. Then my computer goes into the screensaver.

Shit. Oh, well. I’m done anyway.

I get out of bed, turn on the light and pull the condom off my sagging penis. I dispose of it in the toilet, urinate, wash my hands and turn off the lights as I switch off my computer.

I definitely can’t wait for 8 p.m. tomorrow night.

I collapse into bed and immediately fall asleep.

Happy dreams are sure to follow.

Who is Ryan Takahashi?

My name is not Ryan Takahashi. These adventures are not in any way autobiographical.

If only, right?

What is true about me is that I reside in the Seattle area (I live in a suburb of Seattle, but who’s keeping track?), I’m Japanese-American, I’m a professional marketing copywriter and this blog is my creative writing outlet.

On this blog you will find several styles of writings: fiction, non-fiction, essays, playwriting and whatever I feel like publishing at the moment. For now, enjoy “The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi,” a continuing series of adventures of a protagonist who is not unlike me. We share several of the same personality traits, but we are definitely not the same person.

This blog will deal primarily with the interconnection of race and sexuality. Many of these posts will be sexually explicit in nature as they deal with my personal fantasies and fetishes. Do not read this blog if you find that sort of thing offensive.

Please note that I take sexuality seriously and make no attempt to be crude. You will find nothing crude or demeaning on this blog. I believe we should view sexuality for what it is: part of us all and inescapable in our everyday lives. I’m no philosopher, so I’ll leave the deeper analysis to the experts.

But mostly, these stories should be fun, harmless escapist fiction. If you have any feedback or comments, feel free to e-mail me at ryantakahashi87 (at) yahoo (dot) com.

Happy reading! I’d also welcome suggestions of other like-minded blogs and authors in the comments below. I’m always open to expanding my reading palette.

Peace out, beautiful people.