All the King’s Queens – Chapter 11: The Good Old Days

Monique St. Martin’s road to the Olympics hasn’t been easy. Then again, if it were easy it wouldn’t be worth it. For five days a week, she spends four hours at the AJ Athletic Club, a private gym that specifically caters to aspiring Olympians, professional athletes, and bodybuilders in Miami. The owners are Alex and Julia Hernandez, a husband-wife team who’ve operated the joint for almost twenty years. Both of their parents are Afro-Cuban immigrants who fled the island shortly after Castro’s rise to power. Team AJ, as they’re known locally, has built a mini-empire down in South Beach in the fitness, training, and athletics industry.

The clientele of AJ Athletic Club is not your usual type of gym-goer who just shows up to run on the treadmill and casually lift weights. Here, you see people doing super heavy Olympic lifts, working on improving their 40-yard dash time for the NFL Combine, getting ready for MLB spring training, training for the Mr. Olympia, and ordering nutrient-rich protein shakes and other post-workout beverages. Everyone knows each other, though there are certain clients you only see during certain times of the year. During football, baseball, basketball, or hockey season they go away, but when it’s their offseason they come right back (as if they never left).

On one particular Tuesday morning in the spring of 2014, Monique was working on improving her forearm strength. She noticed one of the biggest inhibitors blocking her ability to progress with deadlifts was grip strength. No matter what type of gloves she wore, when she reached a certain point the bar kept slipping out of her hands. She estimates she’s used more chalk than a whole district’s worth of elementary schools. It helps dry her hands so she can better grip the bar – but she’s plateaued. And in the world of Olympic weightlifting, “plateau” is a dirty word. The dreaded P-word is probably the worst word in the English language for an aspiring weightlifter. It’s the “yips” for baseball infielders. It’s the deep-seated fear that one has reached their peak physical limitations and cannot progress further. It’s what separates a bona fide Olympic athlete from someone who gets a pat on the back after failing at the local trials. Both are well-trained, hard-working athletes. But one was able to overcome their physical limitations while the other was stonewalled by it. Monique is determined not to let that nightmare scenario happen to her, come hell or high water.

At this very moment, Monique has her earbuds in, is locked in, and has no time for casual conversation as she does hammer curls in the corner of the spacious free weight area. It’s the first week of the month, so Dylan Tanaka has already wired his monthly sum of $5,000 into the private bank account he set up for her three years ago. She didn’t make it to London in 2012 but should be a shoo-in for Rio De Janeiro in 2016. Her coaches seem to think it’s practically set in stone. However, she’s learned the hard way to never expect a roster spot because nothing in life is guaranteed. Not making the London roster was a real wake-up call. She won’t make that mistake a second time.

Between sets, Monique pats herself dry with an ocean blue AJ Athletic Club sweat towel. The podcast she’s listening to is almost coming to an end, which is too bad because she was genuinely interested in learning about the history of the Cuban Missile Crisis. The circumstances around it are deeply embedded in the history of Cubans living in Florida, including many of her closest friends. Most people assume she’s also Cuban, but that isn’t true. Her ancestry is Caribbean, so she’s more in line with Rihanna (other than the musical talent) than the minor league baseball players who grew up playing catch in the streets.

“Want your usual?” a faint voice asks her from behind. Monique takes out her earbuds and turns around to see who it is. Sure enough, the voice belongs to Julia Hernandez, the second half of Team AJ. She’s a confident, astute, affable, statuesque woman who’s built like a tank. Tall, sturdy, and pretty enough to temporarily distract many of the male clients from their training, Julia lights up a room when she walks into it. Her husband isn’t much of a talker, so it’s her job to build relationships with the community and make sure everyone is happy.

“Yes please,” Monique answers. “Do you have fresh energy bars left, or are they kind of old and stale by now?” Realizing she (sort of) just insulted her, Julia rolls her eyes but doesn’t seem too offended. Before Monique can issue a correction, Julia puts her hands on her hips and smirks at the young Olympian.

“Well now! I just baked them last night, so they’re as fresh as you are! Damn, what does a girl have to do to get respect around here?” She gives Monique a playful punch on the shoulder, which hurts more than it’s supposed to. That’s what happens when someone with considerable strength occasionally forgets how strong they really are. Though it’s not a big deal because Monique believes she deserves it.

“Sorry, girl! That’s not what I meant. You know I love your energy bars…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know what you mean. You’re good,” she reassures her customer. “I made the ones with extra flaxseed so you better get them while you can. You see those guys over there?” She points to a group of young college football players doing bench presses in hope of improving their NFL Draft position. “They say they’re going to eat everything I have in stock once they’re done, which means you better get some soon before they run out. That’s why I’m here to warn you, girl.”

“Ah, thanks for the heads up!” Monique takes a long swig of her Gatorade. She notices one particularly attractive wide receiver who may not be a first round pick but would definitely be her first pick to take back to her apartment if her boyfriend isn’t home. “I’ll make sure to stop by the café before I leave. Maybe I’ll stop by now and put it in my bag.”

“Whatever works for you. That might be the better bet, for sure,” Julia says as she starts to walk away. At most normal fitness centers, it’s perfectly normal to engage in long casual conversations with your clients. However, the folks here aren’t doing this for casual exercise. It’s not a hobby. This is a job. Julia (and Alex, to an extent) respects that and doesn’t come out to chat with people unless it’s to tell them something important like their favorite post-workout energy bar might be sold out before they even take their shower. As usual, once Julia is out of earshot Monique is back to work, this time heading over to the pull-up bar to crank out a dozen repetitions. Back strength is another area she needs to work on, or so says her coach.

Forty minutes later Monique wanders over to the café to purchase her usual fruit smoothie (with about $8 worth of extra protein, boosters, omega 3 fatty acids, vitamin C, and other supplements) and homemade energy bar. Julia wraps it in aluminum foil, a sure sign that she’s out of plastic saran wrap. She has about $19.50 left on her tab, according to the receipt. Monique makes a mental note to refill it the next time she’s here. Having a tab is very convenient for athletes who need a quick booster shake or protein bar but don’t want to trudge back to the locker room to get their wallet. They can pay in advance and get whatever they want until their tab runs dry. In addition to offering world-class equipment and lots of space to work (the building used to be a Wal-Mart, which provides perspective of how large the gym is), Alex and Julia understand how professional athletes think and operate. When they’re “in the zone” they are as locked in as one could possibly be. Tunnel vision. Hyper focused. Determined. Anal retentive. Fussy about little details like the exact number of shots of whey protein and calcium tablets they want to be added to their kale shake (which Monique despises but drinks on occasion anyway). You can even order what you want via an app and expect everything to be ready by the time you’re done showering.

“Bye girl!” Julia yells to Monique as she approaches the exit.

“See you later, alligator!” she replies, in typical fashion for a Floridian who grew up around swamps full of such creatures.

As she walks out the front door and into the parking lot, Monique tries to figure out what she needs to do next. First, she must go to the grocery store and pick up more tilapia, steak, broccoli, cauliflower, and brown rice. Second, she needs to pick up a new package that’s waiting for her at the post office. And third, she should hurry and head to the bank before it closes (it’s a few blocks away from her one-bedroom apartment in downtown Miami) to cash out the $5,000 Dylan Tanaka has just wired to her account. She looks at her phone and sees the time is now 11:15 in the morning. The first two destinations should be easy to get to since traffic is light at this time of day. On Tuesdays, the bank closes early at 2:00 p.m. for reasons that she still has not figured out. It’s usually open until 4:30 every other day (except for Sundays, when it’s not open at all) of the week. Monique isn’t short on money quite yet (the rent check is expected to be taken to the bank within a day or two) but having $5,000 in cash handy never hurts.

When she gets to her car, she puts her bag in the trunk and finishes eating the energy bar. She crushes the foil into a ball, sees a nearby trash can, and tosses it inside. Magically, she doesn’t miss. Her hit rate is usually 20%, which is why weightlifting is the sport she chose to pursue. Very little hand-eye coordination is necessary for lifting heavy weights. Before she can take off, a familiar (and totally unexpected) voice speaks to her out of nowhere.

“Nice shot! Dwayne Wade would be proud.”

Monique freezes, lifts an eyebrow, and turns around to see who is speaking to her. Sure enough, it’s Dylan Tanaka: her friend, former boss, and financial benefactor. Dylan rarely makes trips down to South Beach to check-in on her, so this is (genuinely) a pleasant surprise.

“Dylan! Oh my God, it’s so good to see you!” Monique runs to him, throws her strong arms around his torso, and essentially lifts him off the ground. Dylan lets out a small noise of protest when he feels his feet leave the pavement. When his feet eventually land back on solid ground, he kisses her on the cheek. “Like, seriously! What the hell are you doing here?”

“I decided to give you your monthly payment in person this month.” He discreetly hands her an envelope full of cash. Without breaking eye contact, Monique takes it and stuffs it in her purse. “Did you notice that I hadn’t deposited your usual amount in your account yet?”

“Oh no, I just assumed you did. I hadn’t checked yet. I was actually just about to head to the bank before I got home.” Intuitively, Monique looks around to see if anybody in the parking lot is watching them converse. Dylan may not be a household name (though he is quite popular among tech geeks and business leaders) but he did mention a long time ago that he would prefer their friendship remain private. However, he’s the one who decided to pay her a surprise visit out in the open, so he’s the one taking the risk, not her.

“Well, now you don’t need to! What other errands do you have to run?”

“Oh, I need to go shopping and then, uh, to the post office to pick up a package. I’m expecting a new posing swimsuit that I got from Celine. I’m excited to try it on!” Celine Jackson is a retired professional bodybuilder who now sells her own line of posing outfits for competitors. She’s basically Monique’s unofficial second mother. She took Monique under her wing when they met at the Tampa Pro back in 2010. Monique briefly dabbled in the world of bodybuilding before giving up that lifestyle to become an Olympian. It was Celine’s final competition. She ended up placing 8th, which was a significant drop off from last year when she placed 3rd. That was the sign that it was time to “hang up the cleats,” so to speak. Her drive to improve her craft had diminished to the point that, at the ripe age of 48, she retired from competing. However, she loved the people and missed hanging out with everyone on a regular basis. So, she decided to learn how to sew, attended several clothing design seminars, and now runs her own one-woman business making swimsuits for bodybuilders and fitness models.

Monique, while she’s in a comfortable position from a financial perspective, still supplements that income by doing modeling on the side. There are plenty of bikini models in South Beach (too much, to be exact) but not too many of them on the muscular side. Monique’s rare blend of natural beauty, grace, symmetrical musculature, and charming personality make her a photographer’s dream come true. Her rich dark skin glows when viewed through a camera lens, a fact that many local (and national) fashion photographers have noticed. She’s not the tallest gal you’ll ever meet at 5’ 7”, but if she’s alone in the frame and you shoot her at the right angle, she’s as powerful and marvelous to behold as anyone in the world. There’s a reason why Dylan Tanaka immediately was enraptured by her when he first laid eyes on her.

“Celine is the best in the business, for sure,” Dylan remarks. “Are you planning another photoshoot in the near future?”

“Yes! With Charlie Ang. Do you know him?”

Dylan thinks for a moment and shakes his head. “Uh, no. I’ve never heard the name. Is he related to Margaret Ang?”

“Oh, yes. I believe so. I think they’re brother and sister.” Margaret Ang is a Chinese-American fitness model (and former competitor) based in New York City. Dylan met her once at a fundraising gala in NYC several years ago and tried to flirt with her. When she informed him that she’s a lesbian and isn’t interested in dating men, that was the end of it. Dylan cut his losses, smiled at her, and moved on to chatting with someone else. He knows Margaret has a younger brother who works as a professional freelance photographer, though he never caught his name. Apparently, his name is Charlie. And he knows Monique.

“That’s cool. I didn’t know that. I guess I learn something new every day.” For an awkward moment, Dylan and Monique look at each other in complete silence.

“Where are you staying?”

“Oh, I’m at the Bentley Beach Club over in Miami Beach,” he says. “Would you, um, like to come over to visit?”

Dylan hopes this request isn’t seen as an ultimatum or a condition of receiving payment from him. From the very beginning, Dylan hasn’t asked for much in return. Just her assurance that she’ll try her hardest to win the gold medal and that she’ll keep their “business arrangement” a closely guarded secret. Only a small handful of times has Dylan paid her a visit. All of those times he texted her in advance so she’d know about it. And every time they meet all he asks is for the opportunity to be with her for just one hour. It usually happens in his hotel room. She gets dressed in lingerie, a bikini, or skimpy athletic wear. Then, Dylan “worships” her by feeling her rock-hard body to his heart’s delight. Sex is never involved. Monique isn’t above making sure Dylan leaves their meeting “satisfied,” though. But no penetrative sex. Ever. All in all, being able to worship her is the only thing he asks in return. She doesn’t mind, though it was awkward at first. She’s been in a relationship with her boyfriend, Jake, for several years now. He’s aware of her friendship with Dylan and the monetary compensation she receives monthly from him. He doesn’t mind them meeting every once in a while on the condition that they never “go too far,” a requirement that every party understands well.

“Of course. I’m not expected to be home for a while. I can…be with you for the rest of the day.” She smiles at him in an attempt to lighten the mood. Still, Dylan doesn’t feel like she’s totally comfortable with him being here unannounced.

“Seriously, darling. You don’t need to say “yes.” You can say no and not feel bad about it. I’d hate to disrupt your day like this. I’m actually here for a technology conference that kicks off tomorrow. I decided to show up a day early to get some sun and, uh, see you.” Monique approaches him and plants a long, wet kiss on his cheek. This eases the tension a bit.

“I know. I get it. Our relationship is always kind of, you know, weird,” she says. Dylan nods his head silently. “But I do like spending time with you. Even though we don’t see each other all that much. Seriously, I’d love to visit you at your hotel. I’ve heard of the Bentley but have never actually been there. I’d like to see it.”

“Thank you. First, let’s go pick up your package. I’d love to get a preview of what Charlie will later capture on film.”

“Sounds good! Let’s get rolling.”

After a quick hug, Dylan and Monique get in their separate vehicles (Dylan is driving a rented car from a high-end car rental dealership that he can never remember the name of) and head to the post office. After waiting in line for a grand total of seven minutes, Monique comes out with a small package in hand. She winks at Dylan, who chose to remain in his car so he could listen to the radio. All he could stand was three minutes of two morons screaming about which University of Miami player the Dolphins should draft before he turned it off. Their next stop was Dylan’s suite at the Bentley, a four-star resort hotel located away from the downtown area. Monique decides to go shopping later this evening. She can use that as an excuse in case Jake wonders why she’s late returning home. Thirty-eight minutes later Monique is parking her car in an underground guest area while Dylan situates himself in a VIP spot located next to the service elevators. Being rich sure has its benefits, Monique observes unironically.

Monique has been to Las Vegas many times, so she knows what a luxury hotel looks like. The Bentley is just like many others she’s been to over the years – including several right here in South Beach – so nothing she sees is surprising. However, that doesn’t mean she isn’t envious of how filthy rich people like Dylan Tanaka can live. He could definitely afford to purchase an oceanside condo for her and her boyfriend, but that would make Jake feel more emasculated than he already is. Jake refuses to think of himself as being cuckolded, though the feeling still persists after all these years. He and Monique met via a mutual friend. She was honest and forthright about her business relationship with Dylan. So he cannot accuse her of hiding anything from him. He knew what he was getting himself into. She was fully transparent and honest. At first, the chance to be with a woman like Monique St. Martin was irresistible. How can anyone say no to her? But as time has gone on, he’s grown weary of her long-distance “friendship” with a rich billionaire who gives her a measly $5,000 a month (he could give her $500,000 a month and he’d barely miss it). And, he’s not comfortable with her allowing him to touch her body like that. Jake believes Monique when she says they’ve never had penetrative sex, but that’s still not enough to make him feel less uncomfortable with the circumstances. Monique is keenly aware of Jake’s reticence. Hopefully, once they get married they can put all of this behind them. She’ll tell Dylan that his days of “worshipping” her are over. He’ll understand and respect her wishes, she believes. If not, by then if she’s already won a gold medal, she can decide to break off their business partnership. The monthly payments will dry up, but at that point what difference would it make?

Dylan and Monique move quickly to his suite, which is located on the opposite end of where the parking lot is situated. They don’t want to be seen together, since Dylan suspects there’s a strong possibility many of tomorrow’s conference attendees might also be spending the whole week here. He doesn’t want any rumors to spread about him. Several witnesses seeing him escorting an attractive muscular woman to his suite is guaranteed to get folks in the tech world gossiping. Twelve minutes after parking, the two friends find themselves inside Dylan’s spacious suite.

“Wow! What a place. You can see the ocean! Hell, you can smell the ocean from here. DAMN!” Monique runs to an open window and gazes at the endless blue horizon. No matter how long she lives in South Beach, she’ll never get tired of the ocean. She loves how it looks, how it sounds, how it smells, everything about it. As Dylan puts his wallet and keys away, Monique takes out a small pocketknife from her purse and opens the package. He watches her gleefully, not knowing what to expect.

“What kind of swimsuit did you order?”

“A red, white, and blue one for the Fourth of July!” After unboxing it, she holds it up so Dylan can better see it. “Charlie says I can be featured in the June issue of Sports Illustrated if we take photos now. You know, so he can submit them early.”

“For the swimsuit issue?”

Monique laughs. “Sadly, no. Just for an advertisement for aviator sunglasses. I can’t remember the name of the company, but they’ve asked the general public to submit photos of people wearing their brand of shades. I have a pair at home. It’s a new company looking to break into the industry. Charlie is a good friend of someone in their marketing department, so I’m practically guaranteed to be featured if we take good patriotic-looking pictures.” She gives Dylan a few practice modeling poses. He smiles. “Want to see me try it on?”

“Please. I’d love to see you in it.” He leans over to kiss her on the cheek. Monique looks into his fiery eyes before strutting to the bathroom to change. As he waits, Dylan unbuttons the top of his shirt so his neck could properly breathe. He removes his shoes and socks, hangs his blazer up in the closet, and checks himself out in a mirror. Dylan regrets that he didn’t shave before leaving Seattle. In his personal (and somewhat objective) opinion, he thinks he looks better with a perpetual five o’clock shadow than cleanly shaven. However, he’s not at his best – by his own admission – when his facial hair gets too long. Dylan doesn’t like to travel despite his many years of experience riding on airplanes, both private and commercial. One reason for that is that he gets so fussy thinking about arrival and departure times that little things like shaving the night before slip his mind. He makes a mental note to shave tonight before going to bed so he’ll be fresh for the conference tomorrow morning.

In the bathroom, Monique removes her hoodie, jeans, socks, and sports bra. She leaves them neatly folded up and sitting on top of a large basket meant for wet towels. Normally, she wears a minimal amount of makeup, especially after a workout. She only gets “dolled up” for date nights, public appearances, and, obviously, modeling shoots. For this special occasion, Monique decides to present to Dylan the best version of herself that she possibly can in such short order. She fishes out of her purse a tube of lipstick, mascara, blush, and glittery gel to place around her eyes. After many years of practice applying makeup on the fly, less than ninety seconds later she looks at herself in the mirror and is surprised that she actually likes what’s reflected back to her. She brushes off some packaging dust from the swimsuit and then blows on it for good measure. While there’s no need to get dressed in a hurry, she doesn’t like making people wait for her. Dylan is a patient man and would wait twelve hours for her if it were necessary. However, she doesn’t want to spend all day in the bathroom. After getting into the swimsuit, Monique takes one last look at her painted face. It looks great. She flexes her right bicep for the mirror, which looks especially full because she’s less than an hour removed from her workout. Finally satisfied with how she looks, Monique leaves the bathroom to present herself to her one adoring fan.

Dylan, meanwhile, is sitting on a lounge chair, respectfully waiting for her to come out. He’s not on his phone or flipping through a magazine as if he’s waiting for his number to be called at the DMV. When he hears the bathroom door open, he looks as attentive as an overachieving kid on the first day of school. Monique dances out of the bathroom with the audacity of someone auditioning for a Broadway musical. She looks radiant, energetic, bright, and full of happy vibes. The red, white, and blue swimsuit would make anybody want to scream “God bless America” from the rooftops.

“My God, you look incredible. Absolutely amazing.” He continues to remain seated, allowing this drop-dead gorgeous woman to approach him at her own pace.

“Thank you, baby. I like how it feels. Very comfy! Celine knows how to design for comfort and, well, sexiness.” Monique twirls around so Dylan can see all of her. He wants nothing more than to cup her full, round glutes in his hands. Hopefully, that reality will soon come to pass.

“She knows what she’s doing. There’s a reason why it’s become such a lucrative business for her,” Dylan assesses. “But can we talk for a moment about…you? You look fabulous! I can see so much growth and development since the last time I saw you. God, your hamstrings are off the charts! And you could rest a freight train across your shoulders, for crying out loud. Wow!” While developing fullness to her muscles isn’t her ultimate goal, all that training will eventually produce the kind of results Dylan has just described. He reaches out to touch her quads. Monique lifts her left leg up so he can better access it. Almost immediately Dylan feels something developing in his underwear. Monique turns around, bends over, and shakes her butt in his face. He then grabs a handful of her glutes, marveling at how hard and bubbly they are.

“My God! Your glutes are, oh baby, life-affirming,” Dylan breathlessly says. “It should be illegal for you to ever sit down or wear a skirt that covers up this magnificent butt of yours.”

“That would make my life very difficult!” Monique laughs.

“I’m kidding, of course. But what I’m not kidding about is, uh, everything about you. You’re…you’re…um, you’re so beautiful. Breathtaking. Your face…your eyes brighten a room.” Dylan finally stands up, unable to take it anymore. Monique cups his groin, sensing his growing arousal. He proceeds to feel her entire body, from head to toe. She closes her eyes, enjoying the soft, delicate touch of Dylan’s fingers against her hard body. Dylan adores the feel of Monique’s silky smooth black skin and the tight muscle fibers hiding underneath it. He’s always hated the term “exotic,” especially given his Asian heritage and the historical connotations of that word. Yet, he cannot come up with a better word to describe Monique St. Martin’s entire being. She’s exotic. She looks like she should be displayed in a museum. Like many Caribbean women, her sharp eyes, angular face, and rich chocolate complexion make her seem like the Almighty spent a little bit more time designing her. She’s blessed with DNA that puts her at an advantage over every other woman on the planet. It’s easy for her to develop muscle mass, which is why she (sort of) looks like a bodybuilder despite the fact she doesn’t train like one. Without question, there are plenty of competitive bodybuilders who are jealous of how effortless her physique looks.

“You feel…amazing. Utterly amazing.”

“Baby, I love the feel of your fingers against my skin. I mean it when I say that.” Monique’s eyes are still closed, while Dylan’s eyes are wide open, taking in her entire physical presence. He’s drinking in her essence, appreciating her physicality, enjoying her aura. “You can touch me wherever you like, darling.”

Especially in their relationship, where business often mixes with pleasure, where they remain platonic friends but are perfectly willing to indulge in sensual activities like this, verbal consent is important. Dylan and Monique both genuinely treasure their unusual, strange, and occasionally awkward friendship. Their relationship isn’t romantic, but it’s difficult to ignore the deeply held feelings they have for each other. She has a boyfriend (and he’s casually dating Amanda McDermott, a senior executive at Perseus Analytics who would be next in line to the throne of CEO should Dylan step down or unexpectedly get fired) who tolerates this weird social arrangement up to a certain point. Dylan is financially supporting her but doesn’t officially expect anything tangible in return…except he sort of does. Monique does enjoy meeting Dylan for these sensual muscle worship visits…though she would be lying if she said she doesn’t always have Jake’s disappointed face etched into her brain the whole time they’re together. Nevertheless, verbal consent is the key to maintaining their longstanding friendship and preventing anything from going off the rails. So far, it’s worked remarkably well.

“I intend to, my dear,” Dylan declares as his hands move down her six-pack abdomen. Monique flexes both arms so she can show off her impressive biceps, triceps, and forearm development. Dylan does not hesitate to follow her lead. He playfully squeezes her bicep peak. She kindly flexes it as hard as she can, relishing the fact his fingers cannot contain her muscle growth. Dylan lays a trail of kisses down her arm until he lightly massages her pecs. Like many athletes, Monique’s breasts have shrunken down to basically nothing. She doesn’t plan to get enhancement surgery anytime soon. It’s not because it’s considered taboo within the Olympian community, but more because she doesn’t want the general public to believe having small boobs makes her less of a woman. She still has curves in all the right places, a pretty face, and plenty of confidence to show she is a force to be reckoned with.

Eventually, Monique and Dylan move to the bed. She’s still wearing her swimsuit while Dylan has stripped down to his boxers. His erection is unmistakable now. While she hasn’t said this out loud, she doesn’t intend to get naked with him. Not today. She has in the past, but she’s not in the mood right now. Dylan senses this and doesn’t say anything about it. The sight of Monique St. Martin in a red, white, and blue swimsuit is enough to make any man’s heart stop mid-beat. Dylan is now kissing her bubbly butt. She wiggles her glutes as a favor to him. She looks at the clock and sees the time is now 4:09. She told Jake she’d be home by 5:00 or so (with groceries in hand), and she intends to keep that promise. Without saying a word, Monique hooks her fingers around Dylan’s boxers and slides them down his legs. He knows what’s going to happen next.

“I have a bottle of oil in my luggage,” he says.

“That’s good. I forgot to put mine in my purse. You know, because I wasn’t expecting to have to use it today!” She giggles. Then, she kisses Dylan on the lips. Remarkably, this is the first time their lips have come together today. He’s kissed almost every inch of her body up to this point (excluding the parts of her that are covered up by Celine’s tailor-made swimsuit) except for her lips. He rejoices at tasting her strawberry-flavored gloss. Thirty seconds later, Dylan returns to the bed with a small bottle of baby oil. He lies down. Already as stiff as can be, Monique applies a small dab of oil onto the palm of her hand and begins to stroke his shaft up and down.

“Oh my God, darling…yes…”

Dylan’s head falls back onto his hotel pillow. Now it’s his turn to close his eyes and enjoy the sensual experience overcoming him. Monique has perfected her technique by now, knowing not to squeeze too hard and allow her strong calloused fingers to do the work. She knows Dylan enjoys long fluid strokes as opposed to short jerky pulls. His breathing intensifies, a sure sign he’s close to completion. Monique smiles. For good measure, she caresses his legs with her free hand, also noticing that Dylan has kept up his personal workout regimen. He (obviously) doesn’t exercise nearly as often – or as intensively – as she does, but Monique can appreciate a full male thigh when she encounters one.

“I…I love this so much…”

“Come for me, baby.”

Right on cue, Dylan spurts all over himself. Hot milky white semen shoots out onto his tummy and chest in four powerful squirts. Monique loves watching Dylan come. It’s the biggest reason why she happily gets him off at the end of their time together. Dylan has one special talent that her boyfriend Jake definitely does not have. Dylan shoots. Far. Jake, unfortunately for her, oozes out slowly. It is, no pun intended, quite anti-climactic. Whenever she manually stimulates her boyfriend, it always ends in disappointment – from her point of view. He’s great in the sack but lacks the ability to “entertain” her when he climaxes. Dylan, to his credit, always delivers a good show that deserves a standing ovation and a bouquet of flowers.

“Oh, wow. That was incredible. I keep saying this, but you are so good at this,” Dylan awakens from his daze. When he looks down, he sees a huge mess on his torso. Monique dashes to the bathroom to retrieve a moist towelette. He’s careful not to move or else he risks staining the bedsheets. That’s not something he wants to call room service about. Fortunately for him, Monique returns quickly with a towel. She hands it to him, letting him clean up his own mess. Dylan goes into the bathroom to properly wash up.

When Monique checks her phone, she sees a text from Jake. It reads: “Just went shopping to get the things on your list. No need to go, in case you haven’t already.”

Good to know, Monique thinks to herself. That’s one fewer errand she needs to run before returning home. Soon afterward, Dylan emerges from the bathroom and proceeds to get his clothes back on. Now it’s her turn to disappear back into the bathroom. Minutes later, she returns fully dressed and all her makeup wiped off. She still looks like she just endured a long grueling workout at AJ Athletic Club. That’s the way she plans to present herself to her boyfriend later this evening.

“You probably need to get going, like right now,” Dylan says.

“Yep. I need to get back home. It’s getting late.” The time is now 4:31. Rush hour traffic has already started. She estimates it will take at least forty minutes to return home. If she’s home at least by 5:30 she won’t have to come up with an excuse for what she was doing all afternoon.

“I’ll escort you to the parking lot. You think you can find your way home?”

“Yes!” She holds up her iPhone. “GPS will tell me everything I need to know. Including which roads to avoid.”

“Excellent!” He leans over and kisses her on the cheek. A few fragments of glitter can still be seen under her eyes. “Let’s get going.”

The good news for Monique is that the drive home took about as long as she was expecting. As she walked through her front door at 5:28, she smells dinner cooking in the kitchen. Esmerelda, her fluffy orange kitten, is waiting for her. She picks her up and kisses the kitty on the head. Esmerelda meows quietly. Monique puts the cat back on the floor, who immediately scurries off into the living room.

“Hi baby. I’m home. Traffic was a bitch tonight,” she says as she puts her gym bag away in the closet. Jake comes out of the kitchen, struggling to open a jar of pickled onions.

“Good evening, babe. Alright. I’m probably going to feel emasculated by this, but could you, uh, open this for me?” Jake sheepishly smiles at his girlfriend. Without hesitation, Monique takes the jar from him, wraps her fingers around the lid, and twists it open in one fell swoop. The jar makes the oh-so-satisfying popping sound that comes from air escaping after several weeks in captivity. She hands the jar back to her boyfriend, grinning like she just won the lottery.

“Don’t worry, baby. You’re still the man of the house, the man in my life.” She kisses him deeply on the lips, making sure she puts a little extra oomph into it. “Physical strength doesn’t change anything. You’re still a man. I’m still a woman. It’s that simple.”

“Thanks, darling.” Jake returns to the kitchen to resume stirring some pork cutlets. Tonight, he’s making Mexican-style tortas. The pickled onions should add texture to the sandwiches. “If I were training for the Olympics, I can guarantee I’d be waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay stronger than you!”

“Uh huh, keep telling yourself babe!” she teases him.

Together, they enjoyed a pleasant dinner that night, with Esmerelda laying at her feet underneath the dining table. Never once did Monique mention her brief meeting with Dylan Tanaka or the fact that he’s in town. She did, however, talk up the new swimsuit she got in the mail today. She promises that when she shows it off for him later this evening, he won’t be able to take his hands off her. After all these years together, Monique has learned one important lesson about her boyfriend, who occasionally feels emotionally insecure from her superhuman strength. A lively romp in the bedroom where she (even if she has to slightly exaggerate things) is screaming her head off in ecstasy is usually enough to make Jake feel like a Man again. Tonight, she feels he’s entitled to a particularly lengthy session of orgasmic pleasure.

She was right.

At 10:38 p.m., while Monique and Jake are passionately making love in their cramped one-bedroom apartment, Dylan Tanaka is alone in his hotel room finishing off a grilled panini he ordered from room service. The television is on, but he is in no mood to watch anything. All he can think about is Monique. Her body. Her face. Her warm personality. Her drive to be great at what she sets out to do. In a different parallel universe, he’d be dating her. Or, better yet, married to her and making lots of beautiful half-Caribbean half-Japanese babies. But alas, that is not his reality. Nor hers. After watching on his laptop a short video of his favorite porn star, Peggy Cole, masturbating with a series of colorful vibrators, Dylan decides he should do the same thing.

With the lights turned down low, Dylan turns off the TV, removes all his clothing, lies down on the bed, and closes his eyes. He thinks long and hard about Monique’s perfect body that was right in this room just a few hours ago. He reaches down and strokes his own penis, awakening it back to life. At 10:46 p.m., Dylan climaxes for the second time that day. At the exact same time several miles away, Monique experiences her fifth orgasm thanks to her boyfriend’s considerable bedroom skills. He may be a raging math nerd, but he knows how to please a woman in the sheets. She recognizes this and constantly reminds him of it. This is one way she makes her man feel like a Big Man, despite the fact she’s significantly stronger than him in every way possible.

At around 11:15 p.m., both Dylan Tanaka and Monique St. Martin fall asleep. Jake is in the shower, cleaning off the grime of the day. It was surely an eventful day for all involved. It would also not be the last eventful day they’d ever experience.

***

“How the fuck do you expect me to fit his whole dick in my mouth?”

Peggy Cole, dressed in a black BDSM outfit and carrying a faux leather whip in her hand, is sitting on a large cage where a male actor has spent all afternoon hunched over inside. Today’s video shoot is at the private residence of Gordon DeLorenzo, a retired Wall Street investor and avid porn enthusiast who now lives in Spring Valley, Nevada. Gordon isn’t currently home, but a modest film crew of eight, plus four actors, have taken up temporary residence at his lavish estate. The director, Tony, is good buddies with Gordon (who’s invested many dollars into past projects) and is grateful that he frequently lets him film videos at his home for free.

All Gordon asks is that they properly clean up after themselves. No candy wrappers, condom wrappers, or muddy tracks in the house after they’re gone. Tony diligently makes sure they leave the place cleaner than they found it every single time.

This week is dedicated to shooting a series of BDSM-themed scenes involving all sorts of performers. Peggy is one of several female bodybuilders Tony has worked with in the past – and by far his favorite. She’s willing to do almost anything imaginable on camera, unless it’s physically impossible. Today, she might have met her match.

“I know it’s quite a lot, but you have to try your best,” Tony reassures her. “Honestly, you don’t really need to get it all in. Half of it will be just fine. Just don’t choke. Look like you’re having a good time, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll enjoy it, you better believe it. It’s just…a lot to take in, if you know what I mean!” Peggy smirks at Tony and Kit Styles, a relatively new performer in the business. Kit winks at her, knowing she’s famous for deep throating some of the largest dicks in the world without gagging. It’s part of her appeal, which everyone on set knows full well. Other than the fact she’s full of muscle, this is a large reason why she was asked to do this scene in the first place. Kit is a one-of-a-kind, which means it requires an equally unique costar to make it all work.

“If anybody should be nervous, it’s me!” Kit confesses. He hopes a little bit of levity will resolve this conflict.

“You’ve done enough of these things to not get nervous anymore,” Peggy tells him. “I can clearly see you’re ready to go, baby darling!”

Peggy points down at Kit’s erect 12-inch penis as all the evidence she needs that he’s not too nervous about shooting this scene. The other male performer, Jeff, is the man in the cage. He doesn’t really do anything except remain inside the cage looking as helpless as possible while wearing an oversized baby’s diaper and a ball gag. He’s basically set decoration, a role that Jeff is perfectly fine with. A paycheck’s a paycheck, after all. As long as the check clears, he’ll do whatever he’s asked.

“Are you ready?” Tony asks his cast. Jillian, who’s off to the side and doesn’t enter the scene until much later, gives him the thumbs up. “Are you ready, dear?”

“Sure. Let’s do this thing!” Peggy says.

“Yeah,” Kit replies softly.

“Good! Let’s roll.” Tony takes a few steps back to give his performers space. A boom mic operator stands at his normal position. The director of photography (DP) looks into the viewfinder to ensure the shot is framed perfectly. The “sound guy” crouches in the corner with a comically large pair of headphones on. He gives a silent “thumbs up” to Tony. A lighting assistant watches from the opposite corner. In another room is a makeup artist, a random production assistant, and the most important crewmember of all: the fluffer.

“Rolling,” the DP says.

“Go,” Tony commands.

Five seconds of silence follows. Then action commences.

“As you can see, I have your friend right where I want him.” Peggy pats the top of the cage. Jeff looks up, mumbles incoherently through the ball gag, and crawls into a fetal position. She stands up and walks slowly towards Kit, who’s standing twenty feet away from her, leaning against a doorframe. She makes sure the boom microphone picks up the sound of her heels clicking against the hardwood floor. “He’s powerless to escape. So are you. You wanted me, now you’re going to get me.”

“Oh I don’t know about this. This was his idea, not mine!” Kit begs the mistress. “If I do what you say, will you let me go?”

“I might,” she teases him, grabbing his scrotum and squeezing it lightly. A soft moan escapes from Kit’s throat. “I have a proposition for you. Would you like to hear it?”

“Oh, yes, miss. I would very much like to hear it.”

“EXCUSE ME? MISS? WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST CALL ME, YOU LITTLE BITCH?” she grabs his throat in anger.

“Sorry! I’m so, so sorry! Mistress! Yes, mistress. Have mercy on me. I’d love to hear your proposition, please,” he squeaks. After a few seconds, Peggy releases his throat.

“Good, good. As you know, I’m looking for a brand new assistant to help me out with my bondage business. You and your buddy answered our job posting. Thank you for that,” she whispers in his ear. “However, I know for a fact he’d be perfect for the job. He’s short, skinny, stupid, and a little bitch. He’ll be easy to control. He’s a perfect slave for someone strong and dominant like me!”

“Oh no! Does that mean I have no chance of getting hired? Should I just, uh, go home?” Kit’s erection begins to deflate slightly, much to his chagrin. Tony isn’t concerned, considering Peggy is the queen at getting guys hard under pressure. Lots of new guys have “performance anxiety” that can be crippling to shooting a porn video. Kit is promising, though. He’s not only enormous down there, but he’s charming in a dorky kind of way and comes across as a natural on camera. Those qualities can take you far, Tony often advises him. That, and your enormous dick.

“Not so fast, buster! You ain’t going anywhere. I wasn’t finished yet,” Peggy says in her sternest voice possible. “Your friend may be my little bitch, but you’re going to be my little slut. Come here!” Kit takes a few steps toward her. Wearing nothing but a spiked collar around his neck, Peggy grabs onto it and drags him closer to the cage. Jeff, who doesn’t have any lines in this scene, just looks on like a puppy watching TV. “I’m about to show you boys what it’s like working at my agency, okay? You think you can handle me?”

Peggy gets down on her knees right in front of Kit’s penis. It’s even more deflated than before, a state of being that she plans to alter momentarily. She may be a self-professed “size queen” and someone who’s been around the block a few times, but Kit Styles takes the cake. She can name off the top of her head at least eight or nine guys who arrogantly claim they’re a solid 12-incher. None of them (though Peggy would never call them out publicly) are telling the truth. However, all that changed the day she met Kit a few weeks ago. He’s the real deal. It’s going to be a real struggle to deep throat him when she only has so much throat space. She knows she can’t wait forever or else Tony will yell “cut” and force everyone to do another take. And Peggy hates to make everyone have to do extra work just because she can’t do what she’s supposed to do.

The first thing she does is grab Kit’s penis by the base and tickle his scrotum. He lets out a persuasive moan that will play well for the camera. Not too over-the-top but realistic enough to feel genuine. Then, Peggy licks the tip with her entire tongue like it’s a huge scoop of ice cream. After several licks, Peggy finally attempts to put it inside her mouth. As she anticipated, she only gets halfway before his tip practically touches her larynx. She knows if she goes any deeper she’ll start to gag, which would be quite embarrassing to her professional reputation. Several laps with her tongue result in Kit getting fully hard – which also makes deep throating him an even more formidable challenge. Peggy looks up at him to see if he’s enjoying what she’s giving him. His head is tilted upward and his hands are caressing the back of her head. This is usually a good sign that he’s liking what’s happening. Peggy decides to give him double stimulation: stimulate the top half of his cock with her mouth and the bottom half with her hands. It’s guaranteed to get him off faster than usual, a risk she’s willing to take. If they need to do another take an hour from now (which is common after a male performer ejaculates and is still needed to get hard again for a different scene), so be it. It’s not like Gordon will care. He’s not charging them for using his home. And, he’s not expected back for at least three to four days.

“Ohhhhhhhhh baby…” Kit moans. She can tell he’s getting close by the way his pre-cum is dripping freely down her throat. He hasn’t fully come yet (at least, not to her knowledge), despite the considerable amount of fluid he’s already started leaking. Tony hasn’t stopped the scene yet, so apparently she’s doing something right…

One final jerk of the base of his penis is enough to bring Kit past the point of no return. Peggy follows the script – yes, this porno actually has a written script – and whips out his penis right as he starts to ejaculate. She closes her eyes and allows his semen to squirt all over her face. The hot stickiness awakens her senses. No matter how many blowjobs and hand jobs (technically speaking, this was both) she gives in her life, Peggy Cole will always be disgusted by the strong smell of semen. She doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like how it smells, tastes, or feels dripping down her face. She loves everything about sex; including kink play, toys, roleplaying, fetish scenes, gang bangs, and doing the deed with people of all gender identities; yet this is the one thing she truly doesn’t like. She’s pretty sure that’s the way it’s going to be for the rest of her life.

“Oh fuck yeah!” Kit screams in delight. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes baby…”

“Mmmmmmm, baby, that’s a very big dick you have,” Peggy says while standing up. “And lots of cum all over my pretty little face. Now, who should clean this up?”

“Uh, I can go get a towel…”

“That won’t be necessary, baby.” Peggy turns to face the opposite direction where the fictional kitchen is located. “Ooooooohhhhhhhhhhhh Kayla! Come here!”

“Who…who’s Kayla?”

“My, how do I say this, personal assistant! You’ll love her!” The one final thing Peggy has to do for this shot is dab a little bit of Kit’s semen onto her index finger and taste it. She does so right on cue, putting on the fakest smile she can possibly muster.

“And cut!” Tony yells. “Excellent! That’s a wrap. I’m very happy with that. Thank you all. We’ll finish the rest of the scene after lunch. What time is it?”

“11:39,” says a random production assistant.

“Great! Let’s break for lunch. Be back on set for the next scene at 12:45. Okay?” Everyone gives Tony a verbal reply acknowledging their new call time. The production assistant (PA) hands Peggy a hot steamed towel to wipe her face with. She graciously takes it and immediately starts to clean herself off. The same PA hands Kit a baby wipe to clean off his penis. She looks down quickly, admiring his considerable length and girth (even after it returns to a flaccid state). Kit smiles back, accustomed to receiving such looks from film crews. The PA looks embarrassed and hurries away to throw away the used baby wipe in the trash. As Peggy finishes cleaning her face, worried that her makeup has been ruined beyond salvaging, Kit gives her a light tap on the shoulder.

“Very good job, Peggy,” he says. “You were great. You’re excellent at making guys like me feel at ease. Damn, I was so fucking nervous when I woke up this morning. You want to know why?”

“Why is that?” she asks, excited to smell freshly baked bread instead of jizz.

“Because I couldn’t believe I was going to work with you. You’re a really, really big deal. Seriously. You are!”

“Oh darling, that’s too kind of you.” She kisses him on the cheek. “One day you’ll be a bigger deal than me. I’m not going to last forever in this business. But you have staying power. Just as long as you’re still able to get it up.” She points to his manhood, grins, then disappears into the bathroom to wash up (for real) and get changed. Peggy realizes just how hungry she actually is right now. Lunch sounds like a delight. Rumor has it they’re having fresh lasagna and toasted garlic bread. That must be where the scent of bread came from.

The rest of the day went by smoothly. Jillian, also a relative newbie to the porn industry, is a 23-year-old black girl from Queens, New York. She just decided to go into porn last year, having just moved to Las Vegas four months ago. Her role was to give a hand job to Jeff while Peggy straddles Kit on the floor between her strong legs. She did a marvelous job, which made Tony especially proud. Tony isn’t sure if Jillian has the same “staying power” as Kit Styles, but he has no doubt she’ll give it her best. In the end, that’s all one can do. Give it your all. Until there’s nothing left to give.

Tony informed the crew before everyone left at 4:45 p.m. that they should be done for the rest of the week. They shot everything they needed to shoot. After he and the DP look at the dailies they’ll determine if reshoots are necessary. But until everyone hears from him, they can safely assume their weeks’ worth of work is now done. Peggy graciously offers Kit a ride back to Aria, where’s he’s staying until his flight home leaves in two days. Once inside her car, Peggy navigates the Vegas Strip (and a few side streets) like a seasoned pro. Kit is impressed by how well she knows her way around town, especially during rush hour.

“How often do you visit the Strip?”

“You’d be surprised. Not often. Maybe three or four times a month. Usually for business or if I’m meeting a friend from out of town,” Peggy says, darting through traffic during a somewhat modest rush hour jam. “People who live in Vegas rarely visit the Strip. It’s too damn crowded, full of tourists, and well, not much else. A lot of neat things to take pictures of, but once you do that for a week you get tired of it, know what I mean?”

“Yeah. I know what you mean. I grew up in Brooklyn.”

“Holy shit! Jillian is from Queens.”

“We chatted about that, yeah,” he says before letting out a long yawn. “I can count on one hand how many times I’ve visited Times Square in the past year. Three times. And yeah, like you, once was for an audition and the other two times was when a couple buddies from high school were back in town. Real New Yorkers never visit Times Square. Only tourists.”

“Yup! You know what I mean.” A few moments later Peggy veers off Las Vegas Boulevard and onto a side street leading to a small outdoor parking lot. She sees it’ll cost a whopping $35 to park for two hours, so she comes up with an idea of how to make the price worthwhile. “Tell me, do you have a girlfriend, Kit?”

“Uh, no. I just got out of a, uh, fairly long relationship. But as of right now, no. Why?” Kit is about to get out of the car until Peggy grabs his forearm to stop him.

“I can drop you off right here, or you could invite me up to your place. What do you say?” Peggy flashes Kit a devilish grin, which he instantly knows how to interpret. The young porn actor turns around, sighs, and kisses Peggy on the cheek. She relishes his hot wet lips on her exhausted face.

“I say that’s a lovely idea. I don’t think we’re needed on set tomorrow, but that doesn’t mean we still can’t have our fun,” he smiles. With that, Peggy speeds through the parking lot to find the first available spot. She practically leaps out of the vehicle, pays a meter with her credit card, and links her strong arm around his. Kit works out regularly, though he’s far from looking like a bodybuilder (by his own admission). As they enter Aria’s lobby, the large crowd of people milling around the casino and restaurants overwhelms the two of them. They aren’t tourists in search of cheap booze and slot machines; they’re two porn performers looking for a quick hookup. Neither of them is dressed like they’re hitting the town, with Peggy wearing a sweatshirt hoodie, jeans, and platform shoes and Kit wearing a fleece jacket and ripped up baggy black pants. There are quite a few folks dressed to the nines, with the occasional middle-aged guy in a Hawaiian shirt strutting around looking for a place to pee. Kit escorts Peggy through the gruesome traffic of people – similar to how she weaved the car through the crowd of vehicles – to the elevators.

“I’m impressed Tony was able to get you a room here. I figured you’d have to settle for a Holiday Inn or some cheap ass motel like that,” Peggy remarks. Kit shakes his head as he hits the “up” button on one of the elevators.

“So did I. I guess that rich dude likes Tony so much he makes sure we have, you know, all the right accommodations,” he says. “Let’s go.” They wait a short moment before the elevator they need to get on empties with people getting off on the ground floor. Peggy is now feeling a bit anxious, probably more so than Kit, although he seems to be breathing a little heavier than he should be. Luckily, they are the only ones who want to go up to floor #47, so they have the entire elevator to themselves.

“I’d fuck you right here in this elevator if I could,” Kit promises.

“Baby, I’d looooooooooooove that! But yeah, that would be the quickest way you’d get kicked out of here. And Tony, or Gordon, or whoever wouldn’t like that. Then again, you might be forced to stay with me! That would be fun…” Kit then leans over and kisses her on the lips with all the energy he could muster. He reaches back to grab Peggy’s thick butt cheeks, savoring their fullness. His ex-girlfriend was as skinny as you could possibly be without requiring hospitalization, so he knows he must appreciate Peggy’s curvy, meaty body for as long as he can. Who knows when he’ll be able to experience a woman quite like her again? In two days, he flies back to NYC to resume his boring life as a bartender at a second-rate Brooklyn strip club. He may not have the opportunity (or reason) to return to Las Vegas for quite some time.

A hop, skip, and a jump later, Peggy and Kit find themselves inside his small one-bed suite. He closes the door carefully behind him, making sure to put the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the outer doorknob. He never thought he’d have to utilize it on this trip, but he is glad to be surprised. Once he closes the door, he turns around to see Peggy immediately stripping her clothes off. She paid for two hours of parking, so perhaps she should slow down…

“Want to know something unique about me, baby?” Peggy is now completely naked, which, surprisingly enough, Kit hasn’t seen yet. Before, he saw her wearing a sexy BDSM dominatrix outfit. She looked great in it. However, this is his first time actually seeing her fully naked.

“Dear God in heaven! Will you look at that?” Kit cannot stop looking at the comic book-style bowling balls she has on her chest. He wonders how she can stand up straight with breasts that enormous without straining her back. How does she bench press? Does the bar literally bounce off her boobs? Or does she place the bar higher up? Kit can only ponder these questions. He doubts he’ll ever receive answers to them.

“I may struggle to fit your beautiful dick in my mouth,” she says, rubbing her boobs together like the world-famous erotic cam performer she is. “But I got all the room in my pussy for you. Come here, big boy!”

Peggy leaps into the arms of Kit Styles, a young man she’s wanted to nail the moment she first met him a few days ago. Once she heard from Tony that the rumors about Kit were true, her excitement to find out if this guy is for real doubled. Once she actually saw him in the flesh (and one piece of flesh in particular), her excitement tripled. Now that she has the opportunity to feel his lengthy penetration in the privacy of his suite – without cameras rolling – her excitement is through the roof. After ripping off his clothes, Peggy and Kit make out in front of a wide-open window overlooking the south side of the Strip. They know the window is one-way, but that doesn’t make them feel any less naughty about the fact somebody – however remote the chances are – could be watching them. The exhibitionistic thrill adds to the fevered atmosphere.

“God, you taste amazing!” Kit says between breaks sucking on her clitoris. Now lying in bed, Peggy feels she’s fully ready to take him in after multiple orgasms produced by his oral stimulation. If her throaty screams of pleasure couldn’t be heard through the hotel walls, then nothing can. Peggy grabs a handful of his beautiful hair and twists it playfully. Not usually into “rough stuff,” Kit takes it all in stride. “I’ll be back in a moment. Stay where you are, my dear.”

“I’m not going anywhere, baby. You can believe that!” She rubs a small amount of her vaginal moisture all over her labia until it glistens like rainfall on leaves. Kit goes to his suitcase to retrieve an extra-large condom. He rips the packet open and tosses it into a nearby wastebasket.

“Ooooooooooohhhh boy will that fit?”

“Let’s hope so. I have no desire to become a daddy yet!” Kit teases. He rolls the latex onto his 12-inch cock until it gets almost all of the way on. Peggy peers closely, estimating the condom is about an inch and a half shy of reaching the base of his lovely penis. That should be sufficient to prevent anything unfortunate from happening. Fully sheathed (for the most part), Kit leaps back onto the bed and straddles Peggy’s powerful body. With his left hand, he pinches Peggy’s nipple. With his right hand, he positions the broad head of his penis at her sensitive entrance. Even he has doubts that she’ll be able to fully take him in, though he’s heard rumors that Peggy Cole is the ultimate “Size Queen,” a role she plays in real life and not just on screen.

“Do it. I’m fucking ready.”

“Okay, darling. Here it goes…” Inch by inch, Kit carefully enters Peggy until he’s about three-quarters of the way in. He watches her face studiously to make sure she isn’t in pain or any kind of discomfort. Judging from the big grin she’s flashing him, Kit figures he’s doing just fine. She closes her eyes, relishing the feeling of a handsome-ish young man with a mammoth manhood penetrating her with such considerate finesse. Kit has had several girlfriends over the years, all of them privately confessing (sometimes after they broke up) that they found sex painful with him. This always made him feel bad. It’s not his fault that he has a freakishly large endowment. It’s genetics, right?

“Oh fuck yeah! I looooooooooooooooooove it, baby darling! LOVE IT!”

Full of confidence that he could never hurt her, Kit decides to do something that he has never been able to do before with a woman in the bedroom: Make love to her with reckless abandon, no fear, and no reason to hold back. It’s truly liberating, yet another reason why Peggy Cole is one hell of an extraordinary human being. Hopefully for both of them – but mostly for Kit’s sake – this could be the beginning of something special. She may be a solid decade or so older than him (he doesn’t know her actual age), but that shouldn’t matter, should it?

Kit decides it’s now or never. The time to think is later. Still feeling out whether or not she can handle his tremendous length and girth, Peggy grabs him by the cheeks and pulls him closer to kiss him. No hint of flirting or foreplay. That time has passed. Now, it’s all on him to perform his duties.

“Hold on, darling. It’s going to be one hell of a wild fucking ride.”

“Now you’re speaking my language, big boy. Ride me, cowboy!”

With that verbal cue, Kit and Peggy aggressively make love with all the energy they could summon after a long day on set. The bed squeaks in rhythm with every thrust and heave Kit throws at Peggy. It’s been at least two months since Kit last had sex, so he’s as hungry as he could possibly be. He pushes in and out of Peggy with so much force it startles him, forcing his mind to break concentration and wonder if he’s hurting her. Miss Cole’s passionate screams of delight tell a definitive story.

“YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSS!!! FUCK MEEEEEEEEEEE! FUCK MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! FUCK MEEEEEEEEEEEE BABYYYYYYYYYY!!!”

A few minutes later, Kit feels the tightness build up in his body. Peggy cannot remember the last time a man has fucked her like this. Once this is over, she decides she’ll ask if he’d like to be added to her list of “lovers.” As far as she’s concerned, Mr. Styles has earned a spot permanently in her proverbial “black book” if he so wishes. When they look into each other’s eyes, they know it’s only a matter of seconds until both of them experience the sweet, sweet release that their tired souls need. First, Kit climaxes. One final thrust later, Peggy joins him. An inaudible gasp escapes from her throat as she comes. Kit looks up above him, seeing a painting of a stallion running through a grassy meadow. The poetic irony of a majestic male horse displayed right above their bed is not lost on him.

“Motherfucker…that’s what I needed, babe,” Kit, out of breath and sweating bullets, whispers in Peggy’s ear as she comes to her senses. He remains on top of her, not wanting this magical moment to end. As drained of energy as he is, he manages to peck her on the cheek, coaxing her to open her eyes so they can look at each other.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck that was amazing. Loved every moment of it,” she says back. If the grin on her face were any wider, it might remain that way permanently.

As Kit withdraws his penis from her, he is horrified when he sees an unstoppable pool of milky white fluid drain out of her vagina. It leaks onto the bedsheets, several drops splashing across her powerful thighs.

“Oh fuck! God damnit! The condom broke. Holy shit, this is a fucking nightmare. I’m so sorry, it looked fine when I put it on, honestly!” Before he could say another word, Peggy puts a finger onto his lips, a clear message to him to stop talking and calm down. When he looks into her eyes, all he sees is a calm, relaxed woman smiling like she doesn’t have a care in the world. Her serene attitude tells him he has nothing to fret about. The long wet kiss she plants on his cheek solidifies this conclusion.

“Don’t worry, baby. Don’t worry at all. You’re fine. Nothing broke. Despite everything, we’re going to be alright,” she says. Peggy looks down at the mess developing in front of her. She giggles. “Looks like I wet the bed!”

“What…what do you mean you wet the bed? Isn’t that, you know, me?” Kit inspects the condom still sheathed around his flaccid penis for any signs of tearing. So far, he cannot find any evidence that the prophylactic failed in any way. As a larger man, Kit is constantly paranoid that the protection he’s using will rip during sex. Peggy’s enthusiastic enjoyment of their coupling certainly alleviated some of those fears, though it only takes a situation like this to bring them all racing back.

“Congratulations, Mr. Styles. But you’re the first man to ever make me squirt during sex,” she declares. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure you’re the first. God, I made such a mess. You better call room service to bring you a clean set of sheets. Oh well. I’m sure they’re used to this sort of thing.”

“Wait, uh, what? Huh? You just, um, squirted?” Kit is keenly aware of the concept of female ejaculation, though he is clueless about the physiological science behind it. He’s seen it done in porn, but never in-person. So this is a first for him as well. “Wow! That’s really fucking hot. Dang, I had no idea you could do that. Fuck.”

Peggy sits up in bed, trying to avoid the wet spots as much as she can. “I’m famous for it, which obviously you didn’t know. That’s why you’re so surprised. Yeah, I can squirt with the best of them. You can say I’m the best in the world to ever do it. That’s what I believe. The only way I can squirt is if I use a really huge dildo and fuck myself as hard as I can. Long, even strokes. I need a lot of hardness inside my pussy. Most guys don’t have the machinery or the energy to get it done. But you, my lovely child, passed with flying colors.” She ruffles his hair like a schoolyard bully picking on a kid during yearbook picture day. “Thank you, baby. I loved it. Same time tomorrow?”

Several minutes later, Peggy dries herself off with a towel and gets dressed while Kit retreats to the bathroom. When he unrolls the condom and inspects it carefully, he is pleasantly surprised to see that it did not break, just as she predicted. After washing himself, peeing, and wiping a few lipstick stains from his face, Kit emerges from the bathroom to see Peggy fully dressed and answering a few texts.

“My boyfriend is wondering where I am. What should I tell him? The truth?” Peggy asks Kit, who quickly dresses so he can escort her out and go down to the ground floor to get something to eat. Her hypothetical question makes him squirm a bit.

“You have a boyfriend? Damn! Ha, yeah you probably should just tell him that filming took longer than expected. I think he’d be a little pissed off if he knew that you were fucking the handsome young stud you just met on set.”

“Nah, he wouldn’t care. I do this sort of thing all the time. So does he. And our girlfriend, too. We do whatever we want, just as long as nobody gets hurt.”

“Hold on!” he says with a sharp tone of shock. “You have a boyfriend…and a girlfriend?”

“Oh yeah! We’re polyamorous. Hell, I have right now fourteen different lovers. Do you want to be added to the list?” Peggy approaches Kit and almost kisses him but refrains when she notices he wiped off the lipstick from his face. She just reapplied some lip gloss and wouldn’t want to make him wash his face again.

“Shit, that’s something else. Wow! Fourteen lovers? Damn. I can barely handle one at a time,” Kit says, checking his phone for messages. He sees none that needs an immediate reply. “Well, that sounds like fun. Yeah! So you live with a boyfriend and a girlfriend. That’s…that’s awesome. Sort of weird, but awesome. Sorry, this is very, like, strange to me. I’m not judging or anything, you know? Just…yeah. Weird.” He laughs to ease the tension. Or more specifically, to ease his own tension.

“It’s okay, baby. Not everyone approves of how I live my life, so I’ve heard far worse. We’re happy, the three of us. You should meet them sometime. I think you’d like us.”

“I’d like that. Yeah. Sometime.”

Well within her two-hour limit, Peggy and Kit return to the parking lot. They exchange phone numbers, agree to meet again tomorrow evening for more sexy fun, and go their separate ways. On her way home, Peggy is pleasantly surprised to see that traffic has died down considerably. She listens to Whitney Houston in the car, humming along while replaying her time with Kit in her head. How can she be so lucky? Tomorrow, she decides, is the perfect time to attempt to lure Mr. Styles away from NYC and move permanently to Vegas. The porn scene is thriving down here, with plenty of side jobs available in the restaurant/hotel business, entertainment, and rideshare industries. Besides, she must be able to experience sex like that again. A Size Queen must get her fill (literally and figuratively), she believes, and Kit Styles is definitely the man equipped for the job. Twenty-ish minutes later Peggy parks her sedan on the street after seeing that George and Teresa have parked their cars in the driveway. After a short walk up a flight of stairs, when she opens the front door she sees a somewhat surprising but not shocking thing happening inside the living room: George, Teresa, and Gabriella (a trans woman and part-time stripper who regularly comes over for three or four-way orgies) on the floor – with blankets spread out everywhere – entangled in each other’s bodies. Usually, Peggy is kept in the loop if one of these erotic meetups is happening. She supposes being busy on set all day is a good reason why they didn’t bother to tell her in advance.

“Damn! That looks like fun. Mind if I join in?”

As of this moment, Gabrielle is penetrating Teresa’s anal cavity with her penis while Teresa is sucking on George’s dick. George appears to be fondling Gabriella’s ass and (it’s hard for Peggy to tell from this angle) Teresa appears to be wearing a strap-on. 99.999% of the world’s population would be scandalized if they saw this as they walked in through the front door after a long day at the office. But Peggy isn’t typical of most people. While sex is certainly on their mind right now, the only thing Peggy needs is sustenance. She really needs something to eat or else she fears she might pass out right here in front of everyone.

“Hi baby! Sorry for getting the party started without you,” Gabriella says. Peggy kisses her on the forehead, despite still being deeply inside Teresa’s anus.

“Hi darling! It’s great to see your pretty face again.”

“How was the shoot today?” George asks.

“Great! We got most of it done today, but chances are I’ll be needed again on set tomorrow afternoon, maybe early evening,” she lies to the group. George and Teresa aren’t normally prone to get jealous if Peggy decides to randomly hook-up with someone, but she feels like now is not the time to reveal her budding friendship with Kit Styles and his infamous endowment. There is a time and a place for that later. “Go ahead and finish what you’re doing. I’m starving. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Peggy dashes to the kitchen to get her hands on a slice of cold pizza still sitting in the refrigerator. She was afraid someone would eat it by now, so she lucks out when she sees it still sitting there, all alone in plastic wrap. As she wolfs it down and flips through a random fashion magazine, she hears loud moaning and cries of orgasm echoing throughout the house, a two-bedroom apartment that looks like something out of a 1950’s sitcom. There’s even a white picket fence surrounding the property!

The orgy going on in the living room, however, would have been a bit too extreme for television of that era.

Before she returns to the refrigerator to fetch a LaCroix, Teresa sneaks up behind her, still wearing the strap-on dildo. She grabs Peggy’s boobs, squeezes them tightly, and turns Peggy’s head around so she could kiss her. No one says a word because no words need to be said. Still damp from her recent encounter with Kit, Peggy unzips her jeans and leans over the kitchen counter so Teresa could do her thing. And out of nowhere, just like that, Teresa pulls down Peggy’s underwear to her knees and enters her from behind with the strap-on. It’s already been properly lubed up from being used just now for the orgy. Peggy has no idea what George and Gabriella are up to now. Probably making out? Going outside to smoke pot? Watching TV? Peggy’s mind stops wandering as Teresa slides the dildo in and out of her, employing even strokes that quickly bring Peggy on the brink.

“OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH FUUUUUUUUUUUCK!” Peggy screams as the tip of the dildo hits her g-spot in the exact right place.

For the second time in less than an hour, Peggy releases a flood of liquid that splashes all over the kitchen tile. Teresa lessens the intensity of her pumps as Peggy’s vaginal walls pound rhythmically. It’s highly unusual for her to squirt like this without a large dildo, so she figures it’s the way that Kit “warmed her up” earlier that explains why. As her orgasm subsides, Teresa withdraws from her, grinning at how much ejaculate she is going to have to clean up. She promptly rips a few sheets of paper towels and gets on her knees to wipe it up. Peggy, remarkably, hasn’t collapsed on the floor. Still leaning over the countertop, only one single thought pops into her mind as the erotic memories of the last ten hours race through her brain:

I love my life.

***

The cold skies, dark grey clouds, and desolate sprinkles of rainwater act as a profound reminder that London isn’t nearly as romantic of a city as Paris, Venice, or Barcelona. As Melanie Wright looks out the window from the top floor of her rented flat, she hears the bathroom door open. She turns around to see Theodore “Teddy” Livingstone, one of her most loyal clients, wearing a leopard-pattern male thong.

“What do you think?” Thomas asks earnestly. Melanie, always polite and considerate of other people’s feelings, is fortunate that she doesn’t have to lie in this situation. Huh. He genuinely looks kind of sexy, she decides.

“Honestly? That’s hot. A little goofy, but actually hot. I’m serious!” Melanie, wearing nothing but a lacy white thong and black heels, goes up to him and tickles his scrotum. He’s already hard – in fact, he’s been hard since the moment he walked through the door more than two hours ago – and appreciative of her kind words (even though he suspects she’s lying through her teeth). What matters is having fun, he thinks, not impressing anybody.

Melanie plans to spend two weeks in Jolly Old England for a variety of reasons: a couple of modeling photoshoots, seeing friends, meeting a handful of muscle worship session clients, sightseeing, and scoping out a few places to possibly rent should she decide to live here full-time. The flat she’s staying at right now is one that belongs to three other friends of hers – all professional female bodybuilders like herself. The four of them, all spread out across the globe, split the monthly rent payments. Fully furnished and ideally situated in the heart of downtown London (and close to a major tube station), it’s the perfect place to host session clients, house parties, and set up shop as a home base if one is staying in the U.K. for a long time. Melanie arrived four days ago and has enjoyed a nearly nonstop schedule since the jet lag wore off.

Today, she’s spending almost the entire day with Mr. Livingstone. Teddy, as he prefers her to call him, is a wealthy CEO of an international shipping corporation, philanthropist, adventurer, playboy, and, of course, lover of muscular women. That part of his life is kept secret. Like Dylan Tanaka, another loyal client Melanie has seen at various times throughout the years, Teddy has more money than he could possibly know how to prudently spend. She doesn’t know his exact estimated net worth, though several appearances in Time magazine and Forbes should indicate that he’s not exactly hurting for money.

Teddy is a big enthusiast of playing “dress up” during their time together. He’s collected a series of costumes, outfits, and sexy male underwear over the years that he likes to show off to her. She also brings along in her massive suitcase a few fun pieces to wear as well. Even though she’s not wearing anything fancy right now (they still have the rest of the evening together since he paid a pretty penny for the privilege to spend the whole day with her), she’ll get there eventually.

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” Teddy says, his face turning beet red with embarrassment. “What have you brought with you on this trip? A Wonder Woman costume? An Amazonian princess? An icy cold winter queen?”

“After dinner, I’ll show you everything I miraculously managed to fit in my luggage,” Melanie smiles, pointing to her suitcase sitting in the far corner of the room. “For now, would you like to take my measurements?” She whips out a sewing measuring tape from her handbag. Teddy, almost to a fault, treats her more like a valuable piece of art than a living, breathing human being. He adores her. He’s not clingy – she’s had a few clients that she’s had to cut off because they wouldn’t stop texting, calling, or emailing her – but he has his moments. In his own words, his “thirst for muscular women is unquenchable.” Is this a creepy thing to say? Well, yes. But he’s a harmless man (with deep pockets), so it’s fine.

“Yes! Let’s do it.” Teddy gleefully takes the measuring tape, unwinds it, and sits down on the bed. Melanie follows suit. “I see you’re in great shape, as always. The Moscow International is next month, so I’m assuming you’re ramping up for that?” Miss Wright extends her right arm – her dominant arm – and flexes her enormous bicep. She made sure to do a quick workout at a nearby gym right before Teddy arrived so she’d be properly pumped up. He wraps the measuring tape around her mountain of muscle to see how much progress she’s made.

“Damn right I’m doing the Moscow International next month. I intend to win it this time, unlike last year when I was screwed over by the Swedish judge,” she complains. Melanie isn’t one to hold grudges, and she’s had her fair share of heartbreaking losses during her professional life, but she cannot fathom why the Swedish judge gave her low marks for her hamstrings. It’s arguably the best part of her legs! His argument was that they were too big and not proportional with her calves and quads. In a world where symmetry matters, apparently she failed in that department. Still, she’ll never let that go for as long as she lives.

“Wow! Eighteen beautiful inches. Let’s see your left arm. Do you think it’ll be less?”

“Yeah, slightly less. But not by much.” Teddy wraps the measuring tape around her left bicep.

“Seventeen and a half inches, so you’re right. Still, mighty impressive, Melanie dear. Quite impressive. I could never achieve that in a million years.” Melanie looks down at Teddy’s crotch, stifling her need to giggle at seeing his erection practically bursting out of his leopard thong. “Let’s move on to your legs…”

Like an archeologist studying precious dinosaur bones, Teddy measures Melanie’s muscles with exact scientific mathematical precision. It always amuses Melanie to watch him study her body with academic-like studiousness. When he gets to her thirty-inch thighs, that number alone – not twenty-eight, not twenty-nine, not twenty-nine and a half – makes him go crazy. He audibly moans when the end of the measuring tape lines up with the big 3-0. Melanie once again tries not to excessively smile at his joyful exuberance. She looks up at the clock and sees it’s 5:38. Their dinner reservation at some steak restaurant is at 7:00, so they need to wrap up their pre-dinner activities soon so they could have enough time to wash up, get dressed, and hail an Uber.

“THIRTY INCHES!” Teddy exclaims in a voice loud enough to make the walls shake. Melanie flinches at the sound of his bellowing voice.

“You better believe it. Kiss them. NOW!”

“Right away ma’am.” He obediently gets on his knees and trails several kisses up her left leg, starting at her foot and ending at the top of her thigh. She’s surprised the fabric of his thong hasn’t torn yet. When she bounces her quads up and down, Teddy loses his mind.

“Oh…my…fucking…GOD!” Teddy stands up, pulls his thong down to his knees, and kicks them away. His raging erection is finally free at last. He positions himself right above her. Melanie can guess what he’s about to do next. Right on cue, Teddy finds a small bottle of baby oil, opens it, and applies a small amount on the palm of his hand. Then, he takes his penis in his hand and starts to furiously jerk it. Teddy Livingstone is normally a level-headed, rational, and even keel sort of man. But when he’s in the presence of a world-class female bodybuilder with eighteen-inch biceps and thirty-inch quads, he loses all control of himself. His fetishistic love of female muscle takes over his faculties. Almost as if he’s in a supernatural-like trance, Teddy continues to masturbate as Melanie bounces her quads right under him. She decides a little verbal encouragement could go a long way to speed things along.

“Do it. Do it. DO IT! Come all over me. Come all over my quads. NOW, DAMNIT!”

That’s all the hype he needs, apparently. A few seconds later Melanie feels several hot squirts of semen drip onto her leg. One drop rolls down her calf. She hopes it doesn’t stain the carpet. Teddy groans loudly. Melanie still talks dirty to him, well after his pulses subside.

“Your seed may make my muscles grow even more,” she suggests, tongue-in-cheek. This breaks Teddy from his “spell,” returning his mind back to normal. “Maybe after dinner it’ll be thirty-one or thirty-two inches!”

Teddy laughs. “That would be amazing. Thanks, darling. I needed that. That was amazing. God, your legs are incredible. Brilliant. You’re unbelievably beautiful. Sooooooooo much muscle everywhere.” One final kiss, and Teddy and Melanie take turns cleaning themselves up in the bathroom. Less than thirty minutes later, both of them are downstairs in the lobby. Teddy has just hailed an Uber to take them to dinner but neither of them wants to wait outside in the freezing cold rain.

They are dressed like they’re ready to paint the town red, so to speak. Teddy is wearing a traditional charcoal black tuxedo and a bowler’s hat. Melanie has on a classy velvet green Vera Wang dress that generously shows off her considerable body mass. It’ll be impossible for strangers to resist the urge to stop and stare at her arms. While Teddy chooses to keep his fetish for muscular women a secret, he’s not shy about taking beautiful female bodybuilders out on dates in public. He’s taken Melanie before to the theatre, opera, an outdoor Mozart concert, and the finest restaurants in the U.K. He’s famous within business circles, but not the general public. He doubts any of his closest friends or family will ever find out his secret second life that he enjoys privately with some of the finest muscular women on the planet. And if they do discover this part of his life, so what? He’s filthy rich and living his best life possible. Awkwardness would be a small price to pay. That’s not worth denying one’s self the finer things in life.

“It’s here. Shall we?” Teddy puts his phone back in his jacket pocket. He leans over to kiss Melanie on the cheek. The front desk clerk, a young man in this late 20s, tries his hardest not to stare at the mysterious woman with outrageously huge muscles. He’s seen her before, but she’s usually wearing a thick fur coat to cover up her eye-popping physique. No offense to her, but Melanie’s face isn’t pretty enough to be memorable, though her muscles are definitely hard to forget. The clerk whistles after Melanie and Teddy leave the building.

“Yes, let’s go eat. I’m famished,” she replies back. Walking into the unforgiving London rainstorm hand-in-hand, both Teddy and Melanie look forward to a delicious dinner, followed by whatever erotic shenanigans will transpire in the bedroom afterward.

All the King’s Queens – Chapter 6: Dinner and a Show

Leave the place cleaner than you found it.

These words are ingrained in Henry’s psyche. They’re practically his life’s guiding principle. It’s not enough to simply tidy up after yourself and make it look like you were never there. No, that’s not enough. You must also do a service to the people around you by cleaning, scrubbing, sweeping, washing, and dusting the whole place till it’s shining so brightly the room seems to be winking back at you. Tonight is no exception. Maybe he’s working harder than usual because he’s both super nervous and super excited to see Peggy again live and in the flesh.

“Heeyyyyyyyy baby!”

Henry, who’s huffing and puffing while scrubbing a roasting tray laden with sticky honey sauce, turns around to see where that voice came from. But he doesn’t need to investigate whose voice that is because he already knows.

Miss Peggy.

“Oh my Lord in Heaven, is that the voice of Miss Peggy I hear?” Henry drops the sponge in the sink and dries his hands with a towel. And sure enough, standing in the kitchen entrance wearing a crimson red V-neck dress that leaves very little to the imagination (especially her enormous breasts) is none other than Henry’s favorite erotic webcam performer. “Yes it is! I knew it was you the moment I heard your voice when you came in.”

“Hi baby. It’s been forever since I last saw you,” Peggy hugs one of her most loyal clients, then kisses him on the cheek. “I always look forward to our little chats together. It always makes my day.”

“Oh baby, tell me about it. Trust me, I’m waaaaaaay more excited for them than you are!” Still as professional as ever, Henry pauses his attempt to not focusing on Peggy’s boobs for a quick moment to turn off the stovetop keeping the garlic mashed potatoes warm. After another kiss on the cheek, Peggy roams over the oven to see what’s cooking.

“I know it! So, baby, what are you preparing for us tonight? It smells delicious.”

“On the menu are sweet and sticky braised short ribs, curried vegetables, classic niçoise salad, garlic mashed potatoes, and blueberry cream puff pastries,” Henry announces as theatrically as a TV show host. Slow-cooking tough cuts of meat requires braising them in a red wine reduction sauce for at least three hours, meaning Henry has been working his butt off in the kitchen nearly all day. Peggy acutely senses how much work her favorite client has put in to preparing tonight’s dinner. For that, she wants to reward him for his artistry, loyalty, and optimistic attitude.

“Sounds delightful! I’m sure Dylan is taking Melanie and Monique down to the wine cellar to select a few bottles for supper, so we have a few moments alone together,” Peggy kisses him once more, then gets down on her knees to unzip Henry’s pants. He looks around the kitchen for Lawrence, who seems to be out of sight.

“Oh baby, this…this is unexpected! This is, um, quite a way to say hello to a fella!” Henry shuffles his feet toward a large walk-in pantry full of canned food, spices, flour, breakfast cereal, and oatmeal. Peggy follows along on her knees, laboring to pull out Henry’s penis from his boxers.

“I aim to please.”

Finally, once they are settled in the pantry Henry closes the door behind them and switches on a lightbulb hanging in the middle of the small, cramped room. At last, Peggy frees Henry’s bulging length from his underwear.

“Ah! There it is!” Peggy exclaims.

“It’s been waiting for you, baby.”

The reason why Henry is Peggy’s favorite client is because of his most noteworthy and memorable physical asset: His prodigious member. Reluctant to fit the tired old stereotype associated with black men like him, Henry has always known that he’s unusual in this regard. Peggy has been with many men in her life of all races and ethnicities, so she knows the stereotype that all black men have big dicks isn’t universally true. But in Henry’s case, it’s as true as the sky is blue. During their webcam chats, Peggy genuinely looks forward to mutually masturbating with him because she loves watching him stroke his enormous penis as she rubs her clitoris along with him. Very few clients actually turn Peggy on (to be honest, most of her clients are overweight balding middle-aged men with zero sex appeal), but Henry is a notable exception to the rule. Watching his enormous member get hard, harder, and eventually spurt everywhere is something that Peggy dreams about. It gets her genuinely excited.

Henry may not be able to compete with her dear friend Kit Styles, but then again very few men in the history of the human race are able to. If the podcast scheme doesn’t work out with Kit, perhaps Henry would be a suitable replacement.

“I know it has. I know!” Peggy wraps her fingers around the base of Henry’s manhood and strokes it up and down. It instantly gets as hard as stone. Henry has told Peggy that his penis measures 7.5 inches when erect, a claim she believes 100%. He also claims that if he’s aroused enough, he can get up to 7.8 inches, which Peggy can also believe. A self-professed “size queen,” Peggy has seen her fair share of dicks in her life. Some big, some small, many that are average, and a few enormous ones that stand out in her memory. Henry’s is definitely in the “memorable” category.

“I wasn’t expecting this…” Henry drifts off as Peggy opens her mouth wide and takes in his manhood. Earlier today he was talking to his boss about the possibility of (maybe) seeing Peggy tomorrow afternoon just before everyone is about to leave. He had no idea Peggy would proactively seek him out and do…this.

“Ooooohhhh Peggy baby…” She grips the back of Henry’s knees and deep throats him as far as she can go. She gets more than ¾ of the way home until she begins to gag a little. But that doesn’t stop her from servicing the portion of him that she can. Henry’s eyes roll to the back of his head as Peggy’s experienced little mouth does its work. He can tell she knows what she’s doing and has plenty of experience to perfect certain techniques.

“Are you close?” Peggy temporarily gives her lips, tongue, and mouth a break. “Because I want to taste all of you baby.”

“OHHHHHH, yeah. Yeah, baby, I’m close…”

Before he can finish his sentence, Peggy licks Henry’s sensitive tip and resumes her work. A small gasp escapes from him as he struggles to stifle loud noises in case Dylan, Lawrence, or the other two ladies are within earshot. His manhood has grown hot, pulsating to its largest capacity possible. Peggy senses he’s near the end. She hopes he is. She’s been craving this moment from the moment she stepped off the plane.

“Oh baby!”

Henry knocks a can of tomato paste to the floor as he releases deep inside Peggy’s mouth. Five powerful pulses of hot semen roll down her throat. It’s a miracle he doesn’t collapse from the sheer ecstasy of the moment. Peggy obediently swallows everything Henry has to offer, circling her tongue around him in order to lap every single drop. He tastes like most guys. Nothing unusual or noteworthy. She hopes the supper Henry prepared will wash the taste out of her mouth. Totally spent, she pulls his manhood out of her mouth slowly and watches it drop innocently between his legs. She stands up to kiss him on the cheek.

“Oh yeah, baby. That’s one heck of an appetizer,” she teases him. Still in a trance, Henry smirks at her, unable to speak. “I can’t wait for dinner.”

“Y…you’re welcome, Miss Peggy,” he stammers. “I…I sure didn’t expect you to greet a fella like…like that.”

“Well, I am a woman of many surprises,” she quips while exiting the pantry. “I’ll see you later tonight after supper. Take care!”

And with that, Peggy casually strolls out of the kitchen toward the dining room as Henry remains standing surrounded by old boxes of Wheaties and linguine noodles, still in a daze. A happy daze, more specifically.

“Wow! What a woman!”

***

Sure enough, Dylan and the other two ladies also have taken a detour. They are off to the basement to select a few bottles of wine – and other spirits – to enjoy both during dinner and afterward. Dylan suspects Peggy went to go chat with Henry. He has no idea their “meet and greet” would transpire quite the way it did. So, the rest of the crew remains oblivious to what’s happening upstairs.

“Damn, this is an impressive collection,” Melanie marvels. She leans over the middle shelf in Dylan’s wine cellar to read the labels on the bottles. Not an expert on the subject, she selects a 2017 Chateau Ste. Michelle cabernet sauvignon for no reason other than the design looks pretty. Monique knows a bit more about spirits (her grandparents owned a liquor store in Cuba before the Castro regime deemed the establishment an unnecessary “symbol of capitalist indulgences”) and chooses a bottle of Glenlivet XXV for sipping after dinner.

“Thank you. I’m not exactly an expert on wine and spirits, but luckily I know people who are,” Dylan says while inspecting his collection. “Leave it up to those who know what they’re talking about, right?”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Monique says. “There’s no way I could train for the Olympics without a whole team of people telling me what to do.”

Dylan chooses a 2018 Columbia Valley Syrah, a 2017 Malbec, and an unopened bottle of Macallan 25. He is happy with these selections. “Sometimes it’s best just to let people tell you what to do. It makes life so much simpler.”

“True,” Melanie chimes in. “But you surrender a little bit of your, uh, agency when you do that. But maybe I’m being a little overdramatic.”

“Ha, yeah, probably a little bit,” Monique says. “I mean, I still decide how I train. It’s my life. But it makes me feel better knowing I’m not going at it alone.”

Dylan locks the sliding glass door (he technically doesn’t need to do this since no kids live in his home, but old habits die hard), turns off the light in the cellar room, and leads the way back upstairs with their drink selections in hand. On the way up, Melanie cannot help but notice a prominent painting of herself winning the 1998 Tampa Pro. Is it a painting Dylan had commissioned or is it a photograph that was made to look like a painting using a clever Photoshop filter? Melanie cannot tell which it is.

A few moments later, Dylan, Melanie, and Monique enter the dining room and find Peggy already sitting down and buttering a piece of toasted sourdough bread. She has the biggest grin on her face. Gee, does she like bread that much?

“Whatever Henry has in store for us smells great!” Peggy takes a quick nibble of her bread. “I literally can’t wait. What drinks did you get for us?”

“A few bottles of wine from local wineries and a couple of my best scotches,” Dylan announces with beaming pride. Peggy seems amused enough. He takes his seat at the head of the table. Melanie sits right next to him, with Monique and Peggy sitting next to each other on the opposite side. Lawrence has already lit the four tall candles sitting in the middle of the table – each candle representing all the people sharing this meal together.

“Thank you all for being here,” Dylan begins. “As you know, my life can get quite lonely. It hasn’t been easy for me these past few years, but I refuse to wallow around in self-pity.” His three guests nod along in silent agreement. Melanie gets a corkscrew and pops open all three bottles of wine. She pours everyone a short glass.

“Thanks, dear,” Monique whispers. “Self-pity is a terrible place to be. Trust me, I know what that’s all about. After my accident, every single day was a challenge. Not just physically, you know, but emotionally too. For real.”

“My life ain’t been perfect, but I got nothing to complain about too much,” Peggy says. “But damn, I feel both of you. For sure. That’s why you got us in your life, Dylan baby.”

“Oh yeah, do I know it!” Dylan fights the urge to cry.

“My career was able to recover from it, but I know a thing or two about having your whole damn reputation destroyed,” Melanie sips her Syrah, marveling at its fully developed flavor. “I still won’t ever forget the sick pit-in-the-stomach feeling I got while sitting in that jail cell. You know, in Budapest. God, I try so hard to forget that night. Worst time of my life.”

The room remains silent for a while. Lawrence quietly enters the dining room with a rolling cart with four plates of niçoise salad, more bread, olive oil, and balsamic vinegar.

“Good evening ladies. I’ve placed all your luggage in your rooms. Is there anything else you need from me?” Looking as dapper as ever, Lawrence tries to respectfully look everyone in the eye and avoid inadvertently looking at the conspicuous cleavage revealed in the three women’s choices of dresses.

“No, Lawrence dear,” Peggy says. Lawrence avoids looking at Peggy in particular, especially given the fact her dress doesn’t seem to want to contain her enormous breasts. While he doesn’t share the same “tastes” as his boss, Lawrence does appreciate a beautiful woman when he sees one. But he does whatever he can to remain as professional as possible. Even though he knows it’s not necessary. After all, Lawrence did in fact accidentally walk in on the sounds of moaning coming from inside the kitchen pantry. He immediately identified what the cacophony signified and quickly walked in the other direction. Mr. Tanaka’s esteemed chef and Miss Cole were obviously engaging in very “intimate” activities. Lawrence felt it would have been awkward for him to do what he had originally intended to do when he came into the kitchen: Check on the bread to ensure it wasn’t overcooking. Thankfully, it hadn’t.

“Excellent. The rest of dinner will be served shortly. Enjoy.”

“Thanks Lawrence.” Dylan nods at his loyal butler with approval. Lawrence nods back and exits back into the kitchen. “I think it’s safe to say we’ve all done things in our past that we regret. But what matters isn’t what we’ve done, but what we are doing now and what we will do moving forward. At least I think that’s the case.”

“I think it is,” Monique says. “What happens to us happens for a reason. I don’t know why, but I truly believe that.”

Peggy claps her hands in agreement. “Amen! Ya’ll know that not everyone I know and love approves of what I do, but I’ve made peace with that a long, long, long time ago.” Everyone has by now dug into their salads. Including Dylan, who is usually too nervous or self-conscious to enjoy a meal when in the company of a beautiful muscular woman, let alone three at a time. “I’ve never been happier. So, I win!”

“You certainly have, my dear!” Dylan agrees. Peggy grins.

“Making peace with ourselves is sometimes our only option,” Melanie quips. Everyone seems to agree with that.

After the second bottle of wine is completely finished, Lawrence finally brings out the entrées. Sweet and sticky braised short ribs (slow-cooked to make the meat as tender as possible), curried vegetables (inspired by Indian cuisine), and garlic mashed potatoes (as classic as you can imagine). By now, Dylan and his guests are a bit drunk – not too much, for the record – and have moved on to less dire subject matter. What does a group of bodybuilders (and one token fan of bodybuilding) usually talk about?

Bodybuilding.

“For years now I’ve tried to make my delts fuller. But I could never figure out how,” Peggy complains. “It’s like I’m genetically not allowed to have them. I’ve done it all. Bent-over reverse flies, chin-ups, standing shoulder press, hell, doing fucking kettlebell exercises for two fucking hours! Still, nothing. NOTHING! I swear, it never works out. Can’t figure out why for the life of me.”

“Oh sad. I’m pretty lucky in that area. Not sure how, but my delts are one of the best parts of my body.” Melanie demonstrates this by turning her back toward the group and raising both arms toward the sky. Monique almost chokes on her food looking at her impressive striations.

“Damn woman! You have muscles on top of muscles where I’m pretty sure they don’t exist on my body!” Monique exclaims. “Good for you.”

“Melanie has accomplished many things most of us could only dream about,” Dylan says. He runs his index finger along Melanie’s back to feel the full meatiness of her shoulder. “Wow. Impressive, indeed. How on Earth do you get this?” He knows he’ll have plenty of time later this evening to explore Melanie’s body, but he cannot resist it while sitting at the dinner table next to her. It’s a miracle Dylan has been able to hold out for this long.

“Not eating delicious food like this. Or drinking too much wine!” Melanie empties her glass, pours herself another one, and takes one final bite of her braised beef. “I obviously can’t eat like this during my training schedule. But in the off-season? Yeah, occasionally.”

Lawrence enters with the dessert cart. He’s happy to see everyone has loosened up, including his boss. Liquid courage will do that to you. Tonight’s menu concludes with a blueberry cream puff pastry. Henry let him try a few leftover scraps to get a preview of what everyone will be enjoying after dinner. Lawrence was not disappointed. Nor will the diners be, either.

“Lawrence dear, tell the cook that I’ve loved everything he’s prepared tonight,” Monique says.

“You can tell him yourself, Miss St. Martin. I’ll bring him out. He’s currently washing dishes, but that can wait until the morning,” Lawrence pats Dylan on the shoulder, which is his subtle way of asking permission to bring the chef out into the dining room.

“That sounds lovely,” Dylan says with approval. “I’m sure we’d all love to pay our compliments to the chef for the lovely evening we’ve had thus far.”

“Excellent. I’ll let him know he’s invited to make an appearance at his earliest convenience.” Lawrence disappears back into the kitchen. Henry is also an expert at preparing just enough food that you feel full and satisfied afterward but not overstuffed. Feeling too full is a great way to ruin the rest of your evening. Yet another reason why Dylan has kept him around for so long.

“This dessert is giving my mouth an orgasm!” Peggy exclaims. Monique blushes at this rather blunt description of a simple puff pastry. Melanie smiles. Dylan sips some espresso, trying not to laugh. He fails.

“Well, that’s definitely one way to put it!” Dylan says. Peggy doesn’t seem to hear what anyone is saying anymore. She has a sweet tooth that’s difficult to satiate.

“Hello lovely ladies!” Henry barges into the dining room. He shakes hands with Dylan. Melanie lightly rubs his shoulder. Monique waves at him. Peggy, now done wolfing down her dessert, gets up to give Henry a big hug, nearly lifting him off the floor.

“Baby, dinner was fabulous. FABULOUS! Goddamn, can this man cook!” Peggy lightly grabs Henry’s crotch and squeezes it, a subtle move no one seems to notice. Except for Henry, of course. “My highest compliments to the chef!”

“Thanks darling. I cannot believe how lucky my boss is right now! Look at this!” Henry gestures toward the group. Monique pretends to “tip her cap” to the chef. Dylan once again shakes the hand of his faithful cook as a demonstration of his appreciation. It may not be scientifically proven that delicious food is an aphrodisiac, but in this moment, Dylan can only hope that there is a semblance of truth to it.

“Yes, I am one lucky son of a bitch,” Dylan proclaims. “And you’ve truly outdone yourself, Henry. Dinner was remarkable. Perfectly prepared, all around.”

“Well, I have plenty of dishes to wash. Rumor has it ya’ll have got something special planned for Mr. Tanaka, am I right?”

“We do, yeah,” Peggy nods in agreement. “We’ve got a special little show in store for Dylan baby here. It’s going to be fucking fantastic. You should drop by after you’re done with your chores.” She kisses Henry on the cheek suggestively. By now, Dylan has caught on that she and Henry may start their own fireworks show sooner rather than later.

“Can’t wait. In fact, why wait? Come with me to the cabaret room!” Dylan proclaims as if he’s Willy Wonka inviting his guests to tour the mysterious chocolate factory. Yes, Dylan does in fact have a professionally designed cabaret-style room in his home. Modeled after a 1920s speakeasy, it contains a fully stocked bar, tall scarlet red curtains, cushy leather sofas, a small stage large enough for a few performers, A/V equipment, a modest light setup, and a Broadway-like spotlight at the back of the room. The room isn’t used terribly often, but when it is Dylan makes sure his private entertainers are given the best environment to showcase their talents.

“I cannot wait to see this!” Monique says to Melanie. She smiles back with equal anticipation.

Located on the second floor toward the back, Dylan leads his three guests up a gothic-looking spiral staircase. The guest bedrooms are also on this floor, which is convenient for everyone involved. Melanie, who’s seen the cabaret room before, goes straight to her bedroom to get changed. She realizes she’ll most likely spend the night in Dylan’s spacious bedroom, but that still means she needs someplace to put her luggage. She decides she’ll get dressed in her sexy little number as the host gives the other two girls a tour of the new cabaret room.

“I had this room specifically designed to look this way,” Dylan says, leading Monique and Peggy inside the cabaret room. “Before, it was basically a glorified library, or study, as you both may recall. But I wanted to do something special with it. And here we are!”

Both women are gobsmacked when they see the cabaret room in all its glory.

“Sweet mother of God, this is fucking fantastic!” Peggy slides her fingers down the scarlet curtains, admiring the texture. “I love what you’ve done here! Who did you hire to do it?”

“Some guy I know who used to work on Broadway. He’s now retired and does contract work for rich idiots like me.” Monique sneaks up behind Dylan to plant a wet kiss on the back of his neck. He turns around, smiling at her. She smiles back, placing the palm of her right hand underneath his groin. This is an unusually bold move for her, Dylan notes to himself. What’s going on?

“Do…do you like it?” Dylan asks.

“Oh, I hadn’t been looking around much, but yeah, you can say that,” Monique answers. “And you’re no idiot, darling. I remember interning with you.”

Dylan laughs. “Yes, I’m sure you do. That was just a figure of speech, my dear. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Monique gives him a coy look. Dylan continues to wonder why she’s in such a flirty mood today. Peggy is still amazed at the authenticity of the room’s design. It’s remarkably similar to performance halls she’s seen in Paris, New York, London, and Las Vegas. She even imagines what it would be like to shoot erotic videos here since she doubts Dylan would charge a camera crew for the rights to use the space. That’s a conversation she’ll have to have with him later. She makes a mental note of it.

“Girls! It’s time to get dressed and get ready for showtime!” Melanie yells from a distance. Peggy and Monique give each other a look. They turn toward Dylan.

“I think we’re needed. We promised that we had a little show prepared for you. So we must be off,” Peggy remarks as she leaves the room. This leaves Monique alone with Dylan.

“I totally forgot the bottles of booze in the dining room. Should I go get them?” she asks.

“No, that’s fine. This room has a fully stocked bar. I’ll find something to sip on my own. Go on and get ready with the others,” Dylan instructs her. Monique dutifully leaves, giving him one final flirty wave as she exits. Gee, what’s with all these sexual vibes she’s giving him all of a sudden? Monique is usually not like this. She’s in a stable relationship with a man who barely approves of her coming over for dinner dates like this. Has she broken up with him without telling anyone? Or is she drunk and not thinking straight? Dylan ponders these things as he investigates the bar and chooses an already opened bottle of brandy to drink from.

Fifteen minutes later, Dylan receives a text message from Melanie telling him they’re almost ready to go. About a week ago, she sent him a Spotify playlist with various easy listening jazz artists on it. Dylan turns on the computer located at the back of the room, logs on to Spotify, and begins to play it. The playlist runs for three and a half hours, so they’re in no danger of running out of music. Besides, it’ll just automatically return back to the beginning once it finishes. Dylan then turns off the room lights and cranks up the stage lights. He leaves the spotlight off, as it’s so powerful that it can be overwhelming if you’re not accustomed to performing in front of it. The bright Fresnel and floodlights hanging overhead are impressive enough. He has no doubt they’ll give the three performers all the electromagnetic exposure they need to be adequately seen.

The smooth musical score provides complementary ambiance without being distracting. Dylan sees a small flutter in the curtains, indicating the three ladies are now behind it. With a glass of brandy in hand, he’s ready for the show of a lifetime. Suddenly, a long supple leg sticks out between the curtain slit.

“Oooooh, I like this already…” Dylan mutters under his breath. He takes another sip of brandy, nearly coughing afterward. His heart starts to race.

Little by little, it is revealed that the owner of the supple leg belongs to none other than Miss Monique St. Martin. She’s now wearing a classy green satin V-neck dress that makes her the “belle of the ball” who would undoubtedly capture the heart of any Prince Charming. He can only imagine he could be so lucky. Monique struts to center stage, twirling her arms in the air like a ballerina. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I can see we have a full house here tonight, and I have every confidence that you’re all in for a real treat. I am your host this evening, Monique St. Martin. But you can call me just…Monique.”

“Hi, Monique!” Dylan calls out from his comfortable leather chair located right in the center of the room. Monique waves back at him. Her hair is pulled back so he can clearly see her gorgeous face. She’s wearing a little bit of makeup to accentuate her features but not too much that it becomes distracting. Her natural beauty is distracting enough.

“Hi, sugar pie! As you can probably tell, I am an Olympic athlete who plans to compete at next year’s Summer Olympics in Tokyo. Can you tell how strong I am?” She gives the “audience” a double biceps pose, showing off her impressive physique. Dylan watches with amazement, then gives a silent nod of encouragement. Monique, seeing she’s properly captivated the crowd in attendance, removes her shoes (Dylan couldn’t quite figure out what kind of shoes they are) and does the spread-eagle splits with elegance and grace. It doesn’t appear to be challenging to her at all. “As you can clearly see, I take good care of my body. After all, my body is my life. And what puts food on the table. It’s my moneymaker. Can’t you tell?”

Once again, Dylan nods his head enthusiastically up and down. He refrains from verbalizing his enjoyment. “Well, I sure hope it’s obvious that I work out a lot. They don’t just let any old bum on the street compete in the Olympics.” Monique swings both of her legs forward, does a backward roll, and once she returns to her feet, performs a backflip in one sudden fluid motion. This causes Dylan to audibly gasp. She lands once again on her feet, bows to her audience, and gives herself a modest round of applause. The sound of Melanie and Peggy clapping from behind the curtain can be faintly heard.

“Whew! Not bad for someone who’s not a gymnast, huh?” This elicits a genuine laugh from Dylan and the two other ladies backstage. “So okay, I can do a few neat tricks like backflips and whatnot. But do you know why I’m actually going to Tokyo next summer? Any guesses?” Apparently, this is where she wants to solicit guesses from her captivated crowd. Audience participation, Dylan supposes.

“Uh, I think I can guess!” Dylan raises his hand. Monique grins. She points to her lone audience member sitting all by himself.

“Yes, sir! You there, the Asian guy with the crisp-looking necktie. What sport do you think I compete in? Figure skating? Track and field? The discus throw? Curling? What?” The curling bit makes Peggy chuckle from backstage, but not Melanie. Maybe it’s because Melanie actually lived in Canada for several years (with her first husband) before moving to Chicago to live with her second husband. There, she developed a genuine respect for curling. This marriage ended in divorce, but that didn’t end her love for watching curling whenever the Winter Olympics were happening. She understands why Americans scoff at it. That doesn’t mean she still can’t like it!

“Well, I will say something like weightlifting? I mean, you do have some impressive guns there, young lady…” Dylan points to her arms, which at this point do not need any further pointing out. Now it’s Monique’s turn to nod her head.

“Very good guess, sir! Ding, ding, ding! You are absolutely correct. I am an Olympic weightlifter. For my final act, would you like to see me attempt a lift?” Dylan has no choice but to say “yes.” He pretends to look around at his fellow attendees to see if they also would like to see Monique attempt a really heavy lift. It appears as though the hundreds of imaginary people sitting around Dylan all agree wholeheartedly.

“Great! This will give me the opportunity to introduce our next performer, Miss Melanie Wright!” Monique steps toward the curtain and lifts it up to allow Melanie to enter the stage. Unlike Monique, she’s dressed in a mysteriously elegant fur coat that covers her entire body. This coat must be enormous because Melanie has quite a substantial torso. She appears to be wearing heels and…well, it’s unclear what else she’s wearing besides the fur coat. Melanie struts around, waves to the entire “audience” as if there were thousands of screaming fans in attendance, and stands right next to Monique. The size contrast couldn’t have been more obvious. Melanie is much bulkier than Monique – and three to four inches taller, even though both of them are wearing heels – a fact that anybody with a pair of functioning eyeballs could see. Monique is your typical athlete who looks fantastic when she’s wearing minimal clothing but can easily blend into a crowd if she’s in a heavy jacket. Melanie, on the other hand, is unmistakably a professional bodybuilder who takes her muscle-building endeavors seriously. She looks like she can barely fit through a door frame. Whenever she rides in a car, it’s a miracle the tires don’t blow out. While she’s no bigger (in terms of weight, not sheer muscle mass) than a lot of male bodybuilders, your brain isn’t accustomed to seeing a woman that large. And her muscles are evenly distributed from head to toe. No one would ever think of her as being fat. She’s a marvel to look at, no question about it.

“Hi, everyone! My name is Melanie. How is everyone doing tonight?”

Dylan decides to speak up this time, just for the fun of it. “We’re doing great! Couldn’t be better. I cannot imagine doing anything else right now than being here, watching you lovely ladies do your thing.” He gives them a brief round of applause to show his appreciation for their willingness to travel away from their homes and come out all the way to Seattle (which some people consider to practically be South Alaska) to his not-so-humble abode. The two ladies currently on stage take a bow to acknowledge this kind gesture.

“Well, thank you so much for that rowdy ovation!” Melanie acknowledges. “So, Monique, I hear you have a special lift you’d like to attempt. Is that true?”

“It sure is! I will lift you up off the ground, place you on my back, and squat you for at least 20 reps. How does that sound!” Dylan can hear Peggy proclaim something unintelligible from backstage. It seems as though not even she was privy to what Monique had in store. Melanie acts surprised, but it’s clear she knew what the plan was all along.

“Hot damn! That sounds like quite a feat. You should probably take those lovely shoes off first, my dear.” Monique nods her head. One by one, she removes her heels and places them off to the side. She then does a little bit of stretching to get ready. Dylan doesn’t want to worry that she’ll reaggravate her injury, but he can’t help himself. The horrific scene at the Rio Olympics will forever be seared into his memory. How can anybody forget that? Just the image of the ambulance’s lights and the stretcher being carried out by a team of medics is enough to trigger traumatic feelings. Nevertheless, Dylan figures Monique wouldn’t do this (and Melanie wouldn’t have agreed to participate) unless she was confident that she could do it safely. This eases the tension somewhat.

“Good suggestion, girl. Can’t wait! I’m sure our audience can’t wait either.”

After stretching out her quads, bending down to touch her toes, and swinging her arms in a helicopter pattern for several seconds, it appears as though Miss St. Martin is ready to attempt her feat of strength. She takes a deep breath. Dylan holds his. Melanie loosens up by twisting her torso around in a circle. Monique quickly looks into Melanie’s eyes, then turns her head to look directly at Dylan. He still has not released his breath. The naughty smile on her beautiful face reassures him that she isn’t going to put herself in jeopardy. Finally, Monique bends her upper body toward Melanie, grabs her left knee with her right hand, places her left hand underneath Miss Wright’s armpit (Melanie kindly places her left arm around Monique’s back), and lifts Melanie off the ground. Dylan’s mouth drops agape. Now, Melanie is completely resting on top of Monique’s back. Melanie lets out a quiet gasp after she finds herself completely parallel to the ground. Monique has still not made any noise, as if this whole stunt were totally normal. As if she does this sort of thing all the bloody time.

“Alright, time to show you all how strong my quads are!” Monique brags. “Are you ready?” She receives no audible response from anyone.

And sure enough, she bends her knees almost all the way to the floor and powerfully lifts them back up. One rep. It looks as though she isn’t even breaking a sweat. And…Dylan must keep in mind that she’s doing this all in a dress! Then she proceeds to do two reps. Then three. Then four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight…

The entire time Peggy is screaming “Go girl, go!” from backstage. Dylan wants to join in on the raucous cheering, but something compels him to just sit there like a respectful audience member. It must be his Japanese heritage that forces him to be quiet when other people have the spotlight on them (metaphorically speaking). Nine reps. Ten reps, eleven reps, twelve reps, thirteen reps, fourteen reps – by now, Dylan’s concern for Monique’s safety has shifted toward being genuinely impressed by her strength, balance, and endurance – fifteen reps, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one (she promised at least twenty repetitions, so from this point on everything else is just gravy on top), twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four…

It’s obvious that Monique is finally getting tired. So, she’s human after all. She attempts one more rep and then decides to quit.

Twenty-five!

After achieving five more reps than her initial goal, Monique gently puts Melanie down to the floor, ensuring she doesn’t slip and fall. Melanie appears to be just fine. Monique is now dripping sweat, which is also a product of standing under these hot stage lights for several minutes. She gives her audience a bow, which prompts Dylan to respond with an enthusiastic standing ovation. It’s the only thing he can do to demonstrate his appreciation for her performance.

“Wow! That was quite a ride,” Melanie exclaims. “Unbelievable!”

“I hope you don’t get motion sickness easily…” Before Melanie could respond, Monique slides the straps on her dress off her shoulders, dropping the green piece of fabric to the floor. She kicks it aside. Wearing nothing but a bright white pair of lacy panties, the Olympic goddess gives Dylan a triumphant pose, lifting her fingers toward the heavens as if an angel delivered her onto this earth. Monique’s small, flat breasts are outshone by her remarkably wide areola and inch-long nipples, which are standing at full attention. Dylan could only imagine what it would be like to circle his tongue around her long, thick nipples.

Monique gives her audience one final bow before slowly exiting the stage through the curtain. She soaks up every minute of her allotted stage time. Melanie stays behind, pretending to fan herself with her right hand. “WOW! Well, that girl sure knows how to put on a good show, am I right?” Dylan verbally responds in agreement. “Not sure how I can follow that up, but I’ll try…”

The music continues to play, which Dylan almost forgets is still on. He’s too distracted by the shenanigans going on onstage to pay attention to the ambient noise. Still wearing her enormous fur coat, Melanie walks downstage from left to right, teasing her audience of one, forcing him to guess what’s about to happen next. “As you can probably tell, I am a woman of mystery. I don’t like to reveal too much about myself unless it becomes absolutely necessary. I suppose it’s a product of my life experience, of the paths I’ve had to cross over the years.” Expressing more melancholy emotions than expected, Dylan isn’t quite sure where Melanie is going with this. “But that’s about to change right now. You folks are in for a real treat. As you may or may not know, I am a professional female bodybuilder. I love women with big muscles, don’t you?”

“Oh hell yeah!” Peggy yells from offstage. Dylan cannot help but smirk at her eagerness. He decides to remain silent and let Melanie do her thing uninterrupted.

“Thank you, baby. I appreciate your enthusiasm,” Melanie quips. “Society isn’t always open to seeing a woman with big muscles. Some people say it’s gross, or unfeminine, or too masculine, or unnatural. They say a woman shouldn’t look like that. That looking like that will turn folks off to her. Ouch. What do I think of that, you may wonder? I say we need to ignore the haters. After all, what have they ever accomplished in their lives?”

“Nothing!” Monique shouts from behind the curtain. Melanie smiles.

“That’s for damn sure. But I don’t believe that. Not for a second. And if anyone out here tonight feels the same way, that a woman with big muscles can’t be sexy, desirable, and majestic, well, prepare to have your mind blown!”

And with that, Melanie takes off the fur coat, dropping it to the floor with more pomp and circumstance than is necessary. But none of that matters because of what is revealed to have been hidden underneath that coat: A world-class muscular physique. Dylan’s heart almost leaps out of his chest when he regards her. There she is, in her full glory, right on display underneath the bright lights, exactly how she’s meant to be seen. Wearing a cute pink sparkly competition bikini, Melanie stands tall and proud, ready to show off her decades of hard work. She flexes both biceps, making sure all 18 inches are seen in full view (in actuality, her right bicep is 18 inches while her left one is 17.75 inches, but who cares?). Melanie turns to the side and hardens her meaty triceps. So full, so thick, so meaty. Dylan is in a trance-like state at this point. He feels his erection straining against his underwear. Next, she turns away from the audience to showcase her broad back, wide shoulders, and round butt. Indeed, it’s a mystery how she can fit through doors. She’s as wide as a truck but as graceful as a figure skater. Finally, she turns around again, takes a deep breath, and bounces her quads. Nearly 30 inches in diameter, even for a top-level competitor, Melanie’s thighs are famous throughout the industry for their girth, fullness, and ability to “bounce” on command. Her muscle control is also famous among people who pay attention to these things. Dylan definitely knows this. Henry also knows this. Melanie definitely knows this and revels in it.

Melanie proceeds to show Dylan all the standard bodybuilding poses: abdominal and thigh, front double biceps, front lat spread, side chest, side triceps, rear lat spread, rear double biceps, and the classic “most muscular” pose (which basically means a final pose where you get to show off all your front muscles from top to bottom). She’s a real pro, which one can tell by how seamlessly she can transition from one pose to another. Going in a whole circle, she makes sure no inch of her immaculate body is left unseen. Dylan has seen Melanie’s body many times before – including fully nude, which he expects to see again later this evening – but this time it’s different. Perhaps it’s because he hasn’t seen her in a long time. Maybe it’s because of the dreary funk he’s been in during the past several weeks. But at this moment, in this exact moment in time, Melanie has never looked better. And he’s not sure he’s ever witnessed a more beautiful woman. This means something, considering Monique St. Martin was just on stage a few minutes earlier. Monique looks like a finely chiseled athlete. Melanie, on the other hand, looks like a beast. A monster. A giantess. She looks like she was carved out of stone. She cannot possibly be from this earth, but she is. She’s a real flesh-and-blood human being as far as anyone can tell. It could also be the lighting that’s doing the trick. Stage lighting (especially good stage lighting coordinated by a professional designer) can make any normal human being look…ethereal.

But Melanie is far from a normal human being, with or without the stage lights cascading onto her gorgeous body. She may not have Monique’s natural beauty, but Melanie’s flawless physique more than makes up for it. In fact, her physique makes her a one-of-a-kind, a once-in-a-generation athlete. There will never be another Melanie Wright ever again.

“So…do I have your attention now? Are you still unsure if a woman can still be sexy, curvy, feminine, and undeniably hot with all these big muscles?” Melanie asks these rhetorical questions without expecting an answer. She knows the answers already. Everyone in this room does. Especially her host sitting all by himself in the house. He knows better than anyone.

“I hope this was an educational experience for you all. This is proof, once and for all, that muscles don’t make a woman look like a man. They make her look more like a woman!” With that, she strikes a final pose (similar to the Broadway-style pose Monique did earlier) and waits for applause. Dylan and the two other ladies backstage are more than happy to give it to her. And they do with cheerful enthusiasm.

“Wow! Bravo! Well done! You are so magnificent, so beautiful!” Dylan bellows.

“Thank you darling. Thank you all!” Just as Melanie is about to leave the stage, Peggy barges on stage wearing the most ridiculous costume imaginable. Dressed like a Las Vegas showgirl, she has a bright red feather hat that must be at least three feet tall and five feet wide, a scarlet-colored bikini with shiny sequins all over it, and matching scarlet stiletto shoes. Peggy wears long silver gloves that go up to her elbows, gold hoop earrings, a diamond-encrusted necklace that Dylan hopes isn’t actually real (for the sake of accidentally losing it at the airport), and enough makeup to supply an army of Beverly Hills housewives. “Over the top” would be an understatement. Melanie giggles as she leaves the stage.

“Hi baby! How are ya’ll doing out there tonight?” Dylan whoops and hollers, which isn’t usually his style, but it feels right for the occasion. “I can feel the love in here, oh yes I can. For the finale of tonight’s entertainment, it seems like we need to add some spice in the air, don’t you agree?”

“Yeah!” Monique and Melanie shout in unison.

“And if you need to heat things up, I’m your gal. Now, you might be wondering what it is that I have in my hand here…” Peggy coyly asks. Dylan was so focused on her outfit that he completely didn’t notice that Peggy entered the stage carrying a long black object. What was it…?

“This, my darlings, is a little friend of mine. Or shall I say, a large friend of mine?” Dylan is finally able to see that Peggy is carrying around an enormous black dildo, probably anywhere between eight to 10 inches long. When Peggy ordered it from Amazon.com several months ago, the manufacturer said it was a solid 12 inches long. When she unboxed it and measured it, it turned out to have been about 10.5 inches. Sort of a case of false advertising, but Peggy was too lazy to return it and demand a refund. Instead, she kept it and added it to her collection of naughty paraphernalia. As a professional erotic webcam performer, Peggy Cole must constantly replenish her stock of sex toys so that her audience doesn’t get bored of her act. It’s both exhilarating and a chore, a contradiction Peggy embraces.

By now, Dylan sees Monique and Melanie reenter the stage by sneaking on from the right-hand side. They’re standing off to the side, just as curious as Dylan is as to what stunt Peggy has planned. “This thing here is a good friend of mine. We’ll call him Jerry. Now, Mr. Jerry and I are closely acquainted. He’s long, he’s thick, he’s hard as a rock, and he stays hard forever and ever. Now, you ladies can sure appreciate someone like that, am I right?” Monique and Melanie improvise words of approval. Between servicing Henry earlier today and eating the mouthwatering dinner Henry had prepared for the group, Peggy is in an especially erotic mood. Good food, good wine, good friends, and good cock are guaranteed to get her horny. Already dripping wet down there, Peggy prances around the stage until she decides to sit on the front edge. She licks the tip of the dildo as vivaciously as one could possibly lick a piece of lifeless polyvinyl chloride.

“Mr. Jerry wants to come out and play. I think that would be a wonderful idea, don’t you all agree?” Her mesmerized audience verbalizes their opinion on the matter. “I’m feeling really, really, really horny right now. Why? Well, because I’m always horny!” She laughs to herself. No one laughs back, but that doesn’t seem to stop Peggy from enjoying herself. “So to release this pent-up tension that’s inside me, I figured I should ask Mr. Jerry for assistance.”

Peggy spreads her legs out wide. She removes her bikini bottom with the poetic ease of an experienced professional striptease artist. Which makes sense considering that’s one of her side gigs. Then, she tosses it into the crowd, hoping it lands close to Dylan. It does. Dylan leans over to pick it up. Sure enough, it’s soaking wet. This makes him chuckle. But when he looks up, what he sees next takes his breath away. Little by little, inch by inch, Peggy inserts the comically large black dildo inside her vagina, moaning softly along the way. Nobody could tell if she’s faking it or not. The box says it’s 7 inches in circumference, which Peggy has surprisingly never bothered to measure. It takes a while, but at last, Peggy manages to stuff the entire thing inside her vagina, a feat that the other two ladies are witnesses with a combination of shock and disgust.

“Hot damn! Isn’t that painful?” Monique whispers to Melanie.

“Well, she doesn’t look to be in pain. But I hear you. Holy shit…” Melanie responds.

While it seems like Peggy is grimacing in pain, Dylan can see a genuine smile spread across her face. Finally, she begins to slide the dildo in and out of her moist entrance. It’s slow at first, then becomes quicker as she builds up more natural wetness. Peggy made sure to cover it with enough lube jelly to make this stunt as painless as possible. She considers herself to be a bona fide “size queen,” but at her age she needs a little bit of assistance. Especially when dealing with a brand-new dildo as large as this one. As she masturbates for her audience, Melanie and Monique slowly creep up closer to inspect Peggy’s performance.

“Oh, baby, oh yes. This is what mama likes. This is what I like, baby doll.”

Dylan cannot sit still in his chair. By now, he’s actually afraid he might come in his shorts. It wouldn’t be the first time. His penis is as hard as rock and desperate for release.

“You like this? Does this turn you on? It’s turning me on, that’s for damn sure,” Peggy whispers to anyone willing to listen. “I like it big and hard, like Mr. Jerry here. Ohhhhh, baby…” A veteran masturbator, Peggy has never used this particular dildo before in public. During her cam shows, she’ll use all sorts of sex toys on herself. Vibrators, bullets, wands, beads, butt plugs, sex machines, clit toys, you name it. If it’s out there, she’s done it in front of her high-definition 4K webcam. But this toy is one she was saving for a special moment.

“Oh God, I’m going to come! Right all over this fucking floor. Do you want to see that? Do you? Oh, I’m soooooooooooo fucking close!” Dylan knows what’s about to happen. He’s seen her do it on her shows, but never live in-person. So this should be a treat. He’s not sure if Monique and Melanie have any clue as to what’s about to happen…

“OH FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!”

Peggy quickly pulls the dildo out of her vagina, spreads her legs as wide as they can go, and squirts three large spurts of milky white fluid out of her urethra. It travels almost three feet in front of her, making a small mess on the carpet. But that’s the least of Dylan’s worries. Peggy screams at the top of her lungs, writhes around violently, then collapses onto her back. A few more shudders travel throughout her body as her orgasm subsides. It must’ve been a powerful one. Maybe one of the most powerful ones she’s ever experienced.

Monique and Melanie are stunned. Obviously, they had no idea what Peggy had up her sleeve!

Dylan falls to the floor, applauding like a madman who’s just listened to the London Symphony Orchestra perform the climax of Beethoven’s 9th. Instead, he just watched Peggy perform a different sort of climax, but one much wetter and messier. For anyone who watches Peggy Cole’s cam shows (Dylan and Henry know this very well), she is infamous for being a prolific ejaculator. She’s convinced that she’s the best in the world. Nobody in the porn industry can do it better than her. No guy, no gal, nobody. She can launch her female ejaculate farther than anyone else on planet Earth. She may not squirt as much volume of liquid as others, but in terms of distance traveled, Peggy Cole is peerless. Unmatched. Unchallengeable. Undisputed.

If you need scientific proof that “female ejaculation” is a real thing, go introduce yourself to Miss Peggy Cole. She’ll persuade you in an instant that yes, it is in fact a real thing.

After several moments of catching her breath, Peggy gets up and beckons the other two ladies to join her. She puts the dildo down on the floor, joins hands with her compatriots, and takes a theatrical bow to their appreciative audience. Dylan gives them a rousing standing ovation, thanking them for their splendid show. Monique’s eyes widen when she sees how far Peggy’s “girl cum” shot out.

“Holy shit, girl. What the fuck was that? Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn!”

“I have special talents that nobody else can match,” Peggy brags. Monique doesn’t say anything because she doesn’t need to. She agrees wholeheartedly.

“Thank you for attending tonight’s performance! Don’t forget to tip your waitress. Drive home safe,” Melanie announces. Dylan stops clapping and runs toward his three guests. Monique jumps off the stage and gives him a warm embrace. Peggy kisses him all over his face, not letting him get a word in. Meanwhile, Melanie is inspecting the mess Miss Cole left behind.

“Sweet Jesus,” she mutters to no one. The milky white fluid on the floor looks like someone spilled a bottle of hand soap everywhere.

The music is still playing. The lights are still shining. And the evening has just gotten started. Dylan looks up at a nearby wall clock and sees it’s currently 8:49 p.m. The night is still young!

“Wonderful, ladies. Splendid. Holy shit, you surprised me. I didn’t know what to expect. But what I got was better than I could’ve imagined.” Dylan kisses Melanie on the cheek. She kisses him back on the lips. Her kiss is deeper and more meaningful than their first kiss. He knows it. Peggy and Monique know it. Everyone knows it.

“The show isn’t over yet. Are you in the mood for an encore?” Melanie unbuttons the top of Dylan’s shirt, then kisses his neck. Peggy growls. Monique can only stare in silence. Without needing to say a single word, Melanie grabs Dylan by his wrist and leads him toward the exit.

“We’ll see you two later. Bye!” Melanie says as she and Dylan leave the room.

Nobody moves for a moment. Finally, Monique turns to Peggy with an exasperated look on her face.

“Seriously, though. How the fuck did you do that?”

As they tidy up the room for the next few minutes, Peggy cannot stop laughing. Neither can Monique.

The Benevolent Voyeur and the Female Bodybuilder – Part Two

Rebekah Kresila looking like a well-trained athlete.
Rebekah Kresila looking like a well-trained athlete.

The following morning before breakfast, Rebecca found herself staring long and hard at the $500 lying on her coffee table. It’s as if the smug stare of Benjamin Franklin were directed toward her, with Old Ben warning her not to go through with this madness.

A voice on the television informs her that the captured aid worker was in fact executed by ISIS in the most brutal fashion imaginable. Thankfully, the network spares its viewers the gruesome details, but the general idea remains loud and clear. We live in an unforgiving world. Sometimes, we cannot let reason or logic dictate our actions. This isn’t the way Rebecca wants the world to work, but she accepts this is the way it is regardless of her feelings.

The hour-long jog on the treadmill goes by so slowly Rebecca could have sworn it took two hours. But indeed, only 60 minutes pass before she finds herself taking a short shower with Katy Perry music blasting in the background. Thank God for Katy. We may live in a world with sexually deviant stalkers and international terrorists, but at least a quick listening to “Firework” can be enough to lift your weary spirits.

Thursday is arm day, which is a day no serious weightlifter would ever skip. In fact, it seems like most people only work out their arms and nothing else. Rebecca knows better than that. As a professional female bodybuilder who one day hopes to achieve elite-level status, she must be diligent and strategic while at the gym. Today is no exception.

“Nice arms, little lady!” Rebecca doesn’t need to turn around to know whose voice this gratuitous compliment comes from. It’s Gregory, a somewhat dirty old man who frequents the gym during the early hours of the morning. Rebecca characterizes him as “somewhat” because for an older gentleman (he appears to be in his mid to late 60s), he’s actually pretty handsome. But not movie star handsome. Let’s not get too carried away.

“Thank you, Gregory. What are you working on today?” Rebecca takes a generous swig from her water bottle. The contents are room temperature, which annoy her to no end.

“Oh, shoulders and back. Whatever I feel like doing,” he says. “When is your next competition? Didn’t you last do some a couple of months ago?” Gregory’s silver hair looks as stiff as roadkill. Does his sweat ever mix with the oil he puts in it? Rebecca apparently has time to ponder these things. She takes a look at Gregory’s biceps and notices a significant amount of size growth. She won’t say anything about that to him, however. There’s no need to feed his already oversized ego.

“Yes, I did a competition last March. It was down in San Diego,” Rebecca replies. “The next one is in Houston in eight weeks. I’m hoping to place in the top five this time around.”

Gregory looks up and down at Rebecca’s body, which sends a shiver down her spine. He doesn’t do it in a creepy kind of way, but she is a little bit “on the edge” right now for obvious reasons.

“I have no doubt you’ll place in the top five. Maybe you’ll win it all!” He laughs. She laughs too, forcing every fiber of her body to play along until she can find an excuse to exit this conversation. Thankfully, a gorgeous 40-something blonde woman walks by wearing a skimpy white athletic bra and short shorts that leave little to the imagination. Expectedly, this steals Gregory’s attention. Using Miss Blondie’s presence as an excuse to leave, Rebecca quickly makes a beeline for the free weights room and enters unnoticed.

Conveniently for her, the gym is within walking distance of her condo, as it is for hundreds of others for that matter. The early mornings are usually not too crowded, but by 8:00 a.m. the masses of people start to show up in droves. Rebecca senses now is the time when these folks might start to arrive. She grabs a pair of 65 pound dumbbells and cranks out 12 repetitions of bicep curls. This impresses all the men who are working out near her. They don’t say anything, but she knows exactly what they’re all thinking:

Not bad for a tiny Asian girl!

Rebecca estimates the gym’s clientele consists of 70 percent men and 30 percent women. The guys range from out of shape couch surfers to young men who aspire to become professional bodybuilders like her. But she doesn’t go to the gym to pick up guys. She goes to get to work. And that’s what she always does.

Of the women, there are only three regulars who are as muscular as her. There’s Candace, a 20-something black girl who’s competed before and is actively working on landing her IFBB card. Then there’s Michaela, a 19-year-old track and field athlete with a lean muscular body and breasts even smaller than hers. Rebecca used to be enormously insecure about her flat chest. Today, she’s accepted this fact and has moved on with her life.

Finally, there’s Joyce. Oh, Joyce. Rebecca suspects she’s a lesbian, but a short haircut, tattoos, and a pierced nose doesn’t necessarily mean she’s into chicks. Rebecca is definitely not one to stereotype like that. Joyce can talk your ear off if you let her. She always has something to complain about, whether it’s her flailing personal training business or her mother who’s wondering when she’s finally going to get married. Joyce is probably in her early 40s, so it’s not like she doesn’t have time to find a significant other. But by now maybe it’s a foregone conclusion that she’s not into men.

Or maybe she is. Rebecca doesn’t care either way.

Today, none of these ladies are at the gym. None of the talkative guys who endlessly flirt with her are here either. So perhaps Rebecca will be able to lift in peace and quiet.

“I’m almost done. Just a few more sets,” Rebecca tells herself.

Before leaving the gym, Rebecca sometimes visits the smoothie bar and orders something to help her recover from her workout. Today is one of those days. After finishing her workout and taking a nice long shower, Rebecca dresses and approaches the bar. This morning, a cute guy named Dale is holding down the fort. She and Dale have some history together. A few years ago at a Christmas party they met each other through a mutual friend. They both got really drunk and started to make out. One thing led to another, and before the night was out they returned to Dale’s apartment and almost had sex. They were about to do the deed until Dale, who was more drunk than Rebecca, accidentally hits his head against a wooden cabinet and suffers a bad laceration on his forehead.

Rebecca dutifully ordered a cab and took him to the hospital. They ended up not having sex that evening. That’s probably a good thing in retrospect. Dale is a good guy, but his frat boy days haven’t totally left him yet. He’s nearly 30 but still thinks he’s a freshman in college. Rebecca tends to not gravitate toward men like that.

“What’s up Dale?” Rebecca smiles and takes out her phone to check her e-mail. No messages.

“Hey, girl, hey! Looking good. Oh, not much,” Dale says. “My dog puked all over my bed this morning. That was fun. What about you?”

Learning about Dale’s dog barfing up his breakfast was not the type of news she was in the mood to hear. But that’s Dale for you, ladies and gentlemen.

“Not much. Same old, same old. That’s what happens to people our age. We fall into ruts. I’ll have a strawberry banana smoothie with two scoops of protein powder and half a scoop of energy. I’m going to need it today.” Out of the corner of her eye she sees Gregory hitting on Miss Blondie. This brings a smirk to her face.

A fine pair of legs on Sandy Vu.
A fine pair of legs on Sandy Vu.

“Coming right up!” Dale quickly goes to work. If there’s one thing he does exceptionally well, it’s make delicious smoothies just as you ordered it. So bravo to him for that.

Twenty minutes later, Rebecca almost finishes the smoothie as she parks her car at the physical therapy clinic. She slurps down the rest and tosses the plastic cup into a garbage can. A small army of flies circle around the opening. It looks like it hasn’t been attended to in years. Disgusting.

The work day begins as usual. Only three clients today. None of them noteworthy to mention. In the back office there are several computers that therapists and freelance employees can use. Her usual computer at the back of the room appears to be taken, as someone’s backpack and fleece pullover is lying on top of the chair.

Who could this possibly be? Everyone knows this computer is always reserved for Rebecca Tanaka…

“I’m sorry. Is this your computer? I didn’t know these were assigned to anyone in particular,” an unfamiliar voice says from behind Rebecca’s back. She immediately turns around to see who it is. Standing before her is someone she’s never seen before at the clinic. It’s a devilishly handsome Asian guy with a charming smile and a fit athletic body. Rebecca’s eyes widen as she loses herself in this man’s beautiful aura. She finally composes herself and extends her hand toward him.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there. I’m Rebecca. Pleased to meet you.” They shake hands. His firm grip sends a jolt of electricity through her system. There is something about the way he touches her that Rebecca knows is different from anyone else she’s ever met.

“Hi. I’m Brad. I’m new here. Today is my first day on the job,” he says. Rebecca continues to get lost in his eyes. “I’m the new sports athletic trainer. I had no idea this was your computer.”

“Oh, no. These computers aren’t assigned. I just usually choose this one by default. But I can use the one next to yours.” Rebecca puts her backpack in front of the computer next to Brad’s. He smiles at her again, which sends another jolt of energy through her body. God, what is happening to her?

“Great. I don’t want to step on anybody’s toes on my first day at the job, you know what I mean?”

“I definitely know what you mean!” Wow, is that the best she can come up with? Rebecca turns on the computer and sits down. She admires Brad’s impressive biceps and forearms, which is significant considering she’s seen hundreds of big and buff dudes in her life. “Sports athletic trainer, you say? Julie did say she wants the clinic to go further into that direction.”

“Yeah, I guess most of your clients are elderly people and folks recovering from surgery, right? It’s about time we get some new blood in here. High school and college athletics are becoming a bigger and bigger deal, so it makes sense that she would want to adapt to the times,” he says. Right now, Rebecca is hanging onto every word he speaks. Her eyes move from his arms to his chest, legs, and angular face.

“Where were you before coming here?” Rebecca asks.

“I worked with minor league baseball players down in the Phoenix area,” Brad says. “I just moved up here a few months ago. I couldn’t stand the heat anymore and wanted to go somewhere cooler.”

Before Rebecca could say something, Julie pops her head into the room.

“Rebecca! I’m glad you and Brad are getting acquainted. But Sam is here for his 12:30 appointment.” Well, shit. Time to go to work. Rebecca stands up, gives up on checking her work e-mail, and grins at Brad.

“It’s nice talking to you, Brad. I have to get to work. I’ll see you around,” Rebecca says. She stands up, accidentally places her foot underneath a power cord, and trips as she attempts to take a step forward.

“Whoa there!” Brad saves Rebecca from falling by clutching her in his strong arms. The warm touch of his body against her body provides some dampness to form between her legs. It’s not too often that Rebecca becomes sexually aroused at work (actually, she’s never felt sexually aroused at work), so this is a new experience for her. Also, it’s humiliating to be tripping over herself the moment she encounters a good looking guy.

“Thanks. I can be a klutz at times,” she says. Rebecca regains her composure and exits the room without further antics one would usually find in a low-grade romantic comedy. Brad smirks to himself and makes a mental note to remember Rebecca’s name and face. He too is smitten with her.

Rebecca wasn’t able to see Brad for the rest of the day. Her three clients decide to take up entirely too much time (it’s not her problem, though. They’re willingly paying for her time) and their appointments were lined up one after another. By the time she clocked out for the day, Brad had already gone home. Oh well. There will be a next time, Rebecca supposes.

Typical agility drills done by sports athletic trainers.
Typical agility drills done by sports athletic trainers.

After picking up a tub of fresh quinoa and sundried tomato salad from a deli across the street, Rebecca returns home. She makes small talk with Craig and checks her mail. Thankfully, no perverted letters from nutty voyeurs. Rebecca enters her condo unit and decides to take a shower before eating dinner. She usually showers right before going to bed, but her three clients gave her a workout more than she gave them a workout. The daily grind needs to be washed off before her evening could commence.

Self-conscious about preying eyes, Rebecca closes the blinds on all her windows. You never know these days, she thinks to herself. Rebecca strips naked and takes a moment to look at herself in a long full-body mirror. Despite her natural beauty and impressive muscle mass, Rebecca is still insecure about her looks. She looks at her flat chest as a major flaw. She hates her short stumpy legs. She loves the muscle definition on her legs, but she wishes they could be longer. Her short stature combined with her wide muscular frame makes her look like a Hobbit bodybuilder.

Rebecca also hates her eyes. As a full-blooded Japanese woman, her eyes are as narrow and slanted as a cartoon character. Kids used to make fun of her growing up. Deep down inside, she still feels like adult women judge her because of her strong Asian facial features. She knows that’s ridiculous because most people in the Pacific Northwest are more open-minded than that, but those scarring childhood memories don’t ever go away. They’re a part of her psyche for eternity.

Another remarkable feature of her body is her astonishingly large clitoris. Rebecca takes a modest amount of anabolic steroids to help her gain muscle mass, but nothing too extreme. Nevertheless, the additional growth hormones circulating through her system made a certain part of her body grow larger than normal. Even when she isn’t aroused, the thick head of her clit sticks out between her legs like a really tiny penis.

When she is aroused (and when she’s lucky enough for a guy to be willing to give her oral sex), her clitoris can grow to an eye-popping size. Long and thick, she once measured it with an old plastic ruler. Rebecca did a double take when she saw how long it is. Two and a half inches when she’s fully aroused. Only an inch and a quarter when she’s not aroused.

Is that normal? She has doubts about that.

Every time Rebecca goes to the beach and wears a bikini, she uses a piece of scotch tape to hide her clit from public view. It’s embarrassing, but it’s what she has to do to feel like a normal woman. “Real” women don’t have large bulges in their panties. All she wants to do is to not feel like a freak.

Upon finishing her inspection of her body, Rebecca likes what she sees overall and goes on to take her shower. Fifteen minutes later she walks out to the living room still naked and drying her hair with a towel. She turns on the television to see what’s on. Some murder mystery show. The victim died by a sledgehammer being pounded repeatedly into the side of his skull. What an unpleasant way to go. Why do people watch violent shit like this?

She turns off the TV and plops down on her bed. For some unexplained reason, Brad’s handsome face and impressive biceps flash into her mind. Her heart flutters. The dampness returns between her legs. Rebecca thinks now is the appropriate time to masturbate, an activity she hasn’t done as much lately as she’d like.

Lee Jin Won in top competitive shape.
Lee Jin Won in top competitive shape.

Rebecca turns off all the lights and takes out her trusty dildo from the bedside nightstand. She dabs a small amount of lubrication on the tip and spreads it all over the shaft. A typical 7 inch long white dildo, she’s had this since college and uses it as her default masturbation toy. She also has a vibrator, but she doesn’t like the annoying humming sound. It gets her out of the mood and ruins her mindset. Rebecca needs everything to be perfect in order for her to optimally get off.

Taking in a deep breath, Rebecca closes her eyes and spreads her legs out wide. She leans back against her pillow and exhales. She playfully taps the dildo against her enlarged clitoris and moans at the sensations this gives her. Rebecca suspects that when her clit began to grow it also started to become more sensitive. She could be wrong about this observation, though. But the added pleasure it’s given her is something she can’t argue about.

Inch by inch, she inserts the dildo inside her moist vagina. She strokes it in and out at a leisurely pace, not wanting to rush anything. It’s been four days since she last had an orgasm, so she wants this to be a good one. Rebecca makes sure the dildo touches every square centimeter of her wet and sensitive passageway, including her g-spot. More moans escape from her throat.

If only “Jones” were able to see this! He’d go crazy and would probably give her $2,000 instead.

The thought of Jones watching her temporarily takes her mind off of pleasing herself, so she immediately refocuses on Brad. Rebecca imagines the dildo being Brad’s erection invading her, exploring her, pleasing her. With her free hand, she pinches her dark brown nipples. Both are sticking straight up into the air. This inspires her to increase her tempo. Faster and faster she stimulates herself. Her legs tense up. She lifts her back up off the bedsheets. Her head almost bangs against the bedframe.

She’s close, and she knows it.

Suddenly, the explicit visual image of Brad kissing her just as he comes inside her unexpectedly flashes into her head. This is enough to set her off.

“Oooooooohhhhh! YES!!!”

Rebecca comes and squirts a small amount of creamy white fluid onto the bed. The walls of her vagina contract wildly, as if this is the first orgasm she’s ever experienced in her life. This is not true, of course, but this is a testament to how strong of a spell Brad has cast over her imagination. Out of breath, Rebecca opens her eyes and enjoys the smaller vaginal contractions that follow the more intense ones. Finally, her orgasm ends and she is left lying on the bed drenched in her own sweat.

Fuck. She might have to take another shower!

She sits up and notices the wet spot between her legs on the bedsheets. Fuck! She’s been able to ejaculate for years now, but she can usually control it by not excessively rubbing her g-spot. She must have gotten carried away this time. Rebecca goes to the bathroom, cleans up the mess with a paper towel, and pees in the toilet. Looking at herself in the still-fogged up mirror, she smiles and says to her reflection:

“Damn. That was a good one!”

Friday is the next day. It is uneventful and boring, just like every other Friday at the office. It is a rest day, so she spent the morning talking to her photographer about finalizing the details of their shoot tomorrow. The weather is supposed to be gorgeous, which is fantastic news.

As it turns out, Brad will work primarily in the field and away from the office. At a weekly team meeting – who holds staff meetings on Fridays? – Julie informs the group that Brad will travel to high schools and college campuses to work with athletes to help them improve their speed, strength, quickness, burst, coordination, and overall athleticism. Rebecca is disappointed to hear this news, but she is still glad he’s part of the staff.

Later that evening Rebecca goes out for cocktails with her two best friends, Lauren and Desiree. These three have known each other since middle school and they remarkably still keep in touch. Wisely, Rebecca makes no mention of “Jones” but did glowingly rave about her new cute coworker.

“Girl! Are you going to pursue anything with him?” Desiree asks.

“Before she can answer that, she needs to know if he’s single. Is he available?” Lauren chimes in.

Rebecca downs her whiskey on the rocks and coughs. Lauren and Desiree always elect to drink “girly” drinks with too much sugar and fruit. Rebecca considers herself to be more hardcore and goes for the hard stuff. Her two friends cannot figure out why she’d intentionally drink that shit.

“I think he’s single, and I’m definitely going to make a move if the opportunity presents itself,” Rebecca assures them. “It’s been forever since I’ve last dated.”

Three and a half years to be exact. Both Lauren and Desiree know this.

Finally, Saturday morning arrives. Rebecca gets up at 6:00 a.m. – an hour earlier than she usually does – and eats a larger than normal breakfast. She cooks herself a veggie omelet made with egg whites, low fat cheese, peas, broccoli, onion, carrots, celery, zucchini, asparagus, and avocado. This is served with a bowl of Greek yogurt with granola and peach slices. She drinks way too much coffee before brushing her teeth (in order to make her pearly whites as white as possible) and heading to the gym.

Leg day. Oh, fun.

Saturday mornings at the gym is the best time to go because hardly anyone is there. But Rebecca is there. Gregory and Michaela are also there. Gregory might be flirting with Michaela by the TRX machine. Gross.

Several squats, lunges, deadlifts, leg presses, snatch and power cleans, and miles running on the treadmill later, Rebecca showers in the locker room but struggles to walk around. She always wants to get an arduous workout in before a major photoshoot. It makes her feel more sexy and alive when she’s so exhausted her body is running on pure adrenaline. She skips the smoothie bar (and having to deal with Dale, who seems to work here every single day) and instead drinks a bottled protein shake. It’s not the same, but it’ll do for today.

The drive to Alki Beach Park from Bellevue only takes 35 minutes, which is pretty damn good, even for a sleepy weekend. Rebecca receives a text from Garrett, her photographer, saying he’s running a few minutes late. This doesn’t surprise her one bit. He’s always late. Rebecca’s Asian heritage doesn’t allow her to be late for anything. There’s one perk of having slanted eyes.

Garrett has been Rebecca’s primary photographer for a solid decade. They work perfectly together. He’s an artsy type who also knows how to shoot commercial shots. He’s also very gay, so she has no worries of him coming on to her. That’s been an issue with past photographers. But no longer.

It’s a gorgeous morning in Seattle. Not a cloud in the sky, but there’s a cool breeze to keep her from getting too overheated. The beach is thinly crowded, populated with a few joggers and little kids making sandcastles. Wearing gray sweatpants and a tank top, Rebecca notices she’s already receiving unwarranted stares from random strangers. A group of bros smoking weed by the public bathroom stalls makes comments about her “wicked shoulders and savage biceps.” Rebecca doesn’t even give them a courtesy smile. Those fuckers don’t deserve it.

Alki Beach on a beautiful summer evening.
Alki Beach on a beautiful summer evening.

Rebecca arrives at the agreed upon meeting area and waits. She sits on a park bench and checks her phone for messages. Nothing. She looks around to take in the sights and smells of springtime transitioning into summer. This is her favorite time of the year. It’s not too hot, but the chilly dewy elements of spring are long gone. Out of the corner of her eye she sees a middle-aged white man wearing a suit and tie sitting down on a bench about 400 feet away from her.

“That’s an unusual thing to wear to the beach,” Rebecca says aloud.

He’s looking out into Puget Sound with a pair of professional-grade binoculars. The man has dark hair with streaks of silver on the sides. His black suit is complemented perfectly with a bright red tie. Rebecca even notices the impeccable shine on his Italian loafers. They look damn expensive. They probably are damn expensive.

For whatever odd reason, Rebecca notices him out of the 40 or 50 other people within view. She doesn’t know why, but all her life she’s had a well-developed sixth sense about certain situations. Every so often, she’ll fixate on something or someone for reasons she can’t explain. Intuition is a strange thing, indeed. The man isn’t doing anything inappropriate or suspicious; the only noteworthy thing about him is his out-of-place suave attire.

“Rebecca! Hi!” Rebecca jumps out of her seat when a familiar but sharp voice calls out her name. She turns around and sees Garrett, dressed like a 1970s Greenwich Village hipster, jogging toward her with an expensive Nikon camera around his neck and a backpack full of photography equipment slung over his shoulder.

“Hello Garrett!” They hug. Garrett playfully rubs her muscular back and whistles.

“Holy fucking shit, Becky. You’re getting bigger and bigger every single fucking time I see you, I swear to God,” Garrett exclaims. “Holy fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

“Thanks,” Rebecca says, blushing a bit. “I do what I can to add quality content to your portfolio.”

Garrett laughs heartily and checks the settings on his camera. Rebecca self-consciously removes her tank top, sweatpants, and sandals and stuffs them inside her tote bag. As always, a hidden strip of tape conceals the bulge between her legs. The brand new bikini she ordered earlier in the week hadn’t arrived yet (the distributor says it’s stuck in Cleveland of all places), so she had to pull out an old frilly Navy blue bikini from her closet instead. Oh well. Life goes on.

“Motherfucker, stop looking like that, girl!” Garrett says. “Well, are you ready?”

Rebecca looks around and already sees a small gathering of onlookers watching them. Some are pointing at Rebecca and presumably commenting on her muscles. She overhears a little girl ask her mother if “that girl is a boy or a girl.” Gee whiz, kid. You just answered your own fucking question!

No matter how long she’s been a competitive bodybuilder, Rebecca has never gotten used to unsolicited stares from strangers and rude remarks from the peanut gallery. But that’s the life she’s chosen to lead. If they can’t handle the sight of a beautiful muscular Asian woman flaunting her stuff at a public beach, they can take their opinion and shove it up their ass.

“I’m ready,” Rebecca says. “Let’s do this.”

Asian Boy and Muscle Girl

When you imagine "Muscle Girl," think about Nikki Fuller.
When you imagine “Muscle Girl,” think about Nikki Fuller.

Asian Boy was obsessed with Her. He couldn’t stop thinking about Her. Every night he fantasized about Her. The thought of Her beautiful muscular body grinding against his tiny, scrawny Asian body drove him wild with ecstasy.

Tonight is no exception. Asian Boy is in his apartment watching his favorite video of Her: a crudely shot YouTube video of Her pumping iron at the gym wearing nothing but a bright green bikini.

You can see every inch of Her magnificent body. The bikini leaves little to the imagination.

He can see every drip of sweat streak down Her thick muscled body. He stares in awe as She bench presses 315, squats 405 and deadlifts 500. He watches Her pose for the camera after Her strenuous workout – every muscle on Her divine body glistening, a valuable piece of art in the flesh.

Asian Boy has seen this video hundreds of times. It never gets old. To his misfortune, this is the only video he could find of Her. He’s searched everywhere for another. But so far he’s found nothing.

God, She’s the most gorgeous woman on the planet! Asian Boy is completely enamored by a woman he’s never met. But, in a strange way, he feels a powerful connection to Her. There’s something about the way She looks into the camera that convinces Asian Boy She’s looking specifically at him.

He knows this is crazy, but he knows it’s true.

The woman’s name is Michelle. No last name is given. She’s a professional bodybuilder and powerlifter. She’s competed in contests around the globe. No other information exists about Her.

Where does She live? How old is She? How did She get into weightlifting? What kind of grueling training regimen does She follow in order to develop Her phenomenal muscle mass?

Michelle is a Divine Muscle Goddess of spectacular proportions. The video description details her measurements:

Height: 6’6”
Weight: 267 lbs.
Biceps: 21 inches.
Calves: 19 inches.
Quadriceps: 30 inches.

Wow. Can you believe it? She’s a BEAST. She puts male bodybuilders to shame with Her incredible measurements.

Michelle, Michelle, Michelle. Every Google search turns up nothing. He’s tried “Michelle female bodybuilder,” “Michelle powerlifter,” “Michelle muscle woman,” “Michelle female bodybuilder and powerlifter.”

He’s tried them all. But nothing comes close to finding Her.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It’s like She doesn’t exist.

But he knows She exists. She has to.

For now, Asian Boy is preoccupied watching a six and a half minute video he’s seen over and over again. He’s memorized every single frame. He’s hopelessly obsessed with this Powerful Muscle Angel. She’s blonde, exceptionally tall, looks to be between 40 and 50 years old and is entirely covered from head to toe with incredibly bulging, rippling muscles.

Asian Boy wouldn’t be surprised if She could bend a crowbar with Her bare hands or rip a phone book in half. Asian Boy could imagine Her doing a whole host of amazing feats of strength.

The video ends. But he wants more of Her. He can’t get enough of Her. He decides to watch it again.

The video starts from the top. Muscle Girl is back at it – bench pressing ten strenuous repetitions till She’s completely out of breath with sweat dripping out of every pore of Her heavenly body.

Asian Boy knows he’ll never be able to make love to a woman like Muscle Girl. Michelle must have countless men clamoring to be with Her. She must have a husband who’s without a doubt the luckiest man on Earth. He’s privileged to be with the most beautiful and strongest woman on the planet.

Asian Boy often fantasized about what it would be like to make love to Muscle Girl. The video half over, Asian Boy closes his eyes and lets his imagination take off…

Dusk.

A secluded beach house on an exotic Caribbean island.

Asian Boy and Muscle Girl enter the house after a long walk on the sandy beach. After a hot and humid 97 degree day, the evening has cooled off considerably.

Muscle Girl stands at least a foot taller than Asian Boy, but Asian Boy feels absolutely no insecurity. Muscle Girl is at least 25 years older than Asian Boy, but She feels no qualms about Her age. She’s embraced Her age and understands it’s only a number. At heart, She’s still a young free-spirited woman.

Muscle Girl just won the Ms. Olympia bodybuilding competition for the twelfth year in a row and continues to break world records at a staggering rate. Considered the greatest professional bodybuilder and powerlifter of all time, Muscle Girl has the unquestioned respect of every man and woman in the business.

She’s gained endorsement contracts, movie deals and is an international celebrity. People around the globe admire Muscle Girl’s massive size, unparalleled physical strength, supermodel-like beauty, stark femininity and undisputed greatness.

She’s out-lifted male athletes and bodybuilders. Feminists and social critics praise Her as shattering the stereotype that women are the weaker sex. Muscle Girl is admired for being a woman who, through self-determination and iron will, can achieve anything.

Muscle Girl has become a social icon, a symbol, a cultural warrior.

But none of that matters now. Little does the outside world know that Muscle Girl’s heart belongs to the most unlikely fellow: a short, skinny soft-spoken Asian American young man named Jonathan. Muscle Girl and Asian Boy have dated for almost a year without the paparazzi or even their own families knowing about it.

They prefer their secret relationship stay that way.

But they’re not ashamed of their love. On the contrary, Muscle Girl and Asian Boy would not hesitate to publicly profess their undying love for each other…except they don’t want the perils of fame and fortune getting in the way of their passionate relationship.

Both will admit the jarring contrast between the two: A short, nerdy Asian boy dating a large, tall powerful muscular woman. They turn heads when they’re seen in public together. But they could care less what people think. All they care about is the love they have for each other.

A romantic sunset on the beach.
A romantic sunset on the beach.

The beach house belongs to a friend of Muscle Girl, some rich Hollywood executive. He let Muscle Girl and Asian Boy borrow the house for the week. This unorthodox couple has spent their time exploring the island, eating the local food, exercising at the local gyms, swimming in the Caribbean Sea, soaking up the sun and…

Most of all, their favorite pastime: making love.

Asian Boy and Muscle Girl make love constantly and passionately, the internal fire burning inside them refusing to die. When they join together their bodies become one; two unlikely lovers becoming whole.

Upon returning to the beach house, Muscle Girl takes a shower while Asian Boy starts a fire in the fireplace. He pours two glasses of champagne and grabs a fruit platter out of the refrigerator. He then sits and reflects on how they came to this point.

They met when Asian Boy was working as a freelance photographer. One day Muscle Girl was in town to promote Her new line of health clubs. Asian Boy was assigned to snap a few photos of this international celebrity. When they met, it was magic. Muscle Girl was wearing a sports bra and shorts. Asian Boy stood there watching Her, clutching his camera toward his chest. Their eyes met. They knew they had connected on a metaphysical level. She came to him. He said something to Her. She laughed.

The rest, as they say, is history.

When the shower stops, Asian Boy turns around. Sure enough, right on cue, Muscle Girl walks out wearing nothing but a white towel around her torso.

Asian Boy’s heart stops, as it always does.

Though he’s seen Her naked thousands of times, Her magnificent body never fails to steal his breath. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get accustomed to seeing Michelle’s Goddess figure in all its glory.

Muscle Girl: “You poured two glasses of champagne.”

Asian Boy: “Yes, one for me and one for you. Here you go, darling.”

Muscle Girl: “Thank you, lover.”

She takes a sip of Her champagne and sighs deeply. She’s been under a lot of stress lately and desperately needed this vacation to relax and unwind.

Asian Boy: “You never cease to amaze me. You look absolutely gorgeous. Beautiful beyond words.”

Muscle Girl: “Thank you, lover. You look amazing, too.”

He blushes, knowing he’s light years away from looking as great as Her. Sensing his insecurity, Muscle Girl puts the glass of champagne down on the bedside table and approaches Asian Boy slowly. She wraps her thick, strong arms around him and embraces him tightly, communicating Her undying love for him.

They share a long fervent kiss, a spiritual exchange of affection that makes his heart race. She has to look down to meet his lips. He has to look up and stand on his toes.

When they come apart, they stare intimately into each other’s eyes. They know what’s next. Asian Boy opens a window and lets a cool breeze enter. Muscle Girl turns off the lights and allows the fire’s celestial glow to fill the room.

Asian Boy begins to remove his clothing as he has often done in front of Her. Muscle Girl lets the bath towel drop and pool around Her feet, revealing her nude form.

She’s as tall as a basketball player and as thick as a wrestler. She’s a natural blonde with faint traces of white hair mixed in between. Her legs are long and as thick as tree trunks. Her arms bulge in every direction, Her pumped biceps as big as cantaloupes. Her shoulders stretch at least a yard across. Her back is covered with layers and layers of mounds of pure muscle. Her abdomen proudly shows off Her swollen six-pack, a jaw-dropping reminder that Her strong chiseled core could take a punch from a heavyweight prize fighter and not break. Her skin is tanned and rough as leather. At 48 years old, Her age lines and wrinkles do nothing to distract from Her perfectly proportioned face.

She has the body of a Greek goddess, the face of a supermodel, the will power of a marathon runner and the intelligence of an Ivy League professor. It’s by no mistake that She’s the wealthiest female athlete in the world. Her business savvy and unequaled physical strength is the reason why She’s a superstar celebrity. No doubt She’s the most beautiful and intelligent woman he’s ever met.

Asian Boy: “You look divine. I love the way the light from the fire casts shadows across your muscular body. Amazing.”

Muscle Girl: “You’re too kind, lover. Way too kind! Here, let me help you with that.”

Muscle Girl reaches down and unzips Asian Boy’s pants. She pulls down his underwear to reveal his erection, hot and ready for her. Asian Boy knows he isn’t gifted with a large endowment, but that never gets in the way of their lovemaking. She insists size doesn’t matter to Her. Even though he knows She would never lie to him, a small part of him still feels insecure.

Once Asian Boy removes his last article of clothing, hand in hand the two lovers walk to the bed and lie down. Their hands ravenously explore each other’s bodies, touching with finesse and familiarity. He toys with Her nipples, making them stand at attention. She reaches down and strokes his thighs, making him want Her more. They kiss, savoring every single taste.

The tip of his penis brushes slightly against Her six-pack abs. He lets out a soft moan, telling Her he’s more than ready. But She doesn’t want him to enter Her yet. She wants to take this leisurely and enjoy the moment.

Muscle Girl grabs the fruit platter and takes a small sip of Her champagne.

Muscle Girl: “Place the fruit across my body.”

Asian Boy does so without saying a word.

One by one, he places thinly sliced pieces of mango, papaya and pineapple across Her buff body. He puts two blueberries on top of her sensitive nipples and a slice of watermelon across Her wet vulva. He reaches down and tenderly strokes Her enlarged two inch-long clitoris. After years of taking synthetic male hormones, Muscle Girl’s feminine parts grew to superhuman proportions. Unexpectedly, her clitoris expanded by an unbelievable two inches. She refers to this as Her “little penis.”

Asian Boy, constantly taunted by society for having a tiny penis, feels intimidated that a woman could have such an endowment. But he continues to stroke Her little penis and gets down to taste between Her legs.

Muscle Girl: “I like this, lover. I like this a lot.”

Asian Boy puts Her little penis into his mouth and sucks on it joyfully. Muscle Girl chews on a piece of papaya while he satisfies Her. She gags as she comes, a powerful orgasm ripping through Her body. Asian Boy feels the whole bed shake as Her vagina contracts wildly in response.

Minutes later, Asian Boy and Muscle Girl eat all the fruit off Her body. She decides foreplay is over.

Muscle Girl: “Enter me, lover.”

Muscle Girl, now on Her back, spreads Her legs wide for him. Asian Boy grips Her hips, positioning the head of his penis onto Her vulva and enters Her with a single thrust. Both lovers let out a moan as they connect at their most intimate parts, a transcendental form of communication only two perfect lovers could understand.

Slowly he rocks back and forth, building to what would be an earth-shattering climax. They stare into each other’s eyes, expressing a love so beautiful and perfect no two people would ever be able to replicate it. Every nerve ending in his manhood erupts with pleasure as he goes in and out of Her.

Finally, Asian Boy climaxes, emptying himself into Her, hot and sticky.

Muscle Girl, however, does not climax and is hungry for Her own orgasm. She gets up and reaches for the bedside drawer and takes out a nine inch long black dildo. Asian Boy grabs a bottle of lubricant and applies some onto the dildo’s daunting shaft. Muscle Girl leisurely inserts the dildo into Her vaginal canal, enjoying every inch of it. Asian Boy sits back and finishes his champagne.

Her breathing quickens as Her orgasm builds. He watches keenly, wondering if he should be jealous of this nine inch-long contraption. His concentration breaks as She climaxes for the second time, a small amount of feminine juice gushing from Her loins and staining the bed sheets. Muscle Girl, breathless and wheezing furiously, looks down at Her mess.

Muscle Girl: “Looks like I just wet the bed, huh?”

Asian Boy: “Yes you did! We can clean that up later.”

Muscle Girl takes the dildo out of Her womanhood and places it on top of the drawer. She looks at Asian Boy and immediately senses his feeling of emasculation. They live in a cruel world that relentlessly emasculates Asian men. She knows that and kisses him deeply, tasting his essence.

She guides his hands down, encouraging his fingers to enter Her. First, one finger was inside Her. Then two. Then three. Eventually, his entire fist is completely inside Her. She continues to kiss him as his fist pounds into Her, eventually delivering Her third orgasm. Muscle Girl lets out an uninhibited scream. Asian Boy removes his hand from Her vagina.

Muscle Girl finishes Her champagne and eats the last of the fruit, sweat beading on Her coarse skin. To complete the night, they decide to do something they’d only done a few times before.

Muscle Girl dabs a generous amount of lubricant on Asian Boy’s penis and tickles his scrotum. His erection returns. Muscle Girl turns around and gets down on Her hands and knees.

Muscle Girl: “Enter me again, lover. But you know where I want it.”

Asian Boy: “Yes, lover.”

Asian Boy puts his hands on Her bottom, admiring its shape. Then, he thrusts his entire manhood into Her anus, eliciting a throaty moan from both lovers.

Asian Boy: “Am I hurting you?”

Muscle Girl: “Yes, but I don’t care. Do it. I want you to.”

Asian Boy pushes in and out of Her, filling Her tightness with his small manhood. Her groans of pain become louder as his thrusting becomes faster. Both lovers let out a scream so loudly and passionately they could care less if the entire world hears them. To hell with the world.

Muscle Girl stifles a moan as Asian Boy climaxes for the second time that night, filling Her anal cavity with his seed. He immediately pulls out and kisses the back of Her neck. He falls on top of Her and they lay there motionless, their skin covered in sweat.

Muscle Girl: “I love you, Jonathan.”

Asian Boy: “I love you, Michelle.”

Muscle Girl and Asian Boy instantly fall into a peaceful slumber, the cool breeze from outside blanketing their bodies.

Asian Boy then wakes up. Not in the beach house, but in his apartment. Alone, he realizes he’d been dreaming. His computer screen is black and it’s nearly 3:00 a.m. He turns off the computer and rolls onto his side.

He can’t stop fantasizing about Her. He can’t stop imagining what it would be like to make love to a beautiful muscular woman like Her.

Asian Boy silently says a prayer to the Heavens, wishing Her good luck and sweet dreams. Once again, he couldn’t explain how he knew, but Asian Boy senses She heard his prayer. He knew, in a cosmic way, Muscle Girl heard all of his prayers.

His last thought before drifting off to sleep was a thankful wish to Her. Thank you for being a part of my life, he prays, even though She doesn’t know he exist. But he knows She exists, and that’s all that matters.

Goodnight, Muscle Girl.

Goodnight, Asian Boy.

The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi: Chapter Twenty-One – Cheering Up

I need some cheering up. It’s Saturday afternoon and I’m still not close to landing a replacement job. I realize it’s been less than a week, but there’s got to be something out there for me, right?

Uh, maybe not. Maybe there isn’t anything out there for me right now.

I mean, I’m not going to become a high class drug dealer and follow Sam’s footsteps. I have standards! I’m more willing to go back to that God-forsaken temporary staffing place than sell dope to the rich and famous.

Sheesh. I really need some cheering up.

And I think I know the precise medicine: spending another night with Cindi.

Oh, Cindi. You are so beautiful. Tall, muscular, powerful, sexually confident, compassionate, funny, intelligent, gentle…you get it. She’s awesome. So fucking awesome.

God, I need some Cindi North right now! Like, right now! This very instant.

Now.

But it’s Saturday afternoon, so I’m just a few hours closer to seeing the Divine Muscle Goddess again. I promised last time that I’d bring something other than a bottle of wine, so I better keep that promise. What should I bring? I think something healthy and delicious will give me bonus points with her. Let’s check out what the interwebs can tell me…

Hmmm. Gluten-free Yorkshire pudding? Yuck. That doesn’t sound too appetizing.

I don’t think I should do anything with meat. I’m sure Cindi loves a good steak like anybody else, but she said something healthy, so I better stick to the script on this one. How about…

Oh! Here it is! “Curried couscous and red pepper salad.” That sounds delectable. In fact, that sounds pretty darn good. I think I’ll make that.

I run down the street to the store and buy all the necessary ingredients. While standing in the check-out line I see a former co-worker from Wellford Fitness Center and divert my eyes in order to prevent him from seeing me. When I see him leave, I begin to wonder: does everybody know about me and Michelle? Does everyone there know we got fired because we were caught by the boss going at it like dogs at 10:30 in the morning?

No doubt, but I still don’t want to be seen in public by any of them. Granted, I have nothing to be ashamed about. I mean, what straight guy wouldn’t be proud to have had sex with a gorgeous blonde like Michelle? I’d shake the hand of the guy who’s lucky enough to score someone as hot as her.

Which makes me also wonder: In the past few weeks, I’ve been with a strong female bodybuilder AND a hot blonde. Just thinking about that makes me smile with pride. Knowing I was a virgin not so long ago nearly makes me laugh out loud.

As I prepare this couscous salad, it starts to sink in that I’m going to see the Lovely Muscle Angel in less than three hours. She didn’t give me a specific time to show up, but I’m going to assume 5 o’clock should be acceptable.

The clock on the wall says 4:38. Time to go!

I quickly wrap the bowl of curried couscous and red pepper salad (which I tasted before to make sure it’s good) in plastic wrapping and scurry out the door excitedly. It’s not every day you get to meet up with an amazing muscle woman like Miss Cindi North!

The drive up to Everett zooms by quicker than a fat kid eating a Twinkie (yes, I just used this lousy analogy. Live with it). I decide to go the speed limit instead of flooring the pedal because I can’t afford to get a speeding ticket at this time. I’m broke and unemployed. A fine from Johnny Law would not bode well for me.

When I arrive at her house I notice not a single car is parked near her driveway. Is she not here yet? I’m here a bit before 5 p.m., but she should be expecting me. Maybe she parked her car in her garage. That’s always a possibility.

Just then, out of the corner of my eye I see a trashy blue sedan park right in front of me. I look forward and see a big, burly dark haired woman sitting in the driver’s seat. Yup, that’s her alright!

We both get out of our cars and lock our doors simultaneously. We stare at each other and smile unapologetically.

“Ryan! It’s good to see you! Were you waiting for me for a long time?”

“No. I just got here, literally a minute ago. No, you’re fine.”

Carrying two large grocery bags, Cindi looks as stunning as ever. Dressed in a tight pink top and baggy dark green sweat pants, she seems to become more muscular every time I see her. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Cindi North’s body will never cease to amaze me. Never.

“Come on in. I just did some shopping for dinner tonight. And other things, of course. It’s convenient when the store is right across the street from the gym.”

“I know the feeling.”

Cindi escorts us inside her house. I shut the door close behind me. She immediately heads over to the kitchen to put her groceries away. I follow her, clutching my bowl of curried couscous and red pepper salad tightly in my arms.

“What did you bring, lover?” Cindi asks while putting items away in the refrigerator.

“I made a salad. Something healthy. I hope you like it. It’s a curried couscous and red pepper salad. I tasted it ahead of time. It’s quite good.”

“Wow! That sounds incredible. I can’t wait to try it.” Placing several cans of tomato sauce into a cupboard, Cindi seems to be in a more festive mood than usual.

“You seem upbeat, Cindi. Dare I ask why?”

“Do I? I guess I do feel a bit snazzier tonight. Maybe it’s because I just a modeling job this morning!”

“Really? You got a modeling job? Congratulations. That sounds like a fantastic opportunity.”

“It really is. It’s with this new modeling agency that specializes in featuring unorthodox and nontraditional types of models. As a female bodybuilder, I guess I fit that bill.” Cindi is now pouring salt and extra virgin olive oil into a large soup pot. She turns the stove on to “medium” and takes more items out of her grocery bags, including various vegetables and spices.

“Well, you are a nontraditional looking woman. Not too many ladies around here have as much muscle as you, I must say.” My mouth becomes dry as I scan up and down her buff body.

“Yeah, this is true. I’m happy to get the exposure that comes from modeling. I know they’re a small company and I’m just one of many models they’ve hired, but I get a feeling this is the start of something special!”

An hour later, Cindi puts the finishing touches on dinner. We end up eating a lovely leek and spinach tomato stew served with my salad and a freshly baked baguette. Toward the end of dinner Cindi brings out a delightful bottle of merlot that we nearly finish all at once. A good time was had by all.

“That was delicious, Cindi.”

“Thank you! I’m glad you enjoyed it. This was a recipe I got from Julie.” Cindi and I clean up the dining table and place our dishes in the sink. I courteously give them a good rinse.

“What’s Julie up to these days?”

“She’s doing great. She’s training for a major competition that I’m going to skip this year. I’ve won it before and I don’t need to win it again. I feel like if I don’t compete she’ll have a better chance of winning.”

“So you think you’ll win again if you decided to compete?”

Cindi turns toward me and stares at me straight into the eyes. Her face is deadly serious.

“Of course. I always win. I’m practically letting her win.”

Silence.

We both burst out laughing. This is what I LOVE about Cindi North. She’s big, strong and tough as nails but she has a huge soft spot underneath all her layers of muscle and brawn. We share a kiss after our laughter dies out.

“You taste delicious, Ryan.” Cindi licks her lips, tasting my essence.

“You taste like leeks,” I deadpan.

Cindi giggles and kisses me again, this time deeper and with more passion. I feel her tongue piercing inside my mouth, exploring me feverously.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Cindi whispers into my ear. I nod my head in agreement. And with that, we walk hand-in-hand up to her bedroom, as if we’ve done this many times before. In a strange and unusual way, it genuinely feels like we’ve done this a million times in the past. I can’t explain why, but this feels SOOOOOOOO right.

We enter her bedroom and instantaneously begin our mating ritual. She closes the blinds and I close the door. We simultaneously turn toward each other and begin our stare-down, like two scruffy gunslingers in the Old West. Cindi walks to me and wraps her strong arms around my entire body. I quiver at the feeling of her vascular, veiny arms poking into my softer skin. I feel my manhood harden as I have to look up to reach her lips.

We kiss. Again. And again, and again, and again. We love kissing. Next to coital penetration, it might be our favorite shared physical activity.

After a moment of stillness, Cindi lifts my shirt over my head and starts kissing my stomach and moves up to my chest and neck. I reach down and pull her sweatpants down, fondling her massive legs one thigh at a time. I feel the deep curves within her strong quads and shiver at their thickness. Cindi licks my Adam’s apple, causing me to squirm in response. She massages the back of my neck in an effort to relax me.

“You smell so good right now,” I whisper into the open. Cindi answers back by gently biting into my shoulder. I tremble as her teeth lovingly sink into my flesh.

Cindi unilaterally strips off her pink top, revealing her wide chest. She’s not wearing a bra, so I immediately suck on her left nipple and stroke the other with my fingertips. Cindi unzips my pants and pulls them down toward my ankles. I kick them away and bend down to remove my socks. Barefoot, Cindi is left wearing nothing but lacy white panties which are already soaking wet. I feel her vulva to get a better sense of her feminine moisture. She smiles.

“I was ready half way through dinner,” she chuckles.

“Why didn’t we starting doing it then?” I ask.

“I wanted to eat first.”

“Well…I want to eat NOW.” I bend down and pull down her panties and begin licking her vulva with all the strength of my tongue. Cindi laughs at my terrible joke but stops when she feels my tongue explore the inside of her intimate parts.

“Make me come, Ryan. Make my come!” Cindi commands, standing there as naked as the day she was born.

I push Cindi onto the bed and she flops down on her back. Surprised at my unexpected display of brute strength, she moans delightfully as I continue to orally satisfy her. Her large clitoris stands at attention, her “little penis” occupying more and more of my attention. I get the feeling Cindi likes a man who takes control in bed. Though I may not be the most experienced lover in the world, I’ve learned a lot in the past few weeks and I’m becoming more comfortable taking the lead.

I grip her hips firmly as my tongue continues to please her beautiful vulva. I then fully concentrate on her clitoris in order to bring her to orgasm. Cindi’s breathing quickens as I continue to massage her girly penis. I stick my right index finger inside of her and find her g-spot.

“Ryan! I love you, Ryan!” Cindi candidly yells out in the heat of passion. Her gorgeous clitoris takes one final tongue lashing before Cindi finally climaxes. I press onto her g-spot when I sense she’s successfully reached her moment of ecstasy.

“Ohhhh!!!!!!” Cindi moans, expressing her pleasure unashamedly. Her vaginal walls contract rhythmically as a modest amount of white milky fluid gradually drips out of her, staining her bedspread.

I remain still as Cindi finishes wriggling around the bed, enjoying the aftershocks of her pleasure. Her breathing subsides to normalcy as my erection lays across her right thigh, ready to be pleased. I lean over and kiss her eight-pack abs, one individual ab at a time. I lick her bellybutton as well.

She briefly starts to stroke my penis, forcing a small drip of clear fluid to escape from it. But Cindi decides now is not the time to satisfy me yet. She gets up in a sitting position and wipes a small amount of vaginal juice that leaked onto her bottom. She kisses me again, sending electric jolts running through my entire system. Her hands explore my hands as her large, strong fingers interlock with my smaller, softer fingers. We look at each other.

“Before I satisfy you, I want you to do something for me.”

“Anything, Cindi. I’ll do anything. Just ask.”

Cindi kisses me again, firmly grabbing both of my hands. She takes a few of my fingers into her mouth and sucks on them sensually. I feel like my erection is about to explode, but I contain my excitement and enjoy the pleasure she is giving me.

She leans over and nibbles on my ear. She rubs her saliva onto my fingers.

“Fist me,” she whispers.

The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi: Chapter Eighteen – The Morning After

At 9:45 a.m. I wake up, vaguely remembering my dream. I think it had something to do with going back to school and finishing a biology exam, but I could be wrong. Who needs to dream when real life is so much more exciting?

I lazily turn to my left and see Miss North snoozing like an angel. Her black and gray hair covers her face, shielding her eyes from the sunlight peeking through the blinds. Lovingly, I pull back a lock of her hair and lightly caress her face.

Cindi stirs, feeling my fingers on her cheek. When she takes my finger into her mouth and sucks on it lightly, I know she has fully awoken.

“Good morning, Cindi.”

“Good morning to you, Ryan. You taste sweet.” Nibbling on my finger, I sense that my penis has also woken up from its slumber. As if she has a sixth sense for these things, Cindi reaches down and strokes up and down my shaft, sending goosebumps shivering up my body.

“Thank you, but you’re much sweeter than me.” Kissing her right breast, I gently take her nipple between my lips and play with it with my tongue. Releasing a hushed moan, her fingers wrap tighter around my manhood, as if she’s grabbing onto it for dear life.

“You sure know how to treat a girl right.”

“You’re welcome. I’m just saying thank you for all you did for me last night.”

“Oh, thanks. But remember, lovemaking is a two-way road. You also did things to me as well, wouldn’t you say?” As if trying to job my memory, Cindi cups my scrotum and tenderly squeezes it. I groan, expressing my pleasure.

“Yes, you’re right about that. A lot happened to me last night, but I’m sure it’s just par for the course with you.”

“Are you calling me a whore?” Cindi sounds genuinely offended.

“No! Of course not! I’m just saying–”

“Shhhhhh!!!! Don’t get so chippy! I’m joking, Ryan.”

Cindi releases my testicles and sticks a finger up my anus, just as I did to her last night in the shower. I gasp loudly, but not with the shock of Cindi intruding my body, but with the delightful astonishment of her returning the favor.

“How does it feel to have a woman penetrate you? Does it feel good?” Cindi’s finger digs deeper inside me, as if she’s claiming ownership over me. I have no qualms about Cindi North claiming me as her own.

“It feels…strange. Is this what it feels like…to…you know, be penetrated back there?” I almost stop breathing. My lungs fill with air, but cannot exhale as long as she’s inside me.

“Yes. Because that’s exactly what’s happening to you right now.” Cindi releases her finger from my bottom and kisses me deeply on the lips, tasting every centimeter of my mouth. Our tongues meet, wrestling like two heavyweights grappling on the mat.

“What shall we have for breakfast?” Cindi asks. I struggle to catch my breath as our lips come apart.

“I have no idea. I don’t live here. What do you suggest we have for breakfast?”

“I know exactly what we should eat.” Cindi kisses me again. Then, she grabs my head with both hands and shoves me down toward her pubic mound. Her enormous clitoris stands at attention, ready to be satiated.

“Eat me for breakfast.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I begin by wrapping my lips around her “little penis,” sucking at its head till I hear Cindi let out a loud, uninhibited groan. I then stick one, then two fingers inside her vagina, exploring her inner walls. They are already moist and hot to the touch.

Cindi spreads her bulky legs wide in a spread eagle formation, opening her womanhood wider to me. I notice a small drop of feminine juice leak out from her vulva. It leaves a small, clear stain on the bed sheet. This arouses me further.

My fingers find her g-spot as my tongue continues to punish her clitoris. Waves of sensation pulse through Cindi’s dynamic body, leaving this muscular angel weak and helpless. She is at my mercy, a feeling of domination that sends surges of adrenaline rushing through me.

A third finger enters her, complimenting what my two fingers are already doing. I lightly blow hot air onto her wet clitoris, causing Cindi to gasp even louder than when I gasped. I am still in shock that a woman could be so well endowed. Her “little penis” grows harder and harder, anticipating a raging orgasm.

Cindi grabs my hair and pulls it, almost lifting my mouth off her womanhood. I resist, remaining between her legs, pleasuring her like she pleasured me last night. My three fingers suddenly thrust against her g-spot, forcing a vulgar scream to bellow from her throat.

Finally, Cindi can’t hold it any longer and she climaxes, sending waves of delight streaming across the entire room. Hell, her climax is probably being felt on the Richter scale at this moment!

A clear jet of white, milky fluid escapes from her vagina as her walls contract powerfully. It leaves a significant stain on the sheets, adding to the previous stain she made earlier.

Holy hell.

HOLY FUCK!!!

Did she just ejaculate? Did I just cause Cindi to ejaculate? I think it did.

Hooooooooooooooooooooooooootttttttttttt!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Cindi’s breathing calms down and she eventually returns back to planet Earth. Her eyes open and she looks at me, smiling and puffing away.

“Thank you, Ryan. That’s exactly what I wanted.”

“Uh, Cindi, you…kind of…uh…”

“Squirted?”

Her nonchalant answer took me by surprise. I immediately sat up after hearing this singular word escape from her mouth.

“Yes…that’s exactly what I meant. You, um…squirted. All over your sheets.”

“I’ve been known to do that when someone hits my g-spot at the right time with the right amount of force. Congratulations, Ryan. You did something hardly anyone can do without specific instructions.”

I feel proud. Really? Did I just do that? Did I just give her an orgasm so powerful it caused her to ejaculate like a man? WOW!

“Wow. I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything. I’m proud of the fact that I can squirt as well as any man.”

Cindi sticks out her chest and beats on her breast like Tarzan. I laugh, causing her to laugh with me. She might be a powerful, dominating, muscular woman, but she’s still a softie at heart. I like this about her.

“Are you sure you can squirt as well as any man?”

“Of course. When properly motivated.”

“Men can squirt pretty well when they’re properly motivated, too.” I nibble on her ear. Taking my not-so-subtle hint, Cindi reaches down and grabs onto my penis with both hands, rubbing up and down furiously.

“I think I know what you mean.”

Before I could speak, Cindi kisses me, an electric shock bolting down my spine. Her fingers wrapped tightly around my manhood, with reckless abandon Cindi strokes up and down, causing my vision to blur. On the apex of the proverbial “Cloud 9,” I feel my orgasm build as her right hand surrounds me, refusing to let go.

“I love this, Ryan. I love this so much!” Cindi whispers into my ear, as if she enjoys giving pleasure as much as she enjoys receiving pleasure. At this point, who could argue either way?

Cindi’s thumb brushes against the tip of my penis, making me shudder. Then she grips the base of my manhood and squeezes it suddenly, sending me over the edge. I climax, powerful spasms rocking my entire being.

Five or six squirts later, I look down and see several drops of my semen lying on her bed sheets, shamelessly sprawled out on top of her womanly juices. We kiss again, but with less ferocity and with more passion.

We both look down at the mess we made and burst out laughing for what seems like ten minutes. Can you believe two mature adults, one 48 and the other 23-years-old, just wet the bed?

Our laughter dies down. Tears are rolling down our faces. We kiss again.

“I’m sorry I stained your sheets.” Embarrassed, I must be red in the face.

Cindi kisses my cheek and smiles.

“It’s okay. I did too!”

We burst out laughing again, this time our laughter lasts an eternity.

Eventually, we clean up our mess and toss the bed sheets into the washing machine. She starts a load of laundry, which includes a large pile of workout shirts, shorts and towels. We put our clothes back on and go downstairs toward the kitchen. It’s now time for REAL breakfast!

Cindi doesn’t feel like cooking, so we eat leftovers from yesterday’s dinner. Who knew quinoa still tastes good the next day?

After breakfast, Cindi takes out the laundry from the washer and places it in the dryer in preparation for her Sunday afternoon workout. Cindi tells me today is a chest day. Imagining Cindi bench press 350 pounds is enough to give me another erection. Surprisingly, I remain settled.

“Can you come over again next Saturday? We can do dinner again.”

“Of course! I’d love to. I think I should bring something else instead of just a bottle of wine. I can cook something!”

“You can do that? I’d love for you to bring something. Just make sure it’s healthy.”

“Without a doubt! I’d never bring anything unhealthy here.”

“I’m just kidding. I do have a sweet tooth. I can be very naughty at times.”

“Tell me about it! You are a naughty girl.” I squeeze her thigh. The feel of her large, muscular legs almost gives me a heart attack.

Cindi plants one last kiss on me as I head out the door. Gasping for air, I decide to hug her. We embrace for a very long time, savoring every moment. I should be thankful for this wonderful, gracious woman. She took me into her home, cooked me a delicious meal, took my virginity and treated me to an evening I will never forget. I’ll never forget this morning, either.

“Thanks, Cindi. For everything.”

“No, Ryan. Thank you. You’re a great guy. I’m glad I know you.” We embrace again, this time under the watchful eye of Cindi’s next door neighbors. Who cares if the whole world sees us like this? They can judge all they want. What we do in our own private time is nobody’s business but our own.

“I’m glad I know you, too. Have a good workout.”

“I will. Thank you.”

The short walk back to my car is very surreal. I came to his house yesterday a virgin, but I left a man. A real man. Yes, Cindi told me I was always a man, but this morning things are totally different. I genuinely feel different. I feel more grown up, more confident, more vibrant.

I can take on the whole world! Nobody can get in my way! Watch out, universe. Ryan Takahashi has arrived, and he’s taking no prisoners!!!

I wave one last time to Cindi as I drive away back to Seattle. She waves back, blowing me an air kiss. I almost hit a mailbox, but swerve out of the way at the last second.

As I drive home, I realize I just had six orgasms in the last twelve hours. Gee, I’m going to be so sore tomorrow!

But it will be well worth it.

VEEEEEEEEEEEERY well worth it.