Fetish – Page 13 – The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi

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

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

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

Cindi and Ryan.

Two friends.

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

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

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

Opportunities like this don’t happen every day!

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

“Come.”

I do as I’m told.

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

“You taste good,” Cindi says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re beautiful, Cindi.”

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

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

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

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

“Let’s lose it,” I suggest.

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

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

“I have a serious question to ask you.”

“What is it?”

“Do you want to use a condom?”

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

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

“Uh, sure. We should to be safe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kiss me, Ryan.”

“Yes, Cindi.”

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

I want to please her. Badly.

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re welcome. My pleasure.”

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

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

“Take me. Now.”

I have no response to that. None at all.

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

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

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

I enter her.

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

Wow.

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

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

“Make love to me, Ryan Takahashi.”

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

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

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

Silly me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I agree. That was amazing.”

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

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

Cindi turns her head toward me and kisses my cheek.

“No, Ryan. You were always a man.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Good day, Pablo. New tenant?”

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

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

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

A black girl? Who’s new? It can’t be…

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

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

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

Pablo puts down his tools and looks at me straight.

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

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

“Oh yeah, like takes turns, right?”

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

“Take care, hombre.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ding!

The lasagna is done. Finally!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, hi there!”

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

And she still doesn’t look half bad.

“Hey! Monifa, right?”

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

“No, it’s Ryan.”

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

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

“Do you live here?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. Just me. Are you married?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure. Sounds great. Let’s go.”

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

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

We have an understanding.

What’s So Alluring About Female Bodybuilders?

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

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

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

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

She’s thick.

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

She possesses strength that many male bodybuilders cannot attain.

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

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

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

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

1. Muscle is sexy

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

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

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

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

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

2. Muscular women boldly break stereotypes and cultural expectations

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3. Female bodybuilders earn their beauty

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

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

But this is not true with female bodybuilders.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which brings us to the concept of “art:”

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

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

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

Sounds very artistic, doesn’t it?

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

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

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

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

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

Aren’t women supposed to be the weaker sex?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Become as beautiful as you can be.

Who is Ryan Takahashi?

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

If only, right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace out, beautiful people.