Tag: hotel

NYE with a Muscle Angel (part 1 of 2)

The moment Sebastian walked through the hotel’s tall glass doors, he immediately went to look for the bar.

“God, I’m so nervous,” he mutters under his breath. “I need a fucking drink before she arrives. I can’t stand it.”

He passes by a beautiful water fountain featuring several stone dolphins doing some sort of ballet dance together. It may not be the kind of art that he’d like sitting around his house, but at this particularly swanky downtown hotel, it’ll do. He amuses himself watching the water gushing out of the dolphin’s mouths, as if they have a perpetual projectile vomiting problem that refuses to go away.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a bright neon sign that says “Stratosphere Bar & Lounge.” Sebastian makes a beeline straight there and finds an open stool. Tonight, Sebastian is on a date. Even though he knows the woman he’s about to meet, he cannot help but feel a crippling level of anxiety at what’s about to happen. Not only has he not been in the dating pool for years (he and his ex-wife divorced a year ago after twelve years of marriage), but the lady he’s about to go on a date with is…

…a professional bodybuilder.

For the past decade or so, Alyson has been one of the country’s top competitive female bodybuilders. She’s won multiple contests across the world, earning accolades from celebrities like Arnold Schwarzenegger and Ronnie Coleman and corporate endorsements from most of the top athletic apparel and vitamin supplement companies. She may not be a major “celebrity” in the traditional sense, but Alyson is well known if you pay attention to the niche little world that is professional bodybuilding. She’s a superstar within this community. Sebastian, who isn’t normally interested in the sport itself, has watched her career blossom from a distance.

Sebastian, to his credit, knew she was destined for stardom. They briefly dated back in high school. Back then, she was a swimmer. He interviewed her for the school newspaper (Sebastian was the editor-in-chief of the school’s weekly journal) and they hit it off right away. The moment he first saw her, he could not take his eyes off her finely sculpted body. And, after chatting with her for his newspaper article, it became clear that she possessed a determined spirit that few could say they have. Whether she chose to pursue swimming for the rest of her life or some other athletic pursuit, Sebastian knew she’d become a superstar no matter what path she travels. It was her destiny to achieve greatness.

One fateful night, a few weeks after they started dating, they even took each other’s virginities. It was the night before her family moved across the country to North Carolina. Alyson’s father was in the military and the post-9/11 War on Terror was in full swing. Knowing this would be their final few moments together before she moved out of his life forever, they decided this would be the time they “lose it.” Together. On their own terms. She snuck into his bedroom a few minutes past midnight and tried to make love as quietly as possible so Sebastian’s parents wouldn’t wake up.

It was an incredibly embarrassing moment for Sebastian – he came about twenty seconds after entering her – but nobody said life would follow a storybook formula. It certainly hasn’t for him, at least not of late. She didn’t come close to orgasming, though she still felt happy that she was able to lose her virginity to a boy she genuinely loved. After she moved to the east coast, they spoke on the phone a few times here and there…but they eventually moved on and stopped communicating once they both entered college. And that was that, as they say. Until tonight.

“What’ll it be, my friend?” The kindly bartender asks. This snaps Sebastian out of his trip down memory lane. His Eastern European accent is hard to pinpoint. Sebastian guesses he’s Polish, though he’s more than open to the fact that he could be dead wrong. He could be Russian, for all he knows.

“I’ll have some Glenlivet 12, neat, please.”

“Coming right up, sir. Are you with the party over in the ballroom?” The bartender points to a large banner hanging up over the ballroom entrance that reads “Blue River Group New Year’s Eve Party.” Sebastian shakes his head.

“No, sir. That’s not me. I’m here on a date. Yeah, it’s unusual to go on a date with someone on New Year’s Eve, but that’s the way it is.” He winks at the bartender, who has already turned his back to retrieve a clean whiskey glass and a bottle of opened Glenlivet 12.

“Good luck, buddy. If I see a lone lass walking in here, I’ll be sure to direct her to sit right next to you.” He grins at his customer.

“I appreciate it.” Sebastian takes a lone sip of his drink and savors the rich full-bodied flavor. “Oh, and trust me. You’ll notice her when she walks in. She, uh, hard to miss. To put it mildly.”

The bartender gives Sebastian a coy look of genuine curiosity. “Huh. What do you mean by that, friend?”

“You’ll see.” Sebastian smiles. This answer seems to satisfy the bartender, who resumes his task of slicing and juicing limes.

Wearing white khakis, a charcoal grey sports coat, and a bright white tie to match, Sebastian is dressed well enough so that no one can accuse him of phoning it in, but he’s not dressed so well that Alyson might feel awkward if she’s not dressed equally well. If he recalls correctly, Alyson isn’t the type who likes to play “dress up.” She’s more comfortable wearing sweatpants and a hoodie than she is dressing like a Brazilian supermodel strutting down the runway. Sebastian always liked that down-to-earth nature about her.

“Holy shit!” The bartender exclaims.

Sebastian looks up from his drink to see what the fuss is all about. He turns around and looks in the direction that the bartender is focused. His eyes take a while to adjust to the bright blinking Christmas-colored string lights that are still hanging across the bar’s entrance. But once they do, he sees exactly what the friendly bartender is reacting to.

An angel.

Not a literal angel, but she might as well be one. Sebastian’s eyes cannot stop looking at the young woman who just walked into the hotel lobby. Standing at an imposing 6’ 2” (with heels, 5’ 10” without) and wearing a bright flowy form-fitting red dress that shows off every single curve she has to offer, this woman is a marvel to regard. However, despite her gorgeous face, long blonde hair, and impeccably tanned skin – which is impressive for the month of December – there is one aspect to this woman’s appearance that stands out above all:

Her muscles.

Sebastian knows that this must be Alyson. Who else could it be? But in his vague memory, she wasn’t this strikingly beautiful. Or was she? His focus is only on her impeccable figure, not his foggy recollections of their past together. She’s built like a Greek goddess. Broad shoulders, bulging arms, a finely chiseled abdomen, and legs that look like they could easily crush a man’s skull – she’s by far the strongest woman he’s ever seen in his life. But not just bulky though…she’s curvy, super feminine, and carries an air of confidence of a hundred Fortune 500 CEOs.

Her walk is mesmerizing. Every soul in the lobby – from hotel staff to party guests to road weary travelers – cannot stop looking at this woman’s figure. Sebastian, a man who appreciates a female derriere just as much as the next fellow – stares in a trance-like state at the way her butt bounces with each step she takes.

Finally, Alyson spots Sebastian and approaches him. Sebastian can feel his heartrate beat faster and faster with every step she takes toward him. He gingerly stands up from his stool, remembering that he has to practice some semblance of courteous behavior. She prides himself as a gentleman, after all. The bartender, who now realizes what Sebastian meant by “she’s hard to miss,” nearly drops his cup of lime juice on the floor. Alyson, whose muscles seem to get bigger and bigger the closer she gets, lays a kiss on Sebastian’s cheek and hugs him. Her embrace is so tight, Sebastian is afraid she’ll break every one of his ribs. She may need to send him to the ER, if she’s not careful.

“Hi Sebastian! God, it’s been so long,” Alyson gushes. “Wow! You look great. You haven’t aged a day. Still as handsome as always.”

Once Sebastian regains his ability to breathe, he kisses Alyson back on the cheek, lingering there perhaps a few beats too long. She smiles at him as they both sit down. The bartender asks the muscle-bound lady what she wants to drink. She orders a dirty martini. The bartender, struggling to maintain his professional composure, proceeds to make her drink as efficiently as possible without staring perversely at her.

“Thank you. Wow, you look fantastic,” Sebastian squeaks, hoping his gaze remains respectfully on her face and not glued to her incredible body. “I always knew you were going to take the world by storm. Though I never anticipated you’d look quite like…this.” Impulsively, he traces a finger across her swollen left bicep. She playfully flexes for him so that the long vein going across the top pops out a bit. Sebastian struggles to keep his composure but is glad that she isn’t creeped out by his behavior.

“Well, life certainly takes you to unexpected places, doesn’t it?” Alyson, keenly aware the power she has over him, decides to break whatever tension is in the air. If she doesn’t, who will? “I’m really glad to see you. I feel like it’s been forty years since we last were together. Even though it was actually, what, eighteen years?”

“Nineteen,” he politely corrects her. “Nearly twenty. God, that’s hard to believe. Time sure flies. I’ve been through so much during the past couple of decades. Judging from your celebrity status, the same clearly applies to you too. We could spend all night catching up. Well into 2022, to be sure.” As captivating as her muscles are, his gaze is fixated on her beautiful face. Her kind smile, bright eyes, and glowing complexion can put a spell on any man. Sebastian considers himself under the strongest spell possible. They spend the next two hours chatting endlessly about their lives, careers, ups and downs, and hopes and dreams for the future. He admits that his life hasn’t been the same since his divorce. Battling for custody of his children took its toll. Alyson, who for whatever reason seems shy about revealing whether she has kids or not, listens intently with the level of care usually reserved for a professional therapist.

As time goes on, more people start to trickle into the bar. The time is now 8:36 p.m., which means it’s going to be midnight on the east coast soon. NYE revelers who want to watch the ball drop in Times Square on television begin to crowd the bar. No matter who walks in, they cannot help but stare at Alyson. It’s not every day that you see a gorgeous statuesque muscle goddess sitting at the bar chatting with one lucky chap. The bartender, who tries to slip a quick glance at Alyson’s long thick legs whenever possible, struggles to refill everyone’s drinks and keep his cool at the same time. He’d never admit it, but he’s a closeted fan of female bodybuilders…and knows who Alyson is. She may consider herself a “minor C-list celebrity,” but as far as the hardworking bartender is concerned, she’s a mega superstar in his heart.

“It’s getting awfully crowded in here,” Alyson observes. Sebastian looks around and nods his head. He’s feeling slightly tipsy (he’s lost track of how many times the bartender has refilled his glass with Glenlivet 12) but cognizant that their privacy is getting encroached upon. He’d like nothing more than to move to a more discreet location, if possible.

“It sure is. Damn. I guess watching the ball drop in Times Square is still exciting to folks, even though it’s the same shenanigans every year,” Sebastian laments. “If we had something like that over here, that’s where everyone would be.” Alyson downs the rest of her lemon drop cocktail, wipes her mouth with a napkin, and places her right hand suggestively on Sebastian’s leg.

“Do you want to go somewhere more, uh, quiet?” Her piercing brown eyes could burn a hole through his soul. A few of the guys sitting within earshot of them immediately turn their attention to Sebastian, as if to say without words, “Do it, you idiot! Because if you say no, I’m going to jump in and say yes.”

“I’d love to,” Sebastian quickly replies. The bros who thought for a split second that they might have a chance to swoop in and score with this blonde muscle goddess turn their backs the moment it becomes clear Sebastian wasn’t going to drop the ball like a moron. Alyson fishes in her purse for something and takes out a room key.

“Great. Let’s go. I’ll pay for our drinks.” As fast as lightning, Alyson leaves a few $100 bills on the bar counter and grabs Sebastian’s hand. The bartender nods to her, appreciating both the generous tip and the remarkable eye candy that she’s provided him during the past few hours. Walking hand-in-hand like old lovers – making the drunk bros around them even more envious, if such a thing were even possible – Sebastian and Alyson exit the bar with the pomp and circumstance of Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman leaving Rick’s Café. This Hollywood moment may seem like the end of a great epic romantic drama, but Sebastian gets the feeling the plot is about to thicken.

“Hold on, you’re staying at this hotel?” he asks.

“Yes, I don’t live around here anymore. And whenever I’m back in town, I prefer to stay in the best place possible,” she boasts. “This is it. The best this city has to offer.”

Sebastian feels a bit self-conscious walking alongside Alyson through the hotel lobby. Every man, woman, and child stops to stare at them. Specifically, they’re staring at her. It’s not too often that you see a woman with the beauty of a movie star and the musculature of an NFL linebacker gracefully walk past you. But tonight is that night for all of these folks. One small child felt compelled to ask his mother if the lady in the red dress is a boy or a girl. She doesn’t know how to answer that question. No doubt, many similar conversations were happening simultaneously around them.

Just breathe, Sebastian tells himself. Don’t make yourself look like a fool, for God’s sake.

He wouldn’t want to pass out right here in front of all these people before he can get to her room. As the newly minted power couple move toward the elevators, Sebastian senses that he’s about to get supremely lucky.

As fate would have it, Alyson is feeling the exact same thing.

Looking Up to Her

An unknown friend in a position to look up to Roxie Rain.

The heat emanating from her coarse, rough skin is palpable. I’ve never experienced skin so abrasive, yet so beautiful to the touch. Tonight is a night of many unique experiences.

Shannon stands tall in her translucent grey high heels, her forest green eyes hovering just above my own. Her eyelashes flutter with musical synchronicity. Right now, her wavy dark brown hair sits right above her broad shoulders, looking as if it’s set just right for this moment. I struggle to find the words to speak to her with, a burden that seems insignificant for the time being.

“Have you ever touched a woman like me before?” she coyly asks.

I nod my head “no,” but realize she wouldn’t be able to see that. So I attempt to make a pithy verbal reply to her inquiry.

“No, I have not. Definitely not. You’re the first, for sure.”

She murmurs something unintelligible back to me, but it’s probably just a slight laugh. She knows she has all the power right now; she knows damn well that I am like a helpless child, with normal thoughts and conversational abilities thrown out the proverbial window. My fingers move down to her wide back, every striation of muscle sending shivers down my spine. Her thick mounds of flesh seem piled on like bricks in a mansion. To reiterate, I’ve never met, seen, or touched a woman quite like Shannon before.

But what a ride it has been thus far.

“Wow. You’re so damn beautiful, Shannon,” I say. “But you already know that, I’m sure.”

Shannon unexpectedly turns around, her piercing eyes staring straight into my weak soul. She rubs her hands down her bare breasts, completely aware of their remarkably small size. Is she projecting her insecurities to me? Or pointing out her flaws (as if she has any)? Or is she attempting to turn herself on? I can only guess.

Next, she hooks her fingers around the sides of her bikini bottom and methodically pulls it down to the floor. Once it pools around her ankles, she kicks them off to the side. Neither of us have any clue where it lands. Not that we actually care.

Now she is completely nude.

“Thank you, Max. I appreciate the kind words,” Shannon begins. “Why don’t you show me how beautiful you think I am, instead of just saying it?”

With the grace of a world-class ballet dancer, Shannon leaps backwards onto the hotel bed and spreads her powerful legs as wide as they can go. She rests her head against the purple satin pillowcase. I think I know what she’s inviting me to do…so I oblige her invitation with very little humility.

I get down on my knees and lean my chest against the edge of the bed. My hands explore Shannon’s tree trunk legs, her calves the size of grapefruits, and her impressive six-pack abdomen. Shannon closes her eyes and moans as I touch every inch of her magnificent body. She’s an angel, a deity, a demi-goddess who is charitable enough to visit the Human World. For this, I am eternally grateful.

My eyes open wide when I see Shannon’s enormous clitoris. Hot, ultrasensitive, pulsing, and as erect as it can possibly be, my tongue laps its broad head with reckless abandon. Protruding out at least three inches in length, I wrap my lips around it and rhythmically fondle it with my entire mouth. Shannon groans in response, intense pleasure building up within her being.

The flawlessly beautiful Wendy Fortino.

She grabs the bedsheets and squeezes them with all her might. I would not be surprised if she accidentally rips the fabric. Her brute strength is enough to break or tear anything manmade. Loud moans of delight escape from her throat. I clutch her legs to stabilize myself. I continue to suck as meticulously as I can – wanting to bring her to the earthshattering orgasm that she deserves.

Eventually, Shannon does climax. Maybe just once. Or maybe twice. I cannot tell for sure.

“Oh fuck!” Shannon belts out.

She lifts her pelvis off the bed and writhes around involuntarily. Shock waves of orgasm pulsate throughout her body. I try to end on a gracious note by slowing down my oral actions and tickling her clit head with the tip of my tongue. I do not know if she enjoys this or even acknowledges the gesture.

Moments pass. Shannon is out of breath and smiling unashamedly.

“Alright kid. Now it’s your turn,” she announces.

Shannon playfully shoves me backward, forcing me to stumble onto my bare butt. She flexes her bulging biceps, then shows off her jaw-dropping triceps. Next, she squeezes her delts and looks to the ground to provide me with a more advantageous view. I appreciate every second of it. The final thing she does is turn toward the window and strike a side chest pose, demonstrating the results of all these years of bench pressing at the gym. She grins with delight at the conclusion of her little “show.”

She takes a few steps toward me. I am still on the floor, as vulnerable as can be.

There I am, looking up to her. She smiles. I can clearly see the deep grooves between her abs. I can see her shrunken breasts – and the chip on her shoulder that comes with it. She’s still wearing the high heels, which adds her to considerable height. She is all powerful. Omnipotent. Invincible. Indomitable. I am weak. I can do nothing to resist. Yet, why would I?

“I’m in a good mood right now. I know we’ve just met, but I have a special feeling about you, Max.” Shannon stands frozen in time, as still as a marble statue. “I rarely let guys do this the first time they see me, but like I just said, I’m feeling generous.”

She walks toward her suitcase, opens it, digs around it for a few moments, and takes out a condom wrapper. My heart flutters, knowing exactly what is about to transpire next.

Shannon tears it open and tosses it carelessly on top of the bedside credenza. She points to the bed. I immediately get up and sit down on it, as obedient as a pet dog. I remain silent. She does as well.

This is what the hotel balcony looks like.

Seductively, she approaches me and wraps her callused fingers around my manhood. It awakens, growing harder and longer in the palm of her hand. I take in a deep breath, afraid I might prematurely come right then and there. Thankfully, I do not embarrass myself in front of this Gorgeous Muscle Goddess. Eventually – and for what seems like an eternity – she smooths the condom down my erect penis and leans over to kiss me. Our lips meet. Her tongue wrestles with mine. Her strawberry-flavored chap stick invades my senses. Shannon then grasps my wrist and pulls me upward. I stand next to her, my eyes still just below hers. She leads me to the sliding glass door. My breathing stops. She unlocks it and escorts us outside. The chilly early spring air greets our nude bodies. It is still not quite dark yet, so at this moment complete strangers could be watching us if they were fortunate enough to stumble upon this glorious sight:

A lucky nude man accompanied by a beautiful nude muscular woman.

Shannon turns around, braces the metallic railing and sticks her bottom out toward me, offering it to her newfound mate. I place my cold hands against her hips. The tip of my penis brushes against her left butt cheek. I manage to take in a deep breath.

“Now fuck me,” she says in a much louder voice than I thought was prudent.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Without thinking too much about it, I seize her hips with more force and guide my penis inside her. She’s already wet, signaling her hospitality. I thrust in and out of her vagina, not saying a word and secretly hoping somebody would see us. After all, this is the most triumphant moment of my life…I would kill to have some kind of an audience to witness it. Is that too much to ask?

“Oh, that’s nice. That’s great. Just like that, Max…”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could have sworn I saw an older couple watching us from a nearby balcony. But I could be wrong. My vision has blurred and I can only concentrate on fucking her with the forcefulness that she requires. Shannon returns the favor by bouncing her pelvis up and down, adding to the sensations running through my manhood. I can only scream.

“Oh, fuck!”

Pleasure swells to its pinnacle…

…

…and arrives at a satisfying conclusion.

I come. Much longer than usual. I cannot imagine how much semen I’ve just ejaculated into this measly condom. More than twice than I usually do? Thrice? Who the fuck knows?

Finally, we come apart. Shannon stands up straight, kisses me one final time, picks me up with her burly arms, and takes me inside. I still do not know for sure if we had any spectators see our animalistic coupling just now. I suspect we did. But that’s just a baseless guess.

She drops me to the ground and my knees buckle. I fall feebly to the carpet. Now, I’m the one who’s out of breath. I peer up to see her. Once again, she’s standing over me. That smile has not left her pretty face. Her authority is tangible. It’s frightening how powerful she is right now and how weak I am. The contrast is jarring. Yet, in my weakness, I feel no shame. I feel ecstatic, in fact. I feel…masculine. The most masculine I’ve never felt in my life, ironically in the presence of a much bigger and stronger woman. I don’t feel any humiliation or emasculation. Quite the opposite.

It’s funny how paradoxical life can be at times, isn’t it?

Regardless of the real power dynamics actually going on in this room, there’s one constant that never ceases to exist. There I am, in the presence of the most beautiful creature I’ve ever been privileged to meet. She’s standing tall, I am on the floor.

Looking up to her.

Bridgette – Midnight Rendezvous (part five)

A hot latte for a cold autumn season.
A hot latte for a cold autumn season.

Sipping on a cold vanilla latte, it’s been two hours since Sean left the party. He found a late night coffee stop several blocks away from the Convention Center and decided to stop in for a caffeine injection.

His vanilla latte tastes okay, but he wasn’t looking for taste. He was looking for a place to sit around until he can be reunited with Beautiful Bridgette. Their previous coupling didn’t drain the energy out of his system. On the contrary, it filled him with more passion than ever before. He craved to be with her again. Her musky smell. The feel of her taut skin. Her gorgeous face. Her rock hard muscles. He needed every inch of her. He felt like he could scream with frustration at not being able to be with her at this moment.

How is this possible? Is be becoming obsessed with her? Sean considers himself to be a reasonable man. He knows obsession can lead someone down a dangerous path. He has no desire to become someone like that; someone who lets their uncontrollable lust overpower them. Sean would like to think he’s more level-headed than that.

He quickly glances at his phone. It says it’s 11:40 p.m. His battery is at 28 percent, just enough to last him for the rest of the night. He figures it will become dead at 2 a.m. or so. All he needs is to receive that magical text from her. That would make him the happiest man in the world.

Minutes pass. Sean finally finishes his bland latte. He tosses the paper cup into a nearby recycling bin. The grumpy old barista who’s working the graveyard shift smirks at Sean’s demonstration of environmental stewardship. Sean gives an obligatory smirk back. He decides to shift his attention away from Mr. Tattooed Barista and stares at the late night traffic. It’s surprisingly busy considering it’s nearly midnight. It must be attendees of the bodybuilding competition going home for the night. That must be it.

His phone then buzzes. His heart stops momentarily. He checks his phone. It’s a text. From Bridgette! It reads:

Hi darling! It’s me! I’m finally back in my room. You know which hotel. I’m in room 1245. Come on up! Can’t wait…lol

She’s right. He does know exactly which hotel she’s staying at. Sean doesn’t hesitate for a moment and skips out of the coffee shop to head toward his next destination. Her hotel room. He doesn’t quite know what to expect, but he’s certain he’ll treasure it for the rest of his life. The human mind has a funny way of remembering key moments. Sometimes, it’s the anticipation of a momentous event you remember more than the actual event itself. Perhaps this is one of those instances. Or not.

Moments later, Sean is strolling into a quiet hotel lobby. He seeks out the elevators as inconspicuously as possible. He eyes a row of metal doors and speed walks to it. He pushes “up” and waits. The doors open. He allows a flood of drunken tourists to pour out. As loud and obnoxious as college kids on spring break, he’s glad to walk inside and have the elevator all to himself. He pushes “12” and watches the doors close in front of him. He arrives on the 12th floor faster than he’d expected. Whoa! These elevators travel up really damn fast. Sean is genuinely impressed.

A luxury hotel lobby.
A luxury hotel lobby.

Sean gets lost for a bit, but eventually finds room #1245. Butterflies are swarming inside his stomach. He can’t figure out why. Why is he still as nervous as a schoolboy to see her? It’s not like Bridgette is a total stranger. He knows her! But for whatever incomprehensible reason, he still feels anxious to meet her. It must be this unbreakable spell she’s cast over him. It’s forcing him to act irrationally. He knocks on the door. The door quickly opens.

“Hello. Good evening. Come on in,” Bridgette greets him. Dressed in sweatpants and an old workout undershirt, Bridgette looks as though she’s just showered. Wearing no makeup and none of the elegance she exhibited earlier in the evening, Bridgette still remains as beautiful as ever. She’s dazzling to behold. Her white undershirt generously shows off her muscles. Sean sees a travel-friendly pull up bar set up on the far side of the room.

“I’ve been doing pull ups for the past 20 minutes before you got here. Today is back day for me, but I haven’t had time to get to a gym because of all the bullshit I had to get done earlier,” Bridgette says. Sean notices the sweat dripping down her flawless face. He removes his shoes, jacket and places his phone, wallet and keys on top of a maple wood credenza. Bridgette leaps up, grabs the pull up bar, and astonishingly busts out 15 repetitions before plopping down back on her feet. Sean feels a tingling sensation dance through his system.

“How on earth can you do that?” Sean’s legs quiver underneath him. He isn’t sure if he’ll be able to stand up straight for much longer.

“Practice makes perfect, right?” Bridgette grabs a white towel off the credenza and wipes a drip of sweat off her brow. She looks at Sean and knows she has him in her grip. Not one who frequently enjoys wielding power over people, Bridgette occasionally does get an adrenaline rush from maximizing her sexuality to her advantage. Throughout her adult life Bridgette has realized, not in a narcissistic way, her looks give her power over men (and women). She’s tried to remain humble, but that power can be intoxicating at times. She agrees that power is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

“Practice? More like hard work. You look incredible, Bridgette. But you already know that.”

“Please. I just got out of the shower. My hair is dripping wet and I haven’t an ounce of makeup on. I probably look like a disaster.” She leans in and kisses Sean. She catches him mid-breath, causing him to gasp. When their lips part, he places his hands on her curvy hips and strokes up and down.

“Stop it, Bridgette honey. You don’t look anything like a disaster. You look so…” She places her index finger against his lips. He hushes up. Bridgette suggestively sticks her finger inside Sean’s mouth and he obediently sucks on it.

“I’m kidding. Do you like how that tastes? What do I taste like?” She removes her finger from his mouth. He comes to her and nibbles on her earlobe.

“Sweet as honey.”

“I like that analogy.” Bridgette sits down on the bed and takes a drink of water from her water bottle. Sean plops himself down on a nearby chair. They say nothing for several moments.

“You don’t like crowds all that much, do you?” she inquires.

“I don’t. I’m not claustrophobic or anything. There’s something about big crowds that make me nervous. I feel like I don’t matter, that I’m just an ant marching up a hill along with millions of other ants. I cease to be an individual. Am I crazy for feeling that way?”

“No, not at all. I think I know what you mean.” Police sirens roar by. Bridgette takes another swig of her water.

“But you’re not in that situation. You were the center of attention. All eyes were on you, my dear.”

Bridgette spreads out across the bed and smothers her face into a pillow. “Yeah, which gets exhausting as hell. I love the spotlight, but not quite like that. I couldn’t wait to get out of there.” Sean jumps out of his chair and lands on top of Bridgette. He kisses her on the neck and caresses her massive quads. She strokes his hair.

Jill Rudison is ready for anything.
Jill Rudison is ready for anything.

“You mean you couldn’t wait to go outside with me and do it in front of all those people!” Sean gets bold and reaches into her panties and strokes her clit. It’s already engorged and moist. Bridgette not only allows him to do this, she gasps in response.

“Oh God! You’re getting frisky, Sean!” Pulling his fingers away from her cleft, Sean kisses her lips and lifts her dirty workout shirt off her and tosses it across the room.

“I was sure frisky with you on that balcony.”

“You sure were, dirty boy. I still can’t believe we did it out in public like that. What the fuck were we thinking?” Not to be outdone, Bridgette cups his balls and feels Sean’s erection. She begins to unzip his pants as he pinches her taut nipples.

“We weren’t thinking. That’s the point. We just did what we felt like.” Sean kicks off his pants and rips off his underwear. Bridgette pinches the base of his erection as Sean removes his shirt. Now completely nude, he seeks to make sure she becomes the same way.

“Are we doing the same thing?” Bridgette asks.

“Yes, except with a little bit more privacy,” he says. “Check that. A lot more privacy.”

“Indeed!”

Bridgette slips out of her sweatpants and removes her panties. She lobs them at Sean’s face and he smells it deeply, taking in her feminine musk. Sweet perfume, as far as he’s concerned. She playfully shoves Sean onto the bed and poses for him. Double biceps. Front lat spread. Side chest. Side triceps. Abdominal and thigh. He can clearly see every muscle fiber on her immaculate figure. She sure knows how to entertain a crowd!

“Flawless, dear Bridgette. Absolutely flawless. You are a spectacle to behold.” Sean feels his erection poke his bellybutton. That’s usually a sign he’s aroused far beyond normal. Bridgette definitely knows how to drive a man crazy.

“You haven’t seen a spectacle yet,” Bridgette warns. She sashays toward the light switch and turns it down to 25 percent. The room dims to a romantic dark orange glow. Bridgette then walks to the curtains and opens them wide, letting the bright moonlight flood the darkness. Sean makes his way toward her.

“What else do you have in mind?”

She turns around to face him.

“Let me show you.”

Bridgette swoops in and lifts Sean onto her shoulders. She playfully tosses him onto the bed and lets out an animalistic roar, loud enough for the entire floor of guests to hear. He laughs at her silliness, but quickly discovers she isn’t messing around. Bridgette jumps on the bed and mounts him. Wrapping her strong legs around his torso, she strokes his penis up and down and never breaks eye contact with him. Sean holds his breath in hopes of delaying his gratification. Like a hungry lion stalking its prey, Bridgette squats down onto Sean’s penis, allowing him to penetrate her. They share a collective moan at the moment of their intimate joining.

Unapologetic and as violent as he’s ever seen her, Bridgette rides him with a level of ferociousness that borders on maniacal. He knows he’s going to come faster than he’d like. Bridgette also senses her impending orgasm, and lowers herself to kiss him in hopes of postponing both of their climaxes for as long as possible.

Their lips meet. He bites her lower lip. She feels pain, but enjoys it. She returns the favor and bites his tongue. Sean tastes her sticky saliva but doesn’t mind it at all. They kiss once more before Bridgette’s final thrust fiercely pushes them both over the edge.

Sean groans as he empties himself into her. Bridgette also climaxes as her pelvic movements slow down methodically. He feels her vaginal walls contract powerfully around him. Bridgette, completely sapped of energy, collapses on top of him. They kiss again, this time deeper than before. She giggles. He exhales with satisfaction. Their first coupling of the evening comes to a glorious end.

A comfortable bed to sleep in...and do other things.
A comfortable bed to sleep in…and do other things.

Bridgette couldn’t remember if she drifted off to sleep, but she finally opens her eyes and looks at the bedside clock. It reads 1:45 a.m. She listens closely to Sean and decides he is quietly snoring. His snoring stops as he too awakens.

“I love you, Bridgette.”

“Sweeter words have never been spoken to me before,” she says.

The lovers fall asleep together again.

Two hours later, Sean wakes up to the sound of Bridgette flushing the toilet. He looks at the clock and notices it’s almost a quarter to 4. The night is still dark, perhaps at its darkest. There is enough moonlight to allow him to fully regard her striking beauty.

“God, you are amazing. A true goddess.” Sean sits up in the bed and stretches his arms. Still naked, Bridgette falls to the floor and does 50 pushups. Watching her exercise makes Sean’s heart skip a beat. His erection returns, much to his gratefulness.

“I’m just doing pushups, not summoning a storm or shooting lightning out of my fingers.” Bridgette sits up on the floor and mimics firing electrical bolts out of her hands. Sean pretends to get shocked and falls down on the floor next to her.

“You’ve got me, Goddess. I shouldn’t have displeased you!”

Sean feels the soft rug underneath his skin. “Wow. This is so damn soft. I could sleep down here if I have to.”

“You should. I don’t know where the hotel got it, but I definitely want to steal it.” Bridgette touches the rug with her bare skin and lets out a subtle sigh. She didn’t grow up from a wealthy family, so staying at these hotels is the closest she gets to experiencing the life of luxury. As a pro bodybuilder and part-time pornographic actress, she barely gets by paying her bills month to month. Sean doesn’t have that problem, but he sympathizes with her.

“Do it. I won’t tell anybody.” Sean licks the back of Bridgette’s neck and caresses her firm butt. She rolls to her side and flexes her left arm. Sean kisses her bicep peak. His erection pokes Bridgette in her belly, the tip of his penis bouncing off her six-pack abdomen. He inhales to keep control. Bridgette twists her body toward him and wraps her strong legs around his torso. She playfully squeezes, stealing his breath. Sean attempts to push her bowling ball calves out of the way but fails to counter her impressive strength.

“You’re not getting away that easily, I can tell you that!” Bridgette smiles. Sean can only smile back.

“I have no intention of going anywhere darling,” he says.

She mercifully releases him and spreads her legs out wide. Sean lays a trail of kisses that start at her feet – Sean isn’t a “feet” kind of guy, but he’s willing to change his mind! – and ends at her inner thigh. Sean still cannot believe how incredibly thick her quads are. He bets she could crush a watermelon between her legs if she wanted to. Odds are she’s done feats of strength like that before.

“Well, if you don’t plan on going anywhere, you might as well please me until I beg you to stop.” Bridgette’s innocent smile turns to a devilish grin. Sean knows exactly what she’s talking about.

Angela Salvagno being her usual sexy self.
Angela Salvagno being her usual sexy self.

Sean levels himself and places his fingers between Bridgette’s engorged clitoris. She lets out a modest moan in response to his touch. He dips down and places his entire mouth over her pubis region, his tongue meeting the ultrasensitive tip of her large feminine endowment. Sean purses his lips around her clit and strokes her as his tongue laps the head. He can sense her squirming uncontrollably. Her eyes are closed. She’s doing nothing but enjoying the gratifying sensations running through her entire body.

Bridgette can feel heat rising out of every pore. She doesn’t just feel pleasure; she feels an intense love for a man whom she met randomly on a street corner in the suburbs as part of her job. Memories of their first encounter and riding with him to the luxury condo where they filmed their love scene come flooding back like a tsunami. She’s about to come but her physical experience is the last thing that’s on her mind.

Sean intensifies his oral motions as he notices her writhing more. An audible gasp escapes from her lips just moments before she hits her satisfying climax. Wanting her to enjoy this moment like nothing else before, Sean jabs his tongue inside her throbbing vagina right before jerking her clit off with his fingers. Her meaty labia are slick with moisture. Bridgette raises her pelvis in anticipation of her climax.

Finally, she comes and her entire body shudders. She even releases an involuntary fart as her vaginal walls contract. Sean tries to suppress a giggle but cannot help himself. Minutes later, still basking in the glow of a satisfying orgasm, Bridgette sits up and kisses Sean’s lips – the same lips that gave her immeasurable pleasure just a few moments ago.

“Thank you lover.”

That’s all she can say. Sean doesn’t need her to say anything else.

Instead, Bridgette responds with actions instead of words. She picks up Sean like a rag doll and plops him onto the bed. Then she proceeds to put her mouth over his entire penis. She gently strokes his scrotum as she covers his entire manhood with her warm saliva. Sean looks up at the ceiling and tries to take it all in. He peers out the window and sees the full moon staring back at him. Like a werewolf eating its prey, Bridgette consumes his erection with reckless abandon.

As she laps her tongue around his sensitive endowment, Sean groans loudly. That’s the cue she needs to know he’s close. One last squeeze of his testicles does the trick, as she feels Sean’s penis contract up and down. His hot semen shoots into her mouth. Without being prompted, she generously swallows it all. Even more generously, she cleans up his deflating penis with her tongue and a tissue she finds on the credenza. She throws the smelly tissue into a trashcan. Bridgette doesn’t normally like the taste of semen, but as far as she’s concerned Sean’s juices taste like sweet dessert to cap off a romantic evening.

The time is now 4:18 a.m. Totally and utterly spent, Sean and Bridgette fall asleep into each other’s arms without a damn care in the world.

Sexy Summer Short Story #1 – Room 916

The one and only Italian Muscle Goddess Mavi Gioia.
The one and only Italian Muscle Goddess Mavi Gioia.

Hello readers!

With summer in full swing, I’ve decided to spend the month of July writing short single-post sexy stories involving female bodybuilders (who else?) and the men and women who love them. Time is short, we all have busy lives, so who has time to read a massive four-part story when a simple 1,500 word post is sufficient?

I agree, so here’s what I’m going to do: I’m going to launch a series of short FBB-focused sexy stories that are no longer than 1,500 words in length. No need for extensive back stories. No need for expository dialogue (or any dialogue, for that matter). No need for follow through. What happens next to these characters, you may ask?

Who cares? That’s up to your imagination!

So, do you have a story idea that you really want me to write about? I’m going to guess most of you are here for my nonfiction articles, but I do know for a fact a small handful of you actually like my fictional writing, so I’m reaching out to you folks. Post your ideas in the comment section below or send me an e-mail at ryantakahashi87 (at) yahoo (dot) com. If you’d like to submit a short story yourself, let me know as well!

Without further ado, here’s Sexy Summer Short Story #1 – Room 916.

***

From the moment she sat down, I could not keep my eyes off her. Nor could anybody else at the bar, for that matter. Her broad shoulders, swollen arms, and killer calves were a dead giveaway that she is no ordinary woman.

The bartender cautiously approached her seat, as if he didn’t know how to behave around her. Why did he have fear in his eyes as he timidly asked her what she wanted to drink? She appears to be harmless. She’s not dangerous. What’s his deal?

“Whiskey. Straight,” she replies.

I like her already!

As quick as a rabbit escaping a predator, the bartender scurries off to a back room to find the perfect bottle of whiskey for this remarkable customer. In addition to myself, there are eight other people sitting around the bar. Six men and two women. One of these women is her. The other looks to be nearing 80 and carries herself as if she’s lived a depressing life. I feel sorry for her.

I quickly glance at the muscle-bound eye candy to see what we’re dealing with here. We look to be about the same age. She’s blonde, although I highly doubt that’s her true hair color. There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?

With her heels on, she towers over everyone. Standing at a solid 6’, she’s probably more like 5’9” or so. I’ve never had a special affinity for tall women, but I’m about to make an exception. I’ve also never been into muscular women, but I’m definitely going to make an exception.

The bartender returns with her whiskey. He sets it down on the counter. She immediately picks it up, downs it, and requests a refill. Now that’s my kind of gal! The hapless bartender pours her another glass. This time, she takes her time and sips it deliberately.

I look down at my vodka and tonic and feel like a little boy playing street ball with the big kids. I’m not much of a whiskey guy, but I may need to reconsider my drinking preferences.

Wearing a tight pink dress that generously shows off every single muscular curve on her powerful body, my manhood becomes harder with every move she makes. The way she sips her whiskey. The manner in which she watches the evening news with disdain. The mechanics of her impossibly rock hard body that’s undeniably commanding yet unquestionably feminine at the same time. She’s truly a one-of-a-kind…

Just as I get lost in my own thoughts, she catches me staring at her. I try to turn my head away as inconspicuously as I can, but I know I’ve been caught red handed. What’s the point at hiding my fascination with her?

She smiles at me. We make eye contact. I feel my blood boiling. My heart flutters. A surge of energy races throughout my body. She doesn’t appear to be offended or creeped out by my voyeurism. In fact, she seems to welcome it.

I smile back. She nods her head, acknowledging my presence. We may only be 30 feet away, but I feel like I’m connecting with her on a spiritual level. It sounds crazy, but my intuition is almost never wrong about these things. A bored couple walk away from the bar. Our elderly friend also goes home for the evening. The bar is located in the lobby of a swanky hotel, so perhaps this Muscular Goddess is in town for a bodybuilding competition. I don’t pay attention to such things – I prefer baseball and football – but I may need to start to follow the sport if she’s involved in it.

A swanky bar.
A swanky bar.

Ten minutes pass. I finish my drink. The bartender, more comfortable talking with me than her, asks if I want a second one. I decline and ask him a simple follow-up question:

“What’s she drinking?”

I don’t need to point to her. He knows exactly who I’m talking about.

I already know the answer to this, but I ask anyway because I want her to notice that I’m talking exclusively about her. She clearly has overheard our conversation because she offers up the answer herself.

“Whiskey straight. No ice. Just the good stuff.” All ears turn toward her. Her low rumbling voice sends tremors throughout the room. Never in my life have I ever heard a woman’s voice that deep before. Instead of being turned off by it, I surprisingly find myself helplessly aroused by it.

“Thanks. I’ll have what she’s having.”

The room chuckles in response to my lame joke. She does too. She raises her eyebrow toward me and gives me a sassy smirk. I’m surprised I don’t die from a heart attack right on the spot. Thankfully, my blood pressure remains normal and I don’t appear to be meeting my Maker anytime soon.

Minutes later, the bartender returns with my drink. I try to down it with the veracity of the Muscle Goddess, but I cough like a high school kid drinking beer for the first time. She doesn’t hide her amusement. Embarrassed and red-in-the-face (both literally and figuratively), I laugh it off in hopes of saving my dignity.

Whiskey neat. My drink of choice.
Whiskey neat. My drink of choice.

We share a few more flirty glances, but exchange no further words. As it nears 11:30 p.m., she finishes her whiskey and gets up to leave. Deflated, I watch her pick up her purse and walk away, knowing I have absolutely no chance at getting acquainted with her.

She makes a sudden turn toward me and drops a business card in front of my empty glass. She doesn’t speak a word. She makes no eye contact. Remarkably, nobody notices this subtle exchange of information. As she walks toward the elevator (which tells me she’s staying at the hotel), I take a look at the business card:

Katrina Catalina
Professional bodybuilder, personal trainer, and nutrition coach

On the back of the card, scribbled in pen, is a simple message: Room 916. Midnight. Be there.

My breathing stops. I can barely move. Is this what I think it means?

Oh. My. God.

A half hour later, I find myself pacing around an empty hallway on the 9th floor. Standing just outside of room #916, I wonder whether this is a genuine proposition or a mean spirited joke. Well, there’s only one way to find out.

I nervously knock on the door and wait. For what seems like an eternity, I hear footsteps approach the door. My body tenses up. Sweat drips down my face. Is this for real –

The door opens. It’s Katrina. Wearing nothing but a sexy ocean blue negligee, she grabs my hand and fiercely pulls me into her room.

“Come on in!”

Katrina kicks the door closed and leads me inside. We hold hands and stare into each other’s eyes. Without her heels, we see almost eye-to-eye (she’s still slightly taller than me). We kiss. Her tongue invades my mouth. I nearly choke. She giggles and pats me on the cheek. We continue to look at each other for a long moment.

“Shall we fuck?” she asks. Her growling voice is enough to completely turn me on.

“I thought you’d never ask,” I reply.

My best wishes go out to Marthe Sundby, who is battling cancer at the moment. Go Marthe!
My best wishes go out to Marthe Sundby, who is battling cancer at the moment. Go Marthe!

She tears off her negligee and exposes her fully naked body. My eyes greedily take in her magnificent muscular frame. I rip apart my clothes and join her nudity. My manhood is rock hard, ready to enter her. Katrina flexes her big muscles, showing off a double biceps pose that sends me over the edge of sanity. I grab her hips and slam her against the back of a leather couch. She gasps audibly and sticks out her firm bottom, beckoning me to take her from behind.

“Fuck me.”

Will do.

Gripping her hips, I slowly push my penis inside her, inch by inch. We share a mutual moan at the exact moment I completely enter her. A few rhythmic thrusts precede more violent ones as I give her everything I got. Katrina bends forward and widens her stance to allow me to penetrate her deeper. Heavy breathing, the scandalous sound of flesh banging against flesh, and uninhibited screams of delight fill the hot and humid air.

Katrina growls like a wild animal, which further heightens my senses. I know I’m about to come, but I don’t want things to end yet. I want to make love to her forever and ever. But before I can slow our pace, Katrina squeezes her vaginal muscles together, bringing us both to orgasmic climax. I empty myself into her as her wet passageway pulsates with orgasm. She buries her face into a pillow to muffle her scream. I groan as the last few spurts of my ejaculation subside.

We remain like that for several minutes. Still hard, I refuse to pull out of her. She doesn’t seem like she wants me to leave her anytime soon.

She turns her head around and we kiss. We don’t utter a single word.

Pure silence.

And that’s the way it should be.

805

Amy Neal showing definitely has the legs to showcase those boots.
Amy Neal showing definitely has the legs to showcase those boots.

They couldn’t wait.

Not after all this agonizing anticipation. Not after the hours they’ve spent silently looking at each other, trying to hide their lust-filled glances from preening eyes.

Not anymore. There’s no holding back. It’s now or never.

The tension between them couldn’t be stronger. It’s at a tipping point. The raw energy surging through them is going to explode at any moment. They need release. They need to shatter the invisible wall separating them. They need each other.

Desperately.

For the past 72 hours, they’ve been dancing a seductive tango without a single word being spoken. She’s a world class professional bodybuilder. He’s a rising amateur photographer. They come from two completely different worlds, but this sensual dance feels as natural and seamless as Fred and Ginger.

It’s the final day of the big competition. The entire weekend has been one long blur for both of them. But now it’s quickly coming to an end. Her exhibition came to an end yesterday. She got screwed by the judges again by placing 3rd when she (and her competition) fully expected her to win it all. Fucking politics. Placing 2nd last year was a travesty. Placing 3rd this year is more like a cruel joke.

Fuck the world. Fuck these pathetic judges who wouldn’t know excellence if it tied them up in a dark alley and fucked them up the ass.

But all that is behind her now. All that matters is getting what she wants. She really needs a guy right now. After spending months upon months training for this competition, she realizes she hasn’t had sex in at least half a year. Fuck. Has it really been that long?

Meeting guys isn’t the hard part. Meeting guys who aren’t complete assholes is a completely different story. She’s met her fair share of pricks (working in the bodybuilding industry can do that to you), but hardly any gentlemen. She hopes he’s different.

He, on the other hand, also hasn’t been with anyone in a while. He’s too embarrassed to think of when. All he knows is that from the moment he locked eyes with her, he knew she was special. He’s met plenty of female bodybuilders and athletes before, but she has an aura around her that made her…unique. He couldn’t explain why. He just knew she was.

She sparkled for the camera. Her smile feels genuine. There’s real warmth to her personality. She’s not fake. She’s not putting on an act. She is who she really is. And that attracts him to her the most.

Camera in hand, he’s already taken more photos than he knows what to do with. At least 500. Maybe 600. God, editing all these photos is going to be a fucking nightmare. But none of that is important to him right now. At this moment, he needs to be with her.

In the grand lobby of the convention center, there is a sea of humanity sprawled all over. People of all sorts. Bodybuilders, spectators, journalists, photographers, vendors, security guards, and maybe even a few celebrities. He’s supposed to photograph all the events (especially the final event), but he’d rather brush it off if it means he could be with her. He frantically looks around for her.

She’s also frantically looking around for him. After the final event, everyone goes their separate ways. This could be her last chance to connect with him. All the flirting, all the loving stares, all the sexual tension between them could be for naught.

Finally, a familiar figure crosses her path. It’s him! Wearing his camera around his neck, he looks as hungry and fierce as her. Wearing sweat pants, an old t-shirt, and no makeup whatsoever, she doesn’t look particularly sexy, but he doesn’t mind. In his opinion, she always looks dazzling. She approaches him and forces him to stop dead in his tracks. His heart stops. Her hearts beats faster. She leans in and whispers this simple message into his ear:

“805.”

Then she walks away. He knows exactly what that means. Room 805. Her room. Her hotel is across the street from the convention center. He knows that for a fact. It is time to meet her there. He snaps a few more photos, knowing she would want a few moments to herself before accepting visitors to her room.

The male and female bodybuilders covered in orange tan spray nearly make him puke. Seeing the annoying wannabe bodybuilders line up at the vendor booths looking for the perfect supplement that will give them the most “gains” also makes him sick to his stomach. He usually hates covering these events, but meeting her changed all of that for the better.

A nice looking hotel room.
A nice looking hotel room.

Meanwhile, back at her room, she quickly disrobes and takes a short shower. She loves the feeling of the hot water cascading off her hard, muscle-bound body. She turns the water off, pats herself dry, and puts on a lily white bathrobe. She then remembers to brush her teeth. Since yesterday’s monstrosity, she’s finally been able to splurge on the foods she’s had to refrain from for the past six months. That pulled pork taco she had for lunch today nearly gave her an orgasm. For real.

She sits on a comfortable beige sofa and waits. Waiting to be ravished. Waiting to be touched. Waiting to be made love to. Waiting for him.

Moments pass. Minutes pass. She becomes impatient. Where the hell is he?

He’s trudging through the rain to get across the street. A damn taxi driver nearly runs him over. Fucking asshole. Can’t he see he’s trying to cross the street?

He enters the hotel and immediately walks toward the elevator. He pushes “up.” He waits. The doors open. He gets inside. He presses “8.” The doors close. The elevator begins its ascension. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. Finally, the doors open. He exits the elevator. He passes an attractive couple making out in the hallway. He pays no attention to them. A cleaning maid walks by. A loose toddler waddles underneath a chestnut table. He pays no attention to them either.

After taking a sharp right turn, he finds her room. 805. He closes his eyes and visualizes what she must look like naked. He’s sure reality would far surpass his imagination. Determined to find out, he knocks on the door. Time passes. His palms get sweaty. He holds his breath in anticipation of the door opening.

She gets up. She remembers to tie her bathrobe. She starts to notice her palms get sweaty. She hopes he isn’t as much of a nervous wreck as her.

She opens the door. She looks at him. He looks back at her. Beat. Finally, she welcomes him inside and she briskly closes the door to avoid prying eyes from peeking into their impromptu rendezvous. Rumors start when eyes spy in places they shouldn’t. She wants to make sure that doesn’t happen. She wants to cut that shit in the bud.

There is dead silence between them. Which is fitting, considering they’ve never actually carried on a conversation together. The time for talk is later. Now is the time for something else. Something way more intimate.

First, he places his camera (sporting an impressive telephoto lens) on top of a mahogany credenza. His shoes come off shortly afterward. Then his jacket. Then he stops. He turns to face her. She studies his face, hopelessly trying to guess what’s on his mind. She gives up and instead waits for him to make the first move.

He does.

He goes to her. She throws her thick arms around him. Her embrace is so tight he’s afraid his ribcage will crack. They kiss. Wet, sloppy, and unrefined. Just the way they prefer it. She reaches down and unzips his pants. His erection strains against his underwear. He makes no effort to prevent her from stripping him naked. Within seconds he’s stark naked. His hardness stands at attention. She gently pushes him onto the bed and he falls backward. She stands back and strikes a half dozen bodybuilding poses for him. He applauds at every one of them.

He recognizes excellence when he sees it. Unlike those fucking scumbag judges. She notices his appreciation and takes it to heart.

Enough with the foreplay. Now is the time for intimacy. She unties her bathrobe and lets it fall to the floor. It pools around her ankles. Her muscular naked body glistens in the dim yellow light of her hotel room. His eyes try to take in every square inch of her immaculate body. He knows he will have plenty of time to enjoy her unrivaled physique all to himself.

She jumps on him like a lion attacking its prey. Her massive body entirely covers him, enveloping him. He feels the tip of his penis rubbing against her six-pack abs. They playfully wrestle for a few minutes. Tongues explore each other’s faces. She sucks on his bottom lip while he licks the tip of her nose. He strokes her swollen clit. Holy fuck. Her clit is fucking huge. He then feels her sheer wetness. Dripping. Gushing. Juices flowing. She’s ready for him.

Who wouldn't want to spend an hour or two in a hotel room with Nicole Berg?
Who wouldn’t want to spend an hour or two in a hotel room with Nicole Berg?

They share a momentary gaze. There’s a mutual understanding between them. Should they use protection? She does have a box of condoms in her suitcase, but she trusts him. And he trusts her. They decide to forego it and make love without any barriers.

On his back, he moves his legs together so she can properly straddle him. She starts off on her knees and gradually lowers herself onto his erect manhood. He completely enters her. His scrotum rests snugly against the base of her pelvis. She rocks back and forth gently at first but eventually quickens her pace. She closes her eyes, wanting to drink in every sensual moment of their coupling. He plays with her small breasts, pinching her nipples and caressing her protruding abdominal muscles. She kisses him and breathes deeply. Her hot breath streams across his neck, making the hairs on the back of his head stiffen.

Their eyes meet. He looks at her beautiful face. She looks at his handsome face. They were meant to be together, like this, making love like old lovers, even though they hardly know each other. Each stroke they share, every kiss, every orgasmic buildup brings them closer and closer together to a level that’s so familiar it frightens them.

He’s close. She’s closer. She hasn’t been made love to like this in a while. The same goes for him. They need this release more than they’ve ever needed it before.

One hard pinch of her nipples sends her over the edge. Her vaginal muscles contract around him. She squeezes her beastly thighs around his waist, making him come. He throws his head back and empties himself inside her. She tries to suppress a scream but lets it out anyway – perhaps disturbing their neighbors. She collapses on top of him and feels his chest breathing deeply. They remain like that for a long time.

They choose not to speak a word to each other. Not because they don’t want to talk, but because their form of communication doesn’t need words. There exists an intuitive connection that makes spoken words irrelevant. Nobody can speak this language but them and them alone.

He massages her endless mounds of back muscles. She caresses his softened penis and fondles his scrotum. Their eyes never break focus.

Once the glow of their lovemaking began to wear off, she gets up, takes out a bottle of chilled champagne from a small refrigerator, and pops the cork open with her bare fingers. Then she grabs two plastic cups from the bathroom and pours a frosty glass for both him and her. They drink, talk about a wide range of topics, engage in friendly debate, drink some more, kiss, switch topics to something else entirely different, drink some more, and kiss some more.

Finally, they come to the end of the bottle. Both a little drunk, they decide to make love for the second time. This time, he’s on top. The animalistic passion of their previous coupling was gone for something more subdued. He takes it slow and feels no need to rush. She enjoys every moment of it. They came together from one gloriously shared orgasm. He moans. She gasps. They lay limp in each other’s arms. They decide to turn off the lights and fall asleep.

A bottle of champagne being uncorked.
A bottle of champagne being uncorked.

A little less than an hour later, he unexpectedly awakens to a pleasant surprise. He looks down and sees her gently sucking on his little penis, trying to make it grow to her liking. It does. Now hardened, she grabs his hand and escorts him outside. She opens a large glass door and takes him onto a small balcony overlooking the entire city.

Still naked, they look out at the blackened night sky and watch traffic still crawling by even this late at night. He glances back inside at a wall clock and sees it’s nearing 11 p.m.

Boldly, she wraps her strong arms around him and kisses him fervently. Then they decide to make love for the third time. Knowing at any moment someone could catch them in the act of doing it al fresco made it seem naughtier and riskier. One of their next-door neighbors could easily slip outside and watch them make love!

None of that matters. She grabs onto the balcony’s metal railing and spreads her legs wide. She bends over and invites him to take her from behind. At first he enters her vagina, but she quickly indicates she wants him to enter her in a different way. He takes the hint by licking his index finger and sticking it inside her anus. After properly moistening her tight cavity, he swiftly inserts his hardness inside her. She welcomes his penetration and reaches down to masturbate her strikingly large clitoris.

Her clit, unnaturally enlarged by years of hormone injections, is a signature part of her body that only her most loyal fans know about. He is now privileged to come in very close contact with this legendary feminine appendage.

He pumps into her leisurely at first so he could get used to her tremendous tightness. As he began to get more comfortable inside her, he pumps harder and harder until he starts to get into a rhythm. She continues to masturbate herself and bellows out loud cries of pleasure for the whole city to hear. She doesn’t care if the while city does in fact hear her. On the contrary, she wants everybody to hear her throaty screams of passion!

Soon, he pumps into her for a final time and climaxes. He fills her anus with six powerful squirts of his warm semen and kisses the back of her neck. She eventually climaxes herself from her own self-pleasuring. She tilts her head upward and feels the cool evening breeze cloak her naked skin. Her taut muscles defiantly remain rigid in the cold wind.

When she feels his penis soften, she turns around and hugs him firmly, refusing to let go. She needs this so badly it almost makes her want to cry. But her inner strength, which is just about as formidable as her physical strength, refuses to allow her to do such a thing. He greedily feels her beautiful muscular body while locking on to her gorgeous eyes. Her bulging arms, rounded shoulders, broad chest, tree trunk thighs, wide back, six-pack abs, sharp nipples, curvy butt – everything about her arouses him. She’s a piece of art.

They stay wrapped up in each other’s arms for a long time.

Soon it became too cold to stay outside. They promptly return back inside and slid the balcony door shut. Did anybody see them in action? There’s no way either of them would ever know.

Shortly after midnight they take a brief shower together. He enjoys every opportunity to soap up her bulky muscles! Now fresh and clean, they dry off and head back to bed.

There might not be an ounce of energy left in their bodies, but their souls are as vibrant as ever. He cuddles up next to her and lightly strokes her still wet hair. She giggles. Her low rumbling voice shakes the entire room. He then reaches over and turns off the bedside lamp. In total darkness, they prepare to make love for the fourth time that night. Though his body feels like mush, he knows this may be the first and last encounter they will share together. She feels the same way. They must soak up this entire experience as much as they possibly can.

Just the kind of balcony these two nameless characters would be making love from.
Just the kind of balcony these two nameless characters would be making love from.

And so they began their sensual dance once again. She mounts him and takes him in at a deliberate pace. There’s no hurry to get to sleep. Morning will come, like it always does. This moment of shared pleasure and love may never be rekindled. This is their time. They must do with it what they can before it’s too late.

By now, he feels so right inside her. He feels right at home. It’s like they were always meant to make love to each other, as if some unseen and all-knowing cosmic force drove them together to this humble hotel room, number 805. Neither one of them ever give much thought to the Divine, but now is as good as ever a time to do so.

Perhaps an hour passes; perhaps it was only a few minutes. But eventually she and he climax together – for the fourth time – and it is without a doubt the most beautiful climax of the night. Pure, unadulterated, right. So right. So real. So needed.

He falls asleep instantly. She follows soon after. And then they sleep. Whatever happens in the morning is out of their control. To hell with what happens next. Next can wait. Morning can wait. The future can wait.

What happens now cannot wait.

Muscle Worship, Female Bodybuilders and the Greatest 75 Minutes of My Life (Epilogue)

Muscle beauty Flavia Crisos. As you know, none of the women featured in this post is GFBB. Her identity will always remain a secret.
Muscle beauty Flavia Crisos. As you know, none of the women featured in this post is GFBB. Her identity will always remain a secret.

The moment I realize I had forgotten to take a picture of her, I quickly shoot GFBB a text asking her if she’d be willing to send me a photo of herself.

Thoughts started to flood through my mind: Is this a creepy request? Would she be afraid I’d post this on Facebook or somewhere else and people would see it? Is she protective over her image and would refuse? Would she interpret this request as me bothering her (and perhaps becoming obsessed with her)? Will she think I’m being creepy?

Time passes. I hear nothing from her for a long time. Maybe she’s going to sleep. Maybe she’s ignoring me. Maybe I crossed a line by sending her this text…

Finally, GFBB responds. She says she fell asleep before I texted her. Ah ha! This is her exact message:

Sorry fell asleep . I will send u a pic and its not creepy  But that’s because it’s u asking

Whew! That solves that mystery. I knew we developed a positively rapport. I guess all my fretting was all for naught.

So off to bed I went. I brushed my teeth, took a shower, checked my email one more time and finally crashed into a peaceful slumber. Ah, bliss. My life resumed as normal afterward. I went to work the next day. That evening, GFBB sends me a text at 8:19 p.m. PST with the photo I had requested. It appears to have been taken at a hotel room (perhaps by one of her clients). It wasn’t the highest quality picture, but since receiving it I’ve treasured it as it were a precious family heirloom.

Lovely biceps of Zoa Linsey.
Lovely biceps of Zoa Linsey.

If I’m bored and have nothing else to do (usually when I’m at the train station waiting to get home from work), I’ll occasionally get out my phone and look at her photo. Then all the memories of our 75 minutes together would start flooding back.

Sentimental value, perhaps? Yeah, without a doubt!

All joking aside, life went on as it always did. I enjoyed a restful weekend. And come Monday, it was back to the normal grind. No more female bodybuilders, muscle worship sessions or playful text conversations with strong beautiful women for me for a while. I had my fun. Now it was time to see what came next.

Life can be full of unexpected adventures, n’est-ce pas?

***

So now I take you to the present day. At the time of this blog post’s publication, it is May 23, 2014. My fateful session (or is it “appointment?”) with GFBB was on May 23, 2013. Exactly one year ago today.

Wow. One year ago when I had my session with GFBB. While it does feel like a year ago, it’s funny how certain specific moments – even the trivial ones – are as sharp in my memory as ever before.

The first time I looked at her. When we sat down to chat. When the session finally started. When I got to kiss her. When she sent me the text with her photo attached to it.

I can remember the exact spot where I was when I opened that text. It’s funny how innocuous details like that stay with you forever after everything else more “important” passes on. Perhaps this is our brain’s way of telling us what’s really important in our lives.

Asian muscle Goddess Kiana Phi.
Asian muscle Goddess Kiana Phi.

Have I changed at all as a person as a result of this amazing muscle worship session with an equally amazing lady? The truth is, not really. I have changed a bit, but perhaps not as dramatically as I’d like to think. It is true that I’ve become bolder in pursuing adventures and opportunities that benefit me. It is true that I’ve had muscle worship sessions with three other FBBs (while I’ve enjoyed all of them, GFBB still holds a special place in my heart). It is true that my eyes have been opened to a whole other world I never knew before.

But, at the end of the day, I’m still the same person I was the moment before I knocked on her hotel door 365 days ago. In the past year, I’ve never returned to the parking lot of the hotel we met at; even though it’s a mere five minutes away from my apartment. There’s something special about your “first time” that you want to remain special. It wouldn’t feel right to return back there, even for sentimental purposes.

Speaking of sentimentality, that’s probably how I’ll always remember the 75 greatest minutes of my life. Was it truly the greatest hour and fifteen minutes of my time here on Earth? Eh, who knows…but that’s not the point. My feelings, thoughts and unorthodox “friendship” I developed with GFBB will always be a sweet dream that I’ll recount for many years moving forward. That’s valuable unto itself.

I’m still a fairly shy person. I still haven’t had much luck when it comes to women and romance. I’m still looking for full-time employment, although I’m reasonably getting by just fine working at two part-time jobs.

Who wouldn't want to touch the muscles of Monica Martin?
Who wouldn’t want to touch the muscles of Monica Martin?

I’m still Ryan Takahashi. That part hasn’t changed. I’m still me.

But, I’m not the same person I was leading up to 7 p.m. on 5/23/2013. Yes, I realize I’m contradicting myself, but bear with me for a moment. I may still be myself, but something tangibly is different. My muscle worship session with GFBB was, to be honest, one of the first times I’d ever done anything really selfish in my whole life. I paid $360 on something that was purely for me…and nobody else.

It was selfish. It was hedonistic. It was a “treat” I gave myself as a reward for being…well, me.

I deserve the opportunity to express my sexuality, aren’t I? I’m allowed to touch the beautiful muscles of a strong, gorgeous woman if we both consent to the circumstances? Of course!

Later on I will write a blog post exclusively about the concept of muscle worship itself, so I will delve further into this particular social phenomenon at a later date. But for this Epilogue, all I can say is this:

I love female muscle. I love strong women. And I can honestly say that reality definitely matches up with fantasy when it comes to experiencing female muscle up close and personal.

The incomparable Elena Oana Hreapca.
The incomparable Elena Oana Hreapca.

GFBB is a great lady. We briefly exchanged emails months later when she randomly discovered my blog and asked me about it (“Guilty as charged!”). But that’s the extent of our post-session communication. We’ve never spoken again. She hasn’t come back to Seattle since. I don’t know if I’ll ever get a chance to see her again.

If I do, great. If I don’t, well, that’s the way things are. No one ever knows how life will sort itself out. Perhaps our paths will cross again. Or perhaps not. But regardless, I’ll always have my memories. Sweet, sweet memories:

The giddiness of emailing with her.

The nervousness I felt during the week leading up to my session.

The anticipation of waiting in the parking lot.

The deep breath I took before I knocked on her door.

My heart stopping when I first laid eyes on her.

The pleasantness of chatting with her and getting to know her.

The awkwardness of getting started with the session.

The sensual pleasure I experienced during those 75 minutes.

The elation I felt immediately after our session came to a close.

The romanticized maudlin feelings I feel whenever I look at that grainy cell phone picture of her.

All of it. I love reflecting on all of it. I don’t think any future muscle worship session will ever come close to surpassing what I experienced one year ago today. That’s not a negative reflection on all the other FBB out there. No, instead it’s a reflection on my magical “first time” and how that experience can never be replicated. Nor should it ever be replicated. The fact it’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience makes it that much sweeter.

If I had to summarize the whole experience in one single word, it would be this:

Damn.

Muscle Worship, Female Bodybuilders and the Greatest 75 Minutes of My Life (Part Two)

The lovely Ginger Martin. Once again, none of the ladies featured here is the woman I had a session with.
The lovely Ginger Martin. Once again, none of the ladies featured here is the woman I had a session with.

So there I was. Tuesday, May 21. Sitting at my desk, staring blankly at my computer screen.

I had a hard time concentrating at work. Getting stuff done was nearly impossible. My mind was somewhere else, far away from whatever I was supposed to be doing at my job.

Because in two days, in a little more than 48 hours, I’ll be engaging in my first ever muscle worship session with GFBB (Gorgeous Female Bodybuilder). I just don’t know where yet. This one last detail is the only thing I haven’t solidified yet with her.

Thursday at 7 p.m. Got it. But where? In Seattle? Or somewhere outside of Seattle?

But suddenly, while lounging around and superfluously passing the time, I receive a much anticipated e-mail from my personal account.

It’s from GFBB! Yes!!!

Up to this point, I felt like GFBB and I have developed good e-mail chemistry, if such a thing is possible. We’ve communicated clearly back and forth, there’s been no misunderstandings (wiring the deposit money into her account went smoothly) and she’s even cracked a joke or two toward me. It definitely appears as though this arrangement is starting off on the right foot.

I’m guessing she probably gets a lot of creepy messages from random guys (and ladies) asking her to do some ridiculous things. Fetish activities, threesomes, choking (to the point of near death), posing for photos/videos, role playing and probably even straight up sex. So it was refreshing to hear that she thinks of this as less of a “sexual” arrangement and more of a “business-like” proposition.

Kathy Johansson wearing very sexy red lingerie.
Kathy Johansson wearing very sexy red lingerie.

Her e-mail message lets me know which hotel she’s staying at during her Seattle stop. And guess what? The hotel is less than three miles away from my apartment! Holy cow! She’s staying within a stone’s throw of where I live. This definitely bodes well.

GFBB gives me her phone number and tells me to text her when I arrive at the hotel. Alright, gotcha. I can do that.

The next two days flew by quicker than a Tokyo bullet train running away from Godzilla. I decided to take a “sick day” that Thursday because I don’t want any distractions leading up to this session. I work fairly far away from my apartment and there are times when really bad traffic, combined with terrible weather, can make my commute long and arduous. I didn’t want any emotional or physical disruptions on the day of my first ever session with a gorgeous female bodybuilder. So it seemed clear to me that being “ill” that day was justifiable.

I woke up on Thursday morning feeling fresh and alive. Butterflies weren’t swarming in my stomach yet, but I could definitely tell there was a certain electrical charge flowing through my system. Let’s face it; this doesn’t happen all the time. And a guy is totally allowed to be nervous in anticipation of his first time, right?

Shawn Tan is tall, elegant, beautiful and sexy as hell. Can we all agree?
Shawn Tan is tall, elegant, beautiful and sexy as hell. Can we all agree?

I ate breakfast and headed out to the gym to work out. I understand I could never look as amazing as GFBB, but it never hurts to get a good workout in to get my blood flowing and to calm my nerves. I don’t normally to go the gym on afternoons, so I saw a whole different crowd than I’m used to seeing. Mostly retired folks and stay-at-home-moms.

It was leg day. Yuck.

On the agenda for the day were squats, lunges and other leg machine exercises. During my entire workout all I could think about was me – yours truly – stroking GFBB’s strong legs, caressing her biceps and fondling her breasts. Judging from pictures I’ve seen of her, she definitely has a bountiful pair of breasts. This is without a doubt something I was looking forward to experiencing!

The gorgeous Kathy Connors demonstrating the nerdy/sexy dynamic.
The gorgeous Kathy Connors demonstrating the nerdy/sexy dynamic.

After my grueling workout (leg day is always grueling. Just ask anyone who actually does it!), I then walked over to the grocery store across the street from the gym. At the store I bought a nice bottle of wine to give to her as a gift. I figure it’s the least I can do to demonstrate how thankful I am that she’s willing to let me have a session with her. I then went to the bank in the same complex to withdraw the rest of the money I need to pay her.

Upon returning home, it suddenly hit me. I’m about to participate in my first ever session with a gorgeous female bodybuilder. Don’t get me wrong; I know I’m about to do this (I’ve had this planned for at least a month), but it wasn’t until this moment, with a bottle of wine and an envelope full of cash in my possession, that it really started to sink in.

I lay on my bed and tried to think of nothing. Not think about playing hooky from work. Not think about whether this session will be a disappointment or not. Not think about what she’ll think of me once she meets me. Not even think about what I’ll eat for dinner after the session is over. I tried to think of nada, nothing, zilch.

But I couldn’t. I had butterflies dancing in my stomach (they were probably participating in a drunken rave by now), my blood pressure skyrocketing through the roof and enough nervous energy of fifty chorus girls making their Broadway debut. I had to do something in the next hour to pass the time…

I then thought of what to do: Write a blog post.

So, I did. You can read it here.

After publishing this new post, I looked at my phone and saw it was a little after 6 p.m. My appointment with GFBB is at 7 p.m. The venue is less than three miles away. I could get there in ten minutes. Theoretically, I could leave here at 6:30 and still be early. But darn it, I have to leave now! All this fiddling around is making me go insane.

Besides, what if I get a flat tire? What if my car magically runs out of gas? What if there’s some catastrophic accident on the road that will delay me for forty minutes? Yes, I should leave now just to play it safe.

Damn. Logic has completely left my brain. All that’s left are nothing but an aching libido and flaming nerves. I should definitely leave now or risk suffering a subdural hematoma right here in my apartment.

It never hurts to show a picture of Kim Perez, does it? No, it certainly doesn't.
It never hurts to show a picture of Kim Perez, does it? No, it certainly doesn’t.

Before departing, I check my e-mail one last time to make sure I have her room number. Room 132. Okay…I’ve looked at Google Maps enough times to know where this hotel is like the back of my hand, so I’m golden on that front.

Alright. Time to go!

No more than twelve minutes later, I’m sitting in the parking lot of the hotel where GFBB is staying. Yikes! This shit is getting real! And to think that this Beautiful Muscle Goddess is a within shouting distance of where I live. Hot damn. I feel like a teenage girl about to meet a heartthrob pop star for the first time. If my voice starts to squeak indeterminately and I get the sudden urge to pass out, I’ll know why.

What time is it? Hmmmmmm…6:19.

6:20.

6:21.

6:22.

6:23.

6:24.

Holy hell. Could time move any slower?!!!

Seriously. Time could not move fast enough. As I sat there, in my car, on an overcast day in the Pacific Northwest, I began to think: Is she with a client right now at this moment? If not, could I text her right now and perhaps get a good fifteen or twenty minutes of extra session time with her? Speaking of which, is she a clock-watcher or is she very loose with how long these things last? Am I her last appointment of the day or does she have three or four other horny guys scheduled later this evening? Could some of her other clients be sitting in their cars right now, twiddling their thumbs, just like me? What if–

You know what? Screw it! I’m going to text her. I know it’s early (by the time I make this decision, it’s about 6:45), but what the hell? I’m here, aren’t I? I was told to text her just as soon as I got here, so I might as well follow along with her directions.

Nikki Fuller is one of my all-time favorites. Need I explain why?
Nikki Fuller is one of my all-time favorites. Need I explain why?

So, I texted her to let her know I was here.

A few moments later, she replies, saying “Ok u can come to my room now.”

Well, if the lady says so…

I got out of my car, locked the door and made the “long” trek (it felt long, okay!!!) to the entrance of the hotel. Thankfully, there weren’t a whole lot of people around, except for an older Asian couple who looked as though they just arrived in town. I quickly entered the hotel, intentionally avoided making eye contact with the front desk staff and took a sharp right turn toward her room.

On one hand, I want to look like I belonged here; but on the other hand, if they don’t remember me, would they ask me what business I had being here? Better play it safe and speed walk while keeping my head down. It probably isn’t too often when a random dude comes in to their premises to meet a strange woman for a sexually-charged muscle worship session.

Walking down the long corridor, complete with a dark red carpet and Seattle-themed artwork, I decided to use the bathroom before knocking on her door. Whenever I get really nervous, I get the urge to pee. Better do it now versus wasting time later using the toilet during my session!

This is Sarah Hayes. Baby got back, n'est-ce pas?
This is Sarah Hayes. Baby got back, n’est-ce pas?

Minutes later, I left the bathroom and proceeded forward to meet my Fate. I felt like a death row inmate making his last trip down the prison hallway before being electrocuted. Overdramatic? Of course. But if there’s ever an occasion to be unapologetically theatrical, now is the time.

I stood in front of room #132 and took a deep breath. This is it, Ryan. This is the moment you get to meet up close and personal (and hopefully, get really personal later on) with a famous female bodybuilder who’s strong, gorgeous, accomplished, well-regarded and amicable. This is it, buddy!

Another deep breath.

Exhale.

Extend hand.

Make a fist.

Knock on the door.

Wait.

The door then opens.

It creeks open ominously, almost romantically, as if I were a lost prince exploring a magical castle in a Disney movie.

I peeked my head inside to see who opened the door. Is it her? Is it–

And there she is.

There she is.

There. She. Is.

THERE. SHE. IS.

Holy cow. Holy mother of mercy. Wow!

I only have one word to describe this moment:

…

Damn.

Continued in Muscle Worship, Female Bodybuilders and the Greatest 75 Minutes of My Life (Part Three)

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