Educating Jonathan – Part Four

Classic muscle beauty: The incomparable Minna Pajulahti.
Classic muscle beauty: The incomparable Minna Pajulahti.

Jonathan opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. Mistress Nguvu decides to speak next.

“Did you hear me, Jonathan?”

He makes eye contact with her. Her stern look tells him she means business. Jonathan has no intention of getting on her bad side. God forbid that would ever happen.

“Yes, I heard you, Mistress. What kind of help do you need from me exactly?” If there was anything valuable Jonathan learned from that human sexuality class, it was that any dominatrix who is worth anything will always desire to be called “Mistress” whenever possible. Any breach of protocol grants one’s self the right to be punished. Jonathan does not want to be “punished” by this formidable woman.

“Good. Come closer. I want to show you something,” she says.

Like a faithful dog, Jonathan approaches the Mistress as instructed. He feels timid around her but wildly excited at the same time. Mistress Nguvu senses his meekness and relishes the sensual power she has over him. Despite her years and years of experience as a professional dominatrix, she still experiences that tingling exhilaration when a rookie “subordinate” subjects her with proper reverence when called upon to demonstrate it.

“Do you see my cock? Do you see how beautiful it is?” The Mistress strokes her gigantic black dildo up and down its enormous shaft. Jonathan feels a bit insecure, but instead chooses to ignore his emotions. Now is neither the time nor the place to relive his personal insecurities.

“Yes, I see your beautiful cock. It’s so big.”

“Yes it is. And I want to show Samantha here how big and beautiful it can be. Look inside the black bag and take out the bottle of oil,” the Mistress instructs.

Without hesitation, Jonathan goes to the bag and digs inside it. He finds a bottle of baby oil. Dr. Sammy is still on the floor, tears streaming down her face. Jonathan didn’t know whether to feel sorry for her or be creeped out by her behavior. He hands the bottle to the Mistress and holds his breath.

Mistress Nguvu opens the bottle and pours a generous amount of oil onto the palm of her hand. Jonathan sees large calluses protruding across her hand and up her fingers. Decades of weightlifting will do that to your skin. It’s the body’s way of protecting itself from repeated abuse. He wonders if Samantha’s body will demonstrate a similar defense mechanism.

“You seem like an obedient boy, Jonathan. Will you obey my commands?”

Jonathan blinks. “Yes, Mistress. I will obey your every word.” He almost tips over. Thankfully, he retains his balance. The Mistress smears the oil all over the dildo, making sure all nine inches are dutifully covered. Samantha sits up and rubs her eyes. Liquid eyeliner streaks across her beautiful face. She’s stopped sobbing, but still has the sniffles. An ominous roar of thunder makes itself heard outside. All three of them stop what they’re doing and look out the window. Seconds later, a subtle streak of lightning follows, as if on cue. The Mistress rumbles in laughter and touches Jonathan on the shoulder. He shudders at the sensation of her warm fingers brushing against his cold skin.

“We are People of Color. We deserve to teach this worthless white cunt a lesson in humility, don’t you agree?” Jonathan nods in agreement. He doesn’t know if the Mistress sees this, but she proceeds as if she knew how he responded.

“Good. Now is the proper time for us to punish this little fucking white bitch in a way she deserves. Are you hard yet?” Mistress Nguvu reaches down and wraps her fingers around Jonathan’s limp penis. He gasps. Samantha’s eyes widen in anticipation. Her breathing stops. The Mistress lightly jerks Jonathan’s manhood and feels it fill her palm. She smiles, showing off her pearly white teeth. “Good boy, good boy Jonathan. Good boy.”

Rene Campbell showing off her hard work.
Rene Campbell showing off her hard work.

Samantha rubs her reddened torso to ease the pain. The worst has already passed, but a faint hint of ache still lingers. She licks her lips.

“Now, go over to her and put your Asian penis inside her mouth. She knows what to do from there,” the Mistress instructs, playfully pushing Jonathan toward the professor. He obliges without protest.

“Don’t you, little white bitch?”

The gorgeous professor bobs her head up and down. Dr. Sammy positions herself on all fours and sticks her bottom out in front of Mistress Nguvu. Jonathan sits down on the edge of the bed and sighs. Samantha obediently crawls toward him. She looks at him and communicates the message “trust me” with her eyes. For whatever reason, Jonathan feels secure by this silent demonstration of consensual verification.

Mistress Nguvu walks over to Samantha and sticks a single finger inside her anus. She struggles to stifle a moan. A second finger enters her shortly after. Jonathan’s erect penis sways back and forth again. The professor extends her tongue outward and licks his sensitive tip. He lets out a deep groan and closes his eyes. The Mistress inserts a third finger and then a fourth. As Jonathan’s entire manhood is engulfed by Dr. Sammy’s mouth, Nguvu’s entire fist finds itself inside her anus. Finally ready to take in the ultimate prize, the strong black woman removes her fist and substitutes it with her oiled up nine inch long strap-on dildo. Inserting it with deliberate intent, she wants to assert her dominance without giving her worthless bitch any unnecessary unpleasantness.

“You know what to do next, slut. Suck on his small Asian cock while I ride you with my large black dick!”

Caught off guard by the Mistress’s description of his manhood being a “small Asian cock,” Jonathan almost makes a sound of protest just as Dr. Sammy submissively starts to perform fellatio on him. At the same time, Mistress Nguvu grips Samantha’s hips and strokes her dildo in and out of her tight anal cavity. The pleasure he derives from the oral sex distracts him from thinking about how the hell a nine inch long dildo can possibly fit inside someone’s anus. The young Asian graduate student decides to ponder such matters at a later time.

“Oh yeah, suck on it. Suck on it real good as I shove my big black cock inside your ass. Take it, you fucking piece of shit.” Still uncomfortable with hearing such foul language, Jonathan closes his eyes again and looks upward toward the Heavens. He feels himself close to climax. Samantha nearly chokes as she once again fights away tears. She’s feeling a tremendous amount of pain from the dildo intruding her tight anus, but she accepts it as a suitable punishment for the generations of systemic racism her people have lashed out against Mistress Nguvu’s and Jonathan’s people.

“When you’re about to come, tell us so this dirty little white slut knows when to stop,” the Mistress instructs to Jonathan. Samantha refuses to relinquish the pace at which she sucks his penis. He tries to concentrate but cannot. His vision blurs. Waves of pleasure roll through his body. He knows he’s close. The Mistress also refuses to surrender her torrid in-and-out thrusting of Dr. Sammy’s abused cavity.

Finally, he senses the end is near. He decides to acknowledge this fact.

“I’m about to come!”

Mistress Nguvu intensifies her thrusts. She slaps Samantha on the back to instruct her to cease the fellatio. She removes Jonathan’s penis from her mouth and waits.

The wait doesn’t last long.

Jonathan groans as he spurts his semen all over Samantha’s beautiful face. The waves of his ejaculation seem to go on forever. Eventually, they stop and he collapses backward onto the bed. Mistress Nguvu pulls out of Samantha’s bottom and peers into her face. It is completely covered in warm white liquid. She laughs, the sound of her husky voice reverberating throughout the whole room.

“That’s a good girl. Yes, a very good girl indeed.” Nguvu strokes Dr. Sammy’s hair like an owner would pet a cat. Jonathan swears Samantha starts to purr like a satisfied feline. All he knows is that he is the truly satisfied one!

A life-like long black dildo.
A life-like long black dildo.

A long silence follows. No one knows for sure for how long, but that doesn’t seem to matter to anyone. At last, Samantha stands up and goes to the bathroom. She closes the door behind her. The sound of running water follows. Mistress Nguvu, who has now fallen out of “character,” removes the strap-on dildo from her waist and cleans it with a disinfectant wipe. She takes another wipe from her pack and offers it to Jonathan.

“Would you like this? To clean up after yourself?”

Jonathan nods his head and takes the wipe from the Mistress. He cleans his penis and tosses it into a nearby trashcan. He really needs to pee, but must wait patiently until Samantha returns from the bathroom. Nguvu places the dildo back inside the bag. An awkward moment takes place between Jonathan and the Mistress as they look at each other but have nothing constructive or practical to say. Finally, Jonathan cordially breaks the silence.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Jonathan, but you already know that.” He extends his hand toward Nguvu. She follows suit and shakes his hand. Her tight grip takes Jonathan by surprise. Could she break every bone in his body if she wanted to? Jonathan has no doubts she could if she were so inclined to demonstrate her incredible strength. He hopes he never gets on her “bad” side. The consequences would be disastrous.

“Charmed. I was a bit surprised Sammy wanted to start things off without proper introductions, but she was ‘in the moment’ and couldn’t be bothered with basic pleasantries,” Mistress Nguvu observes. “I don’t blame her one bit. She’s a passionate one, that’s for damn sure.”

Jonathan smirks. “Yes, she is. Have you ever read any of her writings? She speaks from the heart. There’s a lot to admire about that.” He realizes he’s still stark naked, but for whatever inexplicable reason he chooses not to clothe himself yet.

“You’re right about that. I adore her. She provides a level of insight that not too many people can match. She’s truly a one-of-a-kind.”

A moment later, Samantha comes out of the bathroom in a much more upbeat mood. She’s put on a bathrobe (a comfortable dark purple fleece robe Jonathan’s grandmother gave him for Christmas a few years ago) and appears to be “out of character” as well. She and Nguvu hug. Then they share a brief kiss. It is at this moment that Jonathan becomes more self-conscious about his nudity and contemplates putting on something to make things less strange.

“Go ahead and put something on, sweetie,” Samantha suggests, as if she could read minds.

The authoritative Mistress Treasure.
The authoritative Mistress Treasure.

Taking her advice, Jonathan puts on a pair of underwear, gym shorts and an old t-shirt. Mistress Nguvu takes out a bottle of water from her coat and drinks from it. Samantha stands behind her and sensually rubs her broad shoulders. Now that the fog of war has cleared, Jonathan takes a long look at the Mistress and marvels at her impressive muscular physique. He’s seen guys with big muscles, but never a woman with so much from head to toe. Jonathan’s never been into “muscle chicks,” but Nguvu is forcing him to reconsider his position.

“You have a nice apartment, Jonathan,” the Mistress says. Jonathan abruptly breaks out of his spell.

“Thank you. I’ve been here for about a year and a half. The rent isn’t too shabby. I like it a lot.”

“It sure beats my crummy little house down in Puyallup. I should consider moving to the big city. I think I’d like it once I get used to it.” Dr. Sammy leans over and kisses Nguvu’s bulging right bicep. In response, the Mistress flexes her arm to accentuate her bicep peak. A tight bundle of muscle emerges from the top of her swollen arm. Dr. Sammy gasps.

“You would sure get a lot more customers if you moved up here, Mistress. You should really consider it.” Mistress Nguvu turns around and wraps her strong arms around the professor. She playfully lifts her up and drops her to her feet. Dr. Sammy audibly moans, as if responding erotically to the Mistress’s impressive display of brute strength. Jonathan chuckles and turns on all the lights in the room so that he could get a complete glimpse of his guests. Spent, Dr. Sammy sits down on a nearby sofa.

“You look so cute together,” Jonathan observes. “Tell me, Mistress. You have got to be a professional bodybuilder, right? I mean, there aren’t too many women in this world who look like you.”

The Mistress takes a step toward him, which sends a jolt of nervous energy through his body. He knows she means no harm, but he cannot help but react this way to her imposing physical presence.

“I used to compete professionally, yes. But not anymore. I stopped competing about five years ago. But in my heyday, I was one of the world’s premiere female bodybuilders. I still lift, obviously!” Nguvu shows off a series of bodybuilder poses, much to the delight of her audience. Dr. Sammy cheers and applauds for her while Jonathan could do nothing but stand there and stare at her. Totally mesmerized by Nguvu’s impeccable combination of size, strength, grace, beauty and femininity, he can say for certain that he’s never met (or seen, for that matter) a woman like her before. He doubts he’ll ever meet a woman like her again in his life. He’s definitely positive about that.

Before the Mistress could finish all her poses, a sudden knock at the door surprises everyone. Dr. Sammy jumps up to her feet. Nguvu turns her head toward the door. Jonathan looks at a clock on the wall and sees the current time is 2:36 a.m. Who could that possibly be? Nobody would ever have any reason to knock on his door at this hour! They weren’t being too loud. These walls are faultlessly soundproof. Jonathan walks toward the door and peers through the small peep hole.

“Who is it?” Dr. Sammy inquires.

“Let me check,” Jonathan says.

The hallway of his apartment building is usually well-lit no matter time of the day it is. The 17th floor has only four tenants, as most of the residents live on floors one through twelve. However, Jonathan struggles to see who it is that’s waiting on the other side. He thinks there are two or three people, but he could be wrong. Fearing nothing, Jonathan cracks open the door.

“Hello? Who is it? Are we being too loud?”

The person standing directly in front of the door kicks it open violently. Jonathan stumbles backward and falls to the floor. Dr. Sammy screams. Nguvu is frozen with terror. Four men dressed in black storm into the apartment unit and draw guns with silencers directly at all three of them. The fourth man calmly closes the door and points his gun at Jonathan’s head.

“Stand up. Slowly. Don’t try anything stupid,” he commands.

Jonathan does as he’s told. The other three men surround Mistress Nguvu and Samantha, who have huddled together in the southeast corner of the room. All four men are wearing clown masks, black trench coats, camouflage pants, military boots and bullet-proof vests. The fourth man, who is significantly shorter than his henchmen, points his gun in the direction of Nguvu and Dr. Sammy. Jonathan takes that as a hint to move toward them. He shuffles his feet to where they’re quivering and positions his body in front of the women.

“Alright, let’s make this simple. Don’t try anything stupid, any of you. First of all, are you Dr. Samantha Prescott?” Everyone looks at her. Dr. Sammy nods her head. “Good. Now, listen to me very carefully. We’re all going to go downstairs to the parking garage. I don’t know who the fuck you two are, but because you’re here with her, we’re taking you all hostage.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Mistress Nguvu asks. Jonathan senses a level of fear in her voice that he never knew was possible for a strong woman of her stature. Muscles or not, a man with a gun changes the equation really quick.

“That’s none of your fucking business, bitch. What’s going on here, some kind of fetish party?” The man looks around at the dildo, whip, oil and the Mistress’s outfit. “No matter. Kinky bastards. Here, put these on.”

A clown mask.
A clown mask.

The man motions to one of his colleagues. One of the men takes out three identical clown masks from his coat and hands them to his hostages.

“Do it. Put them on. Now!”

Jonathan, Dr. Samantha and Mistress Nguvu reluctantly put on the clown masks. Two of the men walk toward the front door.

“Good. Don’t say a word. If any of you scream, attempt to run away, or pull off any other stupid shit, we’ll put a bullet inside every single one of you. Don’t test us. Got it?”

The three hostages nod their heads to acknowledge their understanding of his orders.

“Fantastic. Fucking fantastic. Alright, let’s head out. Not a single word will be spoken by any of you, understand? If anyone asks who we are or where we’re going, I’m the only one who will speak. Got it?”

Once again, the three hostages nod their heads.

“Great. Let’s head out.” With that, the seven of them walk out toward the elevator. Not a single soul is in the hallway. Jonathan isn’t very religious, but right now he is praying to every deity known to the Universe. He doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t know who these men are or what they plan to do with them. He just wants this whole ordeal to come to an end.

They get into an elevator. Forty-five seconds go by, which seem like an eternity. The elevator doors open and the seven clown mask-donning figures walk toward a dark red SUV.

“Get in,” a voice commands.

Jonathan, Dr. Samantha and Mistress Nguvu, still wearing the clown masks, sit in the back of the SUV. Two of the men sit in front while the other two men get into a separate car. One of the men collects the clown masks and gives them black cloth to put over their heads instead. The three hostages put them on. The cloth completely blinds them. They cannot see a thing.

Satisfied with their hostages’ blindness, the driver turns on the ignition, puts the SUV in reverse, exits the parking garage and within minutes they’re travelling on the open road toward an uncertain fate.

Educating Jonathan – Part Three

A beautiful shot of a woman exuding sexuality.
A beautiful shot of a woman exuding sexuality.

“Listen, I’m…uh, not really comfortable doing this sort of thing,” Jonathan says. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say right now.

Samantha turns around but still remains on her hands and knees. She peers up at Jonathan with innocence in her eyes. She doesn’t like the fact she’s making Jonathan feel uncomfortable.

“I’m the one who should be sorry. Listen, Jonathan. I’m serious about what I’m saying. I really do deserve to be punished. Someone needs to do it, even if you don’t want to,” she says.

On the contrary, Jonathan sees absolutely no need for any of this to happen. Punishment for what exactly? Racism around the world? Slavery? Past crimes against humanity? Samantha isn’t responsible for any of that! She’s just a college professor. An author. A public speaker. She’s not a tyrant or a flaming bigot. Dear Lord…

“No, Samantha. You don’t need to do this. This is crazy. This doesn’t make sense. Get up off the floor. Let’s just…snuggle and make love again. I don’t like how you’re behaving.” He’s being sincere. Jonathan has never considered himself the “kinky” type. Of course, he’s not one to judge. What someone is into is their business and their business alone.

“I had a feeling you’d feel this way,” Samantha begins. “So I have a backup plan.”

Standing up, Dr. Sammy digs into her black bag again and takes out her cell phone. By this time Jonathan’s arousal has disappeared completely. When things started to get weird, Jonathan didn’t know how to react. He hopes things return back to normal soon.

“Do you mind if I invite my friend to come up here? I have an associate who’s been waiting in my car this whole time.”

“Wait, what? You came here with someone?”

“Yes. An associate of mine. An old friend. Can I invite her here? She’s friendly.” Now there’s someone else involved? Uh oh.

“Uh, sure. Invite her in. I don’t want anyone to be bored and wait in a car all night,” Jonathan says.

At this point, what’s the harm? It’s not like this night could get any stranger. Jonathan’s been with a few women in his life, but never under these circumstances. Most of his “hook-ups” have been just that: hook ups. No requests to whip anyone. No discussions about white guilt, compensating for injustices of the past, no need to sexually appease a so-called “oppressed” racial minority. None of that.

“Okay. Thanks!”

Samantha dials a number and puts the phone up to her ear. A moment later, the person she calls picks up and answers.

“Hello Mistress. It’s me. Come on up. He just gave me permission to invite you in. He’s in unit number 821. See you soon. Bye, honey.” She ends the call and puts her phone back in the black bag. There is a moment of silence. Samantha twirls her hair. Jonathan sits patiently on the bed, trying to rationalize this whole eventful evening. What the hell just happened during the past few minutes? Did he just step into the Twilight Zone or some other alternate dimension?

Finally, Samantha breaks the awkward silence.

“Like I said, she’s an old friend. She’ll punish me in a way I severely deserve,” Samantha insists.

“Who…exactly is your friend? And how is she going to punish you, you know, like you supposedly deserve? Or do I not want to know?”

“Oh, you’ll find out. Trust me. You’ll like her. You’ll like the Mistress.” Samantha sits down on an easy chair and rubs her nipples. They stand at attention. Jonathan sighs and leans back against the headboard. Mistress? What the hell does that mean? As if this night couldn’t get any creepier…it does!

A woman in bondage.
A woman in bondage.

Jonathan decides to use the bathroom. He does. After washing his hands, he hears the doorbell ring. Samantha, who still hasn’t put on any clothes as far as Jonathan knows, answers the door. He faintly hears Samantha and the “Mistress” exchange pleasantries, but he couldn’t quite understand what they were saying. Jonathan considers whether he should put on a bathrobe before meeting this unexpected guest, but is suddenly interrupted mid-thought.

“Oh, Jonathan! She’s here. Don’t worry about getting dressed. Just come out when you can,” Samantha says sweetly – like a mother calling her children in for suppertime.

Embarrassed and a little nervous, Jonathan reluctantly exits the bathroom to greet his newest guest. Standing near the entrance is a tall beautiful black woman wearing a long dark purple fur coat, scarlet red stiletto heels and large gold hoop earrings. She looks to be in her late 30s or early 40s. But black women can be difficult to age at times. Jonathan is mostly captured by her unique beauty. A sharp angular face, striking green eyes, minimal makeup and a husky build makes her a sight to behold.

Unsure of how to properly react, Jonathan is content to just stand there awkwardly and hope for the best.

“Jonathan, this is Mistress Nguvu. She and I go way back. We’re old friends,” Samantha proudly announces. Showing off her friend, Dr. Sammy takes the Mistress’s hand and leads her closer to Jonathan. When they finally approach him, Jonathan is taken aback by how tall she is. Well over six feet tall, his best friend from high school played on the varsity basketball team and was 6 foot 5 inches flat. She appears to be a little shorter, so Jonathan estimates her to be around 6’4” or 6’3”.

“Welcome. Make yourself at home, Mistress Nguvu,” Jonathan weakly says to her. He extends his hand to greet her and she shakes it. Her strong grip also surprises him. He feels like she could break every bone in his hand if she chooses to do so. Finally, their handshake comes to an end and all three are left standing around in silence. Samantha is relishing the moment. Mistress Nguvu’s gorgeous green eyes have not left Jonathan’s earthy brown eyes. While he is physically naked, but her piercing look leaves him exposed in ways that he’s never felt before.

“Thank you for inviting me into your home. I couldn’t stand sitting around in Sammy’s car in the rain for much longer. I needed to stretch my legs,” the Mistress says. Her deep baritone voice has a deep reverberation that could shake the foundations of Earth and Heaven; a voice that also carries confidence, wisdom, sexual prowess and unmistakable femininity. She speaks with a slight accent, one that Jonathan couldn’t quite figure out yet. In these brief few moments he’s known her; Jonathan already senses Mistress Nguvu is a human being unlike any he’s ever encountered before in his life.

“She’s here to give me the punishment you are uncomfortable to deliver. I don’t begrudge you for it. After all, we hardly know each other. But the Mistress and I have been friends for decades. We know each other all too well,” Samantha says. She leans over and licks the Mistress’s left cheek. Mistress Nguvu responds by teasing her right nipple with her long fingers. Dr. Sammy giggles at these sudden pleasurable sensations.

“Is there a place I can hang my coat?” Mistress Nguvu asks.

“Yes, there’s a coat rack right by the door. You passed it when you came in here,” Jonathan answers.

As Mistress Nguvu turns toward the front door, Samantha comes to the bed and picks up the whip, handcuffs and rope. She looks around the room, perhaps to determine where to best use these “toys.” All of this is completely new to Jonathan. He’s read about BDSM practices in a human sexuality class he took during his freshman year, but he mostly took that class to get closer to a girl he liked. They ended up dating for most of the semester, but he truthfully found the class genuinely interesting.

Who knew what he learned in that class would actually become relevant at this very moment?

As if what’s already happened weren’t astounding enough, what happens next would blow all of that completely out of the water. When Mistress Nguvu finds the wooden rack and takes off her handsome fur coat, she reveals an even more stunning spectacle:

A rock hard muscular body.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

Jonathan has never seen a sight like this. This striking black woman’s body exudes strength in a way he never knew was possible for a woman. Thick thighs, dense glutes, a chiseled eight-pack set of abdominal muscles, a broad back, plump breasts, a wide chest, vascular arms that look like they could burst out of her skin, shoulders of steel and forearms strong enough to bend iron; Mistress Nguvu has the physique of a male bodybuilder mixed with the grace of a gymnast and the sensuality of a salsa dancer. She hangs up her coat and returns back to the bedroom.

Imagine Mistress Nguvu looking a lot like a taller version of Victoria Dominguez (a.k.a. "Mistress Treasure").
Imagine Mistress Nguvu looking a lot like a taller version of Victoria Dominguez (a.k.a. “Mistress Treasure”).

Wearing nothing but the stiletto heels, fishnet stockings, a tiny black g-string thong and a tight leather corset, Jonathan wasn’t sure whether to feel fear or uncontrollable arousal. Her massive muscles and remarkable height add to her mesmerizing allure.

After everyone finally gathers back in the bedroom, Samantha starts the evening’s activities.

“Jonathan darling, there’s something I want you to watch. The Mistress and I are going to play together. We do this sort of thing all the time, but I feel it is important for you to witness it. I am confident you will get an empowering and much-needed cathartic experience from it,” Dr. Sammy explains.

“Emotional healing is good for the soul. This is why the Mistress is so vital in my life. We have a symbiotic relationship. Our interdependence is crucial for each other’s existence. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Jonathan blinks. He nods.

“Great. Fantastic. So, let’s begin, shall we?” Samantha gets down on her knees and hugs Mistress Nguvu’s legs. Her thighs are so thick Dr. Sammy struggles to wrap her arms completely around them. Jonathan sits down on the easy chair and can do nothing else but stare at the exhibition unfolding before him. He is powerless to think or even begin to comprehend where this evening is going.

Playtime has begun.

“You fucking piece of shit. Why the fuck are you even touching me? I never gave you permission to touch me, you dirty little fucking whore!” Mistress Nguvu declares to Samantha. Still unable to place the source of her accent, the Mistress’s voice is like music to Jonathan’s ears.

“I’m sorry, Mistress. I fucked up. I’ll never disobey you again,” Samantha prostrates herself on the floor, her forehead touching the carpet.

A black whip.
A black whip.

“Yes, you will. You will because you’re a worthless slut. You white bitch. You worthless white piece of fucking shit. Look me in the eye when I’m talking to you, little slut,” the Mistress scolds.

It’s been a long time since Jonathan has heard language this foul between two adult women. He’d rather not rehash the specific circumstances.

“I’ll do what you say, Mistress. Discipline me for being a little slut, I beg of you!” Samantha – clearly “in character” – looks up at Mistress Nguvu and licks her muscular calf. A smile lurks underneath Nguvu’s threatening façade.

“Thank you, cunt. Now go into your bag and give me my cock.” On cue, Dr. Sammy reaches over for the bag and takes out a nine-inch long black strap-on. The black dildo’s lifelike appearance catches Jonathan by surprise. Its considerable girth and unrealistic length (at least, Jonathan hopes its length is unrealistic) nearly makes Jonathan gasp out loud. Thankfully, he remains perfectly silent.

Mistress Nguvu puts the strap-on around her crotch and strokes the dildo suggestively. Jonathan still cannot believe all this is happening right before him. Never in a billion years would he ever guess a brilliant college feminist professor and a black female bodybuilder dominatrix would ever pay his humble apartment a visit. But alas, here they are engaging in erotic “roleplaying” right in this very room.

“Suck my cock, you white slut. Suck my beautiful black cock till I tell you to stop. And never stop looking me in the eyes, you fucking white cunt,” Nguvu sternly instructs. “If you break any of my rules, you will pay the dire consequences.”

Obediently, Samantha remains on her knees and opens her mouth wide to suck on the nine-inch long black dildo. Her eyes never leave the Mistress’s eyes. Nguvu lightly strokes Samantha’s hair and rubs her shoulders. As she sucks, the Mistress pretends to be having an orgasm from the mock fellatio. A few moments later the Mistress “climaxes.” She moans. Samantha’s eyes remain locked onto the Mistress’s gorgeous face.

“Swallow all of it, little slut. Make me happy,” the Mistress says. She bends down and kisses Dr. Sammy on the forehead. Samantha pretends to swallow Nguvu’s imaginary semen. Afterward she wipes Samantha’s mouth and kisses her deeply on the lips. The whole time Jonathan does nothing but watch. The initial shock of the situation has at last worn off, but enthralling intrigue has taken its place.

“Now give me the rope and the handcuffs, you worthless white cunt.”

Samantha obliges the Mistress immediately.

Nguvu proceeds to tie the rope around Dr. Sammy’s ankles and straps the handcuffs on her wrists. Slumped over, Dr. Sammy looks worse for wear. Unkempt hair, makeup streaking down her face and sweat dripping off her brow, her physical appearance is about to erode even further. Without instructing anyone, Mistress Nguvu walks over to the bed and takes the whip. Jonathan’s heart flutters when this beautiful strong black woman comes near him. It’s as if her presence alone is enough to make his pulse race.

A very kinky photo of Desiree Ellis and a friend.
A very kinky photo of Desiree Ellis and a friend.

“Now, you are about to be punished for your earlier showcase of disobedience. I hope you learn your lesson from this, you fucking white cunt.”

The Mistress raises her fist high in the air, waits a beat, and lashes down on Samantha’s back. The crack of the whip against Dr. Sammy’s flesh makes a sound that stuns Jonathan. He never anticipated the whipping sound would be that…jarring. He thought this was all fun and games (granted, kinky fun and games). But this is something else entirely–

Before Jonathan could process another thought, Mistress Nguvu whips Samantha again. And again, and again, and again. Four, five, six, seven, eight times. More than that. More times than he could count.

Samantha screams. Mistress Nguvu laughs out of sheer sadistic pleasure. Her screams continue. The laughter also continues. Jonathan is frozen stiff. The screams burn his ears. The lashings persist unmercifully.

The Mistress whips her at every angle: her back, her sides, her butt, her legs, her feet, her stomach, her chest, her breasts, her arms, everywhere except for her neck and face. Perhaps they agreed prior to this evening the head area was off limits. But still, Samantha hollers in pain.

For a brief moment, the Mistress stops whipping Samantha. Dr. Sammy is helplessly lying on her stomach, weeping nonstop. Is she actually crying or is she pretending to be crying? Jonathan couldn’t tell. Samantha’s beautiful body is now covered in swollen red streaks. No blood. No evidence of her skin breaking. But the redness on her body appears authentically painful. If she’s really crying because of the pain, Jonathan could understand why.

“Have you had enough, little white bitch?”

Samantha rolls on her back and looks up at the Mistress. Real tears are streaming from her eyes. She’s choked up. She’s sobbing uncontrollably. Jonathan considers intervening, but what the hell could he do? He looks at Mistress Nguvu’s face. She looks angry. Genuinely angry. Jonathan is afraid. He is clueless about what to do next.

“No answer. Pathetic. Fucking pathetic. I always want an answer. I demand an answer from you, little white cunt. You fucking piece of garbage. Just for that, I’ll give you what you deserve. I will officially make you my little slut,” the Mistress threatens.

By now, Jonathan gets it. He understands completely what’s going on here. In a “reverse slavery” motif, Samantha is, within the context of BDSM play, receiving the same treatment African slaves received from their white slave masters. The supposed “cathartic” experience she’s getting from this is feeling the same excruciating humiliation her ancestors brought upon Mistress Nguvu’s ancestors.

Mistress Nguvu, a dominant and powerful black woman, is unleashing relentless physical pain upon a wealthy, educated, privileged white woman. The irony is, of course, how they are reversing the historic roles their predecessors played centuries ago. Dr. Sammy must feel as though her white guilty conscience can come clean after this. Perhaps Mistress Nguvu gets a small degree of vicarious revenge as well.

The rope. And no, this isn't "Clue!"
The rope. And no, this isn’t “Clue!”

The Mistress throws the whip down and straddles herself on top of Samantha’s weary body. She leans over and kisses her. Her tongue slips into Samantha’s mouth. She still has not stopped crying. Her sobs and the tongue entering her mouth cause her to gag. Nguvu snickers condescendingly.

“Jonathan,” Mistress Nguvu says.

Jonathan awakes from his trance. For the first time since they shook hands, the Mistress addresses him directly. Awoken from the spell she’s cast over him, Jonathan dutifully replies.

“Yes, Mistress?”

Mistress Nguvu continues to sit on top of Samantha. The large black dildo pokes her in the back of her head. Dr. Sammy’s persistent wails fill the room. Jonathan’s heartbeat skyrockets. The room is dead quiet. The Mistress then speaks:

“I’m about to give this little slut the next phase of her punishment. But this time, I need your help.”

Educating Jonathan – Part Two

A woman's bottom. A lovely sight, indeed.
A woman’s bottom. A lovely sight, indeed.

Jonathan loves the way she tastes. Subtle hints of expensive wine mixed with irresistible feminine prowess make for a concoction he cannot get enough of.

“God, make love to me, Jonathan. I need it,” she pleads with him. Samantha rolls on her back and spreads her legs wide, welcoming him to her. Her eyes never leaves his eyes.

His breathing becomes heavy. It’s apparent she’s kept her body in great shape. Long sleek legs, rounded butt, a flat tummy and curvy hips made her an aesthetic treat. Her small, slightly sagging breasts do not distract from her otherwise flawless beauty. Jonathan plans on enjoying every inch of her.

He takes her right nipple into his mouth. She gasps. He sucks hard, caressing his tongue over the sensitive tip. It stands up straight, hardened by Jonathan’s warm wet touch. He wraps his arms around her waist and embraces her tightly. He has no intention of letting her go.

Samantha looks up and closes her eyes, focusing all her attention on the pleasure her new lover is selflessly giving her. By now Jonathan has moved on to her other nipple, lapping it with his tongue languorously. She is thankful for this moment. She is thankful for him.

Her expression of her thanks inspires her to take matters into her own hands. She takes Jonathan’s erect penis into her hand and slowly strokes it up and down. He lets out a gentle moan that only she can hear. She strokes him harder. His mouth releases from her nipple and he kisses her.

“Do you want to end this before it starts?” he teases.

“Why? Are you really that close?” she teases back, fondling his scrotum with her fingertips.

Jonathan looks into her eyes and is captivated by her deep blue irises. Like a calming ocean, her eyes seem like they jump out of her body. Her fingers release from his manhood and they hold hands.

“I like you, Samantha. You’re so damn beautiful. Your skin is so soft. Your eyes are so…”

He pauses. She blushes.

“So what?” she asks.

“…so hypnotizing. It’s like you’re casting a spell on me.” He smiles wryly.

“Hypnotizing? I cast a spell on you? I like that. Are you like my own personal voodoo doll?” She extends a finger and outlines his jaw. Jonathan takes that finger into his mouth and sucks on it suggestively. In response, she groans and moans as if he were giving her an orgasm through her finger. Jonathan laughs, freeing her from his lips.

“You’re silly. Such a silly woman.”

She pauses. This time, he blushes.

“A silly woman? I’m a silly doctor. And don’t you forget it!” Samantha playfully nibbles on his shoulder.

Still not believing his good fortune, Jonathan takes a moment to reflect on this moment. How did he get so lucky to be here, engaging in fun foreplay with a gorgeous and intelligent woman like Dr. Sammy? It’s evident she needs this. It’s obvious she’s craving the touch of a man. She’s desperate to be desired.

And Jonathan is just the man to desire her.

“Enough. I want to make love to you,” he declares.

“Then…” she begins, kissing him on the cheek. “…let’s.”

As he reaches for a condom stuffed in his wallet, Samantha urgently grabs his hand.

“No. We don’t need it.” She looks at him earnestly, a sweet innocence glowing from her.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m a woman of a certain age. We don’t need it. Come here, you!” Just like that, she straddles him and tosses Jonathan onto his back. Samantha reaches over and turns off the bedside lamp. The room darkens, but the moody glow remains. Outside, the full moon beams a bright stream of light into the bedroom. The rain continues to patter against the windows. He can still see her beautiful face.

Gorgeous downtown Seattle during the evening.
Gorgeous downtown Seattle during the evening.

“I love how trusting you are,” he says.

“Shut up.”

Samantha opens her legs and nudges them against his thighs. She lets out a deep breath. He does the same. They stare into each other’s eyes, realizing this perfect moment will never be this perfect again. They could never replicate the feelings they share at this time, when they are seconds away from joining their bodies in the most intimate way possible.

Jonathan nods. She interprets that as her cue.

It takes a few attempts, but eventually she lowers herself onto Jonathan’s manhood at the proper angle and successfully pushes his penis inside her. A primal moan escapes from them both, a shared moan that can only happen when two lovers are tuned into the moment. Samantha experiments with a few up and down thrusts as she rides him like a cowgirl. Jonathan reaches up and cups her breasts. Insecure about her small size and sagging shape, she tries to forget about her body and enjoy the moment. She’s not young, but she’s still got enough appeal as far as her current lover is concerned.

A groan leaves his throat as her motions grow in their intensity. He still cannot believe she doesn’t want him to wear protection. Is she that trusting of him? Jonathan didn’t think pregnancy would be an issue, but she hardly knows him. How could she possibly know what history he has with other women?

These thoughts exit his mind as they continue to make love. Samantha leans forward and kisses him passionately. She turned off the light partially because of her own insecurity, but also because making love in the dark – lit only by the moonlight – is so damn romantic. At heart, she’s a hopeless romantic. She hopes he is too.

“You feel so good, Samantha…so good.” Jonathan struggles to breathe between her incessant kisses and experiencing the pleasure she’s giving him.

“Thank you.” As she continues to ride him, she focuses on her own pleasure. He isn’t as big as her husband, but Jonathan feels…so right inside her. As if he was always meant to be inside her. As if this 5 and a half inch Asian penis was always meant to please her. In all her research about men’s penises, the conclusion she’s universally found was that a woman’s ability to achieve orgasm during penile-vaginal sex has less to do with the size of the man’s endowment and more about her state of mind. Right now, her state of mind couldn’t be better.

Their breathing gets louder. Samantha feels her orgasm reaching its peak. Jonathan’s hands are still feeling her breasts. Her small size doesn’t bother him. What right does he have to criticize the size of a person’s body part?

Her focus dissolves. His world blurs out of view. She is about to come. He is about to come. They both know the other is close.

“I love you, Jonathan.”

“I love you, Samantha.”

Such foolish declarations of love are enough to send both lovers over the edge. Samantha’s orgasm consumes her entire body from head to toe. The pulsating pleasure reverberates out from her vagina and throughout the entire room. Her muscles contract rhythmically, creating music from within her body. Jonathan also comes, carelessly emptying himself into her. He closes his eyes and indulges in the sensations his body is giving him. Samantha collapses on top of him and they kiss. Jonathan grabs her butt and pinches her right cheek. She gasps at this sudden action. She responds by tickling his scrotum as the last waves of his ejaculation subsides.

They remain still for what seems like an eternity. Neither speaks. Both breathe loudly. Samantha never wants this moment to end. Jonathan wonders how many more moments like this they will share together.

A beautiful white overcoat Dr. Sammy would have worn.
A beautiful white overcoat Dr. Sammy would have worn.

“That was fun,” Samantha whispers.

Jonathan is left speechless. She prefers it that way.

Several moments later Samantha gets up from the bed and walks to the bathroom. Jonathan can hear her pee. Still dazed from their lovemaking, he turns the bedside lamp back on and looks at the condom jammed in his wallet. He smiles, knowing this little piece of latex wouldn’t be used tonight.

The toilet flushes and minutes later Samantha returns to the bed. She lies down on her stomach and spreads her legs wide. Jonathan is amused that she has the nerve to take up all the room. He playfully pushes her legs off to the side.

“In the heat of the moment, we say some pretty imprudent things,” she observes.

“Are you referring to when we said we loved each other?”

“Yes. I don’t know what came over me. And I have no idea what came over you. Were you just being polite?”

“Polite? More like agreeable. I never want to ruin a good moment. And that was a great moment between the two of us.” Jonathan’s penis returns back to a smaller size. He strokes her naked back, hoping the act of caressing her beautiful body would bring him back in the mood. But for now, he’s perfectly content to massage her skin.

Moments pass. Neither lover has a single care in the world.

“Can I ask you a question, Jonathan?”

“Go ahead.” Jonathan looks at her beautiful face, memorizing every inch of her.

“What if I told you your penis was the greatest penis I’ve ever made love to?”

Wait…what?

Time stops. The Earth ceases to spin on its axis. Hell freezes over.

“Uh, what?” His concentration breaks. Jonathan sits up on the bed. A deep sigh escapes from her. Basking in the sensual glow of her two most recent climaxes, Samantha doesn’t know if what she’s talking about makes any sense. Jonathan doesn’t care. He likes what he’s hearing.

“What I mean is complicated. It’s not what you think,” she says. Jonathan strokes her back as she rolls over on her side. Her breathing calms. She doesn’t look at him but instead fixes her gaze outside the north-facing window.

Bondage. A preview of things to come?
Bondage. A preview of things to come?

“I’ve always admired Asian men. I find them fascinating. I think young men like you are fascinating. I’d love to follow you around for one day and find out everything about you. Do you ever feel oppressed in your everyday life?”

“Oppressed? Gosh, I don’t think so. People have always treated me well.”

Her focus remains on whatever is outside that window. She may be looking outside, but her mind is somewhere else.

“I’m glad to hear that. I really am.” Samantha turns over on her back and peers at her lover.

Jonathan cuddles closer to her and strokes her breasts, teasing her nipples. He leans over and they kiss. She reaches down and fondles his much-discussed penis. Initial feelings of arousal return, but he still needs time to recover from their previous coupling.

“Are you asking whether people make fun of my…penis?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what I was getting at. Do people do that?”

“Some do. I’ve been hearing jokes about it since middle school. But what does that have to do with…?” He stops toying with her nipples and kisses her shoulders. Not really wanting to have this discussion right now, Jonathan is doing what he can to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“Oh. Well, I’m glad I was able to do this. I’m glad you were willing to invite me to your apartment tonight. I owe you.” Though she’s not making much sense, Jonathan politely remains silent and listens to her speak.

“This is going to sound weird. I know. But please bear with me for a moment. Have you ever heard of the concept of white guilt?”

“Yes. It’s when…white people feel bad about the crimes their ancestors committed against racial minorities in the past. Right?”

“Right, but it’s a little more complicated than that. But here’s the thing,” she sits up and leans against the bed’s headboard. “I too feel guilty. I feel guilty that our society desexualizes Asian men. I feel terrible that boys like you had to grow up hearing all those awful jokes. It makes me sad to think that the dominant white culture has to emasculate you like that for no apparent reason. Do you follow me?”

Hm. Jonathan certainly did not expect a sociology lesson to break out post-coitus. But he will continue to listen to her soliloquy.

“Yes, I follow you. Go on.”

“So this is my way of apologizing to you and other Asian men out there. I chose to come here for many reasons. You’re smart, handsome, well-spoken, studious and courteous. Not too many college-age men are like that to someone who’s willing to fuck them with no strings attached. But there’s another reason at play here. I feel…empowered to make love to you. It’s empowering to know that I’m giving you an opportunity not too many of your Asian brethren are granted. I feel like I’m making right a past injustice by allowing you to come inside me and give me your seed. Your seed liberates me.”

By now Jonathan is a little creeped out. What the hell is this lady talking about? “White Guilt” inspired her to come here and have sex with him? What the fuck?

“Listen, Samantha. This is a pretty strange thing to talk about. I mean, what we’re doing here has nothing to do with society, culture, history or anything like that. We’re just, you know, hooking up. That’s it, am I right?”

“Yes, you’re right to an extent. But there’s more at stake here. By making love to you, by allowing you inside my body, I’m redeeming myself. I’m turning racism on its ugly head and fucking it away. Like magic, you know?”

No, honestly Jonathan has no clue what the hell she’s talking about. Really, what is she trying to–

Samantha spontaneously leaps out from the bed and speed walks toward the front door. When she arrived at his apartment she came with a white overcoat and a black bag. She grabs the mysterious black bag and returns to bed. She sits down and unzips it. Jonathan tries to peer inside while appearing calm and indifferent at the same time.

This is what the mysterious black bag looks like. Intriguing, isn't it?
This is what the mysterious black bag looks like. Intriguing, isn’t it?

“So, Jonathan, I want to redeem myself further. I want to erase the racist crimes of the past committed by my white ancestors. Slavery, the genocide of the Native Americans, pogroms against the Jews, the capitalist exploitation of colored children in the developing world, the Japanese Internment, everything. I want to make right with the Universe. And you’re going to help me out with this, my love.” It appears she’s finally found what she’s looking for inside the bag. By now, Jonathan is officially creeped out. This lady has clearly gone psycho! She’s off her rocker. She’s gone off the deep end of the pool. She’s…

“Take this, Jonathan.”

Jonathan snaps out of his daze and turns to look at her. Samantha, with an eerie look in her eye, is holding a long black leather whip, handcuffs and rope. She hands the items to him. He has absolutely no idea how to react.

“I want you to punish me, Jonathan.”

Just like that, Dr. Sammy stands up and gets down on all fours on the floor. She sticks her butt up in the air facing his direction. Jonathan is utterly shocked and frozen. He cannot move, think or even come close to comprehending what’s going on.

“Punish me. Hard.”

25 Things About My Sexuality

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cindi North.

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

And what did I find? Nothing much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*Pause*

Okay, let’s resume.

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

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

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

Now, on to video games.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi Michelle.”

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

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

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

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

“Oh. Who’s going to win?”

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

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

“Thanks, Michelle.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Take care, Jason. See you around.”

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

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

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

Whatever. Time to work out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time to resume my workout.

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

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

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

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

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

But then Big Mark walks in.

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

“Hey there,” Big Mark says to me.

“Hi,” I reply back.

“Are you going to watch the game today?”

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

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

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

“True that.”

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

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

Big Mark quickly rinses off and heads out.

“Have a good work out,” I say.

“Thanks. You heading out?”

“Yeah, I’m done here.”

“Alright. See you around,” he says.

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

Wait.

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

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

Who is Ryan Takahashi?

Who am I, exactly? Read on…

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.