Safeco Field, home of my beloved (but frustratingly inept) Seattle Mariners.
Author’s note: The following story is inspired by a reader who recently e-mailed me at ryantakahashi87 (at) yahoo (dot) com and suggested this plot. As someone who always wants to please his readers, I enthusiastically obliged.
Enjoy! Once again, feel free to submit your story ideas if anything in particular strike your fancy. My ears are always open. I may not follow through on all your suggestions, but I will try my best to take your feedback into consideration.
***
I really want to go home. Right NOW.
I usually love going to baseball games, but this is too much. I’m squirming in my seat. I can’t focus on the game…or anything for that matter. Our team just hit a home run. The crowd is on their feet cheering loudly. I, however, feel absolutely no emotions whatsoever. My mind is elsewhere. My thoughts are preoccupied with millions of thoughts, emotions, and reactions.
Thanks to her.
Her name is Gabby. She’s the new girlfriend of my best friend Jake. Jake and I have been buddies since we played little league ball together when we were little kids. We hang out all the time. We’ve been to hundreds of baseball games together. Occasionally, he’ll bring along a cute girl he’s just hooked up with. Tonight is no exception. But what is unusual is the kind of girl he brought with him.
She’s a bodybuilder. Not a bikini model who likes to use the elliptical machine, but a real life bodybuilder. The real deal. Gabby has muscles that are bigger than that of most of the players on the field. Everywhere she goes, she gets stares from strangers. No one can help but look at her. She’s gorgeous, confident, strong, and built like a saber-toothed tiger.
Fuck. I am so fucking jealous of him!
Ever since I hit puberty, one particular kind of woman has always intrigued me: Muscular girls.
Holy shit, they drive me insane. I used to steal issues of fitness and bodybuilding magazines from my local grocery store and jerk off to the brawny ladies who grace their pages. My mom once caught me in the act, which is still the single most embarrassing moment of my life. We never talk about it. Ever.
All my life I’ve wanted a strong beautiful woman to be my girlfriend. But that shit never happens. After all, buff chicks like Gabby don’t exactly grow on trees. So how the fuck did Jake get so damn lucky?
FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!
I knew he was dating a new girl, but I never in a million years ever imagined she would look like this. As thick as an oxen but as graceful as a ballerina, she’s without a doubt the Woman of My Dreams. She has arms that can snap a steel rod in half and legs that could crush a watermelon. She’s perfect in every way. I’ve had dreams about women like her. But my dumbass best friend gets to bang her instead! What the fuck is this shit???
When you think of Gabby, think about Georgina McConnell.
Just look at them. They’re sharing a box of Cracker Jack and giggling to each other. He’s feeding her, as if he’s her personal servant. I want to be her personal fucking servant! I want to be her slave! Where the hell do I sign up to become the lover/slave of a gorgeous female bodybuilder?
Jake just nibbled on her meaty shoulder. She gasps with delight. A little old grandma sitting in front of them shushes them to be quiet. They giggle again, knowing they’ve just been caught being naughty. It’s sickening to watch!
FUUUUUCKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!
The past two hours have been torture. All I can do is fantasize about being with Gabby. I want to be the one who makes out with her. I want to be the one who holds her hand in public. I want her to lift me up, drop me on my bed, and savagely make love to me all fucking night long. I want us to be the unstoppable power couple that we were meant to be.
Envy is enough to drive a man crazy. Wow. I really need a drink.
Unable to stand it anymore, I politely excuse myself and walk down the stairs toward the concessions area. There’s a full bar inside the stadium located not far from here. I think I’ll go there instead and down a few shots of tequila or whatever.
“I’ll be back in a few. I need something more stiff to drink, if you catch my drift!” I politely say this with my teeth clenched. Jake nods his head in agreement.
“Enjoy that! We’ll see you around. If we score any more runs, we’ll let you know,” she says. Her lyrical voice is music to my ears. She’s divine. She’s perfect. She’s…meant to be mine.
Damn it. I really need to get out of here!
Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting all by myself at the stadium tavern sipping on God-awful tequila. It tastes like gasoline, but it’s all I can afford. Payday is next week.
The bartender is nice enough, but he barely speaks English. I think Polish is his native language, but I’m not totally sure about that.
I’m not much of a fan of tequila, but that sure looks good.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jake and Gabby enter the tavern, holding hands and skipping along. They don’t seem interested in ordering a drink. They also don’t seem to notice me sitting all alone at the bar. The bartender just excused himself temporarily because he needed to grab more lemons from the kitchen. It’s dark in here, so there’s a good reason why they don’t see me.
“No one’s in here. Let’s fuck in the bathroom back there!” Jake murmurs to Gabby. He may be speaking softly, but I have really good hearing so I can understand every single word they’re saying.
“Yes, I’d love that!” Gabby responds. She grabs him and kisses him deeply, taking control of the situation. She leads him to a back area and I hear a door open and slam shut.
Intrigued, I immediately leave my seat and scurry in their direction. Sure enough, there’s a unisex single stall bathroom at the back of the tavern. I can hear the crowd roar in the background, but that’s the last thing on my mind. I approach the closed door and hear laughter, sounds of kissing, and clothes being ripped off.
“Quick! Someone may knock on the door! Hurry, Jake!” Gabby begs.
I place my ear to the door and listen intently.
A zipper is unzipped. The kissing has stopped. Jake lets out a passionate groan, which is followed by Gabby also moaning with pleasure. The unmistakable sound of flesh banging against flesh commences. The bartender has still not returned, so I figure no one will witness me listening in on their impromptu fucking.
Always use protection, kids.
Gabby screams with reckless joy. Jake tries to muffle his own screams, but fails. His banging grows louder and more furious. Her wails become throaty and fervent. Someone kicks the wall on accident, but that only heightens the situation futher.
“God, yes! YES, Jake, YESSSSSSS!!!”
My penis becomes hard at her exclamation of carnal glee. My breathing speeds up. I press my ear against the door as close as possible.
“Oh, fuck!” Jake yells.
The sound of bodies rustling around suggests they’re switching positions. I hear Gabby’s heels clanging against the linoleum floor. Jake is nowhere to be heard. I think the bartender has returned, but I don’t give a shit about him. My attention is on the here and now. In a meek voice, Gabby proclaims to her lover:
“I’m going to come! I’m going…to come….”
The banging stops. Gabby squeals. Jake sighs. I may not be able to see what’s going on in there, but I think they’re done. I don’t hear any more audible noises. I think I hear water running. Or is that heavy breathing? God, it could be anything…
Suddenly, the door opens. I fall on my face into the bathroom. I look up and see Gabby’s muscular calf right in front of my nose. Jake gasps, pulls my legs into the cramped room, and quickly closes the door, locking the three of us inside. I have no idea if the bartender saw us. Regardless, that’s not important right now.
“Holy shit, dude. Were you listening in on us?” Jake asks.
I quickly stand up. The bathroom is a bit larger than I expected, but still too small for three adults to be inside. Gabby’s muscular frame alone takes up most of the space. She’s just pulled up her panties and straightens out her skirt. Jake still hasn’t zipped up his jeans and has just thrown a used condom into the trashcan. I’m blushing uncontrollably. My mind a jumbled mess, I try to think of a way to apologize for spying on them.
“Yeah, man. I was listening. To all of it, from start to finish. Damn, man. I was sitting at the bar and saw you two storming in,” I confess. “I couldn’t help it.”
Silence.
After a brief moment, Gabby flashes Jake a wicked smile. Jake smirks back. Even though they haven’t spoken a single word, they’re apparently in agreement about something. I’m confused.
Gabby squeezes my arm with a level of force that takes me by surprise. She doesn’t look angry. Neither does Jake. What gives?
Gabby reaches into her purse and takes out another condom. She kisses me on the cheek and whispers into my ear:
Big crowds always make Jeff uncomfortable, but once a year he can make an exception. Strolling through Lake Marino Park on a hot and humid 4th of July, Jeff takes in the sights and smells of his small town’s annual Independence Day celebration.
Little kids with patriotic red, white, and blue face paint, little old grandmas teaching arts and crafts, teenagers enjoying their summer freedom, and the rest of us eating barbecue and getting progressively more drunk as the day goes on….it’s what makes the 4th of July what it is.
His buddies told him they’ll meet him at the southern edge of the lake at 9:00 p.m. It’s 8:15, so he has a solid 45 minutes to waste until he can have an excuse to get drunk. Jeff decides to peruse through the booths usually reserved for local businesses and politicians selling their services to the general public. That sounds like a reasonable thing to do.
The usual sort of chiropractors, massage therapists, tax attorneys, city council candidates, and vitamin stores make their presence known this year. Jeff thinks he voted for the nice lady who’s running for re-election, but he can’t remember. He’s a bit skeptical about just how impactful the city council is on his everyday life.
One booth in particular catches his attention, however. It’s for West Hill Fitness, a small family-owned fitness gym located right across the street from where he works. Jeff has sold out to Corporate America and exercises at 24 Hour Fitness, but he’s strongly considering whether he wants to transfer over to WHF and support the neighborhood business community. He sees a line of guys standing in front of the booth, which captures his curiosity.
After peering inside the booth, Jeff can clearly see why a large crowd has formed around it. Inside is one of West Hill Fitness’s female personal trainers challenging guys to an arm wrestling contest. Jeff reads the sign in front of the booth. It says for $5, you can try to arm wrestle WHF’s top female personal trainer. If you can beat her, you win a container of premiere strawberry protein powder, a brand Jeff has never heard of before. That doesn’t mean it’s not premiere, however.
Delicious barbecue ribs.
The money raised will go to charity toward providing free lunch to low-income kids during the summer months. Jeff figures this is a worthy cause, drops a crisp $5 bill into a jar, and stands in line.
He takes a closer look at the female personal trainer to see who he’s about to go up against.
Whoa.
DAMN!!!!!
Curvaceously feminine yet chiseled as a Greek statue, she’s impressively muscular considering her young age. Jeff estimates she’s in her early to mid-20s. She looks like a pro bodybuilder, with a wide chest, broad shoulders, ripped biceps, a finely shaped midsection, and legs as thick as trees. Her plain looking face looks somewhat pretty in the fading summer light, but her real assets are located from the neck down. Jeff has never seen her around town before, but her buff physique is persuading him to consider switching gyms!
Contestant after contestant fails to beat her at arm wrestling. Her name is Zoe, and she’s WHF’s senior personal trainer. At the tender age of 24, rumor has it she began bodybuilding at 19 years old and has never looked back since. Jeff is next in line. He’s impressed Zoe hasn’t wavered yet. Shouldn’t she be exhausted by now?
Finally, it’s his turn. He sits down at the table and shakes her hand.
“Pleased to meet you. So no one has beaten you yet?”
Zoe shakes her head emphatically. “Nope. Do you think you can be the first?” She places her elbow on the table and offers him her hand. Jeff grips her palm and lets out a deep breath.
“There’s only one way to find out.”
Jeff strikes first, forcing her arm backward with all his might. The thinning crowd behind them (most of them have given up trying to defeat her) cheer loudly, half of them siding with Zoe and the other half rooting for the male challenger. Zoe shows off an impressive bounce back move and brings them back to neutral. Sweat drips down his face. Sweat has already been dripping down her face for hours. Jeff is confident he can win, considering the sheer volume of challengers who have preceded him. Surely she’s bound to get tired eventually?
Pushing as hard as he can, Jeff tightens his grip around her hand, causing it to make a cracking sound. Did he hurt her? She winces in pain, telling him that he indeed did hurt her. Feeling guilty but wanting to win, he expulses all the energy he has left and finally slams her arm backward. The crowd goes wild. Jeff looks at her with concern. The owner of the gym, some middle aged dude with too many tattoos, raises Jeff’s noncompetitive arm up in the air and declares him the winner.
He hands Jeff the large container of strawberry protein powder and gives him a free seven day pass to visit the gym whenever he likes.
“Perhaps I’ll stop by sometime this week,” Jeff promises. He’s not sure if he’ll keep his word. His first order of business is making sure Zoe is alright.
When you think of Zoe, think of Dani Reardon.
Defeated, fatigued, and in immense pain, Zoe stands up and holds her hand close to her body. Jeff wants to comfort her, but is suddenly pushed to the side by a male personal trainer who immediately tends to her. He escorts Zoe to a nearby ambulance and asks a medical professional to assess her injury. Jeff feels guilty and sullenly walks away from the booth. The owner tells him he has nothing to worry about.
“Zoe’s a tough girl. She’ll be fine. See you later this week!” The owner then opens a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon (yuck) and downs it. Gross.
An hour later, Jeff decides to abandon his friends, who have decided instead of wade around the lake and smoke weed in front of the ducks. Jeff isn’t a smoker, so he has no interest in joining them in hitting the reefer. Instead, he searches for Zoe with the intent of apologizing to her.
Suddenly, he finds her. Standing in front of a row of portable toilets, Zoe has an ice pack taped around her hand. Nervously, Jeff approaches her.
“Hey, sorry about that. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I can get ridiculously competitive at times.” Zoe turns around and smiles at Jeff.
“Don’t worry about it. This isn’t the first time I’ve hurt myself doing this sort of thing,” she says. “I do this every year. Maybe this should be my last.”
Jeff and Zoe chat for several minutes. As it nears 10:00 o’clock, Jeff remembers the fireworks show is about to begin.
“Shall we head toward the baseball field where the fireworks show is going to happen?”
Zoe leans in and surprisingly kisses Jeff on the lips. Jeff’s heart races.
“I have a better idea. Follow me!”
Unsure about what’s going to happen, Zoe leads him (with her good hand) far away from the thousands of celebratory people and toward a dark woodsy area. The sun is almost completely set. They stop at a walking bridge that goes over a creek. Unexpectedly, Zoe unzips her shorts and pulls her panties down to her ankles. She leans against the stone bridge and kisses him again.
“You want to make it up to me? Pleasure me!”
She spreads her legs out wide and shows off her swollen clitoris. Without thinking, Jeff gets down on his knees and puts her enormous clit inside his mouth. He begins sucking away with reckless abandon, unconcerned if any passersby see them in action. Jeff has never seen a clit this big before, but he doesn’t think too much about it. Sticking his tongue deep inside her moist passageway, Zoe lets out a soft moan that quickly becomes louder and more passionate.
“Oh, yes! Keep pleasing me Jeff…”
Jeff nibbles playfully on her clit, which causes her to gasp. He sticks one finger inside her vagina, then two, then three…then all five. He opens her as fully as she’s able to open, all while lapping her clit with vicious ferocity. He senses she’s about to come, judging from her inability to keep her balance.
A romantic stone walking bridge.
“I’m almost there!”
He stabs the tip of his tongue once more inside her, which sends her over the edge. In the distance the sound of fireworks booms across the sky. Jeff notices several people have stopped what they’re doing and are watching them. He doesn’t give two shits about what they think.
As Zoe’s orgasm ends, she pulls up her shorts and kisses him again, tasting her own essence dripping from his lips. They hug for a long time.
The fireworks show isn’t just happening on the baseball field. It’s also happening right here, between these two unexpected lovers.
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.
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.
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!
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.
Rebekah Kresila looking like a well-trained athlete.
The following morning before breakfast, Rebecca found herself staring long and hard at the $500 lying on her coffee table. It’s as if the smug stare of Benjamin Franklin were directed toward her, with Old Ben warning her not to go through with this madness.
A voice on the television informs her that the captured aid worker was in fact executed by ISIS in the most brutal fashion imaginable. Thankfully, the network spares its viewers the gruesome details, but the general idea remains loud and clear. We live in an unforgiving world. Sometimes, we cannot let reason or logic dictate our actions. This isn’t the way Rebecca wants the world to work, but she accepts this is the way it is regardless of her feelings.
The hour-long jog on the treadmill goes by so slowly Rebecca could have sworn it took two hours. But indeed, only 60 minutes pass before she finds herself taking a short shower with Katy Perry music blasting in the background. Thank God for Katy. We may live in a world with sexually deviant stalkers and international terrorists, but at least a quick listening to “Firework” can be enough to lift your weary spirits.
Thursday is arm day, which is a day no serious weightlifter would ever skip. In fact, it seems like most people only work out their arms and nothing else. Rebecca knows better than that. As a professional female bodybuilder who one day hopes to achieve elite-level status, she must be diligent and strategic while at the gym. Today is no exception.
“Nice arms, little lady!” Rebecca doesn’t need to turn around to know whose voice this gratuitous compliment comes from. It’s Gregory, a somewhat dirty old man who frequents the gym during the early hours of the morning. Rebecca characterizes him as “somewhat” because for an older gentleman (he appears to be in his mid to late 60s), he’s actually pretty handsome. But not movie star handsome. Let’s not get too carried away.
“Thank you, Gregory. What are you working on today?” Rebecca takes a generous swig from her water bottle. The contents are room temperature, which annoy her to no end.
“Oh, shoulders and back. Whatever I feel like doing,” he says. “When is your next competition? Didn’t you last do some a couple of months ago?” Gregory’s silver hair looks as stiff as roadkill. Does his sweat ever mix with the oil he puts in it? Rebecca apparently has time to ponder these things. She takes a look at Gregory’s biceps and notices a significant amount of size growth. She won’t say anything about that to him, however. There’s no need to feed his already oversized ego.
“Yes, I did a competition last March. It was down in San Diego,” Rebecca replies. “The next one is in Houston in eight weeks. I’m hoping to place in the top five this time around.”
Gregory looks up and down at Rebecca’s body, which sends a shiver down her spine. He doesn’t do it in a creepy kind of way, but she is a little bit “on the edge” right now for obvious reasons.
“I have no doubt you’ll place in the top five. Maybe you’ll win it all!” He laughs. She laughs too, forcing every fiber of her body to play along until she can find an excuse to exit this conversation. Thankfully, a gorgeous 40-something blonde woman walks by wearing a skimpy white athletic bra and short shorts that leave little to the imagination. Expectedly, this steals Gregory’s attention. Using Miss Blondie’s presence as an excuse to leave, Rebecca quickly makes a beeline for the free weights room and enters unnoticed.
Conveniently for her, the gym is within walking distance of her condo, as it is for hundreds of others for that matter. The early mornings are usually not too crowded, but by 8:00 a.m. the masses of people start to show up in droves. Rebecca senses now is the time when these folks might start to arrive. She grabs a pair of 65 pound dumbbells and cranks out 12 repetitions of bicep curls. This impresses all the men who are working out near her. They don’t say anything, but she knows exactly what they’re all thinking:
Not bad for a tiny Asian girl!
Rebecca estimates the gym’s clientele consists of 70 percent men and 30 percent women. The guys range from out of shape couch surfers to young men who aspire to become professional bodybuilders like her. But she doesn’t go to the gym to pick up guys. She goes to get to work. And that’s what she always does.
Of the women, there are only three regulars who are as muscular as her. There’s Candace, a 20-something black girl who’s competed before and is actively working on landing her IFBB card. Then there’s Michaela, a 19-year-old track and field athlete with a lean muscular body and breasts even smaller than hers. Rebecca used to be enormously insecure about her flat chest. Today, she’s accepted this fact and has moved on with her life.
Finally, there’s Joyce. Oh, Joyce. Rebecca suspects she’s a lesbian, but a short haircut, tattoos, and a pierced nose doesn’t necessarily mean she’s into chicks. Rebecca is definitely not one to stereotype like that. Joyce can talk your ear off if you let her. She always has something to complain about, whether it’s her flailing personal training business or her mother who’s wondering when she’s finally going to get married. Joyce is probably in her early 40s, so it’s not like she doesn’t have time to find a significant other. But by now maybe it’s a foregone conclusion that she’s not into men.
Or maybe she is. Rebecca doesn’t care either way.
Today, none of these ladies are at the gym. None of the talkative guys who endlessly flirt with her are here either. So perhaps Rebecca will be able to lift in peace and quiet.
“I’m almost done. Just a few more sets,” Rebecca tells herself.
Before leaving the gym, Rebecca sometimes visits the smoothie bar and orders something to help her recover from her workout. Today is one of those days. After finishing her workout and taking a nice long shower, Rebecca dresses and approaches the bar. This morning, a cute guy named Dale is holding down the fort. She and Dale have some history together. A few years ago at a Christmas party they met each other through a mutual friend. They both got really drunk and started to make out. One thing led to another, and before the night was out they returned to Dale’s apartment and almost had sex. They were about to do the deed until Dale, who was more drunk than Rebecca, accidentally hits his head against a wooden cabinet and suffers a bad laceration on his forehead.
Rebecca dutifully ordered a cab and took him to the hospital. They ended up not having sex that evening. That’s probably a good thing in retrospect. Dale is a good guy, but his frat boy days haven’t totally left him yet. He’s nearly 30 but still thinks he’s a freshman in college. Rebecca tends to not gravitate toward men like that.
“What’s up Dale?” Rebecca smiles and takes out her phone to check her e-mail. No messages.
“Hey, girl, hey! Looking good. Oh, not much,” Dale says. “My dog puked all over my bed this morning. That was fun. What about you?”
Learning about Dale’s dog barfing up his breakfast was not the type of news she was in the mood to hear. But that’s Dale for you, ladies and gentlemen.
“Not much. Same old, same old. That’s what happens to people our age. We fall into ruts. I’ll have a strawberry banana smoothie with two scoops of protein powder and half a scoop of energy. I’m going to need it today.” Out of the corner of her eye she sees Gregory hitting on Miss Blondie. This brings a smirk to her face.
A fine pair of legs on Sandy Vu.
“Coming right up!” Dale quickly goes to work. If there’s one thing he does exceptionally well, it’s make delicious smoothies just as you ordered it. So bravo to him for that.
Twenty minutes later, Rebecca almost finishes the smoothie as she parks her car at the physical therapy clinic. She slurps down the rest and tosses the plastic cup into a garbage can. A small army of flies circle around the opening. It looks like it hasn’t been attended to in years. Disgusting.
The work day begins as usual. Only three clients today. None of them noteworthy to mention. In the back office there are several computers that therapists and freelance employees can use. Her usual computer at the back of the room appears to be taken, as someone’s backpack and fleece pullover is lying on top of the chair.
Who could this possibly be? Everyone knows this computer is always reserved for Rebecca Tanaka…
“I’m sorry. Is this your computer? I didn’t know these were assigned to anyone in particular,” an unfamiliar voice says from behind Rebecca’s back. She immediately turns around to see who it is. Standing before her is someone she’s never seen before at the clinic. It’s a devilishly handsome Asian guy with a charming smile and a fit athletic body. Rebecca’s eyes widen as she loses herself in this man’s beautiful aura. She finally composes herself and extends her hand toward him.
“Oh, I didn’t see you there. I’m Rebecca. Pleased to meet you.” They shake hands. His firm grip sends a jolt of electricity through her system. There is something about the way he touches her that Rebecca knows is different from anyone else she’s ever met.
“Hi. I’m Brad. I’m new here. Today is my first day on the job,” he says. Rebecca continues to get lost in his eyes. “I’m the new sports athletic trainer. I had no idea this was your computer.”
“Oh, no. These computers aren’t assigned. I just usually choose this one by default. But I can use the one next to yours.” Rebecca puts her backpack in front of the computer next to Brad’s. He smiles at her again, which sends another jolt of energy through her body. God, what is happening to her?
“Great. I don’t want to step on anybody’s toes on my first day at the job, you know what I mean?”
“I definitely know what you mean!” Wow, is that the best she can come up with? Rebecca turns on the computer and sits down. She admires Brad’s impressive biceps and forearms, which is significant considering she’s seen hundreds of big and buff dudes in her life. “Sports athletic trainer, you say? Julie did say she wants the clinic to go further into that direction.”
“Yeah, I guess most of your clients are elderly people and folks recovering from surgery, right? It’s about time we get some new blood in here. High school and college athletics are becoming a bigger and bigger deal, so it makes sense that she would want to adapt to the times,” he says. Right now, Rebecca is hanging onto every word he speaks. Her eyes move from his arms to his chest, legs, and angular face.
“Where were you before coming here?” Rebecca asks.
“I worked with minor league baseball players down in the Phoenix area,” Brad says. “I just moved up here a few months ago. I couldn’t stand the heat anymore and wanted to go somewhere cooler.”
Before Rebecca could say something, Julie pops her head into the room.
“Rebecca! I’m glad you and Brad are getting acquainted. But Sam is here for his 12:30 appointment.” Well, shit. Time to go to work. Rebecca stands up, gives up on checking her work e-mail, and grins at Brad.
“It’s nice talking to you, Brad. I have to get to work. I’ll see you around,” Rebecca says. She stands up, accidentally places her foot underneath a power cord, and trips as she attempts to take a step forward.
“Whoa there!” Brad saves Rebecca from falling by clutching her in his strong arms. The warm touch of his body against her body provides some dampness to form between her legs. It’s not too often that Rebecca becomes sexually aroused at work (actually, she’s never felt sexually aroused at work), so this is a new experience for her. Also, it’s humiliating to be tripping over herself the moment she encounters a good looking guy.
“Thanks. I can be a klutz at times,” she says. Rebecca regains her composure and exits the room without further antics one would usually find in a low-grade romantic comedy. Brad smirks to himself and makes a mental note to remember Rebecca’s name and face. He too is smitten with her.
Rebecca wasn’t able to see Brad for the rest of the day. Her three clients decide to take up entirely too much time (it’s not her problem, though. They’re willingly paying for her time) and their appointments were lined up one after another. By the time she clocked out for the day, Brad had already gone home. Oh well. There will be a next time, Rebecca supposes.
Typical agility drills done by sports athletic trainers.
After picking up a tub of fresh quinoa and sundried tomato salad from a deli across the street, Rebecca returns home. She makes small talk with Craig and checks her mail. Thankfully, no perverted letters from nutty voyeurs. Rebecca enters her condo unit and decides to take a shower before eating dinner. She usually showers right before going to bed, but her three clients gave her a workout more than she gave them a workout. The daily grind needs to be washed off before her evening could commence.
Self-conscious about preying eyes, Rebecca closes the blinds on all her windows. You never know these days, she thinks to herself. Rebecca strips naked and takes a moment to look at herself in a long full-body mirror. Despite her natural beauty and impressive muscle mass, Rebecca is still insecure about her looks. She looks at her flat chest as a major flaw. She hates her short stumpy legs. She loves the muscle definition on her legs, but she wishes they could be longer. Her short stature combined with her wide muscular frame makes her look like a Hobbit bodybuilder.
Rebecca also hates her eyes. As a full-blooded Japanese woman, her eyes are as narrow and slanted as a cartoon character. Kids used to make fun of her growing up. Deep down inside, she still feels like adult women judge her because of her strong Asian facial features. She knows that’s ridiculous because most people in the Pacific Northwest are more open-minded than that, but those scarring childhood memories don’t ever go away. They’re a part of her psyche for eternity.
Another remarkable feature of her body is her astonishingly large clitoris. Rebecca takes a modest amount of anabolic steroids to help her gain muscle mass, but nothing too extreme. Nevertheless, the additional growth hormones circulating through her system made a certain part of her body grow larger than normal. Even when she isn’t aroused, the thick head of her clit sticks out between her legs like a really tiny penis.
When she is aroused (and when she’s lucky enough for a guy to be willing to give her oral sex), her clitoris can grow to an eye-popping size. Long and thick, she once measured it with an old plastic ruler. Rebecca did a double take when she saw how long it is. Two and a half inches when she’s fully aroused. Only an inch and a quarter when she’s not aroused.
Is that normal? She has doubts about that.
Every time Rebecca goes to the beach and wears a bikini, she uses a piece of scotch tape to hide her clit from public view. It’s embarrassing, but it’s what she has to do to feel like a normal woman. “Real” women don’t have large bulges in their panties. All she wants to do is to not feel like a freak.
Upon finishing her inspection of her body, Rebecca likes what she sees overall and goes on to take her shower. Fifteen minutes later she walks out to the living room still naked and drying her hair with a towel. She turns on the television to see what’s on. Some murder mystery show. The victim died by a sledgehammer being pounded repeatedly into the side of his skull. What an unpleasant way to go. Why do people watch violent shit like this?
She turns off the TV and plops down on her bed. For some unexplained reason, Brad’s handsome face and impressive biceps flash into her mind. Her heart flutters. The dampness returns between her legs. Rebecca thinks now is the appropriate time to masturbate, an activity she hasn’t done as much lately as she’d like.
Lee Jin Won in top competitive shape.
Rebecca turns off all the lights and takes out her trusty dildo from the bedside nightstand. She dabs a small amount of lubrication on the tip and spreads it all over the shaft. A typical 7 inch long white dildo, she’s had this since college and uses it as her default masturbation toy. She also has a vibrator, but she doesn’t like the annoying humming sound. It gets her out of the mood and ruins her mindset. Rebecca needs everything to be perfect in order for her to optimally get off.
Taking in a deep breath, Rebecca closes her eyes and spreads her legs out wide. She leans back against her pillow and exhales. She playfully taps the dildo against her enlarged clitoris and moans at the sensations this gives her. Rebecca suspects that when her clit began to grow it also started to become more sensitive. She could be wrong about this observation, though. But the added pleasure it’s given her is something she can’t argue about.
Inch by inch, she inserts the dildo inside her moist vagina. She strokes it in and out at a leisurely pace, not wanting to rush anything. It’s been four days since she last had an orgasm, so she wants this to be a good one. Rebecca makes sure the dildo touches every square centimeter of her wet and sensitive passageway, including her g-spot. More moans escape from her throat.
If only “Jones” were able to see this! He’d go crazy and would probably give her $2,000 instead.
The thought of Jones watching her temporarily takes her mind off of pleasing herself, so she immediately refocuses on Brad. Rebecca imagines the dildo being Brad’s erection invading her, exploring her, pleasing her. With her free hand, she pinches her dark brown nipples. Both are sticking straight up into the air. This inspires her to increase her tempo. Faster and faster she stimulates herself. Her legs tense up. She lifts her back up off the bedsheets. Her head almost bangs against the bedframe.
She’s close, and she knows it.
Suddenly, the explicit visual image of Brad kissing her just as he comes inside her unexpectedly flashes into her head. This is enough to set her off.
“Oooooooohhhhh! YES!!!”
Rebecca comes and squirts a small amount of creamy white fluid onto the bed. The walls of her vagina contract wildly, as if this is the first orgasm she’s ever experienced in her life. This is not true, of course, but this is a testament to how strong of a spell Brad has cast over her imagination. Out of breath, Rebecca opens her eyes and enjoys the smaller vaginal contractions that follow the more intense ones. Finally, her orgasm ends and she is left lying on the bed drenched in her own sweat.
Fuck. She might have to take another shower!
She sits up and notices the wet spot between her legs on the bedsheets. Fuck! She’s been able to ejaculate for years now, but she can usually control it by not excessively rubbing her g-spot. She must have gotten carried away this time. Rebecca goes to the bathroom, cleans up the mess with a paper towel, and pees in the toilet. Looking at herself in the still-fogged up mirror, she smiles and says to her reflection:
“Damn. That was a good one!”
Friday is the next day. It is uneventful and boring, just like every other Friday at the office. It is a rest day, so she spent the morning talking to her photographer about finalizing the details of their shoot tomorrow. The weather is supposed to be gorgeous, which is fantastic news.
As it turns out, Brad will work primarily in the field and away from the office. At a weekly team meeting – who holds staff meetings on Fridays? – Julie informs the group that Brad will travel to high schools and college campuses to work with athletes to help them improve their speed, strength, quickness, burst, coordination, and overall athleticism. Rebecca is disappointed to hear this news, but she is still glad he’s part of the staff.
Later that evening Rebecca goes out for cocktails with her two best friends, Lauren and Desiree. These three have known each other since middle school and they remarkably still keep in touch. Wisely, Rebecca makes no mention of “Jones” but did glowingly rave about her new cute coworker.
“Girl! Are you going to pursue anything with him?” Desiree asks.
“Before she can answer that, she needs to know if he’s single. Is he available?” Lauren chimes in.
Rebecca downs her whiskey on the rocks and coughs. Lauren and Desiree always elect to drink “girly” drinks with too much sugar and fruit. Rebecca considers herself to be more hardcore and goes for the hard stuff. Her two friends cannot figure out why she’d intentionally drink that shit.
“I think he’s single, and I’m definitely going to make a move if the opportunity presents itself,” Rebecca assures them. “It’s been forever since I’ve last dated.”
Three and a half years to be exact. Both Lauren and Desiree know this.
Finally, Saturday morning arrives. Rebecca gets up at 6:00 a.m. – an hour earlier than she usually does – and eats a larger than normal breakfast. She cooks herself a veggie omelet made with egg whites, low fat cheese, peas, broccoli, onion, carrots, celery, zucchini, asparagus, and avocado. This is served with a bowl of Greek yogurt with granola and peach slices. She drinks way too much coffee before brushing her teeth (in order to make her pearly whites as white as possible) and heading to the gym.
Leg day. Oh, fun.
Saturday mornings at the gym is the best time to go because hardly anyone is there. But Rebecca is there. Gregory and Michaela are also there. Gregory might be flirting with Michaela by the TRX machine. Gross.
Several squats, lunges, deadlifts, leg presses, snatch and power cleans, and miles running on the treadmill later, Rebecca showers in the locker room but struggles to walk around. She always wants to get an arduous workout in before a major photoshoot. It makes her feel more sexy and alive when she’s so exhausted her body is running on pure adrenaline. She skips the smoothie bar (and having to deal with Dale, who seems to work here every single day) and instead drinks a bottled protein shake. It’s not the same, but it’ll do for today.
The drive to Alki Beach Park from Bellevue only takes 35 minutes, which is pretty damn good, even for a sleepy weekend. Rebecca receives a text from Garrett, her photographer, saying he’s running a few minutes late. This doesn’t surprise her one bit. He’s always late. Rebecca’s Asian heritage doesn’t allow her to be late for anything. There’s one perk of having slanted eyes.
Garrett has been Rebecca’s primary photographer for a solid decade. They work perfectly together. He’s an artsy type who also knows how to shoot commercial shots. He’s also very gay, so she has no worries of him coming on to her. That’s been an issue with past photographers. But no longer.
It’s a gorgeous morning in Seattle. Not a cloud in the sky, but there’s a cool breeze to keep her from getting too overheated. The beach is thinly crowded, populated with a few joggers and little kids making sandcastles. Wearing gray sweatpants and a tank top, Rebecca notices she’s already receiving unwarranted stares from random strangers. A group of bros smoking weed by the public bathroom stalls makes comments about her “wicked shoulders and savage biceps.” Rebecca doesn’t even give them a courtesy smile. Those fuckers don’t deserve it.
Alki Beach on a beautiful summer evening.
Rebecca arrives at the agreed upon meeting area and waits. She sits on a park bench and checks her phone for messages. Nothing. She looks around to take in the sights and smells of springtime transitioning into summer. This is her favorite time of the year. It’s not too hot, but the chilly dewy elements of spring are long gone. Out of the corner of her eye she sees a middle-aged white man wearing a suit and tie sitting down on a bench about 400 feet away from her.
“That’s an unusual thing to wear to the beach,” Rebecca says aloud.
He’s looking out into Puget Sound with a pair of professional-grade binoculars. The man has dark hair with streaks of silver on the sides. His black suit is complemented perfectly with a bright red tie. Rebecca even notices the impeccable shine on his Italian loafers. They look damn expensive. They probably are damn expensive.
For whatever odd reason, Rebecca notices him out of the 40 or 50 other people within view. She doesn’t know why, but all her life she’s had a well-developed sixth sense about certain situations. Every so often, she’ll fixate on something or someone for reasons she can’t explain. Intuition is a strange thing, indeed. The man isn’t doing anything inappropriate or suspicious; the only noteworthy thing about him is his out-of-place suave attire.
“Rebecca! Hi!” Rebecca jumps out of her seat when a familiar but sharp voice calls out her name. She turns around and sees Garrett, dressed like a 1970s Greenwich Village hipster, jogging toward her with an expensive Nikon camera around his neck and a backpack full of photography equipment slung over his shoulder.
“Hello Garrett!” They hug. Garrett playfully rubs her muscular back and whistles.
“Holy fucking shit, Becky. You’re getting bigger and bigger every single fucking time I see you, I swear to God,” Garrett exclaims. “Holy fuck, you’re gorgeous.”
“Thanks,” Rebecca says, blushing a bit. “I do what I can to add quality content to your portfolio.”
Garrett laughs heartily and checks the settings on his camera. Rebecca self-consciously removes her tank top, sweatpants, and sandals and stuffs them inside her tote bag. As always, a hidden strip of tape conceals the bulge between her legs. The brand new bikini she ordered earlier in the week hadn’t arrived yet (the distributor says it’s stuck in Cleveland of all places), so she had to pull out an old frilly Navy blue bikini from her closet instead. Oh well. Life goes on.
“Motherfucker, stop looking like that, girl!” Garrett says. “Well, are you ready?”
Rebecca looks around and already sees a small gathering of onlookers watching them. Some are pointing at Rebecca and presumably commenting on her muscles. She overhears a little girl ask her mother if “that girl is a boy or a girl.” Gee whiz, kid. You just answered your own fucking question!
No matter how long she’s been a competitive bodybuilder, Rebecca has never gotten used to unsolicited stares from strangers and rude remarks from the peanut gallery. But that’s the life she’s chosen to lead. If they can’t handle the sight of a beautiful muscular Asian woman flaunting her stuff at a public beach, they can take their opinion and shove it up their ass.
When you think of Rebecca Tanaka, think of a younger Tomoko Kanda.
Most people despise the daily grind. Rebecca Tanaka thrives in it.
Rebecca’s schedule is nonstop. Her evenings are always free – most of the time – but from 7:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m., she is one relentless busy bee, churning along at her own frenzied pace.
7:00 a.m. – Wake up, eat breakfast consisting of egg whites, oatmeal, and fruit smoothie
7:30 a.m. – Walk on the treadmill for an hour, interspersing with light jogging every 10 minutes
8:30 a.m. – Take short shower, dress, and drive to the gym
9:00 a.m. – Workout at the gym, regimen changes depending on the day (Monday: Chest and shoulders, Tuesday: Abs and back, Wednesday: Rest day, Thursday: Arms, Friday: Rest day, Saturday: Legs, Sunday: Rest day)
11:15 a.m. – Shower, dress, eat second meal of the day (brown rice, chicken, and steamed carrots)
12:00 p.m. – Drive to physical therapy clinic, work with clients
1:30 p.m. – Eat third meal of the day (sweet potato, steak, and raw broccoli)
6:00 p.m. – Leave work, drive to grocery store, drive home
6:30 p.m. – Arrive at home, eat fourth meal of the day (Salmon, kale, asparagus, couscous, and tomatoes)
7:00 p.m. – Answer e-mails, schedule personal training clients, set up photoshoots, etc.
9:00 p.m. – Eat fifth meal of the day (protein shake and raw fruit)
11:00 p.m. – Go to sleep, prepare to do it all again the next day
Rebecca, one of the world’s rising stars in the international bodybuilding industry, doesn’t have much time for relationships or pets. No dogs, no boyfriends. But this doesn’t bother her at all. She loves her life and wouldn’t change a single thing about it.
Except for one thing, however. Being a competitive bodybuilder and part-time physical therapist doesn’t pay a whole lot of money. Lucky for her, she inherited a nice studio condominium from her deceased aunt and uncle (they died tragically in a car accident while travelling through South America four years ago) located right in the heart of downtown Bellevue. However, living expenses are still living expenses. Money isn’t tight, but she can’t afford to not be frugal.
All of that changed one fateful Tuesday evening.
Rebecca drove home and parked her car in the underground parking garage like usual. With her massive gym bag slung over her broad shoulders, she takes the short flight of stairs up to the lobby. There, she sees Craig, the reliable and friendly front desk staff person.
“Good evening, Rebecca!” Craig greets her with a wide toothy grin.
“Hi Craig. Has your wife decided on whether she wants to take the promotion or not?” Rebecca takes her keys out of her pocket and walks toward the row of mail boxes.
“She has. She’s not interested. Macy loves where she is right now,” he says. “I guess that means I’m here to stay.”
Rebecca turns around and shoots Craig a happy smile of her own. “Oh well. Darn. I was just getting used to putting up with your antics!” Craig’s wife works at the city’s water treatment facility and was asked to move to Washington D.C. to supervise the federal government on crafting better national water policy. Apparently, Macy didn’t like that offer and would rather stay here and get paid less. Rebecca has never met Macy but she’s starting to like her more and more.
Craig laughs. The phone rings. He stops laughing, puts on his “professional” demeanor, and answers it. Rebecca chuckles to herself and approaches her mail box. She unlocks it and finds the usual assortment of junk: Grocery store coupons, a community newsletter, a postcard asking her to donate to needy children in Tanzania, her monthly cell phone bill, and a lone letter. She doesn’t usually get individually written letters anymore. For that matter, in today’s digital age, who does?
“Jones,” she reads aloud. The return address is somewhere in Kirkland. Only the sender’s last name is revealed. The 4”x3” letter is modest in size but remarkable in its simplicity. She stuffs the mail in a pouch on the side of her gym bag and heads toward the elevator. She nods at Craig, who is still talking to a potential tenant on the phone. He graciously nods back.
Five minutes later Rebecca opens the door to her 15th story condo unit and walks inside. She lays her heavy gym bag down on the floor and gently shuts the door behind her. Not thinking too much about the letter, she turns on the TV and tunes in to whatever baseball game happens to be going on. It appears the home team is losing by a score of 5-2. It’s the seventh inning. Whatever. Sports never interested Rebecca too much – except for bodybuilding, of course. That’s a sport she pays attention to with keen interest.
The clock in the kitchen says it is 6:39 p.m. Rebecca opens the refrigerator and pulls out a blue Tupperware container. Fish, veggies, and corn are inside. She pops it in the microwave and sets it for three and a half minutes. The humming of her dinner heating up provides the background music she needs to relax and unwind. Rebecca plops herself on her bed and turns on her laptop computer. Just as the home screen starts to boot up, the microwave makes the joyful “ping” sound.
Rebecca grabs a fork, napkin, bottle of FIJI Water, and the steaming hot Tupperware container. She returns to her bed and starts to eat. By now, the home team has scored another run and the score is now 5-3. The crowd goes wild. She couldn’t care less.
There are only four e-mail messages in her inbox. Two of them are junk. One is a balance statement from her bank and the other is a picture of a random man’s penis taken with his shitty cell phone camera. As a nationally known female bodybuilder, Rebecca is accustomed to receiving creepy or obscene e-mail messages from fans across the globe. She promptly deletes the dick pic and blocks the idiot from ever communicating with her again.
“Congratulations on being so well-endowed, buddy,” Rebecca says. “But you’re still a perverted jerk.”
A solo home run by the other team. 6-3 road team. The crowd goes silent. Rebecca swiftly changes the channel to the evening news. The first story she sees is a report that ISIS has kidnapped another European aid worker and has threatened to cut off his head. She decides to turn off the TV altogether. Nothing but bad news.
“It’s a hellish world we live in,” Rebecca whispers to herself. “God help us all.”
She looks at her gym bag and suddenly remembers the letter. After putting the dirty Tupperware in the sink, she takes a last sip from her FIJI Water and dumps the empty bottle in a recycling bin. Rebecca takes the envelope out of the pouch and opens it with a letter opener. She sits down on her comfortable leather sofa and reads it.
Rebecca gets plenty of fan mail, but they all go to her business mail box at the Post Office. So she has no idea who this could be from. Who does she know in Kirkland? The handwritten note says the following:
Dear Miss Tanaka,
I am a dear fan of yours. We’ve never met, but I’ve been following your career from the start. I see a lot of promise in you. You are destined for stardom, there’s no doubt in my mind about that.
I don’t know how much money you make being a professional bodybuilder, but I’d imagine it’s not nearly enough for you to live off. Or maybe you do make enough. Either way, who couldn’t use a little extra cash in their pocket?
That being said, I have a simple proposition for you, one you can refuse to do if you choose to with no consequences.
I happen to live within viewing distance of your condominium unit. With my trusty pair of binoculars, I have a clear view of your balcony. I have never made any effort to physically contact you, so do not feel alarmed. Thus, I’d like to offer you this: Every Tuesday evening at 9:00, I want you to stand outside on your balcony and strip naked for me. I want to see your beautiful body in all its splendor and glory. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.
Every time you do this, I will mail you $1,000 in cash the following day. I will also send you written instructions on what to do next. I will never ask you to do anything dangerous or unreasonable. But it will always involve me wanting to see your beautiful body.
Just to prove that I’m not joking, tonight at 9:00 please stand outside fully clothed for a solid 90 seconds. I will send you $500 in the mail tomorrow just for that simple gesture. If you do not do as I ask, I will interpret this as your refusal and I will never contact you ever again. I can promise you that.
I look forward to seeing where your career goes, Rebecca. Peace be with you Angelic Sweetheart.
Sincerely,
Jones
Uh, what? Rebecca looks up at the ceiling in disbelief, remaining frozen for what seems like forever.
What the fuck is this all about? Should she call the police? She knows the return address of this creep, so it wouldn’t be too difficult for the authorities to investigate and put this asshole in jail. However…
$1,000 is a lot of money. Fuck, that’s $52,000 in extra tax-free cash per year. Perhaps she should consider it.
Damn it! That’s crazy talk. This guy is nuts and should be arrested for harassment! Rebecca tosses the letter in the trash can and closes the blinds on all her windows. The last time she ever had a stalker was back in college. A random dude kept writing her love notes despite the fact she was in a committed relationship at the time (they broke up when he later revealed he was gay, but that’s a whole other story for another time). She reported this to campus police and found out it ended up being not a student, but a tenured English professor. She (yes, it was a she) was fired and had to spend 150 hours doing community service and pay a small fine. Rebecca never saw her again.
Writing and sending handwritten letters is a lost art.
The clock now says it is 7:45 p.m. Rebecca decides to call the police first thing in the morning and report this idiot. She logs on to Netflix and begins watching “House of Cards” to get her mind off of this shit. She may have seen this episode before. Or maybe she hasn’t. Whatever.
Time passes. Soon, it is 8:56 p.m. She looks at the time on her computer and smiles. Should she poke her head outside her balcony just to see if this asshole will actually pay her? Rebecca peeks at her phone bill and gasps when she sees how substantial it is. She’d used a lot of data this month, between using her phone for personal and business matters. Damn. How the fuck is she going to pay for all this shit?
8:58 p.m.
Fuck!
Rebecca puts on a pair of old slippers and cautiously opens the glass door leading to the balcony. She’s wearing pajama pants and a tank top but no makeup or a bra. Her jet black hair is a mess. She doesn’t think she looks terribly appealing at the moment, but this pervert apparently thinks she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen in his life. Rebecca doesn’t know what is compelling her to follow through with this, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
Standing at a diminutive 5’2”, Rebecca is just as short as most Japanese women but is much huskier than usual. Her thick thighs, broad shoulders, big biceps, 8-pack abdomen, and rounded butt make her stand out against most women, Asian or not. Her 30th birthday is right around the corner, a fact she’s trying to not think about. She’s never been married but has never struggled to find a boyfriend. Most of her past boyfriends have been white, but she’s dated her fair share of Asian guys. But after committing her life to bodybuilding, she’s discovered fewer and fewer men want to be with her romantically. Maybe they’re intimidated by a woman with bigger muscles than them!
Rebecca looks up at the clock. 9:00 p.m. on the dot. Alright, time to do this.
She enters the outside and takes a deep breath. The sun is beginning to set. Earlier in the day it reached 85 degrees, which is practically the seventh level of Hades for someone who was born and raised in the Pacific Northwest. She silently counts to 90 in her head. She looks around to see who this creepy stalker could possibly be. All around her are apartment buildings, office buildings, and fancy homes overlooking Lake Washington. There are hundreds of thousands of people who could see her at this moment. Is this guy for real? Or is this a prankster who gets off on writing disturbing letters to competitive female bodybuilders?
Rebecca may be willing to temporarily embarrass herself, but this is far from being the first time she’s ever felt helpless. Though she’s never been married, when Rebecca was 15 she became pregnant thanks to her then-boyfriend (who happened to be Asian like her) using a faulty condom. Her parents were outraged. The rest of her family shunned her. She eventually gave birth to a healthy baby girl. Rebecca reluctantly put the baby up for adoption. Within weeks of giving birth to the child, a couple in Indiana flew out to meet little Cecelia. They immediately fell in love with her. They hired some lawyers to draw up the adoption papers and within days the couple flew back home with a new daughter.
Rebecca has never seen her daughter since. Her family has never spoken about it. They’ve kept absolutely no contact with the couple from Indiana. She tries to not think about that dark chapter of her life, but every so often she’s reminded of it. This moment is one of those times.
A simple outdoor balcony overlooking a major metropolitan city (in this case, Chicago).
90 seconds have officially passed. She returns back indoors and shuts the glass door. She locks it.
“That was the longest 90 seconds of my fucking life,” Rebecca says to nobody in particular.
Looking outside at the setting sun, she wonders if anyone was actually watching her. Who is this “Jones” guy? Was he a balding middle-aged loser who was jerking off at the sight of a female bodybuilder wearing pajama pants? God, that’s disgusting. The thought of this put a churning feeling in her stomach. Rebecca feels foolish that she even went outside on her balcony as the letter instructed in the first place. Wanting to forget the whole ordeal, Rebecca goes to the kitchen, takes out a wine glass, and pours herself some Chardonnay. She returns to bed and turns the television back on.
The home team tied it up in the bottom of the ninth and ended up winning it in the 12th thanks to a walk-off home run by the second baseman. Rebecca thinks he’s cute. Good for him. Good for his teammates. Hopefully, he’ll sleep tonight with a big fat smile on his face.
***
The next day Rebecca didn’t give a single thought to what had happened the previous evening. The thought of calling the police about the disconcerting letter never crosses her mind.
Wednesday is her rest day, so she can spend the morning working on her personal business before going to work at the clinic at noon. She spent the whole morning scouring the Internet for a new bikini. Her photographer tells her it’s about time they take new photos for her website. Now that the weather is improving, they agree to go down to the beach this Saturday and snap a few photos before the hordes of families, little kids, and drunk tourists show up.
Work is boring as usual. She sees four clients altogether. James, an 87-year-old former steel worker who’s suffering from chronic lower back pain. He thinks it’s caused by his days hauling gigantic hollowed rods across the mill he worked at back in Pennsylvania. Rebecca thinks it’s caused by the fact he’s in his late 80’s. Whatever. He doesn’t want to argue with “the pretty girl with big muscles.”
She also sees Tyler, a high school football player who suffered a major knee injury last season while returning a punt. Tyler’s a nice kid. He isn’t good enough to play at the college level, but Rebecca nevertheless feels he deserves a shot at being able to step onto the field again. He’s rehabbing his injury and hopes to be able to be ready in time for summer practices.
Rebecca is confident he’ll be able to do so. Tyler and his mother concur.
Sarah Hayes wearing a dress that shows off all her impressive assets.
The other two clients are a married couple named Frankie and Loren. They’re both in their 60s but still manage to work at the local public school district. Rebecca cannot imagine why they still want to put up with spoiled bratty kids when they’re so close to retirement, but they seem to enjoy the work. They must be good at what they do, apparently.
“I do it for the kids. I can’t speak for Frankie, but I feel like it’s my duty to my community to put these youngsters on the right path,” Loren tells Rebecca and Julie, the clinic’s senior physical therapist. Frankie nods in agreement.
“Damn right! But don’t tell the kids I occasionally swear. I always get them in trouble for cursing, so I don’t want to seem like a hypocrite,” he fires back.
“Don’t worry you two,” Rebecca assures them. “Your secrets are safe with me. My lips are perfectly sealed. What’s discussed in this building doesn’t leave this building, I can assure you of that.”
Now it’s Julie’s turn to nod her head in agreement. It’s so wonderful when everyone agrees with one another. That’s what makes life pleasant.
“See you next time!” Rebecca exclaims as Frankie and Loren stroll out the door. She waves at them. They wave back. All is good and right with the world.
The drive home is messy but not a surprise. There’s a stretch of 8th avenue that’s being repaved. It’s a project the City Council promised to implement years ago, but it’s just now getting underway. Even in the most financially affluent cities it takes forever for simple government tasks to get done. Oh well. That’s the way things are, Rebecca supposes. Maybe that explains why Macy wants to stay put.
Like usual, she parks her car in the underground garage and hikes up the stairs to the main floor. It is at this moment that she remembers the strange letter she got yesterday from that mysterious creep. Today, Craig happens to not be working the front desk. That usually means he’s talking with the maintenance man to fix something. Instead, Hannah, a spunky 22-year-old blonde girl fresh out of college, is working in the lobby. Rebecca thinks Hannah is scared of her. It’s not a stretch of the imagination, however. It’s not too often you encounter a pretty Asian girl with big muscles!
“Hi Hannah. Where’s Craig?”
Hannah jumps in surprise at the sound of Rebecca’s voice. She is busy playing Temple Run on her phone and didn’t expect anyone to want to make casual conversation with her. Hannah puts the phone away and regains her composure.
“Oh, he’s milling around somewhere. A tenant on the 8th floor complained about a weird smell. He’s looking into it.” That’s what Rebecca thought Craig would be doing. Fixing a problem. Hannah is usually an on-call staff person who comes into work if Craig knows he has a lot of building maintenance work to do. Rebecca thinks Hannah works part-time as a cocktail waitress at a dive bar in Renton. She could be wrong about that, though.
“Hm. Thankfully for him, I don’t have any weird or offensive smells coming out of my unit,” Rebecca says. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear that.”
Hannah can only smile. That’s pretty much all Rebecca expects from her. This must confirm her suspicions that she’s frightened to death of her.
This is what the inside of Rebecca’s condo would probably look like.
Rebecca takes out her mail box key and puts it in the slot. She twists it and opens the small door. She reaches inside and only finds a single item.
A modest 4”x3” letter.
Oh fuck.
She looks at the return address. Sure enough, it says “Jones” followed by a Kirkland address.
Well, shit.
Stuffing the letter in her jacket pocket, Rebecca smiles at Hannah and scurries off to the elevators. She presses the button for the 15th floor. Three minutes pass until it shows up, which feel like ten. The door opens, Rebecca walks inside, and within moments she’s at her front door.
Rebecca isn’t usually a paranoid type of person, but how could you not be at this moment? Perhaps her decision to not notify the police was dead wrong. Before opening the door to her condo unit, she looks around the empty hallway. No one is in sight. That’s how it usually is at this hour. She unlocks the door and steps inside.
She immediately drops her purse on top of a nearby chair, tosses her jacket carelessly on the ground, and sits down on the leather sofa. Taking in a deep breath, Rebecca cautiously opens the letter without the letter opener. She doesn’t mind if she gets an innocuous paper cut. Fortunately, she’s just fine.
It’s another handwritten note. Of course. It reads:
Dear Miss Tanaka,
I’m glad you decided to follow through with my wishes last night. I did not know if you would ignore me or not. Fortunately for me, you made a choice I am most pleased with. Bravo to you.
In return, I’ve enclosed $500 in cash as I promised in my previous correspondence. I hope you put this newfound money to good use. I trust you will be judicious with it.
Your participation in last night’s trial run tells me you’re willing to play along with my proposition. I am pleased to learn of that. Now is the appropriate time to up the stakes. As I outlined before, I am willing to pay you $1,000 for further exhibitions. That offer is still on the table. I am only interested in watching you perform for me on Tuesday evenings at 9:00 p.m., so you have a full week before I am able to see you again. I cannot wait for our next encounter.
Next Tuesday, June 7, I want you to walk outside your balcony at 9:00 like last time. I want you to wear whatever clothing you happen to be wearing at the moment. I care not what it is. Once you are fully outside, I want you to meticulously strip naked until every single article of clothing is removed from your immaculate body. Then, I want you to twirl around slowly in a circle three times. No more, no less. I want to be able to see your entire body. It is my desire to be able to do so.
I want this full performance to last two minutes. Bring your phone with you if you need to keep track of time. Anything lasting less than two minutes will result in you not receiving any monetary compensation.
I trust you will agree with these terms. I look forward to seeing you next time.
Peace be with you Angelic Sweetheart.
Sincerely,
Jones
Rebecca freezes in stunned silence. Before she could reread the message, she digs into the envelope and finds five crisp $100 bills tucked inside. She holds the bills up to the light. As far as she can tell, they’re perfectly legit. A professional bank teller could tell the difference between a legitimate and a counterfeit $100 bill, but Rebecca’s amateurish opinion will have to suffice for now.
“Holy fucking shit.”
A chill runs down Rebecca’s spine. She isn’t sure if she wants to cry or call the police without a moment’s hesitation. Instead, she chooses to sit there on the sofa and stare off into the nothingness in front of her.
Two hungry tigers loom in the distance, meticulously stalking their prey. A wounded animal lies on the grass, unable to move and paralyzed with fear. The animal knows its time on Earth is short. He senses his imminent death. Too many times in his life he’s witnessed small creatures like himself helplessly stave off death for as long as possible, only to be disappointed at the end.
Nature is a cruel place. The strong will inevitably triumph over the weak. There is no feeling of injustice or bitterness, however. This is a fact of life. This is how it is. This is how it’s always been. From the beginning of civilization to this present moment, the strong always find a way to destroy the feeble. Even if he could change things, the wounded animal would choose not to and let the course of history continue uninterrupted.
The tigers come closer. He hears a rattling in the bushes. The animal looks down at his bloodied torso and notices his legs are missing. They’re probably hundreds of yards away, being chewed on by vultures with little thought to who they belong to. The vultures don’t care. The tigers don’t care. Even his family doesn’t care. They’ve accepted the fact one of their own will be eaten soon. They secretly wish they aren’t next.
The time has come. The tigers jump on the wounded animal. They tear him piece by piece in the most savage way possible. There is no such thing as a dignified death in the Jungle. Any death is treated the same way. It just happens. Fortunately for those who are strong enough to survive, they don’t have to experience the agonizing pain that comes with death. They can sit back and watch with nihilistic pleasure.
With his dying breath, the wounded animal cries out in pain. It’s a useless expression of suffering, one that will not deter the two tigers from carrying out future massacres. But it’s all he can do. What else is left?
What a beautiful fucking world we live in.
Jonathan opens his eyes and instantly forgets what he was dreaming about. Something about two tigers eating a hapless meerkat? Or was it something more pleasant? No matter. That’s irrelevant right now. He sits up, stretches, and takes notice of how sore he is. That’s what he gets from sleeping on a cold, hard wood floor. The room is still dark. There is no sunlight anywhere to be seen. Silence permeates everywhere. Normally, he’d feel at peace right now. But not today.
Fuck. It wasn’t a dream. Last night wasn’t a nightmare. It’s reality. It’s really real. It happened exactly as he remembers it. And he is powerless to make any of it go away.
He looks behind him and sees Dr. Samantha and Mistress Nguvu cuddled together on the floor. They are also sleeping. Jonathan doesn’t know exactly when they fell asleep, but it couldn’t have been much longer after he did. They were all tired. Physically and emotionally exhausted. How could you not be after experiencing all that?
A pounding on the steel door wakes up everybody. Jonathan leaps to his feet. Dr. Samantha and Mistress Nguvu open their weary eyes and take a look at their surroundings. They too also wish the events of last night never occurred. They are both sorely disappointed.
Breakfast of champions.
The Short Man enters the room with two of his henchmen. They appear to be still dressed in the same black clothing as the night before. One of the men carries in a pot of coffee. The other has a plastic tray full of bagels, doughnuts, fruit, and pastries. Well, at least these bastards are courteous enough to bring their hostages breakfast.
“Good morning. Or perhaps, I should say good afternoon. It’s a quarter past noon. We let you sleep for a pretty long time,” the Short Man says. “You should thank us.”
The two men place the food and coffee on the carpenter’s table. The third man is still standing outside. Dr. Samantha and Mistress Nguvu get on their feet and glare at the Short Man.
“Go fuck yourself,” Dr. Sammy says. The Short Man gives Jonathan a quick look. Jonathan doesn’t know how to react.
“Women can be so erratic at times, am I right Jonathan?” Upon hearing his captor say his name out loud for the first time, Jonathan refuses to acknowledge his presence. In fact, he agrees that he should go fuck himself. It’s the only thing he could do right.
“Oh well. I don’t exactly expect politeness from any of you. If the situations were reversed, I’d probably say some pretty uncomplimentary things as well,” he says. “As you can see, we’ve brought you breakfast. Don’t worry. Nothing is poisoned. You’re worth more to me alive than dead. So chow down. Enjoy your lunch.”
Nobody moves from their spot.
“Have you heard from my husband? What did he say?” Dr. Sammy asks.
“He said he’s willing to be cooperative. Which bodes well for the rest of you. Soon, we’ll have what we want and you three will be allowed to continue your lives free of danger from us. Sound good?” The Short Man motions for the two henchmen to leave. They promptly exit the room and walk upstairs. Jonathan notices a side door in the hallway that he did not see the previous night.
“Matthew agreed to do what you want him to do?”
“Yes, he did.” The Short Man takes out a cigarette and lights it. He blows a small puff of smoke toward Jonathan’s direction. “I also spoke with my Boss. He’s a very reasonable man. I told him that our kidnapping plot is going just as we planned. He sounded happy. But he also had a hint of intrigue in his voice. I didn’t know why, but now I do.”
The Short Man pauses for dramatic effect. Jonathan’s stomach growls with hunger, but he does his best to get his mind off of food.
“I told him we unexpectedly took two additional hostages. He was okay with that, but mostly wanted to make sure we had the wife in our possession,” he says, puffing more smoke out of his mouth. “However, our Boss decided to call us again this morning. Part of the reason why I’m here is to deliver to you your coffee and munchies. Nobody ever goes hungry under my watch. But…I’ve come here for another reason.”
“And what reason is that?” Mistress Nguvu asks. She takes a bold step forward. The Short Man doesn’t flinch. The man standing guard outside the door doesn’t reach for his gun. They both know the three hostages are smart enough to not do anything foolish.
“The reason involves you two.” The Short Man points at both Jonathan and the Mistress. “My Boss is particularly interested in you two. He wants to learn more. I don’t know exactly why, but I can assure you only positive outcomes will result from all of this. For him, of course. Follow me, please.”
The Short Man turns around and walks out the door. Jonathan and Mistress Nguvu look at each other. Then they look at Dr. Samantha. She nods her head, silently telling them to follow the Short Man to whatever fate lies ahead. Reluctantly, Jonathan and the Mistress walk out the door. The guard shuts it behind them, locking Dr. Sammy in all alone.
Jonathan and Mistress Nguvu walk up a short flight of stairs. Upstairs, the Short Man and his two cohorts have set up camp in a spacious lounge area. Peach yellow wallpaper adorns the room. Like all the other rooms in this God-forsaken building, it is sparsely decorated. Hostage-takers apparently have no interior decorating taste.
The Short Man is talking to someone through a laptop computer. Skype, perhaps? Or a different web communication platform used by shadowy global terrorists?
“Here they are, sir. Both of them. I’ll turn around my computer so you can take a good look at them.” The Short Man rotates his computer so Jonathan and Mistress Nguvu can see who is on the screen. It is an older Mediterranean-looking man with silver hair, a trim beard, dark eyes, and an impeccable tan. When he finally is able to see the two hostages standing in front of him, his eyes widen with sudden and irrepressible lust.
“Oh my fucking God. Ma’am, may I ask you a question?” Mistress Nguvu sighs and nods her head in agreement. The Boss squeals in delight. “How big are you?”
“I’m six foot four.”
The Boss’s eyes widen even more, as if that were even possible. “Delightful! And how much do you weigh? I realize that’s a personal question to ask, but I’m sure you’d be thrilled to inform me!”
“I weight about two hundred and fifty pounds.”
“Wow! Six-four, two hundred and fifty pounds. You are a big girl. I love it. Fuck. Look at you! You have so much muscle from head to toe. Stand back a little, darling.” Annoyed at his patronizing tone, Mistress Nguvu takes a giant step backward. The Boss giggles when he sees more of the Mistress’s muscular body. “I love it! Now, you. Boy. Take step toward me, please.”
Jonathan’s heartrate jumps. He does as he’s told. “You also look like you work out, my boy. Do you?”
“Yes, I do. I’m no bodybuilder, unlike the Mistress here, but I do what I can to look good.”
“Ooh, yes. You do, indeed. Alright. Both of you, get naked. Now! Strip all your clothes for me.” Jonathan and the Mistress stay still. One of the henchmen takes out his gun and points it at their direction. This inspires them to get started. As Jonathan and Nguvu remove all their clothing, they can hear the Boss moaning with delight, as if he were masturbating while watching them strip. Mistress Nguvu drops her corset, panties, and bra to the floor. Jonathan kicks his shirt, gym shorts, and underwear to the side. They stare directly at the computer screen and see exactly what they suspected they were hearing. The Boss is in fact masturbating.
“Oh, fuck yes!” Nobody can see it, but the Boss is clearly jerking himself off at the sight of these two naked people standing before him. Jonathan turns his head away in disgust. He sees Mistress Nguvu’s naked muscular body and quickly becomes distracted by it. Tall, thick, angular, curvy in all the right places, Jonathan notices two remarkable features of her divine body: Hard black nipples that stick out nearly a full inch and a breathtaking clitoris that extends more than three inches outward. Even the Short Man and the henchmen cannot help but stare at Nguvu’s incredible features. The sight of her jaw-dropping feminine endowment gives Jonathan a slight erection. His penis coming to life is enough to send the Boss over the edge.
“Motherfucker! FUCK!!!”
The Boss comes, groaning as he ejaculates all over himself. Thankfully, nobody in the room can see what that looks like. The Short Man turns away, not wanting to witness any of this. The two henchmen are weirded out, but try to remain calm and professional. They do not want to anger their Boss in anyway. The consequences of that would be disastrous.
Slay me, Alana Shipp!
“Oooooh, yes. Oh baby. That’s what I like. Jerry!” The Short Man, whose name is apparently Jerry, regains his composure and leans toward the computer’s microphone.
“Yes, sir?”
“At first I was pissed off that you decided to take two extra hostages. But now I see you made the right decision. Call it fate or good luck, but I want to personally meet these two. Send them to the airport immediately. I will order a private jet to transport them to my home. Do it NOW!” The Boss turns off the web chat and the screen goes dark. The man with the gun lowers his weapon and puts it back in his jacket. Jerry takes a deep breath and tries to think of a contingency plan. Transporting two of his hostages to the airport was not part of his original plan. That means his team has to split up. One has to stay here to watch over Dr. Samantha and the others have to escort the other two to a different destination.
Fuck. But if the Boss says this must be done, then it must be done. Jerry and his crew are accustomed to adjusting their plans on the fly, but that doesn’t mean they have to like it.
“Wow. Well, you heard the man. Let’s get going,” Jerry says. “Get dressed. Now.”
Ten minutes later, Jonathan and Mistress Nguvu are escorted back to the dark red SUV. As they pass the door where they were locked up for the night, Nguvu stops and looks at it. She wants to say something to Dr. Samantha. She wants to assure her she and Jonathan will be alright. She wants her to know they’ll both be safe. One of the henchmen grabs Nguvu’s broad shoulders and nudges her toward the parking garage. Jonathan doesn’t offer any resistance.
He thinks about Dr. Samantha too, but doesn’t feel any urge to speak to her. Somehow, for whatever inexplicable reason, he senses she’ll be just fine. Her husband will deliver the x-ray machine and she’ll be secure in his arms soon after. Yes, these people will turn it into a radioactive bomb, but Jonathan doesn’t have the inclination right now to think about that. He still wants to know why the Boss wants to see both he and the Mistress so badly.
Like the ride over to the mystery building, Jonathan and Mistress Nguvu are forced to wear blindfolds. They even put it on themselves. Two hours later, Jonathan can hear the sounds of airplanes landing and taking off for flight. The airport is obviously nearby.
Soon, the SUV stops and the driver shuts off the ignition. A voice instructs them to get out of the car. Jonathan and Mistress Nguvu do as they’re told.
One of the henchmen grabs the blindfolds and hands them to Jerry. The Short Man puts them in his inner coat pocket.
“We’re here. I have no fucking idea why the Boss wants to personally see you two, but for whatever shitty reason he does. Enjoy the flight, fuckers.” Jonathan and Nguvu struggle to adjust their eyes to broad daylight. A few moments later, they peer upwards at a small white twin engine jet. There are no logos anywhere to be seen. A short Hispanic woman walks out of the plane and greets her passengers.
“Good day to you both. If you’ll please follow me inside, our flight will take off as soon as possible. The weather looks fabulous, so I fully expect us to be able to leave without too long of a wait.” Wearing a professional flight stewardess’s outfit, the woman goes back inside the plane. Jonathan and Mistress Nguvu look back at Jerry and his henchmen. They stare right back at them, urging them to board the jet. The two passengers walk up the stairs with no questions asked. The Hispanic woman shuts the door behind them.
“Sit anywhere you like. The Boss will be pleased to see you both. He’s very excited about this meeting. If you need anything from me, just push the green button next to your seats,” the short woman says. “I’ll be by with snacks and drinks shortly after we cruise to 30,000 feet.”
A private white jet preparing for takeoff.
Still in a daze that hasn’t left since last night, Jonathan and Mistress Nguvu choose random seats and sit down. They buckle their seatbelts and stare out the window. Jerry and his henchmen have already driven off. A faint cloud of exhaust is the only indication of their presence at this airstrip.
“Pardon me, ma’am,” Jonathan asks the stewardess. She turns around.
“Yes?”
“How long is this flight, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Nguvu leans forward to hear her answer. The engines start to rumble. The stewardess is right. They do plan to take off right away.
“If we leave immediately, we should be able to get to our destination in nine hours,” she says. “The Caribbean islands are pretty far away, after all.”
The stewardess leaves. Jonathan and Mistress Nguvu can do nothing but sit there in stunned silence. Before either of them could blink, the jet slowly starts to move forward and within minutes they begin their ascent.
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.
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 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.
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.
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.
At exactly 5:58 p.m., Sean is waiting outside the Downtown Convention Center. His sweaty palm grips his phone like a slugger clutching a bat. He has a text message ready for Bridgette. All he needs to do is press “send” and the message will be sent to her.
Well, what exactly is he waiting for?
He looks at his phone. 5:59. One more minute.
His pre-written message says “Hi Bridgette! It’s Sean. I’m waiting outside the Convention Center. I’m here!” Simple enough. Sean knows Bridgette has his number in her phone already, but he figured identifying himself wouldn’t hurt. He glances at his phone again. It’s now 6:00. Okay, time to send off this puppy…
Then his phone buzzes. He answers it. It’s her.
“Hi Sean! Are you outside?”
“Yes, I am. I was about to send you a text letting you know where I am, but you beat me to the punch. I’m here!” It’s a bit chilly, but not unbearable. He’d rather be inside though, in the presence of the most gorgeous muscle lady in the known Universe.
“Awesome! I’ll let you in through the back door. It’s on the west side of the building. There’s a sign that says ‘Talent Entrance,’ or something like that. Do you know what I’m talking about?” Sean scoots himself to the west side of the Downtown Convention Center and indeed sees a brass sign above a bamboo wooden door that says “Talent Entrance.” He sees a homeless guy sleeping next to it with an empty bottle of Hennessy and a used marijuana joint. He tells Bridgette that he’s right at the entrance.
“Great! I’ll be down in a minute or two!” She hangs up on him. He waits for her to open the door. He wishes she’d come sooner because the stench of the homeless man is starting to give him a massive headache. Soon enough, the bamboo doors open and he marvels at the woman standing inside it. Bridgette. The Blonde Muscle Goddess. Dressed in jeans and a revealing lavender tank top, all her muscles look primed and pumped. She is a spectacle to behold.
“Sean! Come in. Hurry. The show starts in an hour but I have tons of press interviews to do. Do you know TMZ is here?” Bridgette ushers him inside a dazzling maze of humanity. The smell of spray tan permeates his senses. Everywhere, around every corner and every hallway, he sees what seems like hundreds of fit and muscular men and women of all shapes and sizes. Buff dudes with biceps as large as basketballs. Women with thighs that could crush a watermelon. Men and women with bodies like Greek Gods and Goddesses. They could bend steel, push a truck up a mountain and rip a phone book in half if they wanted to. Sean couldn’t take in what he was seeing with his own eyes. Bridgette was holding his hand and running toward somewhere, darting between oiled up musclemen and musclewomen. He hardly had time to catch his breath.
Eventually, they arrive at her dressing room. As the “Marquee Guest Poser,” Bridgette is entitled to a dressing room all to herself. Small and cramped, it does the job. Mirrors on three of the four sides, the room is both very hot (from all the lights) and smelly. He doubts anyone has cleaned this tiny room in years. He would usually be disgusted by all this, but the room had a very distinct musky “Bridgette” smell that he found so incredibly intoxicating.
“Sorry for rushing you over here. You probably saw all the camera people and photographers out there. If any of them saw you with me, they might start to suspect that you’re the star of that infamous video of mine,” Bridgette says.
“Hey, no problem. I understand. Thank you for respecting my privacy,” he says. “You look amazing as always, Bridgette.” She leans over and kisses him deeply. It steals his breath. When their lips depart, she reaches down and feels his arousal. Sean blushes at his instantaneous hardness.
“I can tell that you think I’m amazing. Look at you! Already hard. Naughty boy.” Bridgette turns from him and applies ruby red lipstick on her gorgeous luscious lips. Sean exhales and sits down on the nearest available chair. He listens outside and hears two male bodybuilders arguing over who has better calves. He also hears a female sports reporter interviewing one of the female figure competitors. Regardless of the pandemonium happening beyond these walls, he could only think about the gorgeous woman standing before him.
“I can be a naughty boy, yes.”
“Well, we’ll have more time to explore that later. For now, I got to get ready. Can you please hand me my mascara?” She points to a small black tube lying next to him. He hands it to her. She begins to apply the mascara onto her eyebrows when all of a sudden a quiet voice comes out of the PA system.
“Miss Beaulieu, you’re needed in the Media Room in five minutes. Thank you.”
Bridgette presses a red button on the wall. “Gotcha. Thanks.”
“It looks as though I have to do some media sessions with these reporters. Lots of them will be asking about our video. Right afterward I have to get back stage and get ready for my performance. I’m opening the show, if you can believe that.” Bridgette stands up and takes off her tank top. Wearing no bra, he could see every mound of muscle on her broad back. He looks at her tiny breasts and the incredibly long and thick nipples protruding out of them. She smiles at him.
“Like what you see, Sean?” She teases him by pinching her nipples and licking her lips.
“Nah, I’ve seen better.”
Bridgette laughs and playfully punches him in the arm. Though she didn’t mean any harm by it, her brute strength is hard to control. Her light tap on his bicep is enough to leave a stinging pain. He doesn’t mind.
I imagine Bridgette’s lips would look as luscious as these.
“You mean little boy! God, I should punish you for being so mean. Perhaps later, no?” She removes her jeans and slips off her tennis shoes. Her massive quads are enough to make his heart pump a little faster. She unzips her bag and takes out an absolutely stunning lily white cocktail dress. She shows it to him.
“Tell me honestly. Should I go with underwear or without?”
“Oh, without underwear. No doubt about it. That would be supremely hot. Go for it, Bridgette dear.” His eyes still have not left her legs. Long and abundant, he could only imagine having them wrapped around his neck and being helplessly at her mercy. He wanted to be helpless. He wanted her to control him.
“Okay, you got it. Naughty it is.” Bridgette slips off her panties and reveals her plump, jaw-dropping clitoris. Almost three inches long, he remembers his reaction the first time he saw it. But nothing could ever prepare him for seeing it again up-close-and-personal.
Bridgette puts on the white dress. It generously shows off every inch of her powerful figure. Very little is left to the imagination. That’s the way she likes it.
“Alright, I got to go. Oh, I almost forgot!” She reaches into her bag and takes out a nametag. She gives it to him and Sean pins it to his shirt. The nametag identifies his name and says he’s a “VIP.”
“A VIP? What privileges does this entail?”
“You get to sit in the first five rows of the Convention Hall. And you get a free drink at the bar! My treat.” She puts on a pair of sexy 4-inch black stiletto heels. The sparkly tip shines a light that could probably be seen from a hundred miles.
“Gotta go. See you after the show! Text me to let me know where you are,” she says. “As you can tell, there are several thousand people here and it can be easy to lose each other.” They kiss and she leaves the dressing room. Sean sits around for a while, all alone, and ponders how he ever got to be so damn lucky.
45 minutes later Sean is sitting in the front row of a jam-packed Convention Hall. Thousands of people, many of them bodybuilders, many of them not, have found their way to their respective seats. He opens his program and discovers Bridgette isn’t actually performing first, but somewhere in the middle of the evening’s festivities. Disappointed, Sean could do nothing but sit back and watch the endless stream of competitors roll on.
Male fitness. Female fitness. Male physique. Female physique. Junior competitors. High school competitors. Female figure. Female bikini.
Nothing but faceless people, of all shapes and sizes, standing around trying to get noticed. A lot of the competitors were quite remarkable, but Sean knows Bridgette knocks them all down a notch. Her flawless balance of beauty, traditional femininity, and pure muscularity is unparalleled. No one compares to her. None of the female competitors are nearly as radiant and charismatic as her. None.
An hour in. Sean yawns. Then, the MC makes an important announcement:
“Ladies and gentlemen, you are now in for a treat. She is a nationally-known competitive female bodybuilder. A world class athlete. In 2006 she won her first contest at the Tampa Classic. She followed that up in 2008 by finishing in the top five at her first shot at the Bay Area Cup. Between 2010 and 2015 she has been a top 50-ranked female competitor. Her sights are now set on the Ms. Olympia. Recently, she has gained viral fame for her ventures in the world of adult entertainment.”
An awkward murmur rises from the crowd. Sean blushes. Are they harshly judging her? Are they labeling her a “whore?” He hopes nobody thinks of Bridgette like that.
“Now, please sit back, relax and give it up for…BRIDGETTE BEAULIEU!”
The catty chatter ends and raucous applause begins. Lights go down. The people become quiet. A lump of nervousness sits high in Sean’s throat. It’s about to begin.
Spotlight on Bridgette. She stands there with her head down. Then, the first few beats of “Dark Horse” by Katy Perry blare across the PA speakers. Bridgette’s head whips up and she surveys the crowd. She strikes a sexy Beyoncé-like pose, her hips bouncing upward like a marionette puppet. As Katy begins to sing, Bridgette twirls, bends, leaps and dances her way toward further stardom. As graceful as a ballerina and as sexy as a Las Vegas showgirl, Bridgette moves with the fluidity of a professional dancer in the body of a powerful bodybuilder. Nobody in the room could blink.
Sean could not look away as Bridgette dances to her heart’s delight. His heart skips a beat after she completes a seemingly endless series of Fouettés without stopping. Her 1080 degree spin in the air brings down the house. As Katy wraps up the song, it’s no mystery why Bridgette became an overnight sensation. She knows how to captivate an audience like no other performer in history.
The lights go down. Blackout. The lights come back up. There she is. Bridgette takes a step forward and bows. Then, bedlam. Total bedlam. Everyone in the audience expresses their unanimous approval by giving her an enthusiastic standing ovation. Including Sean. Hoots, hollers, endless applause and shouts of admiration fill the room. Bridgette takes it all in and waves to her adoring fans. She struts off the stage with her captivated audience begging for more. But, like an expert tease, she denies them any further engagement.
Holland Canter showing off her impressive biceps. Can I touch?
The rest of the evening went downhill from there. Sean reluctantly watched group after group of male and female bodybuilders stand up on stage, pose for what seemed like forever, and walk off looking smug and annoyingly arrogant. This went on for what felt like a week. While many of the competitors looked great (a few of the female contestants made his heart flutter), none of them could compare with Bridgette. None. This assessment made him yearn to be with her even more. Sean could do nothing but look at his phone and count down the minutes until he could see her again.
Throughout his entire life, Sean never felt comfortable in large crowds. He isn’t claustrophobic, but he prefers more intimate settings versus public spaces. The smell of spray tan, sweat and cheap whiskey didn’t help, though.
As if the show wasn’t bad enough, the party afterward was far worse. Within minutes of the competition coming to an end (and the winners being called back on stage for group photos), almost everyone in attendance shifted away from the auditorium and crammed themselves in a (relatively) small ballroom across the hotel lobby. The massive number of people, combined with terribly loud music, assaulted Sean’s senses. It was nearing 10 p.m. and Sean already wanted some alone time with Bridgette. He wanted to compliment her on her crowd-pleasing stage performance. He wanted to hold her, kiss her and find an excuse to make love to her. He wanted her so badly he could scream.
He stood at one corner of the ballroom, next to the drink bar, and watched Bridgette from a distance. There she is, talking, laughing and networking with bodybuilding celebrities, media types and corporate sponsors. Everyone seems enthralled with her. Hardly anybody cared to speak to any of the actual winners from the evening’s competition.
Minutes pass by. Sean continues to sip on his vodka and tonic while he watches countless people dance, mingle and flirt the night away. The irony being, of course, even though Sean is surrounded by hundreds upon hundreds of people, he feels lonely. All he wants is to be with Bridgette. Is that too much to ask?
“Fuck this,” Sean mutters under his breath. He sees out of the corner of his eye a large screen door leading to a balcony outside. He decides to check it out so he could get some fresh air.
Meanwhile, Bridgette pauses from some innocuous conversation she’s having with a horde of bodybuilding fans to watch Sean leave the room. She thinks of an excuse to leave this discussion circle so she could go talk to him. She intuitively senses his loneliness. As she struggles to navigate through the crowd, Sean steps outside onto the long balcony and sighs with relief.
Finally, he could breathe. If he had to endure one more minute of that hot, smelly, mayhem-filled room, he might pass out and need CPR to be resuscitated. The cool evening air is refreshing. The long outside balcony offers him a little peace and quiet from the sea of humanity congregating inside. He could finally be alone for a few moments.
He doesn’t expect Bridgette to come out and visit him. She’s too busy schmoozing with the movers and shakers of the bodybuilding industry. She’s preoccupied with enjoying her newfound celebrity status. She needs to build her brand and do whatever she can to become the international superstar she deserves to be.
Moments pass, and a few other people start to wander outside as well. Drinks in hand, one guy (who looks to be a professional bodybuilder himself) is talking to someone on his cell phone. An older lady, who clearly is not a bodybuilder, has a martini in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. They pay no attention to Sean. He prefers it stays that way. Eventually, both of them leave and Sean is left alone once again. He has only himself and his thoughts. He takes out his phone and checks the time. 10:45 p.m. The night is still young. Anything can happen.
Indeed, something does happen. A familiar voice, one that Sean has grown accustomed to, breaks the silence.
“Hey there, stranger. Not a big fan of crowds?”
Sean turns around and knows exactly who it is. It’s Bridgette. Also with a drink in hand (from the looks of it, a Long Island Ice Tea would be his guess), she looks as radiant as ever. Sweaty and still looking gorgeous, Sean notices some of her makeup has smeared across her flawless face. He doesn’t mind. The image of Bridgette looking a little rough around the edges starts to turn him on.
Who’s in the mood for a gin and tonic?
“You’re here. With me. Shouldn’t you be with your adoring fans?” Bridgette and Sean share a brief kiss. He quickly looks around to see if anyone is watching them. She doesn’t seem as concerned.
“I need to take a break from those people. You can only hang out with egocentric bodybuilders and media vultures for only so long,” Bridgette says. “I want to keep my sanity, if you get my drift.”
“Yeah, I understand. Totally. I don’t like crowds of people. It makes me uncomfortable. But you seem to enjoy it,” Sean replies.
“To tell you the truth, I actually do like it. I love working a crowd. I love entertaining them. Enthralling them. I love it when people watch me. I guess I’m a voyeur’s dream come true.” She takes a sip of her cocktail and leans over the cedar wood railing of the balcony. Sean peers out into the city landscape and takes in how beautiful Seattle looks at night.
“Says the porn star. Didn’t you once have sex with some random Asian dude on camera?” Sean teases. Bridgette throws back her head and laughs.
“Yes, I believe I actually once did that! And, correct me if I’m wrong, didn’t that video go viral overnight and put me on the international porn map?”
“More like mainstream map. Everyone across the world knows who you are now. You’re practically a household name. That is, households who are comfortable talking about porn.” A cool breeze flows by, lifting Bridgette’s impeccable blonde hair over her shoulders. It wasn’t chilly outside, but both Bridgette and Sean could feel that wind pick up.
“God, that was so risky. You could’ve been anyone. Thank God you were as sweet and kind as I thought you would be.” Bridgette leans over and kisses Sean again. This time, they hold their lips together for a longer time than usual, wanting to savor this beautiful moment for as long as possible. By now, they don’t care if anyone catches them being intimate together. They want to share this kiss as if it were the last kiss they would ever experience together.
Susanna Tirpak is the perfect combination of beauty, femininity and muscularity. Agreed?
“Thank you, Bridgette. Thank you. I’m glad you’re equally sweet and kind. You’re not just a pretty face with big muscles. You’re so much more than that.” Bridgette puts down her drink and takes one step closer to him. He could feel the heat of her body emanating out of every pore. She touches his face and rubs her strong thighs against his.
“I know I’m much more than that. But you’re right. I’m a risk-taker. I love being naughty. I love doing things impulsively. I suppose you could call it a weakness of mine.” Sean feels her biceps while looking into her pretty blue eyes. She smiles, blushing at the sincerity of his gentle touch.
“A weakness? I was under the impression there wasn’t a single weak part about you.”
“You’re way to flattering of me, Sean! I can be very impulsive at times.” Going in for the kill, Sean leans forward and whispers into Bridgette’s ear.
“Are you feeling impulsive right now?” He slaps her on the butt, causing her to gasp audibly. Feeling defensive at first at his sudden spanking of her, Bridgette then realizes what just happened. He wants to fuck her. Right here. Right now.
“Hell yes, I feel impulsive right now, you dirty boy. Come here!” Forsaking all of her inhibitions, she grabs Sean’s head and kisses him again, biting his lower lip in the process. She didn’t break the skin, but she’s damn close. Sean eyes a small glass table sitting off to the side. He clutches her hips and guides her toward it. She gets the idea. Bridgette lifts her dress up and exposes her bare feminine parts to him. She then sits on top of the table and spreads her legs as wide as she could without ripping her expensive dress. Sean unzips his pants and pulls out his penis. It’s already engorged and ready for her.
They share a brief moment of eye contact, but immediately decide to cut to the chase. Sean reaches down and feels her dripping wet vagina. He pinches her long, thick clitoris, which makes her throw her head back and moan out loud. After kissing her neck and breasts, Sean positions his penis at her moist entrance and enters her without hesitation. They both groan loudly at their intimate joining.
“I want it like this, Sean. This is how I want it. Now fuck me until I beg you to stop!” Bridgette commands. She wraps her long, powerful legs around Sean’s waist, which only allows him to penetrate her deeper. What thrills them both is the knowledge that at any moment, someone could walk in on them. Someone could also spot them from the ground or witness them in action from a nearby building. Out in the open, for the entire world to watch, Bridgette and Sean make love with an urgency neither one of them could explain.
Sean pumps into her as she unbuttons his shirt and kisses his chest. He tries to wrap his arms around her, but Bridgette’s thick torso makes that almost impossible. He’s surprised she hasn’t busted out of her dress yet. How the dress’s fabric could contain her muscular body is a complete mystery to him.
“I’ve wanted to do this, to be with you like this, for a long time, Bridgette baby. Ever since that beautiful night, darling,” Sean quietly says. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a small crowd gather around the balcony entrance. Eight or nine people. Bridgette notices a couple of people on the ground stop what they’re doing and look up to see them. One woman even pulls out her phone and starts recording them in action. Being an irresponsible voyeur, Bridgette doesn’t care they’re drawing an impromptu audience. In fact, she welcomes it. Sean isn’t quite so sure. He wants to make love to her without stopping. If complete strangers are there to witness it, so be it.
Sweat dripping down their faces, Sean slides in and out of her rhythmically. Bridgette deep kisses him and tightens her legs around him. Sean feels his back crack. A flash of someone’s camera phone goes off. But this only empowers them to make love more furious than ever before. Bridgette gasps as Sean’s manhood penetrates her as deep as it can go. She can sense that he’s close to the edge. She squeezes her vagina around him out of sheer selfishness of wanting to milk as much pleasure out of him as possible.
Sean pumps once more into Bridgette, whispering something inaudible in her ear. He can’t remember what he said to her. She couldn’t quite understand what it was either. But that one last thrust into her body makes him come hard. He empties himself into her recklessly with a curiously voyeuristic audience watching them. Bridgette releases her vagina around his manhood, which leads to her coming as well.
Their heavy breathing intensifies as Sean and Bridgette’s orgasmic waves come to a slow end. Still as hard as a rock inside her, they share a long, passionate kiss, much to the pleasure of the people around them. Applause and shouts of encouragement pour from all directions. But the two lovers couldn’t hear them. They only cared for each other. This moment belongs to them, nobody else.
Eventually, the crowd scatters away. Sean pulls out of Bridgette and zips his pants back up. Bridgette scoots off the table and wipes dirt off her dress. A professional photographer, who happened to capture some video of their coupling, asks for permission to publish this footage on his website. Bridgette and Sean unconditionally say “yes.” To hell with what the world thinks. Bridgette and Sean are the Universe’s newest power couple…and they want everyone to know it.
“I’ll see you later, in my room,” Bridgette says.
“Yes. Later. I’ll be waiting for you outside your hotel. Take as long as you like, darling,” Sean says.
They share one last kiss. Bridgette saunters back indoors to the rowdy party. Sean remains on the balcony, staring at her walk away, without a care in the world.
Any driver who doesn’t pick up a hitchhiker like Nataliya Romashko would be a fool.
Several moments later, Jimmy stops filming. Tony takes off his headphones and places them around his neck. Lexie turns off a light to preserve the bulb’s life expectancy. Maggie reluctantly walks toward her “actors” and lends a helping hand to Bridgette. The gorgeous female bodybuilder stands up and looks to be out of breath. Maggie takes out a handkerchief and wipes a small drip of Sean’s semen off her left leg.
Sean snaps out of his trance and notices his surroundings. He sees the camera equipment. He sees the whole set up. Holy shit. Did this really happen?
Bridgette approaches him and embraces him securely. She kisses his cheek and rubs her toes against his toes. A chill runs down his spine.
Yes. That really did happen!
Minutes later, Sean is in the foyer of the mansion fully dressed and back to normal. He finds appetizers, bottles of champagne, candy and other delicious treats spread out across a long oak table. The film crew wastes no time and greedily grabs plates and starts chowing down on this late night feast. Maggie may seem like a boring corporate type, but she sure knows how to treat her employees right. Sean also takes a plate and serves himself up some goodies. All that hot sex in front of the camera roused his appetite.
Eventually Bridgette, dressed in light grey sweatpants and an old Guns N’ Roses t-shirt, makes her grand entrance and joins the post-production party. She hardly says a word to him. Was her cold distance intentional? Did he do something to offend her? Or is she an unfeeling woman who treats him like any other co-worker, despite their recent intimacy?
He is deep in thought. She appears to be preoccupied as well. Then she takes out her phone and starts texting somebody. Her boyfriend, perhaps?
Yikes. Did Sean just have sex with a married woman?
The notion almost makes him want to apologize to her. But he reconsiders when he remembers it was her idea that they do this in the first place. He was merely the lucky son of a bitch who happened to be walking down a sidewalk late at night wanting to do last minute holiday shopping. She was the proactive participant in this matter. Not him, for God’s sake.
A table of delicious appetizers.
At around 1:00 a.m. they drive Sean back to his apartment. Bridgette did not accompany them. She got a bit tipsy and decided to go to sleep. He was not able to say goodbye to her. This bothered him a bit.
Maggie gives Sean her business card and tells him she will e-mail him when the video is up. He shakes her hand and watches the van leave off in the distance. He goes inside and realizes he never went shopping for those pecan pie ingredients. Well, shit. Looks like an early morning visit to a bakery is in order.
Two weeks later
At 5:01 p.m. on a Friday afternoon, Sean prepares to get off work. The heavy rain will guarantee a hellish commute home. Just as he’s about to shut down his computer, he receives a notification of a new e-mail message. Well then. From his personal account. He decides to check it.
It’s from Maggie Schneider. Who is that?
He opens the e-mail. He discovers who it is when he reads her short message:
Hi Sean,
It’s Maggie from Athenian Blue Productions. We were the quirky film crew who kidnapped you a few weeks back and made you the costar of our new film. I’m happy to announce that it’s finally up on our website. We’ve also posted it on Sexy Time Vidz. In case you’ve never heard of it, it’s a hot new porn video site that’s quickly growing in popularity.
You can view the video here. As promised, we blurred out your face so nobody will ever know it’s you. Enjoy, Sean!
Sincerley,
Maggie.
Well. Sean looks around to see if anyone is left in the office. Not a single soul anywhere. So he opens a private browser (because watching porn on a work computer is the best way to get fired) and cuts and pastes the URL into the address bar. The video loads. It’s titled “Female Muscle MILF Gives Asian Boy Lots to be Thankful for.” How charming. Clearly the title is a reference to Thanksgiving.
Sean watches the whole thing. All 35 minutes of it. Wow. Just wow. He remembers every moment of it in fine detail. He recalls how he felt when he first saw her. When he first heard her husky voice. When he was taken inside the camera crew’s van. When he first walked into the mansion. When she dropped her fur coat and revealed her immaculate muscular body. When they first kissed. When he fisted her. When he entered her and fucked her. When she came and squirted all over the floor. The exhaustion. The thrill. The pleasure. Everything.
Wow. And all recorded on a nice HD camera. Quite impressive. Sean likes it. A lot.
He wonders how many people have seen the video so far. 6 views. Well, it’s a start.
Right?
Later that night, at 9:45 p.m. Sean checks the website again. Only 17 views. Pretty dismal. No comments. To be fair, who wants to sit down and watch a 35-minute video clip of a muscular woman fucking some anonymous random guy? Obviously, he doesn’t mind, but he can’t speak for the general population. Right before going to bed at 10:30 p.m., he checks it again. 29 views. Hm. 12 more than 45 minutes ago. At this rate, he and Bridgette will break Gangnam Style’s viewing record in the year 4015.
He goes to bed and drifts off to sleep. Ah, bliss.
The next morning, Sean wakes up and decides to make his own coffee. He usually buys an overpriced Starbucks soy latte on his way to the office, but in an effort to save a few bucks he made a promise to himself to brew his own java every once in a while. This morning would be one of those instances.
His coffee maker estimates it will be done in 3 and a half minutes. Well, that should give him enough time to check the Internet to see what’s going on out there in the world. Sean turns on his computer and opens a Google Chrome browser. CNN’s website is his homepage. When he looks at the top headline, his jaw drops to the floor.
“Viral porn video sets off firestorm”
Wait, what? He clicks on the story to read further. What follows would shock him more than he would ever be shocked in his life.
Earlier this morning a prominent Asian American senator from the state of Hawaii shared on his Twitter account a 35-minute pornographical film showcasing two individuals, one of them a young Asian American man, engaging in a videotaped sexual liaison with a muscular Caucasian woman.
The video was posted yesterday afternoon on the popular porn website Sexy Times Vidz and has skyrocketed to more than 2 million views in the past few hours. Senator Mark Yamada wrote on Twitter, “This video of an Asian American man starring in a mainstream porn is the type of empowering message we should be creating more often #AznPride.”
His tweet has been retweeted more than 50,000 times, including celebrities such as…
Sean continues to read in utter disbelief. He could not believe what he was reading. His video has gone viral. It’s popular now. Everyone around the country is talking about it. EVERYONE.
He doesn’t care if he’s late for work. He’s glued to his computer and doesn’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon. Soon, all the major networks are on the story. ABC News, NBC News, Fox News, The New York Times, USA Today, Time Magazine, Newsweek, etc. Everyone is talking about this video and giving their opinions regarding its social and political ramifications.
Social and political ramifications? What the fuck? It’s a cheaply made porno video! How is this even possible?!
Eventually, Sean does go to work. As he sits at his cubicle, he cannot help but follow this on-going story. By early afternoon, “Asian and FBB porn video” was trending worldwide on Twitter. Every Facebook status update was talking about it. When he went home, Sean turns on the TV and sees Bridgette (whose last name apparently is “Beaulieu”) being interviewed by various talking heads on every 24-hour news network. She refuses to reveal the name of the young Asian gentleman who appeared in the video with her no matter how many times she’s asked.
The next day, the firestorm continues. Opinion writers debate whether Sen. Yamada’s tweet was appropriate for an elected lawmaker. Others argue in favor of the video and feel like “marginalized Asian American men deserve videos like this to show the world they can be as sexually vibrant as their white counterparts.” Most of the publicity is positive. University academics, social critics, news reporters, college students and countless others had to make their “take” on this viral video known to the public.
Laurie Larson wearing a very sexy pink underwear.
Two days later the buzz continues. The video now has 4.5 million views. Bridgette Beaulieu has become an overnight sensation. She’s now an instant celebrity, and to a lesser extent, Sean also. Sean religiously checks the Internet to see what people are saying about it. One week later. Two weeks later. One whole month later. The conversation persists. The video now has 10 million views. Bridgette’s stock has risen to gargantuan proportions. Endorsement deals are flooding in for her. Bodybuilding contests everywhere on the planet want her to do guest posing and plug certain products. They don’t care about the fact that she’s also a porn actress. That stigma ended the moment her fame exploded like a nuclear bomb.
Maggie e-mails him again to let him know that he’s receiving endless piles of fan mail. Thousands of women around the world want to marry him. Even a few prominent female bodybuilders want to connect with him. But still, Maggie insists, they refuse to leak his identity. His blurred face will forever be how the general public recognizes him. It will never go beyond that.
Holy shit.
Four months later
Spring is right around the corner. The thrill of becoming an instant Internet celebrity has worn off. The buzz has finally died off. Sean realizes that weird chapter of his life is behind him now. Apparently, Bridgette is still profiting from her notoriety. Good for her.
Unfortunately, reading the thousands of comments on the video is enough to make him want to vomit. How malicious are people these days? Do they really have nothing better to do?
She looks gross!
God, so disgusting. Uhg
Why would you want to fuck someone who looks like a man?
I’ll bet he has a small penis LMAO
A white chick fucking an Azn dude? Fuck that shit. How much did he pay her lol
She’s faking it. She has to. His dick is too small to make her actually come. Asian guys are all small.
She’s a freak of nature! Groooooooooossssssssssssssssssssss
And on and on and on. After a while, Sean wisely chooses to ignore these vicious comments. Oh well. Let them make fun of me. It’s not like a gorgeous female bodybuilder has ever wanted to fuck them!
One chilly spring morning Sean leaves for work as usual. As an IT professional at a major consulting firm, Sean spends half of his time in the office and the other half working with clients on site visits. Today is a field day. A tax preparation company downtown needs his help getting their e-mail to work again. Apparently some idiot deleted all their accounts by accident. Whatever. Just another day at the office.
Jodi Miller looking as beautiful as ever.
This whole week Sean’s car is being borrowed by his brother, whose faithful car became unfaithful and died without warning. Until he finds a replacement vehicle, Sean is left to rely on public transportation to get from Point A to Point B. This morning, he’s taking the train to get to downtown.
Tons of people are on the train today. Kids who are on spring break. Old people doing old people stuff. Men and women wearing suits who clearly work at jobs that pay better than his. An occasional homeless guy who smells like a skunk bathing in whale carcass.
45 minutes later (which included a really long wait at the first station stop) Sean exits the train and rides the long escalator to the upper street level. A horde of humanity bustling about their business greets him immediately. The first thing Sean does is try to identify a place to buy a cup of coffee and something decent to eat. Who has time for breakfast these days?
Wanting to skip the mundane routine that is Starbucks, Sean decides to try out a lesser known caffeine hole. He finds one. He stands in line and peers up at the menu. 12 ounce Mexican mocha? 8 ounce soy latte? Or what about good old fashioned drip coffee? And what about food? He looks through the glass counter and sees blueberry scones, bran muffins, lemon bars, fruit salads, and something that resembles oatmeal–
“Sean! Hi!”
Whoa, what?
“Sean! Is that you!? No way!”
He turns around to see where the voice is coming from. It’s a familiar voice. Gruff yet soothing. Rough yet gentle. Textured yet deeply feminine. Can it be…
It is!
Sitting at a red leather booth at the far corner of the café is exactly who he thinks it is. Someone he’s thought about constantly since that fateful night. Someone he’ll never forget as long as he lives.
Bridgette.
Beautiful, gorgeous Bridgette. Hanging out at a random café, sipping on a chilled Americano and eating a raspberry Danish. What the hell is she doing here? Isn’t she based in Los Angeles? Or was that whole charade completely made up?
“Bridgette! Oh my God, what on Earth are you doing here?” Sean asks. He surrenders his place in line and walks up to her. His appointment with his client isn’t for another half hour, so he has time to chat with this beautiful woman and get coffee later.
She stands up and moves around the table. They hug. Her tight embrace almost crushes him in half. They share a quick kiss. He can smell her musky scent. Normally he would be somewhat repulsed by this, but because it’s Bridgette…it might as well have been sweet perfume.
A cup of iced coffee.
“I happen to be guest posing at the Western Regional Classic tomorrow night! Did you know that was happening in your city this weekend?” By now most everyone is glancing at Bridgette. It’s not often a stunningly gorgeous muscular woman is hanging around at your coffee shop. Wearing yoga pants (thank God!) and a tight sleeveless athletic shirt, every inch of her muscular physique is proudly displayed for the public to witness. Her veiny bulging arms are bared for all to see. Sean notices a few pedestrians stopping dead in their tracks and peering through the window to catch a glimpse of her massive guns.
“I’ve never heard of the Western Regional Classic. I take it this is some big bodybuilding contest?” Sean asks. They both sit down at the table. She takes another sip of her drink.
“Yes, your guess is right,” she says. “I’m not competing, but the federation director asked me to do some guest posing during the opening ceremonies. So here I am! Back in your neck of the woods. How are you doing since the last time we met?”
She winks and smirks. Both she and Sean know exactly how things have gone since their last face-to-face encounter. Their viral video skyrocketed them both to unparalleled notoriety. She’s since become one of the most sought after “adult entertainment” actresses. The production company has even said they’ve received countless inquiries asking for the “faceless Asian guy” to appear in more videos. Imagine that! Fame can be a funny thing sometimes, especially in today’s Digital Age.
“I’ve been great. I’m enjoying my, uh, sudden rise to anonymous stardom. How have you been? It seems like you’re one of the most popular women on the Internet these days.” He whispers this part of the conversation to avoid anyone hearing them. But given how many rude stares they’re getting, he doubts anyone is ignoring them.
“Yeah, no doubt about that. TV appearances, radio interviews, God, it’s out of control. But it’s totally worth it. I even made you a little star!”
Sean blushes. He subtly looks around to see if anyone is connecting the dots that he’s the one she randomly had sex with in that now infamous video. No one outwardly is reacting to their private conversation.
“Yes you did. And I enjoyed my 15 minutes of fame. Thank you again.”
“My pleasure. And your pleasure too. What are you off to right now?”
He realizes he’s wearing a suit, tie and a nice navy blue blazer. Not exactly casual wear for someone in the IT industry. Whenever he goes out on a client site visit, he wants to dress to impress. It’s the least he can do.
“I’m off to work. And you? Are you just killing time before the weekend starts?”
“Pretty much. You should swing by! All the tickets have been sold out, but I can totally get you through the doors. Are you busy at all?”
Sean doesn’t hesitate to answer her.
“Nope! Not busy at all. I would love to see you in action. I’d probably sneak past security if it came down to that.”
She smiles and takes another sip of her Americano. Sean feels a tingling sensation in his groin. He can’t stop looking at her killer physique. Ever since their fateful encounter, not a day goes by when he hasn’t thought about her.
“No need to sneak past anybody. If you want in, you’re in. Are you in?”
Hell yes. Fuck yes.
“Yes. I’d love to watch you perform. I’m in!”
Bridgette takes out her phone from her purse. They exchange numbers. He saves her under “Beautiful Bridgette” and puts his phone back in his pocket. She tells him to send her a text at 6:00 p.m. tomorrow evening right in front of her hotel (which is four blocks east of the convention center). She kisses him on the cheek and he finally gets back in line to order his coffee and breakfast. Everyone in the café is looking at him. Sean knows exactly what kinds of thoughts are going through their little minds.
How does he know her? Who is she? Look at the size of her arms! They’re fucking huge!
And so on. And so on. And so on. He doubts any of them have seen their infamous video, but then again anything is possible. She did appear on CNN. And every other network. That sort of media exposure has a way of getting your face known to all sorts of strangers across the country. But regardless, he knows for a fact none of them suspects he was the lucky fellow who had the privilege of making love to her that night. For that, he could only smile.
As he waved goodbye to Bridgette and walked northwest toward his client’s office, Sean felt a level of giddiness that he hasn’t felt in a long while. Probably not since he was a little kid impatiently anticipating Christmas morning.
He can’t wait to see her pose on that stage in front of thousands of screaming fans. He can’t wait to be one of them. He also can’t wait for whatever happens next. He has no idea what’s in store after the evening’s festivities come to an end, but he does know one thing:
Sweat drips off his face. On his knees, he looks up and can barely believe what his eyes are seeing. There she is, in all her immaculate glory. There she is, as perfect as he’d imagine her.
“May I…touch?” he asks.
She takes one step forward toward him. She extends her right arm and flexes her 18 inch bicep for him. He stops breathing, mesmerized by this powerfully erotic demonstration of strength. Her enormous muscles captivate him. He is a slave to her muscles. Strong as an ox, she extends her left arm and flexes her other 18 inch bicep. A smile creeps across her gorgeous face.
“Yes, dear. Touch to your heart’s delight,” she says.
He takes a deep breath and lightly brushes his fingers against her right bicep. Rock hard. Solid. Veiny. As big as a grapefruit. He feels her coarse skin and is rendered completely speechless. Never before in his life has he ever seen muscles this enormous on a woman. Never has he ever seen a woman who looks like this. He doubts he ever will again.
Dropping her arms, she turns to a side chest pose. Her barrel chest expands to superhuman proportions. Hardness forms in his pants. His breathing nearly stops for a second time.
“Do you like my body?”
Isn’t the answer to that obvious?
“Yes, ma’am. I love your body. Very much. It’s perfect.”
Every inch of her body is covered in huge, ripped muscles. Not a single centimeter of her body is flat, flabby or weak. Strength, supremacy and feminine grace exudes from her entire being. Power, control, authority, beauty, all of it. There has never been anyone like her on this planet before.
“Thank you. What part of my body do you like the most?”
I want to touch the shoulders of Arti Sharma Lopes!
His hands greedily rub her thick thighs. She wiggles her quad from left to right, confidently showing off her incredible muscle control. His attention moves to her hard calves, which particularly stand out when wearing these sparkly blue stiletto heels.
“Everything, ma’am. I love everything. But if I had to choose one part…” he begins, standing on his feet and facing her directly, “I’d have to choose your shoulders. Wow. So perfectly rounded.”
He caresses her shoulders with finesse. Not wanting to be treated like such a delicate flower, she grabs his hands and brings them close to her chest. Her eyes become serious. He has no idea how to react.
“Don’t touch me like I’m a special piece of art. I’m a woman. A strong, beautiful woman who’s very fucking proud of her body. I’ve made a lot of sacrifices to get this body. Lifting, hardcore dieting, drinking gallons of water every day, the soreness, the pain, the misery, the loneliness of cooking and working out and resting day after day after fucking day…so don’t treat me like I’m your girlfriend. I’m not your fucking girlfriend, am I?”
The only response he could give is to nod his head in agreement. Would that please her?
“Good. I’m glad we can agree on that. Remove my bikini top, please.”
Instantaneously, he follows orders and unties her bikini bra strap. It drifts to the floor and lands silently. He looks down and sees her pair of small, shrunken breasts with unbelievably stiff, one-inch long nipples. He pinches them lightly and hears a faint moan escape from her throat.
“Ooh, that’s more like it. I like it when you touch me like that. I punish my body every single day to get it to look this way. I want you to reward my hard work by giving me all the pleasure I deserve.”
The impeccably chiseled physique of Desiree Ellis.
“Yes, ma’am. Anything you say, ma’am,” he promises.
Her nipples grow harder and harder. Could they be an inch and a half long? He cups her breasts and squeezes them playfully. Then he moves on to her six-pack abs, trailing his fingers between the chiseled grooves of her abdomen. Another moan is heard from her.
“Let’s get on the bed, darling. Follow me,” she commands.
Kicking off her heels, he hears them plop on top of the hardwood floor. But that’s about furthest thing from his attention. His focus is completely on her. What does she plan to do next? He could only wait and see. She lies on the bed and spreads her legs wide. He sees a substantial bulge in her panties. What could that be? Is that what he thinks it is?
“Take off my bottom. Now!”
Quickly, he gets down on his knees and unties both sides of her bikini bottom. He listens to her heavy breathing as the last piece of clothing is removed from her divine body. She takes her panties and tosses them aside. His eyes fixate on her engorged clitoris protruding out between her legs.
Oh. My. Fucking. GOD!!!!!
At least three inches long, her massive phallic-like clitoris proudly stands at attention right in front of his face. She notices his shock and laughs out loud. Her deep rumbling laugh reverberates throughout the room. His jaw drops. His heartbeat skyrockets. There is no other reaction he can give other than remaining frozen in sheer astonishment.
“Is that what I think it is?” he meekly asks.
“Find out for yourself, honey. Go ahead. Explore what I have down there.”
Taking this as his cue to proceed, he opens his mouth and lowers it onto her gorgeous clit. He begins to suck it as hard as he can. She groans in pleasurable response. He cannot believe the amount of flesh she has between her long strong legs. But he ceases to think and continues to suck on her, using his tongue to lap her sensitive tip. Her senses go into overdrive. She’s wanted a man to do this to her for a very long time. She’s glad it got to be him. She’s glad she could give him this opportunity.
Meanwhile, he strokes her thighs and feels them twitch. He traces his thumb across a long vein going down her left hamstring. He knows he will never be able to be with a woman like her ever again, so he’s doing all he can to soak up the experience.
She feels her climax building. She knows she’s close. Does he also know? He’ll soon find out…
Finally, she comes. Her breathing intensifies. He sticks his finger inside her vagina and feels her walls contracting around him. Very wet down there, he observes. His erection is going to burst out of his underwear at any moment. When her orgasm subsides, she closes her legs and rolls onto her side. She is out of breath. She is pleased. She is happy. But she is far from satisfied.
Far, far from it!
Moments pass before she sits up on the bed. With fire in her eyes, she leaps up and tackles him to the ground. He helplessly falls backward. Impulsively, she rips off his clothes until he too is completely naked. His arousal multiplies. He loves that she’s taking control. He does nothing to resist.
Melissa Dettwiller in a cute yellow bikini.
Now that both of them are naked, they take some time to observe each other. Clearly, she is physically superior to him in every conceivable way. He is no match for her. Her huge, muscular body is a sight he will never forget. Her arms, shoulders, chest, back, legs, butt and abdomen are carved to perfection. An ancient Greek sculptor could not have created a more physically beautiful and dominant female form. She is the culmination of generations and generations of human biological development. She is the epitome of Woman. The world will never be able to appreciate her like he can.
“Thank you for giving me pleasure, my dear.”
“You’re welcome. I loved sucking on your beautiful clit. It’s so big, ma’am.”
“Yes, it’s very big. Very fucking big. Have you ever seen a clit that big before?” she asks. He shakes his head “no.” She smiles.
“I didn’t think so. Now, I’d like to return the favor and give you pleasure in the same way you gave me pleasure. Would you like that?” she inquires. He nods his head “yes.” Her gaze deepens. Is she looking into his soul?
“But before we do that,” she begins, walking toward the dresser drawer and opening it, “you have to do something for me first.”
He cranes his neck to see what she’s doing. She pulls a piece of cloth out of the drawer and closes it. She turns toward him and walks slowly, playing with the dark cloth in her hands.
“What is it?” he asks.
She comes to him and wraps the makeshift blindfold across his eyes. He gasps. She giggles. She tightens the black cloth around his head and kisses him passionately on the lips. The sudden kiss steals his breath. There is nothing he can do to stop whatever is about to happen next. She leans over and whispers this simple message into his ear:
The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi 