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

Leave the place cleaner than you found it.

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

“Heeyyyyyyyy baby!”

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

Miss Peggy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I aim to please.”

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

“Ah! There it is!” Peggy exclaims.

“It’s been waiting for you, baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh baby!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Wow! What a woman!”

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bodybuilding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do…do you like it?” Dylan asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Twenty-five!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah!” Monique and Melanie shout in unison.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“OH FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Benevolent Voyeur and the Female Bodybuilder – Part Two

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not bad for a tiny Asian girl!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is that normal? She has doubts about that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s close, and she knows it.

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

“Oooooooohhhhh! YES!!!”

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

Fuck. She might have to take another shower!

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

“Damn. That was a good one!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leg day. Oh, fun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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