I Am at Her Mercy (part 1 of 2)

When you think of Kathya, think of Heather Pedigo.

The world has gone to shit. And we are all responsible.

It happened so fast. One day we were all minding our own business. Going to school. Going to work. Going to church. Staying at home watching television. Sleeping in. Smoking pot. Begging for spare change. Climbing mountains. Working out. Making business deals. Doing whatever it is that we do.

Then one day, it all came to an end.

For most of us, that is.

When The Singularity began, it happened so quickly we couldn’t keep up. Cities shut down. Militaries were derailed. Police forces were left impotent. World leaders were kept in the dark. Electrical power grids everywhere failed. And the rest of us were left confused, scared, and ill prepared for the fallout.

To this day, I still do not know what caused The Singularity. Was it an ingenious computer hacker? A virus? A techno-terror attack? A vast conspiracy? The work of a doomsday cult? An act of God? Or really, really, really, really, really bad luck?

Nobody knows.

And we’ll probably never find out.

The Singularity destroyed 86 percent of the world’s population. Some died by diseases. Most died by starvation or a lack of access to clean drinking water. The rest died by civil wars that tore countries apart. Many of these wars are still going on, despite the fact any rational person should know that fighting each other is a useless and counterproductive endeavor at this point. The survivors are scattered throughout the planet, scavenging for food and making ad hoc alliances whenever it’s mutually advantageous.

It’s been fourteen months since The Singularity struck our planet. Or is it fifteen months? I lose track of these things. Time doesn’t mean anything anymore. It’s funny. Not too long ago I was a hot shot attorney at one of the most powerful law firms in America. I used to dine on happy hour steak tartare and champagne after work. Today, I have to resort to eating dandelions and the carcasses of stray cats in order to survive. The fine line between prosperity and depravity is miniscule. Life is a tragedy and William Shakespeare is spinning around in his grave. Or pointing at us and laughing his ass off.

I still live in America. Well, I think the country I reside in is still called that. Traditional political structures cease to exist. There is no government. There is no United Nations to bail us out. There are no institutions that will save us. We are alone.

Today, I’m trudging through a wasteland that used to be called New York City. It’s taken me about four weeks to get here. It’s weird. Most of the buildings are still standing. A few have been destroyed by arsonists. Looters have stolen most of the things that are of real value. I think I’m in Brooklyn. I visited NYC once when I was in college. But that was many years ago. Back then life was carefree. We thought we were living in Golden Times. Hell, compared to right now those were Golden Times. Damn. I should have appreciated it when I had the chance.

A wasteland of civilization’s end.

I think I’m close to the Brooklyn Cruise Terminal. I just saw a sign that said something about Pier 12. Right in front of me is a beaten down brick house. The front door is wide open. I figured there isn’t a scrap of food left in there. So far I’ve seen a small handful of people meandering around. Maybe eight or nine total. They’re all like me. Emaciated, aimless, and emotionally numb. How can you feel anything anymore? It doesn’t make sense.

Next to the brick house is a small building that looks to have been a daycare center at one point. I can guarantee you no one is in here. Very few people are having babies anymore. All the hospitals have shut down. I’m tired and need a nap. I’m sure this place has spare blankets I can snag for the time being.

The door is locked. I lean against it to see if my bodyweight can nudge it open. It doesn’t. Across the street I spot an aluminum baseball bat sitting on an overgrown lawn. Perfect! Some little leaguer must’ve left it there. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I borrowed it momentarily. Heck, he and his family are probably either dead or hundreds of miles away from here.

On the side of the building is a window that is cracked but still intact. I approach it and eyeball its structure. It appears to be an old window that should shatter pretty easily. I take a cautious step back, breathe deeply, raise the bat above my head, and swing as hard as I can.

CRASH!

One swing is all it takes. Indeed, this is one really old window. A newer weatherproofed window with glass an inch thick would take several attempts to even crack it, never mind shatter it. Carefully, I climb into the building and try to avoid getting cut. Once inside, I look at my hands and see my left thumb and right index finger are bleeding slightly.

Damn it.

I see out of the corner of my eye a first-aid kit sitting on a shelf. This is a daycare center, after all! I open it and find bandages, disinfectant wipes, strips of gauze, and a tiny bottle of hand sanitizer. Jackpot! I should keep these things. You never know when you’ll need it.

In the toy room there’s an empty SpongeBob SquarePants backpack lying on the floor. Embarrassed, I place the first-aid kit inside it and sling it across my shoulder. I mean, who cares that I’m walking around with a kiddie backpack? It’s not like I’m eating my own shit, which I just saw a bunch of old guys do about an hour ago. That made me sick to my stomach.

Civil unrest.

Now I need to find some blankets. Winter is coming. It’s early November, I think. We’re only a few weeks away from Thanksgiving, an American holiday that we don’t really celebrate anymore. At least, nobody I know still celebrates it. Soon, the days and (especially) nights will get cold. Blisteringly cold. So cold one could almost freeze to death. The first winter after The Singularity struck was brutal. Many people died from that alone. Including my sister, her husband, and my three nephews. They had the misfortune of living in a suburb of Chicago. Last winter was unforgiving. It was harsh. Fucking cold weather.

“If I were a blanket, where would I be hiding?” Nobody will answer my question of course, but it’s worth asking anyway.

Down the hallway I see a door that appears to lead to a storage closet. Bingo! That’s what I’m looking for. Still carrying the aluminum bat, I’m guessing I can simply twist the doorknob and it’ll open right up. Unless this too is locked. Which I hope is not the case.

Thankfully, the door cooperates and is not locked. It is in fact a storage closet. I’m surprised this hasn’t been raided yet. I guess today is my lucky day. Inside are sleeping mats, pillows, rolls of toilet paper, large bottles of water, a fire extinguisher, and…

Blankets! Yes!!!

They’re all small, which is not a bad thing. It’s not like I’m going to share it with anyone. My girlfriend and I got separated after The Singularity hit. I haven’t seen her since then. I wonder if she’s still alive. I somehow doubt it. She was never the “survivor” type, even though she loved the show.

I gather three baby blue blankets, blow off the dust that has accumulated around it, and stuff them into my SpongeBob backpack. I also grab a bottle of water for good measure. Always stay hydrated, even in a post-apocalyptic nightmarish landscape such as where we are.

Exiting the building is a lot easier than entering it. I unlock the front door and simply stroll out like I own the place. No new cuts on my hands. Thank God. Once outside, I see the sun drifting lazily over the horizon. It’ll be dark soon. Probably in an hour and a half from now. Or less. It’s time to get to shelter. I found a place in Queens near JFK Airport that used to be a 5-star hotel. A larger-than-normal band of survivors have made it into a makeshift shelter. It’s pretty sweet. The food and water supply are surprisingly abundant – relatively speaking. There are a few beds left unoccupied. It’s fairly peaceful. We’ve reached the point where fighting is no longer a problem. We need each other more than we can allow petty differences to tear us apart. It’s kind of cool how in the face of extreme circumstances human beings finally learn how to co-exist peacefully. Too bad it has to be under extreme circumstances, though.

A SpongeBob SquarePants backpack.

I think I know where I’m going. Just walk along the water until I hit the Howard Beach neighborhood. Then I head north on Cross Bay Boulevard until I hit Pitkin Avenue. Then I…

“Hey! You there!”

I stop dead in my tracks. The SpongeBob backpack still slung over my shoulder, I turn toward the source of the voice. It’s female. But deep enough that it could possibly be a guy. At first, I don’t see anybody. The road is desolate, but that doesn’t mean someone couldn’t be lurking in the shadows.

“Who is it? Am I trespassing? What’s the problem?” I call back.

No response.

“Seriously. I mean no harm! I’m just a guy trying to survive, like the rest of us. Where are you? Show yourself, please!”

Still, no response. Just silence. This is eerie. And uncomfortable.

Suddenly, I see the figure of a person standing next to a telephone pole. As I turn toward him or her to say something, I feel a cold blade touch my throat. That makes me freeze. My heart is pounding. A strong hand grips my left forearm and twists it behind my back. I gasp. My knees buckle and I fall helplessly to the ground.

“Wha…what’s going on?” I’m desperate for an answer. Whoever it is, it must be a guy because they have me in the strongest grapple I’ve ever been in since my high school wrestling days.

“Are you one of them?” No doubt, the voice sounds female. But how the hell can a woman be so fucking strong?

“No, I’m not. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who’s this “them” you’re referring to?”

My attacker lets go of my arm and walks in front of me so I can see them. They still have the knife pointed straight at my throat. One false move and they can slit it and make me bleed to death. I am at her mercy.

“I didn’t think so, but I can never be too careful,” my attacker replies. Indeed, it is a woman! She’s wearing a dark brown leather jacket that looks as worn as a leather jacket like that should be. Along with ripped jeans, black boots, a gray skull cap, and a utility belt – she’s dressed like how a Hollywood producer would think a post-apocalyptic gangster should dress. She’s husky, which could mean either she’s fat but hides it well or her clothes are too big for her.

“Who the fuck are you? And what’s your name?”

Still on my knees, I look up and try to answer her questions in a calm and rational manner. “My name is Preston. I’m from Washington D.C. but now I don’t live anywhere. I’m a scavenger just like everybody else.” She seems like she’s buying my story, which is 100 percent true, by the way. “I just arrived in New York earlier this morning. I was walking around looking for blankets and stuff. I found some in an abandoned daycare center a block away from here.”

A city on fire.

I point in the direction of the daycare center. Smartly, she doesn’t look away from me and continues to threateningly point the knife near my carotid artery.

“Maybe that’s true, or maybe not. I don’t know for sure. My name is Kathya. Have you ever heard of me?” I nod my head “no.” She seems to believe it. “Okay, have you ever heard of the Daughters of Athena?”

“No. Never heard of it, Kathya.”

Upon hearing me say her name, Kathya’s head turns slightly to her side. She doesn’t blink and stares directly into my weary eyes. I sense a small smile crack her militant façade. Then, she grabs my hand and pulls me up to my feet. She notices blood dripping from my right index finger.

“We have to get out of here. Now. The Daughters of Athena isn’t popular in these parts. My very presence here could spark an all-out gang war. Hurry!” And with that, Kathya takes my hand and sprints toward an abandoned pub. I struggle to keep up. Not only is she strong, but she’s also fast! She opens the door with a small key she takes out from her utility belt. Before I can catch my breath, Kathya pulls me into the building and slams the door shut. She locks it. I look around and see an empty bar that’s clearly been robbed of all its booze. Not even a spare chair can be seen.

“Follow me, Preston.”

Damn. Hearing her say my name brings shivers down my spine. It’s been a long time since I’ve engaged in such a lengthy conversation with a woman. Kathya isn’t very pretty, but she’s sturdy and confident – which can make someone appear more physically beautiful than the really are. Kathya leads me down a dark hall. At the end, we go into the bathroom. The toilet is gone, but that doesn’t matter since it doesn’t appear we’re here to take a joint piss. Kathya opens the bathroom cabinet hanging over the space where the toilet used to be, revealing a 10-digit security keypad.

“What the fuck?”

“Don’t tell anybody that this is here, got it?” She enters several digits. A “ding” sound comes from the ceiling. Then, Kathya walks over to the south-facing wall and pushes against it. A mysterious door opens. My jaw drops to the floor, metaphorically speaking. It leads down a long flight of stairs. But I’m still standing here, frozen and totally in shock.

“Yes, I know this is a lot for you to take in right now. But follow me, please.” I take a small step toward the door but stop. What the fuck is going on right now –

“PRESTON!”

“Uh, yes ma’am! I’m coming…” I follow her meekly down the staircase. It’s dimly lit, but thankfully there’s railing on both sides. I grab onto both rails and slowly descend. The door closes behind us without any of us doing anything to close it. What the hell is this place?

“This building used to be a speakeasy during Prohibition times,” Kathya explains. “The upstairs room used to be a diner that served meatloaf and cold potato salad. But downstairs is where flapper girls and rich Wall Street bankers used to party all night, get drunk, and have wild orgies till dawn. Even before The Singularity fucked up all of humanity, this speakeasy was a haven for radicals, extremists, and social outcasts. People like me.”

We stop at the bottom of the staircase. Up ahead is another short hallway. At the end is a large, imposing stone door.

Environmental destruction.

“A speakeasy, you say? That’s neat. I’ve read about them but never actually visited one.” My head is indeed swimming with a lot of new information. Not only is there some kind of radical underground street gang living here, they appear to be in some kind of turf war with another rival gang. How cool is that?

“Is there a secret password to get in through that door? Or do we need to enter another pass code?” I point to the stone door ahead of us.

“Unfortunately Preston, you aren’t going through that door.” Kathya has a look of regret on her face. I cannot figure out why and am about to ask her about it, until I feel a powerful blow against the back of my head.

I fall to the floor and immediately pass out, knocked out cold.

To be continued

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Truth or Dare (part two)

A sexy boudoir photoshoot.

Continued from part one

“Uh, I beg your pardon? Are you being serious right now?”

Shawna scoots closer to me on the couch, making my heart stop during mid-beat. I can feel the heat emanating from her body. She pats my right knee and tickles my thigh. My breathing stops. Then she leans over and kisses my neck. The hairs on the back of my head flutter in response. Her musky smell is unmistakable, yet it’s as sweet as perfume.

“Deadly serious, sweetheart,” she begins. “Like I said, I’m feeling adventurous tonight. What do you say?”

What else can I say? I figured I’d never be able to go “all the way” with her ever, but apparently tonight is my chance. Well, if you consider anal to be going all the way. Which, considering my dick hasn’t penetrated her at all up to this point, it sort of is. So what do I have to lose?

“I’d love to! Yeah, let’s do it.” With that reply of affirmation, Shawna excitedly gets up and scurries to her bedroom.

“Wait here, darling! I’ll be back in a jiffy.” Nervously, I remain seated on her sofa. My toes have curled up tightly, a sign that I’m feeling anxious. Can you blame me?

After what seemed like an eternity, Shawna returns to the living room with a bottle of scented oil. Peach seems to be what she selected. I’ve never seen her this giddy before! Her gorgeous eyes are open wide, she’s fidgety, and she cannot sit still to save her life. I can only imagine what the next few minutes are going to be like…

“It’s been a long time since I’ve done anal, but I know my body pretty well,” she says. After nodding her head at me, I begin to undress. Shawna is wearing sweatpants and an old college t-shirt. She’s already barefoot. I neatly pile my clothes in the corner of the room, with my phone and wallet lying on top if it. I’m already erect, which should come as no surprise to anyone. Soon, Shawna is completely nude as well. And she looks just as gorgeous as ever. She’s squatting heavier right now, which is evident by the advanced thickness of her thighs, hamstrings, and butt. God, her butt is perfect. So shapely, rounded, and full. I cannot believe I’m about to enter it in a short while.

Shawna isn’t wearing any makeup, which doesn’t matter because she’s a natural beauty. I swear she’s even more beautiful without makeup. But maybe I’m biased because I like her so much. She spreads a few blankets on the floor with the reverential meticulousness of a religious ceremony. Finally, she gets on her knees and wags a finger at me. I sit down next to her. We kiss. She strokes my hardened penis, tickles my scrotum, and sticks her tongue deep inside my mouth. Before I penetrate her, she wants to penetrate me first. She’s marking her territory. I do nothing but surrender to her authority.

Jessica Williams looking as hot as any woman can possibly look.

“The key to successful anal sex is adequately preparing the anus,” she explains with the serious candor of an academic. “Let’s oil up your fingers. Then, I want you to open me up.” Shawna dabs some of the sweet fluid onto my fingers. I cannot think. My brain is frozen. I can barely move. I need her to take control because I have no fucking clue what I’ve just gotten myself into! Next, Shawna gets on all fours and sticks her perfectly sculpted ass upward. My hand dripping with scented oil, I take a deep breath and observe where my fingers are about to go.

Her anus looks pretty.

Yes, that’s a rather strange observation to make, but it’s true. It’s dark brown. It’s small. It’s tight. It looks like a cosmic black hole, which is funny unto itself. She shaves her pubic hair, so the surrounding area is as smooth as it can be. Hesitantly, I stick my right index finger inside her. Slowly. Thankfully, I clipped my fingernails earlier this week (coincidentally, of course) so there’s no risk of inadvertently injuring her. I would never want to cause her any pain. Shawna moans in response to my penetration, which I hope is an indication I’m doing this right.

“Do you like that?”

“Yes, I do darling. Thank you!” Emboldened, I stick my entire index finger up her anus. It’s as tight as I’d imagine it would be. Shawna is breathing rhythmically, which keeps her relaxed. I stop, not knowing if I should continue or not. But she isn’t giving any signs that I’m hurting her. Then, I slowly stick my middle finger inside her, with my index finger still there. She groans louder, but still isn’t showing any hints of pain. I playfully experiment with thrusting my fingers in and out of her. In and out. In and out. Rhythmically. Leisurely. Shawna purrs like a kitten.

Hey, I think I’m getting the hang of this!

I move my fingers in a circular motion. She doesn’t speak. I can’t see her face, but I’m guessing her eyes are closed. She’s drinking in this moment. She’s feeling every sensation and treasuring it. Finally, I thrust my ring finger inside her, making it three total. Shawna is in heaven.

“Oh, fuck yeah…!”

Shawna rarely swears. She grew up Presbyterian, after all. So if she’s casually dropping the f-bomb, that means something.

“Oh, baby, you know how to please a lady.” Shawna drops her butt close to my knees. “I think you’ve adequately prepared me. Now let’s prepare you…”

She reaches over and snatches the bottle of oil. I hold my breath. Shawna drips a small amount onto her fingers, wraps them around my erection, and moistens me up. I try my hardest not to accidentally come prematurely! Once my manhood is glistening with lubrication, Shawna declares her desire to get the party started.

“You’re now ready. I’ve been ready. Let’s do this.”

Autumn Raby looking ready.

Oh boy. This is it. For all the marbles. It’s Game 7 of the World Series. Bottom of the 9th. Two outs. Down by three. Bases loaded. 3-2 count. This is where I need to come through in the clutch. This is my time! Time to prove my worth!

Dear God. I need to stop being so damn overdramatic.

I close my eyes, sigh, and open them slowly. I take a moment to observe how the light shining from the nearest ceiling fan perfectly shows off Shawna’s big muscles. They’re curvy, hard, strong, and unmistakably feminine. She’s breathing deeply, almost like she’s preparing to meditate on top of a snow-capped mountain for the next twenty years. I can feel my heart pounding a million beats per minute. Faster than a European techno remix album.

“What are you waiting for?” Shawna impatiently inquires. That wakes me out of my internal monologuing. I pat her on the butt for good measure.

“Uh, nothing.”

I pause. Then, I grab my penis. It’s still erect, as hard as it can be. It’s also dripping wet. With my left hand, I hold on to her left hip. Her denseness turns me on further. With my right hand, I grip the base of my penis. The tip hovers over her prepared entryway. Shawna’s breathing has steadied. I can stay like this forever, but that wouldn’t do either of us any good. So, I go in for the kill.

Gradually, I squeeze the broad head of my manhood inside her anus. It’s difficult at first, but the lube definitely helps. Shawna moans. I’m too nervous to feel any kind of pleasure. Once the whole tip is inside, I brace both of her hips and push in all the way. Inch by inch. As methodically as I can handle it. Once I’m completely inside, Shawna playfully wiggles her butt from side to side.

“Oh, damn. Mmmmmmm. I love this!” Shawna exclaims.

Fully confident, I move in and out of her rhythmically. She’s so tight, despite the work my fingers did earlier. Once I get past the initial shock of realizing that my dick is inside a beautiful muscular woman’s anal cavity, I begin to enjoy the experience.

“Ooh, this is different…” my braindead self observes aloud. “I also love this!”

Still on all fours, Shawna’s moans turn to growls. I cannot even begin to describe the noises I’m making. We must look like wild animals mating in the jungle. The primitive position we’re in, mixed with our involuntary guttural noises, is very beast-like. But we are two wild beasts. In this moment, Shawna and I are no longer human beings living in the civilized world. We are primordial creatures experiencing selfish pleasure for its own sake. Shawna has stopped moving, choosing to only experience my thrusting. My pace quickens in anticipation of my inevitable climax. I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.

“Oh fuck!” Shawna screams.

“Ohhh!” I also scream.

One final powerful thrust later, I collapse on top of Shawna’s massive body as I empty myself into her. On and on my spurts last, as if she’s draining every drop out of me. She can have all of it if she wants. Shawna falls to the floor on her tummy. Her heavy breathing lifts me off the ground – up and down, up and down, up and down. We stay like that for several minutes. I lean over and kiss the mounds of her back muscles. She’s as wide as a freight train.

Whew.

This is what Shawna’s living room looks like.

Eventually, I roll off her. We face each other on our sides on top of the blankets. My softened penis dangles freely. Shawna pinches it playfully. One last tiny drop of semen leaks out. It drips onto the blanket. Shawna giggles. Then we kiss. The tips of our tongues do a little dance. We continue to kiss for the next four or five minutes. When will we stop?

Finally, Shawna stands up. She rubs her sore anus and twists her torso from side to side, causing her back to make a distinctive cracking sound. She groans in pain. I cannot believe how loud it is! I guess all those years of heavy weightlifting has taken its toll on Shawna’s body. Her physique is eyepopping, but it does come at a cost. She then notices me noticing her back cracking. I can tell she quickly wants to change the subject.

“That was amazing, darling.” Shawna leans over and kisses me, possessing me with her lips. After her momentary display of vulnerability, she wants nothing more than to reassert her power and dominance. “I need to clean myself off. But when I get back, it’ll be your turn in our little Truth or Dare game. Be right back!”

Shawna disappears into the bathroom. I remain on the floor, laying on top of a pile of comfy blankets. But I cannot help but still think about what just happened. For the first time ever, Shawna was vulnerable. She looked insecure. Was she thinking about aging? Is being with me a reminder that she’s no longer a young woman, but a woman approaching middle age? Like I said before, I have no idea how old she is. But she must be 15 or maybe 20 years older than me. She’s as gorgeous as a supermodel and the crow’s feet around her eyes do not diminish her considerable beauty one bit.

A bottle of sensual oil.

Hm. Maybe I’m overthinking things here. Which is funny considering I just made love to her!

Well, anally made love to her. Which is the same thing, right?

Uh, right?

My train of thought is shattered when Shawna sneaks up behind me and lifts me up off the floor. I gasp. She kisses my neck and playfully wrestles me onto the couch. We laugh. After a few moments of silence, I finally speak.

“Okay. You gave me a dare. I’ll give you a truth. Are you ready?”

She sits up and crosses her massive legs. “Ready as I’ll ever be!”

“Great,” I begin. I take a deep breath to gin up the courage to ask my question.

“Does size matter?”

A Female Bodybuilder Christmas Carol (part 2 of 3)

When you think of Gail, picture in your mind DeeAnn Donovan.

Continued from part one

After brushing his teeth and taking a quick hot shower, Ebenezer Scrooge goes to his bedroom so that he can get to sleep for real. No naps in his lounge chair. No awful Chinese take-out. No cheap brandy that’ll mess with his head the next morning. None of that shit. Scrooge is trying to forget the conversation he had with the deceased Jacob Marley, but how the hell can you possibly get that out of your mind?

It’s not every day that your dead business partner returns to the land of the living with the intent of delivering an ominous message involving ghosts or whatever.

Sheesh.

The grandfather clock sitting in his bedroom says it is a quarter past midnight. It’s technically Christmas, if that’s significant of anything. Scrooge doesn’t think so. He wonders if Fred’s party is still going on. But he decides he doesn’t actually care. It’s not like he’d ever get properly dressed and drive over there to see if it’s still popping. No, that would be absurd. He’ll settle for dreaming about ghosts instead.

Scrooge turns off the light and tucks himself in bed. A picture of he and Gail from a random bodybuilding contest in 1993 still sits on his bedside table. He has no intention of placing it in the dresser drawer so that it can be forgotten. For whatever reason, Scrooge still thinks about her. Not so much his three other wives. They can all rot in Hell where they belong. There was something about Gail that causes her to still linger in his cold heart. Something special…

He closes his eyes and promptly falls asleep.

Minutes pass. The grandfather clock strikes one. But it is not the clock’s chime that wakes him up. No, it’s instead the agonizing sound of a tapping on his window. Scrooge alertly sits up, breathing hard. Sweat is pouring down his face. He knows what’s about to happen. He dreads with every fiber of his being the frightening presence of the first spirit Jacob foretold. Scrooge stands up and walks toward the window. Should he open it and let the ghost in? Do ghosts need to be let in, like a dog who’s just taken a shit in the front yard? He never was very religious or took much serious thought about the supernatural. But he decides to open the latch of the window anyway.

A blue streak of light sashays into Scrooge’s bedroom. It twirls, dances, flutters up and down, and eventually stands still in the middle of the room. The light expands, forming a large blue disc that spins in a circle like a flying saucer from an H.G. Wells novel. The disc grows taller, with Scrooge being able to clearly see the shape of a human being inside it. The figure is hunched over. The blue light explodes suddenly, sending Scrooge hurling backwards onto his bed.

“Dear God! Ow!” Scrooge hits his head against the wall. The light dies down. The figure stands up straight and turns toward him. Like a proper host, Scrooge – still wearing his pajamas – attempts to greet it with a certain level of formality and politeness.

“Are you the first spirit who’s coming was foretold?” Scrooge asks. Once his eyes are able to adjust to the darkness, he is better able to see who this ghost is. It appears to be…

…a naked young woman.

Oh wow. Scrooge feels a tingle run down his spine. He may have also felt a surge of electricity enter his groin. When was the last time that shit happened? Scrooge cannot recall. The ghostly figure appears to be floating in mid-air. The blue light has faded, but her angelic glow remains. The spirit turns toward Scrooge and speaks.

The Ghost of Christmas Past looks just like Rachel McLish.

“Yes, I am. Good evening, Ebenezer.” Scrooge peers closely at the spirit. He gasps when he sees her face. The ghost bears an uncanny resemblance to Tanya Morganthall, one of the most famous female bodybuilders of the 1970s. Tall, brunette, with striking brown eyes, Tanya revolutionized the sport. She introduced female bodybuilding to the world by exploding onto the scene after being discovered at a small gym in San Diego. It was her appearance on the cover of the September 1974 issue of Fit & Sporty Magazine that changed Ebenezer’s life forever. Her graceful beauty combined with sleek, angular muscles shifted his paradigm: the way he viewed femininity, womanhood, beauty, and bodybuilding. He hid a copy of the magazine underneath his mattress and used it whenever he felt the, uh, “need” to use it. Scrooge may still own it even today.

“My God. You strike a remarkable resemblance to, uh, Tanya Morganthall,” Scrooge squeaks with the nervousness of a school boy talking to a cute girl for the first time. “You aren’t her, are you?”

The spirit giggles, then comes close to Ebenezer. He feels his pulse racing. “Of course not. The real Tanya Morganthall is happily retired in Lubbock, Texas. She’s now a grandmother of four. No, I am merely an apparition that looks like her. I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.”

“The Ghost of Christmas Past? How quaint!” Ebenezer scoffs. “What are you going to do? Take me back in time so that I can see how my terrible decisions decades ago forged a path for me to become the grumpy old miser I am today?”

The Ghost of Christmas Past looks stunned. She blinks several times. “Uh, yeah. That’s sort of the plan. Huh. Good for you, knowing what I’m here for,” she begins. “Shall we get to it? Might as well.”

Scrooge stands up to regard the spirit closer. Sure enough, she looks exactly like a youthful Tanya Morganthall. In the nude. Floating in the air. Scrooge met the real Tanya Morganthall once, at a party twenty-eight years ago in Last Vegas. He hit on her, but she rebuked his advances. She was already married and had a child. But Ebenezer never let reality get in the way of him pursuing his fantasies.

“Yes, spirit. Let’s get this party started.” Scrooge puts on a nightcap, as if he’ll actually need it. The Ghost of Christmas Past extends her hand and Scrooge delightfully takes it. The window, which is already cracked opened, shatters into a million pieces. Scrooge, guided by the spirit’s magical touch, flies off into the distance. The horizon explodes with an intense white light that forces him to close his eyes. He can feel the freezing air cascading off his body. He’s flying, but he feels more like he’s floating. It’s strange.

A grandfather clock.

When Ebenezer opens his eyes, he finds himself situated inside a familiar motel bedroom. It’s December 25, 1989. Early evening. It’s somewhere along the Oregon coast. The small picturesque bed and breakfast establishment is perfect for a romantic getaway. That’s exactly where Ebenezer and his future first wife, Gail, were staying on this fateful evening. The room is empty, cold, and dark. Just as Ebenezer was going to ask the spirit a question, he hears joyful laughter off into the distance.

“What a gorgeous evening. What a perfect day this has been, Ebenezer!”

Scrooge immediately recognizes this voice. It’s Gail! He hasn’t spoken to her in decades. They met a few months prior at a photoshoot in Venice Beach. He was enthralled by her. She was too. And when he promised her stardom, she couldn’t resist him. Ebenezer hears the sound of the door being unlocked. Suddenly, it opens. Scrooge nearly dies of a heart attack when he sees the figures of two familiar individuals walking in.

It’s him and Gail!

Albeit, both of them are a lot younger. Nearly 30 years younger, to be exact. Ebenezer marvels at his dark hair, fit physique, and stylish clothing. Why doesn’t he look that good anymore? And Gail looks just as stunning as ever. Long dirty blonde hair, deep blue eyes, and muscles to spare. She was wearing a red overcoat that made her look like royalty. By his standards, she was royalty. The Ghost of Christmas Past guides Ebenezer to the far corner of the room. It then occurs to him whether or not they can see them.

“Are they able to see us, spirit?” he asks.

“No, Ebenezer. These are mere shadows of events that have come before. They are not real, just as I am not real. You are witnessing history, not an active participant of it,” the ghost explains. “They can neither see nor hear us.”

It is at that exact moment that Ebenezer remembers why this evening is so important. It is the first time they ever made love. Before, she kept a strict “respectable Catholic woman” distance from her new boyfriend. But today, she felt comfortable enough around him to shed that visage. Tonight, she was going to allow him to have her. In every way he desires.

“I know what comes next,” Ebenezer whispers to the spirit.

“I know you do,” The Ghost of Christmas Past smirks.

Young Ebenezer and Gail kiss. They drop their shopping bags, then kiss so deeply that even Old Ebenezer can feel his blood boil. The Ghost of Christmas Past watches with a keen sense of emotional detachment. After their lips come apart, Ebenezer approaches the fireplace and lights it. Gail enters the bathroom to change.

“I’ll be right out, my love,” Gail reassures her boyfriend.

Young Ebenezer removes his boots, coat, and hat. Soon, Gail reenters the room wearing nothing but stockings and black lingerie with crotchless panties. She looks beyond comparison. Both Young and Old Ebenezer’s jaws drop. She’s flawless. Gail’s muscles are accentuated by the fire’s orange glow. She poses for him, showcasing her 18-inch biceps and broad shoulders. Not a single inch of her body is weak or soft. She’s 195 pounds of pure female muscle. Standing at a modest 5’ 6”, she packs a punch – both literally and figuratively.

Gail jumps on Young Ebenezer and tackles him to the bed. They laugh, kiss, and touch each other. Young Ebenezer strips naked and takes his turn showing off his well sculpted body. Back then, Ebenezer also was an amateur bodybuilder, though he never had any dreams of competing. He was more interested in the business side of the industry. But that didn’t stop him from lifting and eating like an elite competitor.

Old Ebenezer takes a step toward the bed. He remembers every moment of this encounter as if it had happened last week. He’s been with many women in his life, but none of them quite like Gail. None of them had her strength, fortitude, confidence, intelligence, drive, and sweet personality. He’s yet to meet a woman who can match her. He’ll probably be searching for the rest of his life.

With the romantic glow of the fire filling the room, Gail mounts Young Ebenezer and allows his erect manhood to enter her inch by inch. He’s hard as steel, pulsating with desire, and ready to give her what she desires. She rides him like a cowgirl riding a prized stallion. Young Ebenezer reaches toward her engorged clitoris, which is bouncing up and down with rhythmic delight. It’s the biggest he’s ever seen by far. With his moist fingers he strokes her clit until she starts to moan so loudly he was afraid the guests in the next room could hear them. But at this point, he doesn’t give a fuck if they can.

In fact, he wants the entire world to know that he’s making love to The Most Beautiful Woman on Planet Earth.

Gail knows her orgasm is reaching its apex. Young Ebenezer senses he’s about to come too. She lowers her face toward his and playfully bites his lower lip. It begins to bleed. Mere seconds later both of them come together. He empties himself inside her. Gail revels in the naughty feeling of his warm seed entering her fertile womb. It feels both wrong and right at the same time. Just for good measure, Gail reaches down and masturbates her clit just as Young Ebenezer’s last final spurts subside. She gives herself a second orgasm and collapses on top of her lover.

Romantic fireplace.

They remain still for several moments, out of breath and dripping with sweat. Old Ebenezer feels his erection straining against his underwear. Does The Ghost of Christmas Past know this? He’s too embarrassed to ask.

“This is the first time you made love to her, isn’t it? On Christmas night?” The Ghost of Christmas Past asks rhetorically. She already knows the answer to her question, so why ask it?

“Yes, spirit.” Old Ebenezer’s gaze is still fixated on the two naked lovers lying in bed together. “This was also the night that I fell in love with her. Before, I had only lusted after her. For good reason, I might add! But it was this evening, this Christmas evening, when I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.”

“But…” the Ghost of Christmas Past wisely points out. “you didn’t end up being with her for all eternity?”

Old Ebenezer finally turns toward the spirit, looking directly at her. “You’re right. We got married, enjoyed a blissful life together for five years, then divorced. I was heartbroken. But she felt…liberated by it. I could never understand why.”

“Hm. That does seem odd.” The orange glow of the fireplace suddenly dies out. The room becomes dark, then disappears altogether. Ebenezer and the spirit are standing next to each other in a black vortex. “Let’s skip ahead to the moment when your relationship started to fall apart. This may enlighten you or frighten you. Only you will know.”

“Okay,” he responds meekly.

The blackness dissipates. Ebenezer now finds himself standing in a movie studio. It’s Christmas Eve, 1993. Scrooge recalls this evening just as perfectly as the night he and Gail first made love. They’re in Los Angeles at a cheap b-level film studio. The type of studio where low-budget campy horror movies and artless pornos are shot. At this moment it’s being used for a porno.

“No! I’m not going to do this! Absolutely not, Ebenezer!” Gail screams at the top of her lungs.

It’s four years later. Young Ebenezer is pleading his case, but to no avail. Earlier that day he impulsively decided to rent out the studio space for a few hours. The studio is always busy with various projects going on, but not tonight. It is Christmas Eve, after all. No filmmaker or crew would want to work tonight. So, here he and Gail are, alongside Monique, a Nigerian-born former marathon runner turned pro bodybuilder. Monique and Gail have become great friends. So great that Ebenezer suggested they do some “girl-on-girl” scenes together. Gail thought her husband was joking, she so went along with it. Little did she know that he was being dead serious.

“Why not? Come on, do it for me,” Young Ebenezer begs. “It’ll make us tons of money. You know the direction the industry is going, Gail. If a woman bodybuilder wants to be financially successful, she can’t just be a competitor. There’s no money in that. At least, not consistently. You have to earn an income doing other things.”

“Other things?” Gail shouts back. “You mean porn? Smut? What the fuck are you thinking! I don’t do shit like that. You know that! This is dirty and gross.”

Monique is standing by awkwardly. As a bi-sexual immigrant black woman who speaks broken English, she’s accustomed to doing “whatever is necessary” to earn enough money to eat and pay the bills. She’s done lots of porn throughout the years. She’s done scenes with men, women, bodybuilders, non-bodybuilders, and everything else in between. She doesn’t do animals, though. Monique has a little bit of self-respect!

Young Ebenezer switches off the camera. It’s sitting on a rusty old tripod that’s so decrepit Ed Wood probably once used it. Monique is completely nude, her hypermuscular body greased up with baby oil in order to make it shine. Gail is still fully clothed, but her emotions are as raw as can be. She has her enormous arms crossed in front of her chest.

Monique = Desiree Ellis.

“Come on, baby. I know you don’t usually do this,” Ebenezer implores. “But listen to me. This is the way things are now. Remember that VHS thing Dawn Longfellow did a few years back? God damn, it practically resurrected her fucking career! And that was the very definition of smut…”

“For the love of God, Ebenezer!” Gail smacks a nearby light stand, making it wobble around but not fall down. “Dawn is a slut. I’m not like her. I don’t want my family to see me do stuff like this!” Monique sits down on a chair and mutters something unintelligible to herself. Gail storms off to the dressing room.

“Gail! God damn it, Gail! Get back here. This isn’t my choice. This is what we have to do if you want female bodybuilding to survive.” Old Scrooge cringes at the sight of his younger self screaming so relentlessly at his current wife. The Ghost of Christmas Past glances at Monique and sees she wants to be anywhere but here. Old Scrooge notices how offended his younger self looks at his wife’s insistence that she not do anything against her wishes. How could his younger self be so heartless?

“Stop it, Ebenezer,” Monique chimes in. “If she doesn’t want to do this, then she shouldn’t.”

“Shut up!” Young Ebenezer snaps. He chases after his wife down the hallway. Deep down inside he knows she won’t do this “girl-on-girl” scene. But how can she be so blind? Does she actually think she can earn a steady living just being a competitor? No. You have to make money any which way you can. And the WCBF cannot stay afloat unless they get “creative” in earning more revenue. That’s what Ebenezer and his new business partner, Jacob Marley, discussed with shareholders at last month’s meeting.

Old Ebenezer puts his head down in shame. “My God. How foolish was I? I alienated my own wife. Over what? A fucking low-budget porno? Why was I so stupid?”

“Stupidity isn’t the only reason.” The Ghost of Christmas Past lays her muscular forearm against Scrooge’s shoulder. “You were also prideful. You and Jacob were so sure you knew how to revive the female bodybuilding industry from its inevitable demise. You two wanted to return it back to its former glory of the ‘70s and ‘80s. And you thought blue movies were the answer.”

“I thought they were!” Scrooge defends himself helplessly.

“For some, yes. But not for all. Not everyone wants to do that. And they shouldn’t be forced to, either.”

Monique and the film set fade off into the black nothingness from whence it came from. Scrooge and The Ghost of Christmas Past are alone in the void.

“Is that the lesson I must learn? That I took the WCFB in the wrong direction? That me and Jacob were wrong?” Scrooge fights off a sneeze that is about to explode at the wrong time.

“No, not exactly. That’s one lesson, sure. But not the only one. The other spirit shall show you more, Ebenezer.” The Ghost of Christmas Past also begins to fade away, slowly but surely. Soon, she is just a voice speaking without a body.

“Good luck!”

And with that, Ebenezer is transported back to his bedroom in the blink of an eye. He glances up at the clock. It is 2:00 a.m. on the dot. The grandfather clock chimes two times, as if on cue. Then, music starts to play downstairs. In the same living room Jacob Marley’s ghost made his glorious entrance. This time, without fear, Ebenezer Scrooge trots downstairs to see what all the commotion is about. The music is Dean Martin’s rendition of “Let it Snow! Let is Snow! Let it Snow!”

As much of a grumpy miser as he is, Scrooge admits that he secretly loves this song!

For some unexplainable reason, the home gym has returned. Except Jacob Marley isn’t here deadlifting. Instead, someone is squatting. 405 pounds! Holy shit…

“Are you the second spirit whose coming was foretold?” The ghostly figure continues to squat, as if it hadn’t heard Scrooge’s question.

“Give me a moment!” a female voice with an Eastern European accent demands. The voice is exotic but not angelic. Finally, she finishes her final repetition and reracks the bar. It makes a loud clanking sound. Scrooge’s heart skips a beat. It skips even more beats after he sees what this second spirit looks like.

Dripping sweat and breathing loudly, a bulky woman with thick muscles, long brown hair, and hazel eyes wearing nothing but a red and green sports bra and skin-tight shorts walks toward Scrooge. She is a dead ringer for Elena Bourean, a world-class female bodybuilder from Romania. Miss Bourean has won the WCBF Heavyweight Women’s Bodybuilding Title eight years in a row. Unless Scrooge decides to change his mind about eliminating the FBB Division, she won’t be able to win a ninth.

“Good evening. I had to get a quick workout in before we go on our little adventure,” she begins, extending her hand toward Scrooge. He shakes it. Her strong grip almost causes every bone in his hand to shatter. “I am The Ghost of Christmas Present. How are you doing, Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge?”

Ghost of Christmas Present = Alina Popa. Duh!

Scrooge tries to not show that he is in pain from the handshake. He doubts he’s a good enough actor to hide it. “To be honest, spirit, my mind is spinning. I’ve experienced a lot so far. It’s not every day that spirits from the Other World come to Earth and interact with me. So you’ll excuse me if I seem out of sorts.”

“Out of sorts? That’s an understatement! Want a cup of hot cider? I get tired of Gatorade day in and day out,” The Ghost of Christmas Present says. She goes over to a stove top (because apparently there’s a stove in the living room, along with a squat rack!) and pours a glass of cider for her guest. “Come in and know me better, man!”

The Elena Bourean lookalike hands Scrooge the glass of cider. He sips it.

“Holy shit, that’s good. That sure hits the spot, especially on a cold winter night like this,” Scrooge proclaims. He chugs the rest. The Ghost of Christmas Present smiles. “Where did you learn to make cider this delicious?”

“Oh, when you’re a ghost you have lots of spare time on your hands.” The Ghost of Christmas Present pours herself a glass of cider too. “Speaking of which, why didn’t you attend your nephew’s Christmas party? Fred knows how to throw a party, if you know what I mean!”

Scrooge sits down on the sofa and sighs. “I don’t know, spirit. I’m not a very sociable person. I prefer to be alone, crunching numbers and doing bookkeeping tasks. I’m afraid I don’t know what to do at parties. I’d be at a loss.” The Ghost of Christmas Present finishes her cider. Scrooge marvels at her flawless physique. He cannot stop staring at her chiseled abdomen. She indeed looks just like Elena Bourean, just as The Ghost of Christmas Past was a doppelganger of Tanya Morganthall. Whoever is in control of the Other World sure knows the right people to replicate when sending ghosts down to the Real World!

“At a loss? Golly, that sounds stressful,” the spirit replies with genuine compassion.

“It can be. Which is why I avoid parties and any other kind of social gathering. Does that make me a horrible person, spirit?”

“Not at all,” she begins. “However, that does mean you do miss out on seeing the other side of your company’s business.” The Ghost of Christmas Present wipes off her gorgeous face with a towel that manifests out of nowhere.

“What other side?” Scrooge is truly perplexed.

“Oh, the side of the WCBF you don’t always see,” she says. “The social side of it. The human side. Not the side that’s only concerned with money, sustainability, and the bottom line.”

“I assume you’re going to show me this?”

The Ghost of Christmas Present winks. It sends shivers down Scrooge’s old spine. “Of course! What were you expecting?” And with that, the spirit extends her hand. Tentatively, Scrooge takes it. But this time, her grip isn’t oppressively strong. It’s more nurturing. A tornado-like swirl of wind and light surrounds them. The music fades away, as does the images of Scrooge’s house. Ten seconds later he finds himself in a large ballroom sometime in the present day.

A larger-than-life Christmas tree adorns the whole room. There are people everywhere – drinking, eating, talking, dancing, and celebrating as if they don’t have a care in the world. It takes a brief moment, but Scrooge soon starts to recognize the people in the ballroom. It’s bodybuilders! And their wives and husbands. Male and female competitors, retired athletes, photographers, personal trainers, sponsors, magazine writers and editors, and significant others are enjoying the evening’s frivolities. Scrooge knows many of them, if not all of them. Once again, he can see them but they cannot see him. Nor can he touch them or interact with anyone. Just like before.

A lavish Christmas party.

“What is this? Who’s party is this?” Scrooge asks. But before his tour guide can answer, a familiar man walks onto a dais near the DJ and approaches the microphone.

“Welcome, everybody! Thank you for being here! I love each and every one of you,” Mr. Fezziwig announces to the crowd. The room erupts in applause. Daniel Fezziwig is the CEO of WBBA, the World Bodybuilding Association. It’s the parent company that owns the West Coast Bodybuilding Federation. Ebenezer once worked for the WBBA after he left the WCBF. He learned so much about business administration from Fezziwig. After six years working with him, Scrooge returned to the WCBF once the executive job became vacant. While he and Fezziwig didn’t always see eye-to-eye, he always respected him as a man and as a…

…friend?

“Welcome to the annual Fezziwig Christmas Gala! It’s so great to see many world-class athletes in one room. Thankfully no urine test will be required before you leave!” Everyone in the room laughs heartily. Even Scrooge cracks a smile. “All kidding aside, I’m grateful that we’re able to host this party here in the Emerald City. It’s too bad my old friend Ebenezer Scrooge wasn’t able to come this evening. Then again, he probably wouldn’t want to come even if he could!”

The crowd boos at the sound of Ebenezer Scrooge’s name. Looking around at his colleagues expressing their displeasure toward him, Scrooge is deeply hurt. The Ghost of Christmas Present takes notice of this emotional reaction.

As Fezziwig continues to give his spiel, out of the corner of his eye Scrooge sees a familiar face. It’s Bobbi Cratchit! And she’s with her son, Tim. Tim looks to be about five years old. He’s quite tiny but carries around a lot of confidence. Just like his mother. Bobbi and her son are alone in the corner, drinking punch and eating cookies. Bobbi is dressed in a classy black cocktail dress. Her muscles are visible for all to see. Tim looks adorable wearing a small faux tuxedo.

Suddenly, the room grows quiet. Fezziwig is about to reveal who the guest performer will be! Apparently, the guest performer is supposed to showcase some sort of routine that’s a combination of dance, stylized movement, and traditional bodybuilding poses. Everyone waits with bated breath. Even Scrooge. Especially Bobbi, since she heard a rumor that this year it’s going to be a woman whom Fezziwig selects.

“Without further ado, this year’s guest performer will be…” he teases, enjoying the intoxicating power he has over his esteemed guests. “Gail Moore!!!”

The whole room erupts in a bedlam of cheering and applause.

Gail Moore? Scrooge knows exactly who that is.

It’s his first wife. The love of his life. With a new married name.

Continued in part three

eBook Preview – “Muscle Love: Confessions of a Muscle Worshipper”

Muscle Love

I don’t often endorse products, but I came across a new eBook that fans of female bodybuilders should consider purchasing: Muscle Love: Confessions of a Muscle Worshipper.

The authors, Richard and Jayne Greye, contacted me about promoting their new book on my blog. I joyfully obliged. Here’s a summary that they provided me:

Jacket Cover: Meet Rick, the guy-next-door with a muscle fetish that started at eighteen with an encounter with an older, muscular woman. This full-length novel follows his quest to explore his obsession with muscular women and his struggle to reconcile this need with the rest of his life. He hides this side of himself, satisfying his urges in clandestine liaisons, until he meets a woman with the desire to get big and revels in her transformation. But what happens when she surpasses his fantasies and wants to dominate him? “Muscle Love” is a full-length novel which is both a compelling emotional and physical growth story as the two main characters deal with loss and find redemption in each other and their shared interest in strength. Their story is filled with difficulties, sexual discoveries and in the end, a new understanding of what it means to be strong.

Sounds intriguing! I haven’t read it myself – I hardly have any free time anymore – but I highly encourage all of you to download it and enjoy it at your leisure. Here’s how you can buy it:

Amazonhttps://www.amazon.com/dp/B07H6Y2HSY

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/895860

Applehttps://itunes.apple.com/us/book/muscle-love-confessions-of-a-muscle-worshipper/id1436735652

Interested in learning more about the author? Read this interview with Richard featured on Smashwords’ website:

Interview: https://www.smashwords.com/interview/JayneGreye

Know of any other female muscle-themed fiction books out there? I’ve personally read Chemical Pink and Devil and Disciple – The Temptation. Both are must-reads for FBB fans. Let me know in the comments below.

Sexy Summer Short Story #5 – It’s Getting Hot in Here

Hot in here - Lynn McCrossin

The late Lynn McCrossin. May she rest in peace.

“Enough chit chat. Let’s get down to business!”

Madeline stands up, positions herself right in front of Max, and shows him her double biceps pose. Max remains sitting on the bed, captivated by her flawless physique. She knows she’s got him mesmerized in every way possible and is enjoying every moment of it. Madeline has seen her fair share of guys for muscle worship sessions, but she never tires of the feeling of being adored, revered, and lusted after.

“So hard. So powerful,” Max observes in a trance-like state. “You’re even bigger than the last time I saw you. And you were ridiculously huge even then.” Cupping her bicep peak in the palm of his hand, Max feels his manhood swell with arousal.

“Thanks, sweetie. Good eye for detail,” she says. “In fact, I am a little bigger than I was last year. I’m trying to move up a category the next time I compete.”

By now Max has moved his hands down to feel her hardened abdomen. Madeline’s six-pack abs are more pronounced now since she plans to compete in Europe in seven weeks. As a professional female bodybuilder, Madeline has placed high in several prominent bodybuilding contests across the world – spanning the globe from the United States to Europe to Africa to Australia to Central America to Southeast Asia.

Unfortunately, despite her impressive accomplishments, Madeline doesn’t make enough money doing these competitions. She has a part-time job teaching yoga to little old ladies in retirement homes, but even that doesn’t come close to paying the bills. So, she has to earn money on the side through “alternative” means.

Muscle worship and fantasy wrestling appointments are those means.

And Max – and lots of men (and occasionally women) like him – are her clients.

In Max’s case, this is his third time seeing Madeline. He first saw her five years ago when he was a nervous 19-year-old kid meeting his first ever real-life female bodybuilder. Ever since he was a little boy he’s always had a strange and unexplainable fascination with muscular women. He never could figure out why. They just turned him on more than “traditionally” beautiful women. Of course, he kept this a secret. And he’s pretty sure his mom never discovered the elicit bodybuilding magazines he had hidden underneath the bed.

So when he saw on a bodybuilding forum that Madeline – a woman he’s had a crush on for several years – was travelling to his city, he couldn’t let this opportunity go. He had to pursue this chance to meet her in-person. And he did. Then he did a second time. And now, he’s seeing her for a third time.

Usually they meet at an upscale hotel in the downtown area, but not today. Due to a major comic book convention happening this weekend, Madeline had to settle for a cheaper motel located outside the main city. Oh well. Her fans will follow her to the ends of the Earth for the chance to touch her heavenly body.

Hot in here - motel

A typical motel. Nothing fancy. Just a place to sleep.

“Your calves…my God…so dense,” Max whispers. Madeline accommodates him by raising her right leg and flexing her calf. Wearing a sexy crimson red bikini, Madeline reflects on all the guys she regularly sees. Most of them are men in their 40s and 50s. Very few are in their 30s, never mind their 20s. But alas, here’s Max enjoying the company of a woman like her. Big, tall, bulky, muscular, eye-popping, pretty, and infinitely confident. There aren’t a whole lot of women like Madeline in this world.

Max has moved on to her backside, admiring her curvy butt and broad back. He lightly pats both of her butt cheeks and she wiggles her hips for him.

“You like a woman’s ass?” Madeline asks.

“I like your ass!”

Madeline smirks and bends forward, inviting Max to further explore her glutes. He is glad to oblige.

***

Meanwhile, a motel employee is putting a large batch of bed sheets into an industry-sized dryer machine. It’s just a typically boring day at the office for her.

It’s almost lunchtime – and as any normal human being can testify to, it’s easy to mentally check out when you have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and bag of Funyuns on your mind. Right now, this employee has forgotten to clean out the lint trap before putting in the new load.

Statistically speaking, it’s exceedingly rare for a piece of hot lint to catch fire and burn down a building. Rare. But not impossible.

“God, it’s hot in here. No air conditioning, no windows, no nothing,” she complains. “Fuck this. Time for lunch.”

She closes the dryer hatch, sets it to the default cycle for white linen, and walks away to the staff break room. Little did she – and every single person in this motel at this particular moment – know that a disaster of epic proportions is about to occur just a few minutes later.

***

Thirty-six minutes later, Max is sitting on the bed watching Madeline take off her bikini. He’s in awe as she exposes her breasts and genitalia to him. Her boobs are small (she’s chosen not to get implants), but her clitoris is definitely not. She’s not erect yet, but Max still cannot believe she’s that large down there.

“You’re perfect,” he begins. “An impeccable beauty.”

Madeline is accustomed to compliments and does not blink an eye.

“Thank you sweet thing. Thank you.” She approaches him and helps Max strip nude himself. First, she removes his socks. Then she pulls down his jeans after Max unbuckles his belt. Soon, both she and her client are completely naked. Madeline peers out of the corner of her eye at the bedside clock and sees she has about fifteen minutes left with him. Time to end this session on a high note.

And to give him quite a surprise!

“I’ve got a surprise for you, Max,” she says. “I really like you and you’re a great guy. Do you want to go all the way?”

Max’s eyes widen. Did he hear her right? Did she just offer what he thinks she offered him?

“Uh, yeah! I guess…are you being serious?”

Without saying a word, Madeline walks over to her luggage and takes out a box of condoms. She selects a packet, opens the foil, and returns to the bed.

“Deadly serious…”

Max silently nods his head in approval. Taking that as her cue, Madeline hops on the bed and tickles Max’s scrotum. He closes his eyes and moans. Wanting to take in every sensual moment, he lies down and allows Madeline to do whatever the hell she wants to do. Eventually, Max’s penis is completely erect, ready to enter Madeline. She dutifully rolls the latex condom onto his penis and climbs on top of him.

“Oh my…you look so sexy right now…” Max finally opens his eyes and looks at Madeline’s beautiful face. “I’ve dreamt of this moment ever since I first met you.”

Madeline slowly lowers herself onto Max’s erection. Facing him “cowgirl style,” she finally takes in his entire penis and deliberately sways back and forth. Her client groans and grabs her fists. Holding hands, Madeline rides him like a stallion until Max sniffs something unusual in the air.

“Um, do you smell that?”

Madeline stops making love to him and raises her nose. She sniffs and shakes her head.

“I have a bad sense of smell. Sorry ‘bout that,” she concedes. “However, it is getting a bit humid in here. I think I have the A/C turned on…”

She resumes making love to Max by raising and lowering her pelvis. Unfortunately, he’s distracted by the distinct odor of smoke filling the room.

“I think something’s on fire…maybe not here, but somewhere else,” he says.

“It’s getting hot in here,” she concedes. “That I can tell. That is rather strange.”

Hot in here - fire

A firefighter doing what they do best.

All of a sudden, a loud blaring noise bursts through the building. Ear-piercing and relentless, Madeline and Max immediately know what this sound signifies. It’s the fire alarm!

“Fuck! You’re right!” Madeline screams. “Something is on fire! Fuuuuuuuck!!!”

Both of them jump out of bed and run toward the door. A voice cracks across the PA system – neither Madeline nor Max knew the motel had a PA system to begin with – announcing:

“Attention guests and staff! This is not a drill. There is a fire in the building. Please leave your rooms immediately and head to the nearest exit now!”

Still naked, Madeline and Max don’t think about their nude state because their survival instincts have kicked in. They burst through the door and sprint down the hallway. A small handful of other people are doing the same. At the far side of the hallway is an emergency exit that leads to the south parking lot. A sea of desperate human beings surge through the door to escape certain doom.

White smoke fills the hallways. Nobody running saw it, but an orange glow can be seen pouring out of a door marked “Employees Only” at the opposite side of the building. The sprinkler system has activated, soaking everyone in its path.

“Run for your life!” Madeline shouts.

“Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!” Max exclaims to anyone who is willing to listen.

Moments later the motel parking lot is full of a few dozen people in various states of dress. One young woman is topless. A little girl has no pants on. A middle-aged businessman is wearing only a towel, evident that he’d been taking a shower when the fire alarm started to shriek. Most of the people don’t have shoes on. The five motel employees are fully clothed of course, but that’s to be expected. Madeline and Max are the only two who are completely naked.

“My God, the whole damn building is on fire! Look!!!” a random person in the crowd yells. Sure enough, smoke is seen rising out of several windows on the west-facing side of the building. In the distance the reassuring sound of fire trucks racing to the scene can be heard by everyone present.

Now that the hysteria has died down and everyone has regained their mental bearings, everyone looks around at the crowd that has assembled in the parking lot. All eyes are on Madeline and Max.

“Mommy, look! That boy is naked!” a small boy blurts out. “Is that another boy with him? Or is that a girl…?”

Hot in here - fire truck

A firetruck.

It’s not every day you see a gorgeous nude female bodybuilder and a short nerdy nude young man standing side-by-side in plain sight. Not to mention a young man with a condom rolled on his (miraculously) still-erect penis. The frenzied life-and-death atmosphere has not dissipated his arousal, apparently. A crowd of random people have gathered near the building since the smoke can be seen for miles. Half the people are looking at the motel that’s burning to the ground…but the other half are fixated on Madeline and Max.

“Holy shit…” Max mutters under his breath. His penis has deflated considerably, with the condom hanging on the tip. “People can see us!”

Madeline, on the other hand, is enjoying the attention. She strikes a few poses, proudly showcasing her nude muscular body. A few onlookers cheer. Others have deliberately moved away to avoid participating in this “scene.”

“Don’t be embarrassed, Max! We can put on a little show before the fire department arrives!” Madeline’s side chest pose elicits a “damn girl!” reaction out of someone. One young woman looks at Max’s little penis and giggles.

The crowd disperses after four large fire trucks arrive to the parking lot. Ten minutes later everyone moves to the sidewalk as the first responders courageously do their job. Madeline impulsively picks up Max, holds him up over her head, and pauses for pictures. Several people – mostly men – take out their phones and snap a few shots of this unlikely couple. Max still feels embarrassed, but strangely…

…empowered.

A firefighter offers both of them a blanket to cover up their nude bodies. They graciously accept it. People have switched their focus away from the couple and toward the flaming building. Thankfully, the fire seems to be relatively small. It shouldn’t take too long to tame it.

Hot in here - Lindsay Mulinazzi

Can you imagine what it would be like to see Lindsay Mulinazzi dressed like this walking down a busy sidewalk?

“Still want to go all the way, darling?” Madeline whispers into Max’s ear.

“Uh, really? Now? Where can…”

Before he could finish that sentence, Madeline sweeps up Max into her strong arms and carries him to the back side of the building. She eyes a large recycling dumpster and plops him on his feet behind it. Away from prying eyes, Madeline notices the condom is still hanging off the tip of his penis.

“You still have it on. That’s cute!”

Max blushes and turns beet red. Sensing his vulnerability, Madeline kisses him and rolls the condom back on. Max feels his manhood become erect again. Then, Madeline turns around, places her hands on the wall, and bends over – exposing her moist entrance to him.

“Take me.”

Without hesitating, Max enters Madeline slowly. A soft groan escapes from her throat. Gaining confidence, he grabs her hips and moves in and out of her; leisurely at first, then more rapidly as his pleasure intensifies.

“Fuck, yeah…” Madeline moans. Max quickens his pace as his orgasm builds. Madeline bends her knees slightly to adjust to his short stature. Standing at a striking 6’ 1” barefoot, most guys are shorter than her. Especially Max. Making love doggie style can be difficult if she doesn’t lower herself to the man she’s with.

“Oh, yes!” Max growls.

He climaxes hard, sending chills throughout his whole body. Madeline doesn’t come, but she doesn’t need to. She gets enough pleasure from knowing her clients are receiving pleasure. After his spasms subside, he pulls out of her and violently turns Madeline around to face him. She’s surprised by this sudden move. He stands on his toes and kisses her. When their lips part, she kneels down and takes the condom off his deflated penis. She tosses it into the garbage dumpster and orally cleans him. After she finishes they kiss again.

Moments later, Madeline and Max walk hand-in-hand down the sidewalk in plain view of the entire city as naked as the day they were born. They cheerfully give the blanket back to a random firefighter, who is stunned at what he’s witnessing.

“What the fuck?” he exclaims.

The naked couple continues to walk away from the scene, which by now has been successfully contained. They don’t know where they’re going or if a police officer will arrest them for indecent exposure. But they don’t care. All they care about is sharing this moment together and making it last as long as they can.

A Most Magnificent Body of Work – Part Four of Five

Cindy Landolt possesses a most magnificent body of work herself.

Continued from part three

“I knew I had no chance of winning,” Jonathan begins. “But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have run for office. I don’t regret doing something I knew wouldn’t work out.”

By now, the shock that the mystery man is none other than Jonathan Westmore has mostly worn off. Deborah is almost finished with her dinner and probably hasn’t spent a single moment looking away at her handsome host. She’s lost in his deep blue eyes, still fantasizing about what it will be like to share a bed with him – the realization that they will (most likely) make love soon hit her like a ton of bricks – for the entire evening. She smiles and nods, not in a condescending way, but in a genuinely captivated way.

“You gave people hope that we can have more options. Our elections don’t have to be just between two people nobody actually likes,” she observes. “That’s an accomplishment unto itself, trust me!”

He chuckles and drinks the rest of his wine. Deborah quickly glances outside, noticing the sun slowly setting in the distance. Wow, has time flown by that fast?

“Hope. That’s a funny thing. I’ve never put much value into that. I prefer to take action, not sit around and wait for somebody else to do it instead,” he says. And with that, Jonathan runs his finger up and down Deborah’s swollen right bicep, tickling the vein running down the middle. She feels her heart flutter a little. Maintaining her composure, Deborah lays her napkin on top of her plate, drinks the rest of her wine, and stares at her dashing host right in the eyes.

“Are you a man of action?”

“I am. Can’t you tell?”

The sun sets lower over the horizon. The temperature outside may be gradually going down, but the heat inside is being turned up considerably. Jonathan impulsively stands up and positions himself behind Deborah’s seat. He rubs her broad shoulders and kisses her on the neck.

“You are a work of art. A masterpiece, my darling,” he whispers. Deborah feels dampness forming between her massive legs. Jonathan inconspicuously looks down her chest to see the sharp division between her pecs. His manhood awakens from its slumber. And despite their significant age difference, he plans to ravish her like she’s never been ravished before.

“Thank you. I think I know what comes next.” She cranes her head upward to get a better look at him. He smiles, sending shivers down her spine. Jonathan pulls Deborah’s chair out and invites her to stand up. She obliges.

“Before we get to that, there’s something I’d like to show you. Perhaps this will explain why I was so keen on bringing you here tonight.” He takes her hand and squeezes it lovingly. He leads her into another area not far from the dining room. When he opens the door, she’s greeted by yet more art featuring hypermuscular women doing what they do best: show off their beautiful strong bodies.

Paintings of female warriors with bows and arrows. Sculptures of Greek goddesses smiting their enemies. Photographs of female athletes competing in track, basketball, martial arts, boxing, and MMA. Sketches of hypermuscular cartoon characters and celebrities with enhanced musculature (Deborah sees one drawing of Marilyn Monroe looking like she can bench press 500 pounds). All of it looks personalized, as if someone – such as Jonathan himself – commissioned them to be created specifically for one owner in particular. Deborah wonders whether she’ll see a rendering of herself anywhere.

“I think I get the idea. You really love muscular women. Wow.”

Jonathan wraps his arms around Deborah and squeezes as tightly as possible, indulging in experiencing her unbelievable thickness. Deborah kindly flexes for him, challenging his ability to maintain a grip on her massive torso.

Body of work 4 - Boris Vallejo artwork

Female muscle artwork from artist Boris Vallejo.

“Can’t you tell? I’m not very subtle about my interests. I’m glad you’re not offended by this.”

“Not at all.” She flexes her right bicep. Jonathan sticks out his tongue and trails it along its peak. “So, why me? Why did you ask me to come here, out of the thousands of women like me across the globe?” Deborah turns around to face Jonathan. He lets go of Deborah’s body and looks into her beautiful face. He traces his finger along her jawline and pinches her meaty shoulder. She gasps with pleasure at this bold, unexpected move.

“I chose you because you’re the most perfect woman I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he says. “I’ve researched most of the women in your profession. But out of all of them, you captured my attention. It’s probably when you were dating William Harris. His death was unfortunate, but it did provide the opportunity for me to be introduced to you. The moment I saw you, I knew I had to have you, one way or another.”

“I was a celebrity of sorts for a while, especially when everyone thought I was a murderer,” Deborah confesses. Jonathan reaches down to rub her abdomen, relishing her hardened core. He knows his erection is poking out of his slacks, but he doesn’t care one bit. “But that was a long time ago.”

“Indeed, it was.” Jonathan plants a soft kiss on her neck. Deborah audibly gasps. He is unable to control his animalistic desires – and Deborah isn’t sure she wants him to. For some inexplicable reason, her thoughts immediately turn to Cassie. Oh, God. Cassie! She wonders what the fuck she’s doing at this moment. Thinking of her, perhaps? Petting Bruce on the head while he sleeps on her lap?

Thankfully, Cassie gave her permission to come here. She’s okay with it, even though they’re both reluctant about the whole thing. The fact she’s given Deborah her blessing has put her mind at ease and given her much-needed peace.

“Enough talk. Follow me to my bedroom, lover.”

Lover? Just hearing that single word uttered from his deep masculine voice is enough to make her knees tremble. Fortunately, she doesn’t fall down to the floor like a pathetic drunk. He graciously takes her by the hand and guides her down the hallway into the room at far end of the mansion.

Jonathan’s bedroom is much more modest than she was expecting. It’s spacious and roomy, with plenty of erotically-charged artwork adoring the high walls (no surprises there, considering where they were just at). Deborah may have seen out of the corner of her eye a watercolor rendering of dozens of nude Amazonian warriors engaging in a massive orgy. Or maybe they were just bathing in a river. Whatever.

Sitting at the far north-facing wall is one of the largest beds – probably a super king-sized one, by Deborah’s estimation – she’s ever seen. It also has the largest number of fluffy white pillows she’d ever imagined could possibly fit on such a bed. Jonathan quietly shuts the door (as if anybody is left inside the house who could disturb them) and presses a button that opens roller blinds that have been covering the entire east-facing wall. It reveals a grand floor-to-ceiling window that boasts an immodest view of their natural surroundings.

“Wow! You can see the entire ocean from here,” Deborah exclaims. Jonathan quickly maneuvers behind her and lightly caresses her wide shoulder blades again, signaling to her that he’s definitely a “shoulder man.” He marvels at how broad they are. He’s seen countless photos of her before – yet being able to finally touch her makes him realize just how massive her body actually is compared to what existed in his imagination.

“It’s a fantastic view, but I prefer the view from in here…”

Body of work 4 - bedroom

A room with a view.

And with that, Jonathan peels away the layers of Deborah’s Xena costume. She almost forgot she was wearing it. Soon, she’s reduced to just her underwear. Jonathan stands back to regard her entire figure. He lets out a whistle.

“Magnificent. Simply magnificent. You possess a most magnificent body of work, my darling. Just fabulous.” He approaches her as he unbuttons his shirt. Deborah kindly showcases all the bodybuilder poses she knows. The fading sunlight’s orange glow accentuates her muscles in the post poetic way possible. Finally, they’re both wearing nothing but underwear. His erection looks almost painful as it presses against the thin fabric.

Deborah takes a closer look at Jonathan’s devilishly handsome face. He’s got some lines here and there, especially around his deep blue eyes. His hair is peppered with greyness in a way that makes him look “distinguished.” He keeps his body in great shape. She estimates he regularly works out and maintains a healthy diet. That’s probably not too far off from the truth.

“Show me why you brought me here,” Deborah dares him.

He smiles and runs to her.

Caught off guard, Jonathan picks her up and carries her to bed. He plants a deep kiss on her. Deborah forgot to take a breath beforehand and nearly chokes. He meticulously lays her down and unhooks her bra. She responds by squirming out of her panties. Finally, she is completely nude. Jonathan tosses her underwear aside carelessly. He gets down on his knees and spreads her legs out wide.

“Just beautiful…so fucking beautiful…” Deborah is proud of her larger-than-normal clitoris. Cassie constantly reminds her of how enormous it is. “You’re not like the other girls down there,” she’d always say. Right now, it’s fully engorged and ultrasensitive. Cassie once measured it just for fun. She says it can get up to three inches long. Deborah has reasons to believe she was exaggerating, but Jonathan’s fascination with her endowment makes her believe perhaps she was telling the truth…

Jonathan greedily opens his mouth and surrounds her feminine endowment with his lips. He experiments with a few lingering licks and kisses. Deborah moans, feeling the tension inside her body start to escape. All the fantasies he’s ever had of doing this to her is finally being realized right here, right now. He’s feasting on the most beautiful woman in the world. This cannot compare to any other experience he’s ever had in his life.

Pressure builds inside her body. All she can do is close her eyes and feel. Feel his tongue inside her sensitive area. Feel his lips gripping her fleshy bud. Feel every pore on her body emanate with pure bliss. Feel…

“Oh!!!”

Deborah climaxes suddenly, sending jolts of electricity through her whole being. She involuntarily raises her pelvis upward as she orgasms. Jonathan continues to feast on her until her spasms subside. Finally, she falls back down onto the bed and opens her weary eyes.

Body of work 4 - Brandi Mae Akers

Who wouldn’t want to spend the night with Brandi Mae Akers?

“My God, Jonathan. That was fucking fantastic.” She struggles to catch her breath. “You’re a real pro. Fuuuuuuccccckkkkkkkkk!”

“My dear…” He leans over and kisses her hard abdomen. “We’re just getting started.”

Jonathan stands up and removes his athletic briefs. He kicks them aside. Deborah sits up and finally gets a good look at him. She’s impressed by his, uh, “endowment.” It’s bigger than she was expecting! A solid six and half inches, perhaps? Maybe seven! Or maybe that’s just because the fading light is playing tricks on her eyes…

Jonathan’s full erection is now liberated, free to be satisfied for its own sake. Deborah will make sure that happens.

“Come here, sweet thing,” she beckons him.

First, Jonathan walks over to the bedside table and takes out a box of condoms. Deborah reluctantly sighs, but realizes it’s the smart thing to do. He finds a single wrapper, tears it open, and sheathes the oiled latex onto his manhood. Deborah watches in anticipation. He comes to her and plants several kisses on her left calf. She kindly flexes it for him, making it jut out further than he thought was possible.

“So hard…so beautiful.” Ignoring all pretenses, Jonathan positions his penis right in front of Deborah’s moist entrance. “I’m taking you. Now.”

“Do it!” she commands.

And with that, Jonathan enters Deborah with the full force of a man who is unsure if this moment is real or not. For years, he’s fantasized about making love to this woman. From a distance of thousands of miles he’s dreamt of this. But now, he gets to fulfill this fantasy. He hooks his arms underneath Deborah’s thick legs and runs his fingers down her sides, feeling the striations of her dense core. He thrusts in and out methodically at first, but then increases his tempo as his furious lust gets the better of him. He’s usually a calm and rational man, but not now. Not today. Not with her in his bed. In this moment, he’s an animal. But she is not his prey; but his lover. His equal.

Deborah moves her hips up and down to match his rhythm. She’s impressed with his ample girth and hardness for a man his age. At first his penetration was painful, but her body eventually adjusts to him. She focuses her eyes on him, watching him grunt and labor as sweat beads down his handsome face. She tries her best to not think about Cassie, the absurdity of her surroundings, or the shock of actually making love to a man she’s admired from a distance. But that distance is long gone. They are as close to each other as is humanly possible, intertwined in a way where physical intimacy transitions to emotional intimacy, which then becomes something closer to…

…spiritual.

With one last heave, Jonathan pushes into her as deeply as he can and finally climaxes. It goes on forever. It’s been a long time since Jonathan has this ferociously made love to a woman. Deborah cannot remember what it was like the last time a man penetrated her in this way. Perhaps never?

Body of work 4 - candles

Romantic candles.

Totally spent, Jonathan collapses on top of Deborah and kisses her intensely. Still hard, he sways back and forth in hopes of giving her a few more moments of pleasure. She appreciates the gesture.

After several minutes of lying together in complete silence, Jonathan pulls out and removes the condom. Deborah sits up in bed and sighs.

“Fuck. That was worth it. You’re fantastic,” she whispers. Jonathan smiles and walks to the bathroom on the far side of the room to clean up.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that to you. Especially you.” He places the condom on top of a nearby table. Deborah is curious why he’d do that.

“You’re not throwing it away?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Nah, I will later. But not now. Think of it as a, um, ‘record’ of how we’re going to spend this evening together.” Deborah isn’t sure what to think of this, but she goes along with it. She stands up and sees a row of candles next to the condom. She finds a lighter and lights all of them. The gorgeous golden yellow glow illuminates the entire room. By now, the sun has completely set. Jonathan comes out of the bathroom and nods approvingly at Deborah’s initiative.

“Nice choice. Now the ambiance is perfect,” he begins. “Not that it wasn’t before.”

He sits down on the bed and strokes Deborah’s massive quads. She reciprocates by caressing his softened penis.

“It never occurred to me that Mr. Presidential Candidate would be hung like a horse,” Deborah smirks. “But alas, you are.”

“Well, I wouldn’t quite go that far,” he chuckles. “Maybe your standards are too low. Or you haven’t been with enough guys.” She tickles his scrotum in response to his teasing.

“You’re right…I haven’t been with that many men,” she says. “But I like what you’re packing down here…it’s beautiful.” Despite their recent lovemaking, Jonathan’s manhood begins to grow again. Deborah is astonished that he’s able to do that after such little time has passed–

“It’s not how many you’ve been with,” he kisses her delicately on the cheek. “It’s who you’ve been with and how they’ve treated you that really matters.” Touched, Deborah feels her eyes water. Before she can wipe away her tears, Jonathan playfully nibbles on her earlobe, causing her senses to go into overdrive. Cassie isn’t the sentimental type, and if Deborah is to be completely frank, not the most sensual lover. But Jonathan is different. He’s both fierce and gentle. Impulsive and methodical. Calm and unhinged. He’s a complicated man, one who is used to getting what he wants but also cherishes what he has once it’s right in front of him.

“Lie down on the bed for me, lover,” she orders. “I’m about to give you a show.”

To be continued…

Truth or Dare (part one)

Perfect abs.

Twice a week, I get to see Shawna.

Shawna is a professional bodybuilder, personal trainer, model, fitness accessory spokeswoman, pornographic actress, and overall Muscle Goddess. I first got acquainted with Shawna at a fitness expo last year when she delivered the keynote address to a room full of hundreds of nutritional experts. I was among those in attendance on that fateful day.

Shawna is the Most Perfect Woman in the World…and I do not mean that lightly. She’s strikingly beautiful, stands at 6-feet tall barefoot, and has bigger muscles than the typical Meathead Bro you see at the gym. She has long blonde hair, ocean blue eyes, curvy hips, and bulging muscles covering every square inch of her incredible physique. She’s absolutely flawless. I don’t know how old she is, but she probably hasn’t hit 40 yet. Or maybe she has. I don’t know. None of that matters. She’s ageless.

I work for Healthy Living Nutrition, a medium-sized startup company that specializes in producing breakfast bars, protein shakes, and hot to-go meals that people can order via an app. Just download the HLN app and within minutes you can plan an entire month’s worth of breakfasts, lunches, and dinners (not to mention a few snacks here and there).

The app allows users to plot out every single one of their meals in advance and have them shipped to the address (or addresses) of their choice. We began serving clients only in greater Seattle, but have recently expanded to include Spokane, Portland, Coeur d’Alene, Boise, and Redding. We foresee expansion to Los Angeles – which is considered the Holy Grail of markets – and Phoenix within the next two to three years.

But first, we needed a spokesperson who could sell our app to the bodybuilding community. We’ve already enlisted pro baseball, football, basketball, and tennis players, respectively. Now we need an “in” with bodybuilders, figure competitors, fitness models, and anyone who aspires to become one of those. When me and a colleague registered to attend this fitness conference, I knew Shawna could be that “foot in the door” that we so desperately needed.

And as it turned out, she was.

My co-worker Dale and I chatted with Shawna after the expo ended over glasses of wine and plates of cheap happy hour nachos. We told her she can use the app for free for an entire month, report back to us how she felt about it, and choose to endorse it if she wanted to. We told her the percentage of our profits that she can earn in a year, which appeared to go over well with her. She agreed to our deal, downloaded the app onto her phone, and went about her merry way. Dale and I felt happy about ourselves, all the while staring helplessly at her impressive, angelic muscular body.

“Holy shit, she’s perfect. She can’t possibly be human,” Dale quipped after she left.

“The amazing thing is that she is human,” I said. “She looks like that because she dedicates her entire life to looking like that. It didn’t happen by accident.”

“Damn,” Dale replied, downing the rest of his wine. “So fucking gorgeous.”

A month passes and Shawna emails me saying she loves the app and would be happy to endorse it in our upcoming advertising blitz. She signed her name on the dotted line and agreed to keep using the app for at least a year and appear in several promotional videos, radio hits, and social media posts. I got a promotion. Dale ended up leaving the company after being plucked by a competitor. His replacement ended up being a dopey idiot fresh out of college. Life moves on.

Factory where pre-packaged food is made.

Me being promoted meant I had to move to a different city. Now I reside in Santa Monica, right in the heart of where we want our business to expand to. I guess the logic is that if the company moves its best people into a desirable target market…eventually that’ll mean we will successfully penetrate that market. We’ll see if it actually works.

Shawna, coincidentally, also lives in the area – albeit Torrance. We’ve met up a few times to discuss business-related items, chat about our lives, and complain about the things regarding the fitness industry that drive us up a wall. As it turns out, we both hate everything Planet Fitness stands for and would love to see its business model burn to the ground. Great minds think alike, right?

My office is located within walking distance of the factory where we produce our breakfast bars. Every day we churn out tens of thousands of granola bars and ship them to gyms, grocery stores, convenience stores, gas stations, and online retailers across the country. And occasionally, out of the 25,000 we produce daily, a good dozen or so will be “unfit” for sale.

What does “unfit” for sale mean exactly? It could mean a variety of things. A bar could accidentally get smashed, come out wrongly shaped, not fit within the designated packaging, or fall on the floor when a clumsy warehouse worker nears the end of his shift. Regardless, we normally toss out the “bad” bars so that the public doesn’t see them. We can’t allow our newly developed brand to be sullied in any way.

Sometimes, employees will steal a few bars that didn’t make the final cut when nobody is looking. There’s technically no internal rules against that, although the higher ups at Corporate would prefer these misshapen bars never see the light of day. Heaven forbid if a random guy on the street accidentally sees one of our breakfast bars with an unauthorized crack down the middle. That’ll spell our inevitable doom for sure.

Recently, I got the brilliant idea of delivering some of these misshapen bars to our favorite customer – Shawna. These bars don’t taste all that great, but they aren’t supposed to. They pack a nutritional punch, stuffing in every single vitamin and mineral known to mankind in a single bite. They’re supposed to help bodybuilders get “gains,” and that’s exactly what they do. Shawna recognizes and appreciates these benefits better than anyone. That’s why she’s our #1 spokeswoman.

Whew. Deep breath.

All of that is to say that twice a week, I come over to Shawna’s home and deliver to her as many “unfit” breakfast bars as I can manage. I usually visit on Tuesdays and Fridays, but sometimes I come on a Thursday if she plans on being busy the next day. I have no life, so it doesn’t matter to me when I get to meet her. No girlfriend, no kids, no hobbies, no nothing outside of work. It’s depressing, but I try to not think about it too often.

I should also hurry up and mention that because these bars are so super nutritious, they’re also super expensive. $8 per bar. Yeah, that’s quite a lot. But they’re supposed to supply an entire meal’s worth of nutrition in a few bites, so they’re pricy for a reason. The bean counters aren’t just making this up out of thin air. Shawna likes them a lot but can’t afford to purchase too many of them legitimately.

A plate of granola bars.

So, that’s where I come into play.

I give her free breakfast bars twice a week. Each delivery could be worth up to $100. That’s a lot of free stuff. Although, it’s not completely free.

Nope. She does pay me.

In sexual favors.

I usually arrive at her house between 7:00 and 7:30 p.m., depending on traffic (and, for the record, traffic really sucks in California). I park my car in her driveway, take out a non-conspicuous looking brown cardboard box out of the trunk, and casually walk to her front door. I knock three times. Within 30 seconds she opens it. We kiss each other on the cheek. We exchange pleasantries for a couple of minutes. Sometimes she offers me iced tea or lemonade. I graciously accept. I politely drink it all, whether I like it or not. She takes the box of contraband granola bars from me and stashes it away in her kitchen.

Then, she dims the lights, closes the shades, turns on some quiet music, and strips naked.

I also strip naked.

We enter her living room and begin the festivities. She poses for me. She shows off her muscles. She goes to the gym and trains five days a week, with Tuesday and Friday being her two off-days (hence, this is why I visit her on these days). She’s a Tall Blonde Muscle Goddess who stands – I believe I’ve said this before – 6-feet tall without shoes on. She’s a marvel to look at. From head to toe, she’s ripped. Completely ripped. Jacked up. Her biceps are larger than my legs. Her legs are larger than my torso. Her torso is larger than…a freight train? A Mack truck? A Boeing 747?

I touch her body. I sometimes rub oil on it. I worship her muscles. We almost never talk during our “play time.” I kiss her skin as she flexes. Occasionally, when she’s in the mood, she’ll lie down on the sofa and spread her legs wide, revealing her swollen clitoris.

It’s huge. HUGE. Three inches long when fully erect. That’s not a fucking joke. I’m not exaggerating one fucking bit. Her clit is that enormous. Unbelievably enormous. It defies science. And that’s an understatement.

Eye-popping. Jaw-dropping. Heart-stopping. And highly erotic.

After she spreads her legs, I get down on my knees and suck on it. I suck on it until she comes. She’ll come multiple times. At first, I was terrible at it. But after repeated attempts, I’ve become exceptionally good at it. Shawna’s coached me on how to properly give her cunnilingus. She explicitly tells me how to use my tongue, lips, and fingers to my advantage. Now, I can play her like a fiddle. I know how to give her pleasure that literally makes her scream.

Shawna could be a taller Lindsay Mulinazzi. Note: This story is fictional and does not reflect any real world experiences.

I know how to give her satisfying climaxes that make her entire body shudder. I know how to prolong her orgasm just long enough to make her beg me to finish the job. I know how to tease her, how to torture her, how to make her teeter just long enough on the edge of orgasm but deny her the conclusion she seeks. And once she does reach that orgasmic climax, it’s the greatest orgasm she’s ever experienced…up to that point, of course.

Once I’ve satisfied her, she enthusiastically returns the favor. Most of the time, she’ll give me a simple hand job. Occasionally, a blow job. But that’s it. Those are my two options. We’ve given each other oral and manual stimulation hundreds of times, but we’ve never had actual penetrative sex. She has strict boundaries, and I respect those boundaries.

I always respect her boundaries.

Although she’s not currently married (she’s been divorced twice before) and doesn’t appear to be in a relationship with anyone (that I can tell), she doesn’t want to cross that threshold with me. She says it’s not personal. It’s strictly a professional choice. I dutifully accept that explanation.

“In a weird way, this is a business transaction,” Shawna once said to me moments after cleaning up my semen off her neck. “An unconventional business transaction, but a business transaction nevertheless. Wouldn’t you say?”

“I would agree with that,” I replied.

So we’ve never had sex – at least, “sex” properly understood and traditionally defined. But we’ve been very intimate with each other. Many times. During the past year I’ve spent countless hours with her clitoris in my mouth. She’s had my semen smeared on almost every imaginable place of her magnificent body. Yet, we’ve never gone “all the way.” I don’t think we’ll ever get there.

Shawna is a unique kind of person, both externally and internally. She obviously looks different on the outside – not too many “normal” women have muscles as big as an NFL linebacker – in every conceivable way. But on the inside, she’s both open to talking about her life and extremely guarded in other areas.

For example, she rarely talks about her kids. During one moment when both of us were slightly drunk, she revealed that she has four kids. She first became pregnant when she was 15. Her second born arrived when she was 17. Her other two kids were born when she was 18 and 20, respectively. She’s now in her late 30s or early 40s, and her youngest child is now old enough to be a college student. Yikes.

The father of her first child was a 15-year-old kid just like her. He panicked, ran away from home, and later joined the Army. He was deployed to Iraq shortly afterward and came home in a body bag. Very tragic. The father of her second child was a Catholic missionary who apparently tried out the “missionary” position with her. That’s no joke. When she became pregnant and refused to have an abortion, he quit his job, renounced his Catholicism, and committed suicide by overdosing on sleeping pills. Yet another senseless tragedy.

This is what Shawna’s home looks like.

Her other two children were the product of her first marriage. I don’t know much about this guy. She didn’t have any kids with her second husband. I also don’t know much about him.

Her first husband was 25 years her senior, and her second husband was born two weeks earlier than she was. She’s now single…and definitely not ready to mingle. She says she has no intention of getting married ever again.

I don’t know which of her kids are male and female. They could all be boys or they could all be girls. Or somewhere in between. It’s probably somewhere in between. But at the end of the day, I don’t know much about this part of her life. And that’ll probably be the way things remain.

As I pull up to her driveway for the umpteenth time, I think about whether or not her kids are aware of what Mom has to do in order to get her daily quota of protein, vitamins, and minerals. I’d rather not ponder that, but how can the thought not cross my mind?

I knock on the door and wait. The wait is shorter than normal.

“Hello sweetie! Come on in,” Shawna greets me after opening the door.

I step into her house and take off my shoes. I try to not notice the glaring hole in my left black sock, exposing my big toe for everyone to see. It’s embarrassing, but Shawna is like an old buddy to me. A buddy with big muscles. And the Universe’s Largest Clit.

Her house smells like freshly coated paint. I hope I don’t start to sneeze.

“Did you finally repaint the bathroom?”

“Yes, I did! Thank you for noticing,” she says. I drop a box full of contraband granola bars on the kitchen counter as Shawna deals with something in the dining room. Cleaning up after dinner, perhaps?

Shawna pokes her head in the kitchen with a glass of champagne in hand. “I have an idea for what we can do tonight. It’ll be fun. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“I’m sure I will. In the mood for something more creative?”

“Yes, I am,” she begins. “I’m feeling a bit adventurous tonight, for some odd reason. Probably because I’m still on cloud 9!”

“Oh? What happened to you?” We move our conversation to the living room. I start to undress like usual until Shawna places her hand on my shoulder, indicating I should stop.

“I just got cast in a movie! It’s not a major Hollywood film, but it’s not a typical porno either. It’s something low budget, independent, and artistic,” she announces.

“That’s awesome! What’s it called?” I kiss her on the cheek to congratulate her.

“It doesn’t have a title yet, but it should soon. It’s basically about a middle-aged couple whose marriage is going through the motions. In order to spice things up, they decide to play a game of erotic Truth or Dare.” Shawna sits us down on the sofa. Even when we’re both sitting, I still have to look up to her. “One of the dares the wife makes to the husband is to hire a female bodybuilder for a competitive wrestling match. You can guess who I play in this little drama.”

“Neat! You play the chauffeur, right?”

Shawna laughs. I do too.

“Not quite. We start filming in two months. Locally, so I don’t need to travel anywhere. However, in the meantime, I thought it would be a cool idea to play our own game of Truth or Dare. What say you?” She stares at me, smiling with a big toothy grin. I cannot think of a reason to refuse her offer.

“Of course! Let’s do it. You can go first if you’d like.”

Shawna sits up and blinks a few times. I feel my heart start to race, as this is a very unusual way for our evening to commence. We’ve settled into a routine. She clearly wants to break this routine, at least for one night.

“I would love to go first,” she says. “Alright. Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“Fantastic.” Shawna clears her throat. “I dare you to have anal sex with me. Without protection. Right now.”