Like Fine Wine, Muscular Women Get Sexier with Age

Very fine indeed is Debbie Bramwell-Washington.

Very fine indeed is Debbie Bramwell-Washington.

Age is just a number, as the old saying goes.

In fact, there are many things in our society that are measured in numbers that are fairly arbitrary. The number of times you’ve experienced the Earth rotating around the Sun is obviously one of them. There isn’t much of a difference between a person who’s 18 years old and another person who is a week shy of their 18th birthday. However, from a legal perspective (I live in the United States) they are leaps and bounds apart.

The 18-year-old is a legal adult and can enlist in the military, purchase cigarettes, and possess a firearm. The other person who is six or seven days away from turning 18 cannot legally do any of those things. In actuality, the latter individual may be more intellectually and emotionally mature than the 18-year-old adult, but that doesn’t matter as far as federal and state laws are concerned. From the perspective of governments, it’s not the “readiness” of the person wanting to do certain things that factors into these legal decisions. Realistically speaking, it’s nearly impossible to gage the “maturity” level of a person. It’s a heck of a lot easier to look at their ID card and see what year they were born.

So age does matter as far as the law goes. But what about normal interactions between human beings? We expect lovers to be in the same ballpark as far as age is concerned, but it’s not terribly unusual to see a married or dating couple be eight to ten years apart in age. The bigger the gap, the bigger the eyebrow is raised by onlookers, but that’s a whole other story.

We also judge one’s accomplishments in terms of their age. It’s impressive for a 12-year-old kid to be able to play the piano at the same level of a professional concern pianist. It’s possible, of course, but remarkable enough that we’d feel compelled to label this kid with terms like “prodigy” and “gifted.” A 45-year-old adult who can play the piano at a high level is still impressive, but less so because they’ve had way more years of practice and experience to hone their craft.

When it comes to sexual attraction, someone’s numerical age matters less than the appearance of their age. If we are someone who values youth and vitality, a 25 year-old and a 35-year-old could very well look the same age, assuming you don’t personally know either of them. Makeup, cosmetic surgery and freaky good genetics aside, physical attraction isn’t based upon knowing the specific age of the other person so much as it’s about enjoying the way they look.

Some of us tend to be attracted to those who are younger, others prefer an “older” person, and some of us are more adaptable. We tend to like people who are our age, which of course changes as the years go on.

How I dream of being that chair being straddled by Lora Ottenad.

How I dream of being that chair being straddled by Lora Ottenad.

For straight guys, the “older woman” thing is very much real and not nearly as taboo as it once was. We all have our limits, but there’s nothing unusual about being attracted to a woman who has more life experience under her belt. There’s no need to go into this topic in too much detail, but there is a fascinating angle when we’re dealing with muscular women.

One reason why lots of guys don’t care for older women is because, unfortunately, age tends to break down the human body. Nobody can remain sleek, perfectly curvy and smooth forever. Eventually, a woman’s breasts will start to sag. She may start to gain a few pounds. Her skin will start to wrinkle and lose its softness. This is not something that can be prevented or reversed, no matter how many thousands of dollars you pay a surgeon to operate on you. Mother Nature is unforgiving and time always wins at the end.

This is true for men. This is true for women. This is true for you and I. Oh well. There’s no use in complaining if it’s inevitable, right?

However, muscular women are a different sort of breed. A female bodybuilder who continues to lift at the gym and eat right well after she retires from the sport can still remain just as sexy as she was when she was in her 20s and 30s. And it’s not because muscles can hide a woman’s age. They don’t, but they miraculously can keep a woman’s body irresistibly desirable to guys who are willing to look at her. Aren’t muscles great?

It should also be pointed out that most of the biggest and brawniest female bodybuilders – although certainly not all – tend to be older as it is. Looking through past Ms. Olympia participants (may the Ms. O competition R.I.P.) one cannot help but notice most of the competitors being either in their 30s or 40s. What can explain this? Well, probably because of the simple fact it takes a whole lot of time to gain that much muscle mass.

While it certainly is possible for younger women in their 20s to develop an impressive level of muscularity (see Shannon Courtney before she retired from bodybuilding), for the most part it takes years and years of strategic dieting, lifting, supplementation, and preparation in order to get really big. A woman who takes up bodybuilding at the age of 20 isn’t going to go from looking like Taylor Swift and transform into Debi Laszewski by the time she turns 21. It doesn’t work that way. She may need a half a dozen years before she can even start to resemble Ms. Laszewski.

Betty Pariso putting women half her age to shame.

Betty Pariso putting women half her age to shame.

Or, perhaps she ends up not having the drive, inclination, or support systems necessary to ever look like Debi. Maybe she sets her sights on being a full-time bodybuilder at 20-years-old and gives up two or three years later because she’s broke, penniless, and without a steady income stream. No matter what your goals are, it’s difficult to attain them when you don’t know where your next paycheck is coming from.

But even if you do have what it takes to become a professional bodybuilder, it still takes an incredible amount of time to get to an elite level. “Elite” is a word we often throw around casually. But it shouldn’t be used like that. An elite bodybuilder is someone who belongs in a category with only eight or nine other individuals on planet Earth at the most. Even becoming a non-elite bodybuilder is still tough sledding. Attaining a figure similar to that of Emery Miller is still super impressive. However, even that takes lots of time and effort.

It’s definitely possible to achieve the “fit” or “athletic” look after a year or so, but that’s not necessarily what we’re talking about. We have nothing against fitness models, bikini competitors or “normal” women who love to go to the gym, but what really gets our hearts racing are the large female bodybuilders who can bend steel with their bare hands, crush a watermelon between their legs and carry another human being on their back effortlessly. That sort of body is something else entirely. That kind of body doesn’t just develop after running on the treadmill a few minutes per day. That requires a whole set of lifestyle changes that only a few select are willing to implement from start to finish. These are the kind of women we’re dealing with.

So, the “older woman” fetish is attached to female muscle fetishism almost by default. Many female bodybuilders tend to be older. Therefore, guys who love big female bodybuilders also, by extension, love older women.

But is it really that simple?

Perhaps not. In Female Muscle Growth fiction and art, the protagonists tend to be younger women who miraculously become big and buff as quickly as it takes to snap your fingers. Sometimes they’re high school girls. Other times they’re just very young adult women. Nevertheless, there exists a large segment of the female muscle fandom universe who lusts after younger women with big muscles.

However, there does exist a group of folks (myself included) who love strong women and older women at the same time. When I fantasize about making love to women like Denise Masino, Amber DeLuca or Yaxeni Oriquen-Garcia (all of them are in their late 40s), the fact they aren’t being mistaken for college co-eds is part of what makes them so desirable. Because these women are older, they’re also:

  • Wiser
  • Sexually skilled
  • Accomplished
  • Experienced in the highs and lows of life
  • Better connected to the human condition
  • Well-versed in what the world has to offer
  • More emotionally and intellectually refined

This isn’t to say that younger people (male or female) can’t also be these things, but years of experience walking on this Earth cannot be easily replicated or substituted. Life can be incredibly complex, with positives and negatives that can hit you from all angles. Perhaps this is why the “older woman” fetish exists. There’s something incredibly sexy about a woman who’s seen it all, experienced it all, and doesn’t have the time nor the inclination to fool around. She knows what she wants, doesn’t want, and will not apologize for either. That’s hot.

Nice view of Dayana Cadeau.

Nice view of Dayana Cadeau.

A woman with muscles is something else. Not only is she wiser and worldly, she’s also strong as hell and beautiful in ways that are indescribable. If Sigmund Freud were a participant in this discussion, he’d point out the fact that strong older women are a sexualized symbol (or surrogate) of our mothers. When we were little kids, we looked up to our moms as being physically and emotionally strong. We still may feel that way today as adults, but as children this was true both literally and figuratively. I’m no expert at Freudian psychology, but I’d wager a guess that there’s probably some element of truth at play here.

We may not consciously consider an older muscular woman to be a quasi-maternal figure in our lives, but deep inside the recesses of our brains we might make that connection. In our secret imaginations, we yearn for a strong older muscular woman to cradle us in her arms just as our moms did when we were young and helpless.

This may shed some light on the fetish of “lift and carry” sessions. Our moms held us in her arms when we were babies, so we desire for a female bodybuilder to do the same when we’re adults. I don’t think this explanation is definitive or all-encompassing, but there’s undeniably a rational argument to be made.

I’ve met female bodybuilders who have children that are my age or close to it. I’ve met female bodybuilders who may not have children at all but if they did, they’d be in my age range. Does this reality cross my mind when I’m actively engaging with them in a muscle worship session? Not really, but it does occur to me later after the appointment is over. How can it not?

Perhaps our female muscle fetishism is beneath the surface a longing for returning to our childhood. We crave nostalgia in a pseudo-sexual manner of a time when female authority figures (which can also include school teachers) ruled over our lives. Our fetishes would be totally understood by King Oedipus and Queen Jocasta, a son/mother combo from Greek mythology who ended up marrying and having four children with each other. Gross? You bet it is, but ancient mythology is rarely ever pleasant or polite to contemplate.

Without getting too deep into the weeds, let’s shift gears and talk about the physical attributes of an older muscular woman. She possesses one striking quality that “normal looking” women her age do not: tightness.

No, not the tightness of her vagina! Although, that could be the case. I’d ask you to get your mind out of the gutter, but mine is there as well so I’m in no position to scold you. Instead, I’m talking about the tightness and hardness located everywhere on her body. As a general rule, the older you get the softer and flabbier you also get. Your belly gets bigger. Your arms and breasts start to sag. Your skin gets wrinkled. Once again, it’s inevitably going to happen to all of us, regardless of who we are. Our hormones change. We don’t metabolize food like we used to. We’re less active and possess less energy. It stinks, but it is what it is.

Age doesn't seem to ever affect Yaxeni Oriquen.

Age doesn’t seem to ever affect Yaxeni Oriquen.

But, a muscular woman can delay or hide the effects of aging. Instead of feeling a sagging arm with loose skin, you feel bulging hardness that seems like can burst at any moment. An FBB’s muscularity allows her body to not only defy the inevitable breaking down caused by aging; it empowers her to surpass the perceptual limits of human achievement.

More than that, obviously a muscular woman doesn’t look any younger or older than a non-bodybuilder of the same age bracket. But we need to remember that youthfulness isn’t just defined by looks. It also includes personality, attitude, and one’s outlook on life. A female bodybuilder defies aging not because she physically looks younger, but because she’s refused to give in to the idea that impressive accomplishments is only monopolized by the young.

She’s strong. She’s vibrant. She’s driven. She’s motivated. She’s dynamic. She’s energetic. She’s goal-oriented. She refuses to accept failure as an outcome. She’s proud of her body. She’s permitted herself to remain sexually vivacious well after her non-muscular peers have gone past their peak. She doesn’t just extend her window of opportunity of being erotically desirable; she shatters it with a sledgehammer and believes it can last forever.

A female bodybuilder without question gets sexier with age. Not because a youthful woman with big muscles is somehow inferior to an older woman with big muscles, but because the older woman carries with her a level of wisdom, experience, and sex appeal that the younger woman cannot. Like the clichéd analogy of fine wine getting better with age, a newer bottle of wine still can taste pretty darn good with your juicy ribeye dinner. But if you wait long enough, that same bottle of wine will taste that much better after some proper aging.

Indeed, age is just a number. Youth has nothing to do with the number of birthday candles that’s on top of your cake. It has everything to do with what you choose to do with your life. That’s as simple as it gets. Undoubtedly, female bodybuilders live their lives to the fullest.

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The Erotic Dreams of Max Shimura: Episode Four – Double Dare (part one of two)

An idyllic beach in Cabo San Lucas.

An idyllic beach in Cabo San Lucas.

“Fuck me, Max.”

Max blinks. The margarita he’s drinking almost comes out of his nose.

“Wait, what? What did you say, Marie?”

“You heard me, Max. Fuck me. Right now,” Marie whispers in his ear. She reaches down and caresses his thigh suggestively.

Max is in what you might call “paradise,” which is lying on a white sandy beach in Cabo San Lucas next to a gorgeous female bodybuilder. Marie, who was born and raised in New York City, is a 47-year-old competitive bodybuilder on vacation alone down here in Mexico. Max is lucky enough to be experiencing the same pleasure, as well as the pleasure of taking two weeks off from work.

But what makes Max even luckier is running into Marie, whom he struck up a deep conversation with at a bar the previous night. Max was sitting all alone sipping his beer. She walked in and lit up the entire joint. Heaven knows why she randomly decided to sit at his table when she had hundreds of other social options available to her. She said he looked “lonely and in need of some female companionship.”

How correct she was!

As fate would have it, Marie has chosen Max to be her companion for the remainder of her vacation.

“You can’t be serious,” Max pleads.

Marie snuggles closer to him and playfully nibbles on his ear. She tickles his kneecap. He flinches. Goosebumps race up his skin from head to toe. Wearing a white g-string bikini that leaves nearly nothing to the imagination, Marie is a spectacle of divine proportions. Not too many 47-year-old women can make men ages 10 to 90 turn their heads and stare shamelessly…but she can. She has that kind of power.

Marie has the awesome muscularity of Denise Hoshor...

Marie has the awesome muscularity of Denise Hoshor…

“I’m as serious as can be. What say you?” Her hot breath against his tanning skin nearly makes his heart stop beating.

“Uh, well, look around us!” Max gazes around at the crowded beach full of hundreds of people. Mostly tourists, with the vast majority of them American citizens on vacation. They were in a very public place during this early afternoon. The blazing sun’s oppressive heat is thankfully counterbalanced by a cool Pacific Ocean breeze.

Marie also inspects her surroundings. She is well aware there are tons of people; young and old, male and female, couples, friends, family members, people from every corner of the world; of all shapes and sizes enjoying this majestic day at the beach. She knows that. She’s also very aware that everyone around them is watching them. How often do you see a scrawny Asian guy hanging out intimately with a gorgeous female bodybuilder?

“I know what’s around us. Lots and lots of people. But wouldn’t it be fun…” she begins, moving her hands closer to Max’s engorged manhood, “…to do it in front of all these people?”

Max feels his heart skip a beat the moment Marie’s strong grip reaches over his swim trunks. His arousal is clearly evident, the bulge of his erection obvious for everyone to see. Enjoying the power she has over him, Marie continues her naughty behavior by whispering into his ear:

“If we make love right here, right now…I’ll allow you to dare me to do anything later.”

“Are you suggesting we do some kind of…double dare?” Max asks. Trepidation filling his voice, he starts to notice the people around him listening in on their conversation. Their ears perked up and their heads glancing in their direction, Max and Marie have captured the attention of at least a half a dozen people.

...combined with the gorgeous good looks of Emery Miller.

…combined with the gorgeous good looks of Emery Miller.

“Yes, a double dare. I dare you to fuck me in public at this very moment, and in return I’ll let you dare me to do anything you want afterward.” A wicked smile flashes across her beautiful face. Marie’s chiseled body looks so perfect, so powerful, so sexy. Max can hardly contain himself. He knows this will attract an audience, but at this point the Voice of Reason inside his head has taken a vacation as well.

What’s the harm?

“But, we don’t have protection. I didn’t bring anything,” Max says.

She giggles. Her deep husky voice produces an equally gravelly laugh that makes the hairs on the back of Max’s head stand up at attention.

“We don’t need protection. That’ll make us even naughtier!” Marie says, uncaring if anyone is listening. Max gets the feeling she wants people to listen and watch!

“I don’t know…” Max’s voice trails off. By now ten or twelve people, mostly couples in their 20s and 30s, are watching them and waiting for what’s going to happen next. They aren’t trying to hide their interest anymore. They want to know what Max chooses to do. The couple closest to them, who are young and attractive as supermodels, are snuggling and whispering to each other fervently – perhaps plotting something similar. Other couples are just laying back and intently watching the drama unfold.

“Come on! Be a man, Max. I chose to be with you because you’re different. You’re kind, you’re quiet and you don’t seem to be a jerk. Don’t make me regret my decision to be with you.”

Her challenge is all what Max needed. He hears enough degrading remarks about his masculinity back home. It’s time to show all these people what he’s really made of!

“You asked for it. Now you’re going to receive it! Turn to your other side, Marie.”

Marie, with fire in her eyes, obeys. She turns to her other side, with Max now behind her. Marie feels wetness between her legs starting to develop. Max pulls her bikini bottom to the side and slaps her finely rounded butt. She gasps. By now everyone around them is watching unapologetically. Max realizes he has an audience and refuses to disappoint them.

A crowded beach during the day.

A crowded beach during the day.

Max tugs at his swim trunks and pulls them down, exposing his bare butt to at least eight or nine people. He doesn’t care at all. Freeing his erection, he spits on his fingers and reaches over to rub Marie’s vagina. It’s already dripping wet. Her enlarged clitoris is hot and sensitive. He knows she’s already ready for him.

“Oh, God…Max…do it! I’m ready,” Marie begs.

“Yes, ma’am.”

In one swift move, Max pushes his penis inside her from behind. A small round of applause erupts from a couple sitting on lawn chairs behind them. Marie moans. Max grunts, pushing his manhood completely inside her. She flexes her right bicep for him in response. He caresses her bicep greedily, wanting to feel every muscle fiber she’s flexing for him.

He starts to stroke his penis in and out of her, at first slowly and then a little faster. A faint moan escapes from Marie’s throat. She lowers her right arm and bends her head forward. Max leans over and kisses the back of her neck. He licks her, wanting to taste her. Her salty skin tastes as sweet as anything he’s ever tasted before. Max ignores their growing audience but can’t help but notice a bunch of camera phones quickly taking pictures of them.

“God, Max! Mmmmm….”

A groan comes out of Max as he continues to pump into her. No protection, hardly any time to get to know each other, a large audience of 20 or 30 people, gossipy whispers, camera phones snapping illicit photos, broken public decency laws, the sight of a young Asian guy making love to an older female bodybuilder – all these taboos are further turning them on. It’s fueling their desire for each other.

Marie reaches down and grabs Max’s left hand and places it across her swollen clitoris. He gets the hint and begins to lightly stroke it, adding to her pleasure. Max’s right hand cups Marie’s small left breast. Marie has refused to get plastic surgery and defiantly allowed her breasts to shrink in size as her bodybuilding career took off. He doesn’t mind her smallness.

The supermodel couple decides they want to join the fun. They are now making love. A single woman in her early 30s starts to masturbate with her fingers. She doesn’t appear to be with anyone but doesn’t let that get in her way of pleasing herself in this moment.

Max’s strokes inside Marie reaches a steady rhythm. Marie gasps as she orgasms from Max fondling her clit. She is close to coming again from his penis pounding into her. The couple sitting on lawn chairs is now making love too, with her straddling him cowgirl-style as he plays with her breasts.

What began as a simple double dare has now emerged as a full-out impromptu group orgy!

A large crowd surrounds them. But Max and Marie are on a different wave length than the rest and pay no attention to the outside world.

“I’m going to come Max! I’m going to…”

After one last powerful thrust, Max and Marie poetically climax at the same time. Marie lets out an uninhibited scream. Max moans loudly as he spills his semen into her. A raucous round of applause erupts from the masses. The supermodel couple climaxes, then the lawn chair couple follows suit. He ejaculates all over her belly as she falls backward into the sand. The single woman climaxes herself, allowing a small squirt to escape from her vagina. She collapses on her back exhausted and dripping with sweat.

A romantic beach at sunset.

A romantic beach at sunset.

The crowd continues to cheer. Marie turns around and kisses Max deeply. She tickles Max’s penis. He pinches her nipples in return.

After a while, Max and Marie return from Cloud 9 and finally notice the enormous crowd. The number of witnesses to this small orgy is striking. But not a single participant felt any ounce of guilt or embarrassment. In fact, everyone was proud they got to be a part of it.

Marie stands and pulls her bikini bottom back up. Max also stands and readjusts his swim trunks. More clapping bursts forth from the crowd. Max and Marie hold hands and “bow” to their audience like two seasoned Las Vegas magicians paying homage to their loyal fans.

Minutes later the new celebrity couple walks hand-in-hand along the beach aimlessly. Everyone has dispersed by now and gone back to minding their own business. A sense of triumph is felt by both of them.

“Did that just happen?” Max asks.

“Yes, it did. Wasn’t that beautiful?” Marie answers.

“Yes, it was.” He leans over and kisses her on the cheek. She caresses his back in return.

No one speaks for several moments. Marie decides to break the romantic silence.

“I can’t wait to hear what dare you have in store for me!” Marie chuckles.

Max thinks for a moment.

“I think I have something pretty scandalous in mind…”

Educating Jonathan – Part Two

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He pauses. She blushes.

“So what?” she asks.

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

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

“You’re silly. Such a silly woman.”

She pauses. This time, he blushes.

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

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

And Jonathan is just the man to desire her.

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?”

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

Gorgeous downtown Seattle during the evening.

Gorgeous downtown Seattle during the evening.

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

“Shut up.”

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

Jonathan nods. She interprets that as her cue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you, Jonathan.”

“I love you, Samantha.”

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

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

A beautiful white overcoat Dr. Sammy would have worn.

A beautiful white overcoat Dr. Sammy would have worn.

“That was fun,” Samantha whispers.

Jonathan is left speechless. She prefers it that way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I ask you a question, Jonathan?”

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

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

Wait…what?

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

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

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

Bondage. A preview of things to come?

Bondage. A preview of things to come?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, I follow you. Go on.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Take this, Jonathan.”

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

“I want you to punish me, Jonathan.”

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

“Punish me. Hard.”

Educating Jonathan – Part One

This is the figure I imagined Dr. Samantha would possess.

This is the figure I imagined Dr. Samantha would possess.

“Is it true Asian men have small penises?” she asks.

Jonathan stops his slow, languorous kisses across her neck as he freezes, utterly shocked to hear such a question.

“Um, I have no idea if we do or not. I don’t think any scientific studies have been done on the matter.” He continues to kiss her, moving up to her jawline, tasting her sweet skin. Samantha softly moans as his tongue explores her slender cheek bones.

“I lost my virginity to an Asian boy. He was Vietnamese. We were both fifteen. I haven’t spoken to him in almost twenty years,” she says, cupping his bottom with her hands. Jonathan and Samantha were now down to their underwear, dainty pieces of fabric separating them from total nakedness.

“How was he? In bed, that is…” he asks. He isn’t just asking to make casual conversation. Jonathan sincerely wants to know. How would he compare to a pubescent Vietnamese boy?

Samantha takes a deep breath and wraps her arms around Jonathan’s waist. She ponders this question for a moment, her right eyebrow raised slightly. Deep in thought.

“I don’t remember. We were both very young. I didn’t come, but that wasn’t because of him. The whole time I was scared we’d be caught by my parents. We did it on their bed. They could have come home at any moment. We were both drunk.” Samantha felt a chill roll down her back as she reflects upon that particular night. They were so close to being caught. But alas, they had plenty of time to finish the deed before Mom and Dad came home from the movie theater.

Jonathan wonders where this conversation is going. Are they going to make love or not? He isn’t the impatient type of guy, but after hours of foreplay (starting with him buying her dinner at an overpriced seafood restaurant) he was more than ready to ravish her on his bed. Mostly naked and furiously aroused, he was as good as ready. He was pretty sure she was too.

The rain fell peacefully on the bedroom’s sky window. Jonathan’s top floor apartment unit stood seventeen floors high, overlooking the entire metropolitan skyline. It was approaching midnight, but neither of them felt sleepy. He wants to make love to her right now. She, on the other hand, is preoccupied with discussing the size of Asian men’s penises.

This is how things are going so far.

“Overall, was it a positive experience for the both of you?” he asks. Maybe if he kept the discussion going this would lead to better sex than if he just remained silent. Women love men who can communicate, right?

There's something peacefully calming about the rain.

There’s something peacefully calming about the rain.

“Yes, it was. I didn’t feel any pain. He came inside me. I didn’t come, but I was at an age when I hadn’t ever come before. I learned how to shortly after.” Her soft skin felt divine against his body. She smelled like a fresh spring morning, full of hope and renewal. Jonathan desperately wants to taste her femininity, to take in every inch of her magnificent body and destroy any notion that Asian men can’t be good lovers. He wants to bring her to as many earth-shattering climaxes as possible and leave her begging for more until the sun rose the next morning.

“How…big was he?” Jonathan courageously asks.

“I was young, so I didn’t think about that. We did it in the dark, so I couldn’t get a good look at him. He felt fine inside me, I think. But no one can fill me the way my husband can.” Jonathan almost cringes at the thought of Samantha being a married woman. He hates being the “other man,” but his uncontrollable lust for her has clouded his judgment and rendered any sense of moral decency useless.

“What would your husband think if he knew what we were doing?” he quietly whispers in her ear.

“He’d be very angry. He wouldn’t resort to violence, but he’d be very angry.” Samantha doesn’t have a single shred of guilt inside her. The moment she peeked into their bedroom one early afternoon and saw her husband in bed with a female coworker, she knew she had to exact revenge on him without his knowledge. He never found out that she found out…and that’s the way Samantha wants it to be.

Jonathan and Samantha met under very unlikely circumstances. He’s a grad student at the University working on his Masters in physics. She’s a college professor at the same University and earned her doctorate in Gender, Race and Class Studies. He’s never taken a course from her, but her reputation as an accomplished and intelligent woman with gorgeous good looks made her a legend on campus. She’s never slept with any of her students, as she’s remained faithful to her husband (a neurosurgeon and widely respected man in his community) throughout their entire marriage until this fateful night.

He’s Asian, 25-years-old and unmarried. She’s a natural blonde, white, 52-years-old and has been married for 27 years. She’s been with her husband longer than Jonathan’s been alive. This fact does not escape either of them.

Jonathan reaches down and feels between her legs. Her panties are soaking wet, moisture seeping through the bright red fabric. She lets out another moan as his fingers explore her swollen womanhood.

Olympic track athlete Funmi Jimoh, born in Seattle, WA! She's the inspiration for "Kristina," the girl Jonathan lost his virginity to years ago.

Olympic track athlete Funmi Jimoh, born in Seattle, WA! She’s the inspiration for “Kristina,” the girl Jonathan lost his virginity to years ago.

“I want to make love to you. Badly, Samantha,” Jonathan pleads with her. His erection is straining against his underwear, equally anticipating release and satisfaction. She reaches down and pinches the sides of his underwear, slowly dragging it down his legs.

“Please. Call me Sammy. That’s what my students call me,” Samantha quips, mesmerized by the unveiling of Jonathan’s manhood.

“Dr. Sammy” is what she’s specifically known by around campus. The moment Jonathan first saw her he instantly fell in love. Her beauty, intelligence, passion and dedication to her craft of teaching struck him immediately – like a thousand bolts of lightning hitting him all at once.

When she pulled off his underwear, Jonathan was completely naked. His erected manhood stood between him and her. A sudden wave of insecurity rushed over him. She says her husband can fill her like no one else can. How would he compare? What is she thinking right now?

Samantha looks down at his penis and stares at it, studying its shape and size. Before marrying her husband, Samantha had a very active sex life and has seen her share of male anatomy through the years. She didn’t quite know what to think about his endowment yet. It wasn’t particularly small, but it wasn’t big either. It was light brown, curved slightly and circumcised. His black pubic hair was short and lightly trimmed, dancing around his manhood without being distracting.

“How big is it?” she asks, almost in a trance-like state. Jonathan has no idea how to respond.

“Uh, I don’t know. What do you mean by that?”

“How long is it? Have you ever measured it before?”

“No, I have not. Do you want to?”

Her eyes light up. Of course she wants to! Samantha doesn’t know where her obsession with penis size came from, but throughout her adult life (starting in high school) she’s been mesmerized by men’s penises – their function, their size, their appearance, their unique smell and their role in social relationships. She once wrote an entire book dedicated to studying penises. Every possible angle was explored in this groundbreaking text. She even won an award for it.

“Yes, I want to. Do you have a ruler or measuring tape?” Her eyes still have not left his manhood. Jonathan has never taken much thought about the size of his penis. He’s always assumed he was average. None of the women he’s ever been with (both Asian and non-Asian) have ever complained. But then again, not complaining isn’t the same as being satisfied. He lost his virginity to a black girl during his freshman year in college. Her name was Kristina. She lived in the same dormitory building and was a member of the track team. She had an incredibly muscular body that was as fit and athletic as he’d ever witnessed in his life. He’ll never forget that experience.

“I have a roll of measuring tape in my desk drawer.” Jonathan gets up off the bed and almost trips on the pile of clothes recklessly sprawled out across the floor. His erection sways from side to side as he walks across the room. Samantha notices this and begins to touch herself in response. She slides her right hand beneath her panties and places two fingers across her swollen clitoris, stroking herself as she closes her eyes and imagines Jonathan’s Asian penis filling every inch of her. She unclasps her bra and drops it on the floor.

Have you ever measured the length of your manhood?

Have you ever measured the length of your manhood?

Meanwhile, Jonathan opens his desk drawer and takes out a small roll of measuring tape. He can’t remember the last time he used this. High school shop class, perhaps? That must be it.

He turns around and sees Samantha pleasuring herself. Her right hand caresses the sensitive nub between her legs while her left hand explores her stomach, breasts and neck. Jonathan watches, captivated by this little “show.” Jonathan has seen lots of videos of women masturbating in front of a camera, but nothing compares to watching the real thing unfold right before his very eyes.

She has no idea what’s come over her. She’s not the type of woman who impulsively touches herself when a sudden rush of arousal hits her. But here she is, rubbing herself like a sex-starved housewife in front of a total stranger she’s only met hours ago. Samantha feels a hot rush of heat pulsate from between her legs as her fingers relentlessly caress her most sensitive area. She knows she’s close. And she’s further turned on knowing he’s watching her.

Jonathan can’t breathe. Samantha loses her breath – caught up in the moment, reveling in the sensations rising up from her depraved body.

Samantha looks up to the Heavens as she approaches her climax. Her fingers continue to rub her clit as her breathing increases with forceful panic. Seeing Jonathan’s hard manhood sway back and forth reminded her of her husband twenty years ago, when they were both young and full of uninhibited sexual ambitions.

Finally, Samantha’s orgasm reaches its peak and she climaxes. A controlled scream fills the air as her orgasm engulfs her entire body from head to toe. The rhythmic contractions of her vaginal muscles steal her breath, making her fall backwards on the bed. Her fingers linger on her clit until her spasms subside. Eventually her breathing returns to normal and she opens her eyes, thanking every deity in existence for this amazing experience. She brings her fingers to her mouth and tastes her feminine juices, enjoying the way her taste buds respond to her own essence.

Silence. Neither of them move for what seems like an eternity. Jonathan decides to break the deafening stillness.

“That was amazing. It looks like you don’t even need me.” Jonathan winks at her, a wicked smile streaking across his face.

Samantha laughs heartily. She never expected this impromptu masturbation session. But there was something in the way that Jonathan’s penis moved as he walked that erupted a sudden burst of lust inside her. She needed release at that moment. And the only one who could give her that immediate release was herself.

More erotic photography. A woman pleasuring herself. Who can better please a woman than herself?

More erotic photography. A woman pleasuring herself. Who can better please a woman than herself?

“Come here. I want to do something with you.” Samantha pats the bed next to her as she sits back up. By now Jonathan can clearly see her panties are soaking wet, a sign of her arousal that sparks a similar eruption of lust inside him. He hands her the measuring tape and sits down next to her.

“Let’s see how big you are. If you don’t mind.” She stretches the tape out. It’s 72 inches long, plenty of length for whatever scientific experiment she wants to conduct.

“No, I don’t mind. I’m never one to get in the way of scientific research.” Jonathan inhales a deep breath as Samantha grabs the base of his penis and lightly strokes up and down. He feels sudden waves of pleasure cascading through his body. If she wasn’t careful, he might come right there.

“Good. Let’s see where you are…” she trails off, pushing her thumb against the tip of his penis to make sure it stands straight. She then places the end of the measuring tape at the base of his pubic hair and rolls the tape up to the top. He looks down to see how he stacks up.

“About five and a half inches long,” Samantha says unemotionally, as if she were relaying astronomy coordinates to a bored lab assistant.

“Whew,” Jonathan says, breathing a sigh of relief. Is that standard? All the unscientific research he’s ever read says the average penis size, when fully engorged, is between five and six inches. At five and a half, he’s right in the middle. Good! He’s not small. But he’s also not large. He’s…average.

He can live with “average.”

Samantha then wraps the measuring tape around the base of his penis to calculate the circumference. She brushes some of his pubic hair aside to get a more accurate reading.

“Just shy of four and three-quarters inches,” she says, equally without emotion or judgment.

“Dr. Sammy” winds the measuring tape and places it on top of the bedside table. She turns to face Jonathan and plants a light kiss on his right cheek. Electricity runs down his spine as her soft, luscious lips linger on the side of his face.

“Let’s make love,” he suggests, caressing her cheek and lightly pinching her pink nipple with his fingertips.

She takes the hint and slips off her soaked panties down her beautiful legs. Samantha kicks them away to the side, uncaring where they land. She is now completely nude.

“Yes.” She kisses him deeply, refusing to let this prefect moment go to waste.