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New Book Coming Out: Excerpt

May 30, 2019 - permalink
Hey All. I'm going to release a new book in the next month or so entitled Built. It will be my 3rd book after Muscle Love: Confessions of a Muscle Worshipper, https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07H6Y2HSY which is based on my life with my wife, Muscle Therapy: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07M7996TV and Backstories: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07MXLGQVB  This novel will feature a much bigger woman that the previous novels, but hopefully still have an aura of realism despite her Herculean size.  Here is the exceprt:
After rummaging through my closet for some date night clothing, I finally emerged in black pants and a long sleeved gray Nike shirt. After far more fussing about the way I looked I finally said to hell with it and left Karen in the babysitter’s care and went on my first date in what seemed like an eternity. As I drove up to her house, a hundred scenarios regarding how the night might proceed danced through my head. None of them were close to the truth.  Cindy came to the door in a little black mock turtleneck dress that exposed her well developed arms and half of her insanely sculpted legs. Silver high heels accentuated her heavily muscled calves that reminded me of one of my muscular pinups that I secretly admired, Katka Kyptova. I was struck by the fashion in which hyper feminine outfit stretched in unnatural fashions by her sexy frame. Her eyes were highlighted by her usual heavy shading, but even more emphasized by an almost Egyptian amount of cat eye makeup. Her shoulders, loose from the restraints of fabric, demanded attention and with all her muscle, my eyes struggled to find a singular place to stop and worship.

   Finally I managed, “Woah, you look amazing.”

   It was enough, as she cracked a smile that beamed. “You look nice too.” she said as she reached in for a hug. Nice, I thought. Barely a kernel in your aura, but at least I was the kernel who got to admire her for the evening. As she pulled me in with strength that a normal woman could never possess I was floored by how dense and solid her lats and shoulders felt. We walked to the car arms around each other and with every step I felt her firmness shift and bulge beneath the thin membrane of her dress. Shedding the fat as she had prepping for the contest I could detect the texture of striations clenching and releasing. Why had I parked so close I thought as I approached the car. As I opened the door for her and released our grip I muffled a sad sigh. The night is still young I told myself. Maybe…
*  *  *
When I parked the car I hurried around and opened the door for her. It was corny, but she appreciated it and took my hand when I helped her out of the car. Just her touch held power and she knew it. As we walked toward the mall I was once again struck by her massiveness. Yes, I probably outweighed her by thirty pounds and was a couple of inches taller, but given her frame, she looked massive.As amazing as she looked in her dress, it was readily apparent it could barely contain her thick layers of lat muscles. With every step her quads flexed and her striations looked like a river delta in between thick mountains of muscle. She presented such a unique vision of a modern woman and I was enthralled. It was quickly apparent though that the general public was a little less favorable in their evaluation of Cindy.

   Just on our way to dinner alone Cindy received three comments out loud while a myriad of people glanced over or outright stared at her as if she was a superwoman or a freak. She walked on unperturbed like it was an everyday occurrence, but it was a little hard for me to disconnect. When we walked by a guy in a backward facing hat with a girl at an ice cream place next to our restaurant I heard him say, “make sure you never look like that,” I’d had enough. I stepped toward him to put him in his place. I don’t know what I would actually have done had I reached him, but it never happened as Cindy literally pulled me back into her embrace and whispered, “No, it’s not worth it.”

It took me a few minutes to recover from a simple two hundred yard walk. We sat at the bar and I looked at her tanned, muscular body lost in my own thoughts. What must life be like for Cindy every day, I thought. Here she was flagrantly flouting the standard appearance norms for women.  Her massive muscles, surely aided by the masculinizing effects of steroid use and loss of traditional feminine traits such as soft round curves and breast tissue, screamed ‘fuck you’ to society’s conforming constraints. Lost in thought I almost missed Cindy addressing the issue.

   “It happens all the time, especially when I’m cutting for contests.  I get a lot of stares.  I think people are scared of me or what I represent.” She was speaking softly, almost whispering and I wasn’t sure if that reflected resignation or frustration.

“What do you think you represent?”

   She thought about it like a minute as if she was rehearsing something she’d said to others before and wanted to get the words right. “I try and represent the fact that women don’t have to be weak and submissive. I’m not sure I’m always successful, but I try. Did it bother you?”

   “What, the attention?”

        “Well, I guess the fact that it’s hard for me to walk anywhere, especially closer to a contest like this, and not be noticed. You might be seen as the man with that thing or something.”

   I laughed, “You mean recognized as the guy going out with the most amazing and beautiful woman in the room? I think I’m okay with that attention.”
   She blushed and then laughed and said with self deprecation, “It’s not always positive, you know. You just saw that.” The meals arrived and Cindy had ordered a double plate of fish. As she pressed down with the fork veins squirmed from her calloused hands all the way up to her thick bicep. I did all I could to keep my draw from dropping, but felt my breath quicken.

       A response, Andrew respond my brain thrust on my vocal cords. “That was apparent. I could have made him regret it though.”

   “With no benefit to either of us.”

   “Yah, I know. I wouldn’t have done anything.” I winked at her, recovering my breath as she chewed “maybe scared him a little though.” She laughed and covered her mouth with a napkin. “What is the typical reaction?  I just saw a small sample.” I asked. She swallowed and reached for her wine glass. Even the simple movement caused a cascade of reaction. As she lifted her wine glass, her thick forearms ripple, tendons tightened and veins popped. I longed to run my fingertips across them.

   “Usually just amazement. It’s not like there are a lot of women in popular culture who people see look like this.” She motioned to her body and I used the opportunity to gaze without guilt. “But there are a fair amount of positive statements. I get people who say, ‘Wow, you look great. Do you work out?  A few times I’ve heard people say things like, why do you lift weights? You are going to look like a man, like they are informing me of something I’ve never considered.’’’
        “You look nothing like a man. That didn’t come out very well, what I meant is you look like a woman you look hot, like a hot woman. Uggh, you look amazing.”

   She smiled at my word fumbling episode and continued. “Thanks, well I know the muscle does confuse some people and perceptually know that in a way it makes me look more masculine, but I love the way I look. The muscles provide more symmetry and I love my size. If anything I’d like to get a little bigger in here.” She reached back to her traps and her bicep erupted with the simple movement. My erection was in full bloom with her description of her body and her desire to get bigger. I could almost hear myself wheezing with desire and tried in vain to slow down my breathing. “I’ve always been a little tomboyish anyways. I have an older sister and I was ‘supposed to be the boy,’ so dad encouraged me to be athletic.”

   “So have you lifted since you were young?”

   “No, I was more into running and track and field, and I never really lifted until about eight years ago. I had short hair and as a sporty tom-boy I was never the quote, pretty one.”

   I interrupted, trying to defend her. “Funny, I always liked the sporty chicks who were athletic.”

   “I can see that hasn't changed.” She ducked her gaze down to my crotch and her eyes went wide looking at my noticeable raging woody. Crap, I had to get better at hiding it. At least she was smiling and good-natured with her teasing.

   She let me off the hook by continuing with her story. “I was dating a guy for quite awhile and we were pretty serious. He was the first guy who really told me I was beautiful and seemed like he meant it. After a few years, I realized I put some weight on so I went to the gym to look good for him, honestly, more than for myself. Initially, as I got firm and tightened he supported me at every turn. He gave me so much positive feedback that I know it encouraged me to continue.  But when I started getting noticeably stronger he grew lukewarm on my lifting and tried to get me to cheat on my diet or skip the gym. I was a little confused at first, but then figured out that he was intimidated by my lifting. I tried to hide my strength for awhile but I just couldn’t get enough and lifted heavier and heavier.”

   Thinking back now, she had to know what she was doing to me. I was literally squirming in my seat at her recollection of her muscle beginning and growing strength. I was putty in her hands by this point and didn’t even see that she was executing a plan with me. Knowing now what she wanted though, I still would have gone along.

   She continued, “Eventually, albeit accidentally, I proved that I was stronger than him…”

   “How’d that happen?” God, I jumped at any chance to hear about the power of her muscle. I just couldn’t stop myself.

   “Well, I think it started when I opened a can he couldn’t open and he got all defensive. He then demanded we arm wrestle despite my protestations.” She stopped, dangling the hook in front of me once again.

   “And then what happened?”

    “Well, let’s just say it wasn't even close. I wasn’t surprised and honestly didn’t think less of him. I loved him or thought I did. He, however, felt emasculated.  He started getting grouchy with me and finally a few weeks later gave me an ultimatum. It was either the weights or him. And here I am. She brought her fist to her chest and flexed her arm a bit like she was hiding her true muscle. And I was hooked. She smiled, but I thought I could sense some pain in her eyes. It had to be hard for female bodybuilders to flout societies acceptable gender norms.

   I thought about how to continue the conversation’s focus on her and eventually landed on “So is your muscularity a bigger deal with family or strangers?”

   She thought about it for a second.  “Well, to be honest, probably family. I’ve only had one really bad experience with a stranger. He was drunk and clearly felt like I’d done something to him or his entire sex by being stronger then him. He said stuff like ‘ew look at the transy. Was he a she or he first?’”

   “What an idiot, that’s awful.”

   “Yah, but aside from a few comments about it being too much, the general public is usually positive. There are plenty of oglers and people who stare for good or bad reasons, but most of the comments are positive.”

   “And how is that different from your family?”

   “Well, they pretend to be supportive and then say things like ‘I’m just worried about what people will think of you’ or ‘I’m afraid you won’t get a man.’ My favorite was from my sister who said, ‘remind me never to piss you off.’  It’s like they assume I’m unwomanly and violent just because I like my body a certain way and enjoy being strong.”

   “I can see how that would grate on you.  Well, no worries on that front from me.  As I told you, I’ve always liked sporty women.”

   She cocked her head and smiled. “I think you like them extra sporty, don’t you?”   

   Busted again. Screw it, let’s just stay honest. “Guilty as charged.”

   “Well, I won’t hold it against you. In fact, I want something from you if you don’t mind me being too forward.”

   This sounded intriguing, “What?”

   “Well, I’m not looking for a boyfriend right now. A boyfriend is too hard, to be honest.” I was temporarily at a loss for words and unable to respond. She explained her dilemma. “When I am preparing for contests so often and have my goals I just can’t be distracted by all the minutia of dating. Dating when I’m food deprived and moody and restricting my carbs is hard. I try and be nice, but it makes me too upset when the guy I’m dating can eat whatever he wants in front of me. I’m getting angry now just thinking about it. In the short term I have to make some sacrifices. The expectations and niceties when I’m cutting, focusing on my diet, routine, and lifting is just too much. It wouldn’t be fair to a guy either, I think.”

   “Yah, I can see that. But, I think you have a lot to offer a guy.”

   She smiled, score another point I thought offhand. Maybe, sometime when she did want a boyfriend she’d consider me? The night wasn’t proving fruitful, but maybe it could turn into a long term investment. Just as I was thinking these thoughts she threw me a curveball and I hit it out of the park. “Yah, and there are things I miss about men for sure, like sex. So what I’m looking for is not a boyfriend. I want a sex buddy.”

   She laughed at her forwardness and without thinking I responded. “Well, let me know if you ever need help in that department.” I about shot myself for my inability to think before speaking. Your stupid verbosity is astounding, my brain was telling my dick when I heard her response.

   “How about tonight?” I know my jaw literally dropped when she uttered those remarkable words from her sweet lips.

   “Really? If you are serious then yes.” My brain began playing a refrain over and over in my head in the short few seconds before she responded. Please don’t be toying with me, please don’t be toying with me.

*  *  *
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