The Christian Chronicles 1: The true events in the life of a muscle obsessed loser.
by Christian Williams  christianwill20@yahoo.com



Part 1 of ?

For absolutely no reason, I decided I would start sharing some of my muscular
women experiences. I guess it's because that's the one aspect of my life I do
not feel appropriate to share with my friends and family. As you read on, you
surely will agree. I will warn everyone now that the core of these stories are
sexual so there will be multiple references to erections, ejaculation, and
intercourse. If that kind of thing bothers you, then I have no idea why you
are reading stories of muscular women on the internet. Oh, and I have a nasty
habit of cursing a lot. It's easier than trying to think of an intelligent way
to describe things

All of the following stories are as true as I remember them. Any embellishment
is purely accidental. Due to the nature of true stories, they aren't always
happy and things often do not happen as I would've preferred. However, I do
promise you will find at least one or two interesting. Some are fairly
uneventful, some sad, some have happy endings (one literally), and one that
may make a few of you vomit. I'll try to warn you of the latter when it is
time. There are some that take place before my 18th birthday and a couple that
involved girls that were not 18 either. I have not decided whether to tell
these or not, but if I do throw a couple of those in none of them would
involve the nudity or sexual act of a minor.

In order to give you a preview and keep a reminder list for myself, some of
the stories will cover: a Hawaiian fitness competitor hairstylist, a few
random public encounters, a few strip club stories (obviously), some high
school anecdotes (possibly), two girls I actually dated, and a couple of
prostitutes. Unfortunately no partridge in a pear tree or I would be able to
create one kickass Christmas song to sing at Grandma's.

Instead of getting right to the actual meat of the stories, I'm going to have
to include a brief bio of myself. I understand that you're not reading this
story to hear a description of some dork in Jersey, but please bear with me. I
will try to only include information that will be needed to fully understand
each story. I am 30 and single. I was engaged, but she passed away and I would
prefer to not mention anything else on the subject.

Physically, I'm actually a very good looking guy with a solid gym body. I've
never had any problems getting women interested in me. Unfortunately, in all
His balance of the universe wisdom, God decided to offset my attractiveness
with an unusually small penis. So I have no trouble getting women, but most of
the time I'm too scared to whip out my 4.5" monster to actually have sex with
them.

And then there's the small matter of my absolute and complete obsession with
muscular women. Normal porn does nothing for me if the woman isn't muscular. A
video of Tina Jo Orban flexing her biceps turns me on more than any sex video
you find on "normal" porn sites. Unfortunately, southern NJ isn't the haven of
female bodybuilders you would expect it to be. Sometimes I wonder if every
woman in the state is a sub-95lb crack addict or over 300lb McDonalds addict.

The extreme rarity of muscular women in my life coupled with the fact that it
is the only cause of my sexual arousal has the result of when I am around a
woman with noticable muscles my libido goes ape-shit. The fortunate aspect of
this is that it's a legal and somewhat acceptable fetish to have. As
despicable as they are, I sometimes think how horrible it would be if digging
muscle chicks was as disgusting to society as kiddie porn. The unfortunate
aspect of this is that I am a young guy with an unbelievably healthy libido
and too often my intense arousal around these goddesses becomes too much for
me to handle and I lose control. Both literally and figuratively. Disclaimer:
No women were harmed or harassed in the happenings of these stories.

Before I shut the fuck up and get on with the stories, I also wish to make one
more statement. I am not an organized guy and telling these stories in
chronological order would bore the shit out of me. I'm going to tell the
stories in whichever order I feel like. If appropriate to the event, I will
try to include my age and/or approximate year. Along with my disorganization
comes my random bouts of laziness and lack of desire to finish projects so I
can't promise when or if future installments will happen.

Since it's short, I'll start with the Hawaiian hair stylist. At the time I
lived in central Jersey and worked near the Monmouth Mall. One day during
lunch I was wandering the mall looking for muscular women to gawk at when I
saw a gorgeous Hawaiian woman that looked extremely fit. The first thing I
noticed were her legs bulging through her pants. She was wearing really thin
cotton type long pants, but I could see every time she took a step toward me,
her quads would bunch up and I could see them through her pants. My heart
started racing as it always does when I first notice a woman around me has
muscles. She had a light jacket covering her upper body so I couldn't see her
arms. I turned and followed her like the creep that I am. I want to stop this
story and tell everyone now that I do not stalk, but I do feel a little too
creepy when I do this. And I will only do this until I think the woman in
question might suspect that I'm always around then I force myself to leave.
However, this training has made me so good at the inconspicuous following that
I should join the fucking FBI.

After a few minutes of "coincidentally" walking 10 feet behind her, she walked
into the hair salon. Since her hair was done up like she was going out, I
realized she must work there. Yeah, I'm Sherlock fucking Holmes when it comes
to muscular chicks. I quickly made my way to the counter and asked if they had
an opening for a haircut. When the girl at the counter asked if I wanted to
request anyone I told her my last haircut was from an asian woman with long
hair and that I would like her again. I figured that would have been a good
enough description, but the genius at the counter didn't know who I was
talking about. I said, "Asian, long hair, kinda muscular?" I got a blank stare
and head shake from that. As I pointed to my future masturbation fantasy, the
girl finally realized who I was talking about and went back to the woman and
told her that I liked the last haircut I got from her and was requesting her
again.

If you haven't figured it out yet, I soon found out that it was the muscular
woman's first day. And to top it off, the woman asked me how I got a haircut
from her if it was her first day. But I think quick on my feet and I had the
perfect response. I looked down at my feet and quietly muttered that I thought
she was someone else. Ok, I usually think quick on my feet, but not when my
heart is racing and I'm less than 24 inches away from someone I would give
actual bodyparts to see naked.

I was excited enough to be able to watch this amazing woman's thighs flex as
she cut my hair, but what she did next made my year. After she put on my apron
hair catching thing, she went to the chair next to me and took off her jacket
exposing her incredibly muscular arms. She had on a thin sleeveless shirt that
molded perfectly over her muscular upper body and obviously fake tits. Instead
of fucking up the description, I'll use your knowledge of fitness models to
picture what they looked like. Just imagine a typical mid-range fitness model
with a dark Hawaiian tan. She was vascular enough that you could see the one
bicep vein running down each arm. The one on her left arm was more noticable,
which made me assume she was left handed. Actually, it was her right arm, but
my dumb ass took most of the haircuit to realize I was looking in a mirror.
Did I mention that I'm an electrical engineer that designs safetly products.
Yeah, be afraid. Be very afraid.

Anyway, she asked if I would mind if she washed my hair first. MINDED!?! If I
was dying of cancer and granted a wish from the Make a Wish foundation, having
a beautiful muscle chick in a sleeveless shirt washing my hair would
definitely be in the semi-finals of my choice.

As I watched the muscles on her arms flex repeatedly from washing my hair, I
noticed a pain in the muscle under my testicles. It was then that I realized
that I had a bonor. Not just a normal bonor, but one of the ridiculous ones
that feel like your balls are going to climb in your body. When you have a
small penis, erections can sneak up on you. I guess bigger guys feel their
pants interfere the growing, but my dick can get hard and barely touch fabric.
It's like playing Operation. Get the funny-bone and don't touch the sides or
that horrible fucking 1kHz piezo will scare the shit out of you. Anyway, now I
actually can feel a throb or twitch every time I see her bicep bulge. I
frantically looked down and fortunately I found that my bonor was completely
concealed by the plastic apron hair catchy thing. As we walked back to the
chair I quickly put my hand in my pockets and pulled the little guy closer to
my body.

Trying to strike up a conversation, I asked, "So it's your first day?"
Probably a stupid move since I just got caught lying about this very subject.
She assured me she had been working as a stylist for a while and I was in good
hands. I later found this was definitely not true because when she was done I
looked like Moe Henry and had to get a another haircut on the way home from
work. I asked if they were treating her well with the hours, and she informed
me that she only knows that she was working Friday on the present schedule.
This was a good lead to try to steer the conversation toward her muscles so I
asked if that was all she did for a living. I struck gold with this question
because her response was that she was a personal trainer and she was training
for a competition. I don't know what happened, but apparently Peter Brady
decided to ask her the next question. My voice cracked like I was back in
middle school and I squeaked, "Bodybuilding or Fitness?" My face turned beat
red when I realized how high my voice was and I pretended to cough. She pat me
on the back and I could feel how hard her hand was through my shirt. I swear I
even felt the callouses.

"Fitness, I think it looks more feminine," she answered.

"Yeah, I think you look very feminine," I quickly answered. Jerk-off, I
thought. There was no way to act cool when I was in this state.

She continued, "When I first started I lost all of my bodyfat and it made my
breasts look like a boy's, so I had to get a boob job to get them back." Was
she really telling me this? She wasn't saying it in a way to turn me on. I
think she was just one of those women that just say whatever shit is on their
minds. Even without the muscles, she was a very attractive chick and was
probably never told to shut the fuck up.

Since I had no idea how to follow this comment, I did play it cool. "Well, I'm
a gentleman so I'm not going to comment." She laughed which rocked.

I asked if she gets a lot of comments and she told me that they run the gammit
of "Are you a dude?" to "Can I touch your biceps?" I continued to try to act
cool and said, "Eww that's creepy. Guys just ask if they can touch your arm?"
I asked this not just to look cool, but praying that it would lead to some
good stories for my later reference when I got home. Unfortunately, she just
gave a short, "Yeah, it's weird" answer.

I frantically tried to figure out a way to ask her to flex while the
conversation was still on her muscles. "I think you look awesome. It's great
that a woman is willing to put effort into looking good and not just starving
herself." Then I concentrated on acting cool and asked her to flex.
Unfortunately, she said that she doesn't like doing it because Terrell (she
motioned to the black hair stylist behind me) makes jokes about it. Fucking
Terrell killing my fantasy.

She continued to cut my hair while making occassional small talk. I didn't
notice Terrell walk away, but when he did she said, "Here look," and flexed
her bicep about 8 inches from my face. It was only for a second or two, but
when I'm 90 and suffering from alzheimer's, I'll be able draw it like it was
still right in front of me. That is if I could draw worth a fuck.

It was then that I moved my hand back to my aching bonor, which ended up being
a mistake. When you are aroused almost beyond human endurance, grabbing your
bonor ends up being a one way move. That's the point of no return. There was
no way I was going to be able to remove it. Speaking of one way moves, it took
one slow move of my hand from the tip to midway down the shaft before I
started shooting in my hand. By that time she was back cutting my hair as
normal, completely unaware that I was completely soaking the palm of my hand.
I didn't know if I made a noise, but just to be safe I intentionally groaned,
and adjusted my position making some comment about my back bothering me from
playing hockey last night.

I didn't even get to enjoy admiring her muscles for the rest of the haircut
becuase I was trying to make sure that none of the cum made it's way to the
outside of my pants where it would be obvious when she removed the apron hair
catchy thing. What the fuck is the name of that thing anyway? Like most of my
work pants, I was wearing khakis. Fortunately, it was one of my darker pair,
so a couple drips might not be noticable. I ended up keeping my hand in my
pocket between the cum and my pants on the walk to the counter. However, I
needed both hands to get my money out to pay so I leaned against the counter
probably leaving a shiny spot on the side. Fortunately, Boscov's was close by
and after 15 minutes of a lot of water, standing under the hand dryer, and a
couple of curious looks later, I was ready to get back to work an hour later.

Unfortunately, I never saw her there again. And trust me, every Friday I went
to the mall to see if she was working. If anyone lives around the area, keep
an eye out for her and please email me if you see her. Trust me, you'll know
who she is.

I hope this story was somewhat interesting to a few of you. If anyone is still
interested, I'll try to get another one or two out soon.