Pumping Iron

My time at college had nearly come to an end. My exams were finished, the end of term parties were done and I had packed up my room and belongings to leave. I would soon be traveling home, across country and unlikely to return to this city anytime soon.

There was just one last thing to do, something I had dreamt about for several years, and now was my last chance to fulfil this desire in the knowledge that I would leave any consequences behind. The fact that my fantasy was several years in the making just intensified my anticipation and excitement as I made myself the promise to live out my fantasy.

I had arrived at college as a naïve and inexperienced girl, and took a room off campus, a twenty-minute walk from my classes. It wasn't located in the best neighborhood but was comfortable and cheap. The walk home took me through some quite industrial areas, past small workshops and factories, including a series of businesses in converted railway arches. Most were closed by the time I left the library and made my way home each evening, but there was always activity around the one unit being used as gym.

It wasn't the type of gym I had been a member of back home or anything like the gym on campus. I was more used to large modern facilities, full of people attending spin classes, or mindful yoga studios serving herbal tea between lessons. This was a rough bodybuilding gym, frequented by people serious about gaining muscle mass and definition. These men, with their highly developed musculature were not working out to achieve a degree of fitness or to look toned at the beach, they were focused on building and sculpting their muscles with broad shoulders, defined abs, large biceps, triceps, and thigh muscles.

These huge men were also nothing like the people I knew and dated. I was always attracted to sensitive boys who shared my love of books and were typically quite nerdy and gentle. I guess I would use the term "non-threatening" to describe them, and there was an endless pool of them at college.

The men that frequented that gym were absolutely threatening and intimidating to an sheltered girl like me. In the summer, the wide wooden arched doors of the gym would be flung open and the men would spill out onto the sidewalk where they would lift weights in the fresh air, without their shirts, loudly encouraging each other as they did. Instinctively I would cross to the other side of the street to avoid walking directly past them. But I would find myself staring at them as I passed, fascinated by their taut muscles, sweat covered bodies and their brash self-confidence. There was clearly an exhibitionistic component to their strutting around in the street and I found myself drawn to it.

I wouldn't admit that I was attracted to these steroid enhanced creatures, and I did see them as being barely human or a different species to me and my friends, but I was intrigued. Intrigued enough to watch a few YouTube videos about bodybuilding culture where I developed a begrudging respect for their single mindedness and determination to push themselves to lift heavier weights and perform more reps to improve upon their own physical achievements. I didn't understand why they prioritized developing their bodies over their minds, but I had to admit that some of them were very attractive and even quite sexy.

I continued to watch the bodybuilders from afar as I walked past the gym, but always from the other side of the street and when I got home, I would watch more YouTube videos about training routines and diets, increasingly attracted to the beautiful, oiled muscles on show.

Eventually, curiosity got the better of me and, on one especially warm evening, I decided not to cross the road as I passed the gym, in full knowledge that the sidewalk would be cluttered with dumbbells, weights and thick muscular men.

I walked past the weightlifters without pausing or looking around, not making eye contact or acknowledging them in any away, but I was close enough that I felt the heat from their bodies and couldn't avoid breathing in the musty body odor from their sweat soaked bodies. I'm ashamed to admit that it triggered a primeval response in me, and I felt my panties soak as I continued to walk home. By habit, I turned on my favorite YouTube bodybuilding channel when I arrived at my room and was disgusted as I felt the urge to touch myself as I watched. I initially resisted, as I had never really masturbated before, but the desire was too strong, and I began to explore my own body as I fixated on their bodies.

I couldn't concentrate the following day in class as all I could think of was my walk home and the chance to get close to these overdeveloped muscle men again.

This time, I was eager to get a close look at some of the men without staring or appearing lascivious. I made eye contact with the first of the men, a large Asian man, perhaps Pakistani or Indian, who winked at me as I passed, causing me to smile and blush in return. The next guy saw my coy response and flexed his pectoral muscles at me and smiled himself.

Evening after evening a similar act would play out, but as I grew in confidence and the men realized that I was enjoying the interactions, their responses became more overt. They would make comments about my appearance, which apparently, they appreciated, and ask me, "like what you see?" or "you want to spot me, love?". And their posing became more blatant. They would stop me as they flexed their muscles for my consideration, even bending over or thrusting their crotches forward. I would never pause, but I might say something like, "impressive" and give a smile or wink in response. I would then return home and watch more YouTube movies of bodybuilding competitions and make myself cum.

I had boyfriends at the time, and had sex with some of them, but their puny bodies didn't arouse me any longer and I would imagine I was being taken and overwhelmed by the power of a muscular bodybuilder instead.

Even when I was walking home past the gym, hand in hand with my boyfriend of the time, the guys on the street, working out their stunning bodies, would make their usual comments and flex their muscles as I passed. The muscle obsessed men looked even larger when next to the physically immature men I dated. One bodybuilder even asked, "don't you want to be with a real man?" as we passed, and I was both relieved but also disappointed that my boyfriend pretended to not to hear them, or even see as other men thrust their groins at me.

Back home my boyfriend told me, "You know all those steroids shrivels their cocks? The bodybuilding is overcompensating for their pathetic dicks and inadequacies." It would have been more impressive had he said it to their faces.

I lied to him and told him that I found their bodies grotesque and unattractive, reassuring him that I preferred his wiry frame and kind heart anyway. We made love soon after and I fantasized about muscular men as we did, wondering if he was right about bodybuilders cocks? To be honest, my boyfriend's cock hardly felt adequate and I wondered how much smaller they could get.

The following day, after my brief daily interaction with the local bodybuilders, I googled "bodybuilders" and "penis size" to see if my boyfriend's assertions had been correct, but the answer was not clear. There was certainly evidence that steroids caused hypogonadism and shrunken penises, but there were just as many indications that it was a myth or that the use of steroids in the bodybuilding community might be overstated. There was also a theory that their cocks were normal size but looked small in comparison to their engorged bodies.

I have never been interested in pornography, but I plucked up the courage, opened an 'incognito' browser window and searched for images of naked bodybuilders. I then didn't leave my room for the next three days.

I cancelled two dates with my boyfriend as I got lost in a torrent of body building pornography, masturbating furiously for hours at a time. Any concern I had about the size of bodybuilders cocks was soon dismissed by the evidence of the images and movies I was voraciously consuming. I had been turned on by the thought of these godlike men when they were wearing tight shorts or spandex leggings, but my attraction and arousal became all-consuming once I saw them naked, erect or fucking. I was especially aroused by the sight of women, with petite and delicate bodies like mine, being overwhelmed by these hulk-like figures.

On the third day I sent my boyfriend a message to end our relationship, knowing that I wasn't going to waste any more time with tiny nerdy boys when there was a world full of these muscular men potentially available. I was only interested in prime meat from now on.

The following day, rather than walk past the gym, I walked in and took out a membership. The manager explained that it was probably not the type of gym I was looking for, but I pointed to the dusty cross-trainer and exercise bike in the corner and told him that I was all I needed, and this was convenient for me. He also warned me that there were very few female members, and the environment was very macho and potentially even crude. I told him I would be fine, as my underwear grew damp from his explanation. The smell of stale sweat was only amplifying my arousal further and I could almost taste the testosterone in the air. The groans and grunts of the gathered men, who reminded me of the Neanderthals in my college anthropology classes, turned me on further.

I arrived for my first session soon after, gym bag in hand, and was directed to the female locker room, which was tiny, used primarily used as a storeroom, but had a small shower, mirror and provided sufficient privacy. I was more surprised that the men's locker room adjacent didn't have a door and I could see directly into their shower. On that first visit I averted by eyes in embarrassment as I caught site of a naked man emerging wet from the shower, but as I learned on that first visit, the guys all had an exhibitionistic streak, which perhaps shouldn't be a surprise given their dedication to creating their perfect physiques. After a few weeks I was comfortable enough to conduct entire conversations with guys as they dressed and undressed in front of me. Not that any of them were great conversationalists unless the topic was bodybuilding, diets or supplements. But I wasn't really interested in brains when the brawn was this good. They all craved the attention of a female onlooker and the objectification that as a woman I find degrading and even threatening.

Even as the only woman in the gym, my entry on that first day was barely noticed. I made my way, in my tight shorts and tank top, to the cross trainer in the corner and started my quiet workout. I avoided the exercise bike, and specifically its seat, as I was already aware of my gusset becoming moist in anticipation. From this position I could furtively watch the men pushing themselves harder towards their goals, flexing their magnificent muscles and honing their glorious bodies. And as my presence became noticed, the flexing and preening became more clearly directed toward me. Shirts were removed as I continued to exercise, drinking in all the abundant toned flesh that surrounded me. As my workout continued, I felt my heart rate increasing, my breathing become more rapid and sweat start to bead on my skin. This was more a reaction to my arousal rather than my physical exertion.

After an hour of cross-training I headed for the showers, surreptitiously peaking into the men's locker room as I did. I was intending to head directly home and shower there, but I couldn't defer my gratification a moment longer and stepped into the fusty shower cubicle and masturbated myself to climax as the hot water washed away the sweat.

Over the next few visits, I recognized that a hierarchy existed amongst the bodybuilders, derived primarily by the size and definition of their mighty frames. There were a group of around ten that appeared to be at the gym everyday and whose physical prowess and dedication to their increasing enhancement, set them apart. The gym only attracted serious bodybuilders, but these ten were a step above the others. But even in this group, who I referred to as "The Pack" there was a leader. A mountain of a man who I nicknamed "Goliath" when I fantasized about him. Goliath was the gym's silverback. The other members of The Pack, anyone of which would intimidate and overawe a regular man, were deferential to this huge creature. They moved out of the way as he passed and vacated any apparatus that he wished to use. He was breathtaking in scale and attitude, and watching these other giant men become almost timid in his presence just made him more attractive to me.

The Pack never took any notice of me, and unlike the other men present, never interacted with me. I was just the silly girl on the cross-trainer to them and they weren't going to let me be a distraction as I apparently was to the other men in the gym. And I did enjoy being a distraction to most of the men. The provocative comments I had secretly enjoyed as I walked past the gym in those previous months were conspicuous by their absence during my first gym sessions. The various gym bros were not sure how to interact with me now that I was more than just a passing target, but slowly I began to receive the occasional lewd comment as I walked past, a wolf-whistle as I bent over or lingering stare. When it became clear that I was comfortable with these interactions, perhaps even flattered by them, they increased in frequency and explicitness. And I gave as good as I got. If you were going to grab my ass as you walked past, you could expect me to return the gesture. Wave your cock at me as I passed your locker room, and I was going to loudly announce your rating out of ten.

None of my college friends would understand my attraction to these men or my tolerance and indulgence of their vulgar conduct, so I didn't tell them. The truth is, I enjoyed their clumsy but honest behavior toward me. There was no pretense. They didn't feign interest in the same music or books that I enjoyed or pretend to care about my feelings because they thought that was necessary to appeal to me. They had no interest in my politics or opinions and wouldn't have judged me for them as my friends did. These beefy men, with their overactive pituitaries, just wanted to fuck me and I respected that. What's more, I wanted to fuck them too. Hot, heavy, frantic sex. Fucking like the animals I thought of them as.

I especially wanted to fuck The Pack and Goliath, their leader, but they were so intimidating to me that I decided not to run before I could walk, so I selected a less daunting figure to begin with.

Gary was the first, a nightclub bouncer, who flirted with me one evening, but was surprised when I asked him out for a drink. He seemed embarrassed as he said no, explaining apologetically that he had a girlfriend. But I wasn't interested in finding a boyfriend and took him directly to my room. We didn't kiss or say much to each other, he just bent me over my desk and took me roughly from behind before leaving. He had lasted about two minutes and hadn't even undressed beyond pulling his jeans down to his knees. The sex was underwhelming, but the experience gave me the courage to try again the following night, and many nights after that.

I fucked dozens of bodybuilders over the next few years, uncomplicated and unemotional sex. It all felt detached and no more consequential than masturbating. I never went on dates, cuddled after or took much interest in even knowing their names. I would head to the gym, complete a light workout, and then head home with the next slab or meat that took an interest. And amongst this group, I was shameless and unapologetic about my intentions. My college friends had no idea that I had become this gym slut, ridden more often than the battered exercise bike in the corner. At one point, as a joke, a clipboard was hung by the notices for men to sign up to fuck me. But the joke hardly felt farfetched as, provided they were sufficiently muscular and well defined, I fucked anyone, regardless of age or race. The more developed their thighs and buttocks, the better.

The quality of the sex varied, and physical stature was no predictor of endowment, stamina, or technique, but at the very least, I enjoyed caressing their extraordinary bodies or feeling their strong hands squeezing my delicate body. At its best, when the explosive power of these mighty bodies combined perfectly with their aesthetic majesty, the sex could be transcendent. Sometimes it was like fucking a Greek god.

One day I may crave gentle, comforting sex, but now, I want hard, thrashing, wall shaking sex with men that can throw me around like a rag doll. I would rather have two minutes of formidably thrusting hips and grunting intensity than hours of timid love making. Twice I have had to explain to my landlord that I had broken my bed. He was probably not surprised given the frequent noise complaints from the other residents.

And every one of those encounters was leading to this moment.

Today would be my last visit to the gym, and I was planning to leave with a bang! It was a quiet Friday, and The Pack were spilling outside on this humid summer evening. I made my way to the locker room and got dressed, at least partially. With the exception of my long white socks and black sneakers, I was naked from the waist down. I took a few deep breaths and made my way into the gym.

My entrance went unnoticed, as usual, and I began my familiar exertions on the cross-trainer. I set the resistance low as I knew I would need to conserve my energy for the rigors I was about to endure. There would be plenty of opportunity to "feel the burn" before this evening was over.

Apart from The Pack, who were working out on the far side of the room, there were only a few other people present at this hour. One by one, the splattering of people close to me noticed my appearance and my visible pubic hair, trimmed and shaped into a neat triangle. The Pack were still unaware, but people were beginning to whisper and point. Some averted their gaze; others stared or turned their camera phones toward me. A few men made a hasty exit back to the locker room, not wanting to be caught up in whatever was about to unfold.

The atmosphere in the gym changed palpably as the people became aware of my state of undress and slowly The Pack began to sense the change in the room. Maybe they heard the whispers or saw the pointing figures, but I think it was more primordial than that. They were like wolves, smelling their prey from across the tundra, or perhaps sensing the presence of a bitch in heat. In either case, these unevolved beasts could smell my cunt in the air and began to move toward me.

Predictably, Goliath was the first man who pushed through the small group that had gathered around me. He ripped off his vest theatrically and flexed his muscles at me. I tried to look disinterested, but I could feel my pussy throb with every racing heartbeat as he approached. He was wearing a thick leather weightlifting belt, fingerless clothes, ankle height boots and tight lycra shorts. My college friends would consider his appearance to be ridiculous, and he was probably twice my age, but I never wanted anyone more. The sight of his engorging cock, bulging through his shorts, and the sense that he was the dominant man in the room, with the confidence to take me before all others, was a further aphrodisiac.

He placed his hands on my hips and plucked me off the cross-trainer and into the air like I was child's toy. In one fluid movement he lifted me up and toward him, resting my legs over his shoulders with my pussy in his face. He buried his face in my crotch, smothering himself with my hot wet cunt. I crossed my legs behind his head as his tongue licked my clit and entered my eager pussy, thrusting my hips into his face as he vigorously alternated between sucking my clit and working his tongue deeper into my twat. The combination of the enthusiastic cunnilingus, anticipation and the thrill of the audience meant I climaxed quickly and intensely, screaming in ecstasy and further drenching Goliath's face as he lifted his hands in victory, roaring with satisfaction. He celebrated my orgasm as testament to his virility, basking in the respect of his peers.