Confessions of a Gym Groupie

Jasmine Lo refused to think of herself as a "bodybuilder groupie," but that's what she was. When she went to a hardcore gym, it wasn't to use the stairmaster, it was to scope out hot muscle studs like she was on safari. It was that very day that she met a smoking strength god that blew the rest out by a mile.

The day at the gym started with Jas being slobbered on horribly by a tiny man. Jasmine needed a guy with height, the kind of guy that could rest his chin on the top of her head...and she was 5'10".

"I see you around here all the time. Love your workout outfit," the Smurf said with a leer. He was at eye level with Jasmine's breasts.

"Thanks." Jasmine said with a hint of boredom, not making eye contact and moving over to a treadmill.

"Your name's Jasmine, right? That's a stripper's name..." He said, hyperventilating with a wheezing sound.

At this Jasmine widened her eyes and stared directly in his eyes challengingly and curled her fist into a ball. "Listen up, Mini-Me, I'm like an amusement park ride: you must be this tall to ride, feel me?" She said, gesturing with her hand a palm's height above her.

Her carseat-worthy Lothario flinched back like a kid that poked zoo bars with a stick and had a panther lunge at him.

Jasmine thought to herself that it wasn't hard to understand why she was hit on. She was like a real-life BRATZ doll, a brash, bold sexual creature. In the 1930s she would have been called "Negro Chinese," and she had the best features of both: her skin was a flawless, smooth sepia; her eyes were Oriental almond-shaped and exotic, lined with black pencil, her eyelashes plucked in an arch, her nose slightly upturned, her lips bee-stung and airbaglike, with pink strawberry scented gloss. Jasmine's hair was straight and in a severe pony-tail with ringlets to either side of her face. She wore hoop earrings and metal bracelets. Her body was shaped like a spoon: her upper body slim as a rail, her stomach flat and toned, before exploding out into a pair of flaring hips and thick thighs supporting an oversized bubble-ass that shot back the size of a baby, the red tail of her thong peeking onto the tattoo-marked small of her back from the collar of her second skin Adidas workout pants.

It was then that she saw HIM. The only thing turned to her was his back, but it was enough to cause her let out an involuntary, delighted squeal and her pupils to dialate until they were the size of dimes. She felt her jaw lose its strength, and her knees grew weak as if they had become soggy.

The back Jasmine saw was so wide, he could glide with it. It was a v-shape that looked like the hood of a cobra when it came out of his small waist, with cut rises and valleys like an overhead topographical map of the Himalayas, the muscles rolling under his golden bronze, flawless California skin like liquid steel, or like a bagful of cats. The muscle stud's monster back muscles rose behind him as much as his chest rose behind, and when he turned to the side his back had a question-mark shape. The winglike surface's muscles were like runway markers, which led to his tight muscle buns, shaped like a pair of globes stuffed behind his legs, kept in spandex workout shorts that had a line of separation between each granite cheek. Jasmine wondered who had a bigger ass: herself, or this guy.

The mystery stud's shoulders were big bowling balls that gave him a T-Shape. His trapezius muscles sloped like the Great Pyramid, over a barrel thick, collar-busting neck surrounded by ropy steel cords. Jasmine wondered what kind of masculine, deep earthshaking voice could come from such a muscled up larynx. It's as if his entire body dripped testosterone.

The local guys had stopped lifting with a chang of steel and they migrated over to where this stud was, his body head and shoulders bigger, towering over the rest of the gym peons. It was as if he had activated the pack instinct in men to follow an alpha male.

When the muscle god turned around, Jasmine felt she could hardly breathe and her abs tightened. His pecs had a line of separation that was a deep trench Jasmine felt she could slip a hand between up to the wrist, each individual pec thrusting out four inches from the flat of his abs, like a glacier over a plain, each squeeze, bounce and twitch of his pecs causing them to pop several inches out like a bursting popcorn kernel. His pecs grinded and slid against each other like colliding, clashing continental plates. She could see a gold cruxifix chain, lighter than the bronze of his skin, drop in between the shadowed depths between his pecs.

His abs were a wall. If a brick was thrown at them, the brick were break. If she shouted at them, it would make an echo.

Jasmine guessed he had to have been under 25. The gym stud's face was a clean-shaven combination of youth and masculinity; he was high-cheekboned and strong-jawed. He had the rarest of all combinations: jet black hair with light, baby blue eyes that had a hint of green.

Jasmine was conspicuously aware of her thighs squeezing and rubbing together like firestarter sticks, and she curled her glossy lip up as a hot, dark dot spread on her maroon red panties. Her nipples stiffened below her shirt into pencil tip erasers.

Fearlessly and brassily, with a wiggle in her walk and a clock-pendulum swing of her wide hips, Jasmine's voluminous ass shifted and padonked with each stride, as she slid up to a man, zeroing in on the new stud like a heat-seeking missile. Jasmine shuddered involuntarily; she could feel the head radiating from him almost a foot out.

The gymgoers scoffed and gave Jasmine space, because they knew what that walk meant: a man-eater on the prowl.

"Papi, you can shake me, break me, take me, but please, please, don't forsake me." Jasmine purred. "You're my kinda man. Damn, boy, you make Ron Coleman look like a little flea." Jas was at eye level with the underside of his pecs, and she popped her back into a bow arch, thrusting out her robust behind.

"Ron's a great athlete. I really respect him. But...yeah, I wouldn't want him to be on a stage with me." The giant stud rumbled with a low, thundercracking voice like a big black man that made Jasmine's toes curl in her athletic shoes. A crab flex from him would not only cause her to faint, but would have blown Ron out of the water like a torpedo. "By the way, Nice to meet you, Jasmine."

Jasmine was startled. "Holy crap, son! Your brain must be muscled too."

"Ah, not really. It's actually written on your earrings."

Jasmine had forgotten that, as at the moment her brain had turned to frozen yogurt, replaced by an irrational animal hungry to mate with enormous want. She would be this man's love slave if he asked. If he had a harem, she'd join it.

"That's me, Jasmine. Best Black-Asian combo since RUSH HOUR." Jasmine sloed her pencil-eyelined eyes and spoke with her best Mae West voice.

Jasmine watched his banana-sized fingers slide over giant weights, each passed for being too small, until he reached comically oversized dumbbells that had on either end of the handle a black pig-iron weight in diameter the size of a dinner plate, and the thickness of a toaster. He pulled these giant weights, one in each hand, as smoothly and effortlessly if his hands held nothing. His rounded biceps throbbed up, the peak of which at the same height as his wrist. The top of his bicep came to a peak and point, and was bisected in a shape like a lower case 'm.'

When the stud set the dumbells down again, the handle was cracked and squeezed like a dropped, dented tin can. The stud squeezed his hand and his forearms rippled like cats wriggling in a sack. His forearms were the size of Christmas hams and pear-shaped, a trapezoid several inches in diameter wider at the elbow than the wrist.

For once in her life, Jasmine couldn't think of anything to say. She gawked wide-eyed like a goldfish.

"I'm Zee." The muscle god said, breaking a brief pause in the conversation. "Thanks for the kind words, incidentally. I wasn't always such big guy. I should tell you about that sometime." He said.

Zee moved to the leg-press, and the men of the gym parted way for him as if he was a Great White shark among a school of mackerel. Zee nodded to each as they passed.

He lowered the pin to the last possible level before putting up his sequoia-thick, monster thighs, his calves were only slightly smaller than Jasmine's waist, as if someone had stuffed a cannonball behind his shin; his legs were proportionately the largest part of his body. She lustfully, wide-eyed ogled his skintight pants as ridges like aluminum siding formed with a washing ripple with each movement of his legs, lifting the chain that pulled the giant mass of black iron up and down, the reverberations of this exercise carrying through the entire gym like a stone in a pond. The chain that carried the weight shook and shuddered, but Zee did not. His monster legs moved as automatically and effortlessly as a construction hydraulic press.

Impulsively, Jasmine jumped up and sat on the executive-desk sized hill of lead-heavy weight being pumped up and down, but Zee did not look up at the weight, and her body was carried up and down along as if it was a particularly rough Disneyland ride, feeling the metal creak and vibrate between her legs like a struck gong.

Jas heard some Beta Male at the gym say something about the gym record, but Jasmine was too absorbed in watching Zee's Clydesdale-thick legs, to the point where almost as an afterthought she whipped out her flip-top cameraphone, snapping his glorious body at work. There's no doubt it was like this everywhere that Zee went: records being broken. A crowd assembled around the machine, counting the reps down in unison, but eventually Zee stopped. Not out of exhaustion, but boredom.

"Daaaamn, I gotta put this on my MySpace page!" She said.

"I'd rather you wouldn't." Zee said, firmly, with a mysterious smile. Jasmine didn't question any further.

Zee huffed off the machine, elevating up to his towering height, to applause and cheers. "So, what do you do, exactly, Jasmine?"

"Beautician. I do my own nails." She said, blowing on her press-ons.

"Yeah, that makes sense." He said.

Jasmine got that look from men before. "It's to pay my way. I'm studying to be a Neurologist." She said.

Zee's light baby blue eyes with just a hint of green went wide in surprise.

"How about you? What do you do?"

Zee did not immediately reply. Jasmine didn't push the issue.

Jasmine leaned forward and kissed his bicep, leaving her lip gloss on the surface of it. She shuddered at the feeling of hardness and warmth; it was like kissing a rock. She could feel the blood beating underneath his popped, pumped veins. She could feel the individual strands of muscle as if she was running her finger over a ball of yarn.

Surprisingly, Zee wrapped his anaconda-thick arms about her with a wince-inducing grip, the iron of his biceps digging into her skin, warming her body like a parka, smothering her like a blanket; his big hands seemed to cover and touch her entire body at once.

In the embrace, she felt something like being tapped in the small of her back with a doorknob. Jasmine's face became an ear-to-ear grin. It was almost too good to be true. Zee hit the trifecta, the Tri-H: handsome, huge muscles, huge dick.

Make that really huge dick. It felt like he kept a whale in his shorts.

"Oh, hell yeah. We have to go to the shower. Now. But try not to trip yourself over it."

With a Grendel grip, Zee lifted Jasmine up and onto his back, her legs splaying over his huge granite shoulders, her vagina burning as she felt her lips touch against the hardness of his neck and shoulders, almost like a kiss. When he walked with her above him, his muscles bumped and pushed against her quinny.

Pushing open the doors to the men's shower room, Zee pulled off his workout shorts with a tear and snap of his elastic waistband as if it was made of wet tissue paper yielding to huge fingers that acted as boxcutters. His dick burst out from his confined shorts like a practical joke snake inside a can of nuts. His elephant-worthy prong bounced instantly to throbbing life as quick as the snapping jaws of a mousetrap, his column thrashing for a brief moment like a frog having a seizure before sprouting to a prong the thickness of Jasmine's wrist, a "tripod" size like a child's arm holding an apple. Jasmine almost lost her balance off his shoulders; she wanted to drop to her knees and worship him like a golden god.

Pulling her over his shoulder with hands that, when clasped together, were like a swing seat, Zee pressed Jasmine's body against the tile shower wall, her toes dangling a foot off the ground so he could see her at eye level, Zee kissed her with such suction that her head popped forward, her big lips mashing against his. His hot gusting breaths fell on her cheek from his nose. His breath tasted like testosterone, like growth hormone, as if it was in every cell of his body somehow.

When she was barely an inch from him, his body dominated her entire field of view so even her peripheral vision saw only him. Zee turned a knob on and both of their bodies were hit by steaming water that rolled on their skin like gelatin; beside the radiating heat of their writhing bodies, her soft one against his cut hardness, the water felt almost cool.

Jasmine's back pressed to the shower tiles, Zee tore her shorts, playfully plucking her thong like a guitar string, before he dropped to his knees, his hands holding her upwards, as he slid the thong off with his teeth. Zee kissed Jas between the legs, burying his face in her lips; it felt like his tongue was charged with static electricity. Despite the fact he was so huge and strong, he was as gentle and sensitive a lover as a schoolboy.

"Not so fast, sailor," Jasmine said, "time to put on your party clothes." Reigning in Zee's libido for a moment was like opening an umbrella in a hurricane, but Jas's smoldering steel gaze brought him to heel like a trained hound. She unzipped her $120 purse and pulled out a novelty joke condom in package that was the size of a bar coaster when flat. The prophylactic had a black Chinese dragon at the tip, a "Big Dragon," as the girl at the store called it. Carrying it with her got her hot, even if it was just to fantasize about the monster that could squeeze into it.

Zee tore the tight vacuum package effortlessly. His big meat quivered and pumped with the beating of his heart, and rose high enough to let his mushroom head slap against his bouncing pecs. Zee pressed the condom against his length, and he made fierce grunting and straining noises as if he was wrestling a sea monster. It was too small; he had to squeeze and push himself into it like a big finger into a too-tight glove. Getting it over the apple head was the hardest part, and inch by inch, Zee stretched the condom down, until even as it was fully unraveled it left several inches of his huge stiffy uncovered. The end of the condom bit into his skin, leaving a mark like a too-tight watchband.

Zee's ludicrous, solid girder slid down her thighs, searing with heat like a sword from the forge, quivering like a plucked string. He pressed its apple-sized mushroom cap head against her quinny with a rub that triggered a simultaneous beast groan from both of them. Zee thrust inside her with a grunt that made Jasmine feel as if she was being torn in half like a sheet of paper. Jasmine hissed through her teeth as Zee stuffed her, her entire body quaked with the feeling of his dick in her, splitting her like a squeezing wedge. And he was not even half inside of her. Jasmine made hyperventilating hisses of pain and pleasure like a mating vixen.

Zee released his grip on Jasmine's waist and to Jasmine's astonishment held her up by his monster sex-tower alone as solidly as a tree-branch. With a wax and wane and a tightening twitch, Jasmine shook up and down like a monkey swaying a branch, held by nothing more than the rise and fall of his dick inside her.

At last, the pair of them fell to the ground Jasmine below, Zee's big burly body covering Jas like a cocoon, his pecs dominating her entire field of vision. Jas inserted her tongue and slid it between his pecs; she could feel his pecs squeeze her tongue with a clamp like a closing door.

His entire powerhouse body popped and shook against her like a car with bad suspension off-road, and Jasmine's hisses and screams became staccato, their bodies crashing and subsiding, rising and swelling like an identical sea. Zee's voluminous hot beef drilled her like a well for oil, the tip of the tower felt like it was touching her skull. Jasmine's body beaded with sweat as she tossed her jet-black hair wildly. She felt him crash against her over and over, and she bucked and rocked against his hard body ferociously. His rough, bestial mounting was sufficient to push her deep into the ground with a crack of the tiles below as if they were fragile glass. Jas's lengthy legs rubbed and ground against the monster thighs of his.

Jasmine came with a roar, as if she had three orgasms at once. Her insides shuddered as she bubbled and burst like a breaking dam, screaming loud enough to break glass. Jasmine felt her entire body lock and shake as if she was having a seizure, her fists squeezing together until her nails drew blood in her palms. It was like a shockwave that she could feel in her limbs and hair.

Zee announced his hot release with a scream. The moment he came the tip of his condom burst like an overfilled balloon with a tangerine sized glob of sticky molten bone slop, shredding through the thin latex like a bullet through butter. Jasmine felt as if her insides were being blasted with a rat-tat-tat of a machine gun, each part of his gushing quart-sized load of seed, erupting from his tremendous girth. At least six times, Jasmine assumed he was finished, but he kept on for sixty seconds, which in their current state felt like hours.

Zee got up, removing himself from her with a pop sound. But Jasmine couldn't move, laying naked among broken tiles. She felt like she had been ravaged by the entire Trojan army. She felt his warm sticky goo clinging to her inner walls between her legs. She was barely able to think, her body swimming in a delirious natural high.

"Oh, you're The Man." She said, weakly.

Jasmine felt crisped. She weakly rose with a knocking of her knees to a mirror, her entire weary body burned as if after an intensive workout to the point where the Brooklyn girl felt as if she was made of lead. In the mirror she saw that her black hair, once straight, was permed and frizzy as if she had stuck a finger in an electrical socket. She could hear his seed sloshing around in her.

Zee came up from behind her and animalistically bit the edge of her ear. His ardor had certainly not died. "I know, Jas...let's head over to my place. It's Uptown. Way, way uptown." Zee said, putting his clothes back on.

"Oh hell yeah. "Where've you been all my life?" She asked.

Big Zee took Jasmine up onto one of his solid arms, her legs wrapped tightly against the bulge of his brawny bisected, peaking bicep that rolled beneath his skin, its radiator-warm granite-hard boulder surface pushing into Jasmine's quinny. Big Zee turned his wrist, causing his bicep to slide and rub against her, rolling under his thick hide. Jasmine rested her frizz-haired head against Zee's giant pectoral slab.

"What kind of car you drive, Papi?" She asked. Jasmine didn't date poor guys no matter how big their muscles were.

Zee laughed. "Where we're going we won't need a car."

Zee was head and shoulders taller than the passerbys, and Jasmine walked next to him adoringly, her arms wrapped around his waist. Though the Lower East Side could occasionally show an ugly face, she wasn't worried thanks to her arm candy-slash-bodyguard.