The Secret Fetish

For decades I buried the secret. You're a pervert... weird... a deviant... As much as I tried to convince myself that it was just a different taste in women, from the back of my mind a voice always arose to the surface to tell me it wasn't natural. How can you like muscular women? You're the man, not the helpless maiden. And you want her to be stronger than you - God you're screwed up.

Sure, in the animal kingdom, it was survival of the fittest. The strongest male lion would get his brood and favor the most powerful and muscular female lioness to feed him and create stronger offspring. But with humans, it isn't that way. You're different, you're strange, you're a deviant.

Periodically, I'd refuse my inclination and date skinny girls, with big boobs to fit in with how 'all the guys felt about women.' Something would always bring it roaring back - and each time with more fervor. A flexing calf on a biker, a fit runner, or a solitary woman in the weight room were an instant reminder of something I'd deprived. One hit from them was like the rekindling of a long-lost drug -- and I was hooked.

Binging on buying Women's Physique Worlds, old ESPN videotapes, and a few "hard women" Playboy issues, I'd wear myself out admiring these women. On and on the cycle went until I decided to 'grow up' and put that part of my life behind me once and for all.

Eventually, I fell in love with and married a wonderful woman named Mary. She was fit but hardly muscular. With her, I continued to bury the secret of my fetish. Occasionally, I'm sure she had suspicions. Once we watched a Cirque du Soliel and I was entranced by the chiseled six-pack abs and muscular thighs of a muscular trapeze artist as they clamped onto the ribbon hanging from above.

Afterward, she asked, "you were really amazed by that woman weren't you?"

"It was just cool how she could cling to that ribbon and then drop and stop on the dime."

She laughed, "I would think you had a crush on her if it weren't for all of her muscles. I like the fit look, but I mean really. It was too much wasn't it."

My cheeks flushed crimson so fast I could feel the heat cascading off of them. "Maybe a little," I confessed, feeling nothing of the sort. I watched her double-take and preyed the conversation would end. Thankfully it did, but I knew she was suspicious. She joined the gym and firmed up the next weekend so in the end, maybe it was a good thing.

For years the status quo held. We had kids and work was exhausting and I figured the urge was gone. Sure, I squeezed her tight ass imagining they were as big as pumpkins, and kneaded her chest feeling for the muscle when we made love - but doesn't every guy have his favorites? Slowly, she became more muscular too, but she hardly approached anything more than bikini class. Still, she was a beautiful woman and we got along great so I had no complaints -- even if she never met my fantasy.

We had kids who after endless recitals, sporting events, and graduations grew up and left the house. Suddenly, I had some time on my hands. Idle hands make for the devil's work and the need returned. What made it far worse was Felicity.

Interviewing for secretaries, I'd found the one I wanted to hire. Her credentials were impeccable and she came with perfect references. Unfortunately, there was one more woman who showed up so I felt obligated to interview her. As my outgoing secretary, Jean left to bring her in I fished for her paperwork.

"Miss, Felicity Jones to see you, Sir," Jean announced. My head was buried in the candidate's resume, giving it only a cursory review since I'd all but decided to hire the previous candidate.

"Go ahead and sit down," I murmured as I noted on her resume she was twenty-five but hadn't any real experience as a legal secretary. I almost told her no before we started but as she drew into my field of vision I froze. Taut, tanned calves that more resembled works of art, than a body part, graced her form and were encircled by a fashionable brown leather shoe strap. Her calves were far bigger than those of a biker and had clearly been carved out by endless repetitions in the gym. They popped and flexed as she headed toward the chair. As my eyes scanned upward to her it was almost uncomfortable to look at hamstrings and thighs because they were 'in your face huge.' Pushing out beneath her almost Victorian tiny waist at taupe tan skirt at severe angles her thighs looked as big as oak trees. Striations popping across the thick cords of muscle chased away any idea that it might be fat or she was big-boned.

"Hi, I'm Felicity," she chimed in a deep but lyrical baritone voice. As she held out her hand my eyes nearly popped at seeing her thick forearms streaked with blue veins from her muscularity. Hesitantly, my hand reached out and we shook and instantly pain laced through me at the firmness of her grip. Immediately, my cock, as if echoing the shake, began to bulge in need.

Vaguely, I noticed she had piercing green eyes beneath the whisps of autumn-colored bangs which hung down low caressing her cheeks, but I couldn't focus on them. There was just so much girth to take in that I felt like a kid taken to a candy shop for the first time.

"I'm uh...uh...uh."

"Jim?" She finished with a smile.

"Yeah, Jim," I said. "You have a strong grip there."

"Thanks, they say a firm handshake is a must and I've worked enough in the gym to get one," she laughed.

"I can see that," my cheeks heated as I drank her in. I... I... I see your new...new...um...to the...um..."

"New to the industry?" I nodded and wiped my mouth before any drool began to form. "Yes, I've been powerlifting since I finished college, actually even during college, but being a trainer simply isn't paying the bills. Since I've switched over to bodybuilding, even though I'm now pro, there really aren't adequate financial rewards for the women. I think there's a bit of sexism at work there. Anyway, I'm talking too much, but the point is I'll work hard if you give me the job, and your generous offer of 60k a year would fill my needs."

"Yes," I whispered, my mind in a haze staring at how the push of impossibly high swelling pecs tented her white blouse, pressing the sting of her nipple against the material. Everything about her was as if she were the embodiment of my wettest of dreams. With a simple twitch, cords of throbbing pumped flesh expanded and danced. Each of her slightest movements demonstrated her power and size. Even through the blouse, I could see that her pecs were better developed them most male bodybuilders.

She smiled, knowingly, catching the direction of my stare. As if on command, striations shot out from the center of her thick chest and her nipples pressed harder against the flimsy material. "If I could get 100k, I could get even bigger and maybe win the Olympia."

"Okay, 100k" I heard myself whisper, entranced by the movement of her chest and her skin-splitting peaks on her biceps.

It didn't take a genius to realize that I was at her mercy and Felicity was clearly quite bright. She rolled her sleeves back over her shoulders to show me more skin. She unveiled cannonball-like capped shoulders and gave me a wink.

"Is it just me, or is it hot in here?" she asked.

"Hot..." I breathed my brain hazing over as she flexed her biceps back and forth. I watched as the muscle inflated like a balloon. Veins danced atop her shaking biceps while glistening beads of sweat slid down the mighty ripples producing an almost shimmering effect.

"If, I get the job could I wear tank tops until the heat thing is fixed?"

"Yes," I declared as if it were a new office policy.

"Okay, so one hundred thousand, lunch breaks to workout, and I can come back after lunch in my gym clothes?" she smiled. I nodded. "Where do I sign?"

"I'll draw up the documents and bring them by your place. Leave your address with my secretary. Oh, God, I'm a bad man.