My Aunt Cindy

[nickolai]

Not sure that incest is in the works for this one.  And what male could survive Aunt Cindy’s passion?  She would need multiple steel or titanium implements to get close and even they wouldn’t survive ... only to be used once.

[jbeast]

Not sure that incest is in the works for this one.  And what male could survive Aunt Cindy’s passion?  She would need multiple steel or titanium implements to get close and even they wouldn’t survive ... only to be used once.

Ah... one never knows! What I was saying is that the nephew tries to help Cindy, he gets hit by the intruder, she becomes an earth mother protecting her baby and after the bad guy gets chased away, interesting things happen. LOL!

[Edhellion]

Here's Chapter 7. Not so much action, but some ideas I just have for future writing.

Chapter 7
I was put off, to say the least, by this whole new look at my own family history.
Aunt Cindy threw an odd glance at me, as though she were assessing my reaction. “So, you’re trying to make up your mind on whether you have to hate me for killing your grandfather? It’s not something I’m proud of, but neither is it something for which I feel a need to apologise. It’s simply something that had to be done.”
She then said it was time for her morning run and she simply picked me up with one hand and placed me on her incredibly wide left shoulder. My ass is not very big (I might have mentioned I have quite a scrawny build overall), but I was amazed by the amount of comfortable space I had sitting there. Since I had room enough to place my left hand beside me, I reckon even one shoulder must have been at least five feet wide. Needless to say, Aunt Cindy was wider than she was tall, though I think she must have measured an even six feet. My 160 lbs did not appear to unbalance her in the least, nor prove any discomfort, as she started off jogging at what felt like an easy trot, but this was only because her steps were gigantic. It wouldn’t surprise me if every stride would have broken the men’s long jump world record. And riding Aunt Cindy (though I say this with the greatest respect) was easier than riding a horse. With my right hand around her neck and my left hand on her shoulder for balance, I never had any fear of falling off, despite her great pace. I felt some strange throbbing in her neck now and then and it took me a moment to realise that this was her heartbeat. It was so slow, though, that I at first thought it was simply a muscle moving underneath her skin. Looking at watch, I was able to determine that her heart beat only fifteen times a minute, even though she was running faster than I’d ever seen anyone run before. We passed a meadow with some horses and one big stallion ran along, but after a hundred yards it had to give up. I wasn’t sure whether this was Hector, the magnificent steed Aunt Cindy had been riding at our first encounter. It looked a lot bigger than any horse I’d encountered before, but my estimates as to the sizes and weights of things had changed over the past few days. I couldn’t even remember how big the fit chicks at my school had been, the ones I’d admired throughout my school career. Some of them were really buff, but Aunt Cindy was a lot bigger than the bodybuilders I’d seen on tv, not only the female ones. I’d secretly watched video’s of FBB’s, admiring their physiques, but was afraid for the reactions of my friends if I told them about this. Female muscle, I thought, was still a niche fetish, rather than a mainstream ideal.
But as I sat there, on the shoulders of the most muscular person I’d ever seen, I felt a pang of regret that she was my aunt and that I could never ask her out or anything. I was also afraid that no other girl could live up to my desires ever again, now that I’d seen absolute perfection. I had no idea about how to meet with muscle girls anyway, let alone how to date them, but I was determined to build the body of an Adonis myself, so that they would notice me.
After we got to the farmhouse again, I asked her whether I could go to the gym and she looked at me with a mixture of admiration and scorn. “Finally, my little nephew gets inspired to build muscles himself!” We went down to the gym and I took the heaviest dumbbells I could handle and started pressing, then curling, while Aunt Cindy was doing some impossible workout herself. It was very demoralising to see her curl the three-hundred pound while I only managed three sets with thirty-pounders and just a couple of days ago, I would have felt totally humiliated, but I just continued going through my routine. When I struggled with the final reps of benching 100 pounds, Cindy came over picked up the bar with one hand and placed it back on the rack. She didn’t say a word, nothing motivational, but nothing demeaning either, and there was a definite look of respect in her eyes.
That night, at supper, she suddenly said a propos of nothing, “You know you could come and live on the farm with me if you want. It would go against centuries of tradition and it would mean you wouldn’t become a Baron, but I can see you really have potential. We might even find you a nice big girl.” And when she caught my look she laughed and said, “Oh, come on, it’s obvious that you’re into muscle, don’t try to deny it. I’m sure we can find you someone. You have no idea how many girls love to overpower their men. And no, that doesn’t mean that you or they are automatically into femdom. Most women just love to pit their strength against their lovers and see where they stand.”
“But isn’t it a turn-off for a girl if she really overpowers me? Because that’s I want, Aunt Cindy, a girl who’s much stronger than me. Preferably someone as strong as you, though I doubt there’s anyone like that on this world. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not telling you that I’m in love with you or anything like that. I just admire you and you’ve created a new ideal for the female body in my mind.”
“Oh, I still know some yeti girls,” she now said.
For a moment I felt offended, but then she burst out laughing.
“It would just be great if you could tell me of some secret Amazon society right now, a place where the women all have thirty-inch arms and chests as big as barrels. Please tell me there is such a place and that you can take me there?” By now, my aunt couldn’t stop laughing anymore and she was slapping her own legs which produced the sounded of cannon balls crashing into castle walls. I felt very foolish, but also a bit annoyed that she was laughing while I was sharing my deepest secrets for the first time in my life.
“Of course there’s no such place, silly, because women strong enough to overpower a man tend to be jealous of one another. It’s just like the Alpha-male in a gorilla tribe: they can’t stand any rivals and they make up contests to prove themselves. Now there’s plenty of contests like that for Alpha-women all over the world and I’d be happy to show them to you. But unlike Alpha-males, Alpha-women usually don’t show off as much. You know, when a woman is strong, she gets her confidence from within, whereas men always need the admiration of others to uphold their ego.”

[Wookey]

Love the way the story is trending

[quick]

I'd love it if Shannon got involved. Maybe she finds out about Cindy and starts working out because she's jealous, or Cindy takes her under her wing and helps her get jacked.

[nickolai]

Just checking in on this really promising story.  If tank is running low, happy to help any way I can.

[Edhellion]

Well, it's been over a year and I had trouble getting back into the story, but I've tried to stay true to its tone as much as possible.

Chapter 8
This left me with a lot of food for thought. Did she imply that there were many women who were much stronger than the men around them but simply didn’t feel the need to show off? The thought was tantalising, yet at the same time I wished to believe that my Aunt Cindy was one of a kind, a freak of nature, a singularity, whatever you want to call it. But no matter how I looked at it, the past couple of days had completely overturned my whole view of what was possible and what was real. My schoolbooks had taught me that yeti’s were a myth, that sabretooth tigers and dire-wolves were long extinct and that male muscle was naturally stronger than its female counterpart, yet I had seen with my own eyes what Aunt Cindy was capable of and the way she had talked of those creatures of legend had been very credible.
I found out that she had a sizable library on the estate and though I hadn’t taken her for the reading type (I was a bit biased by her focus on the physical side of life), it turned out she loved to dive deep into both fiction and non-fiction. She told me the stories men made up formed inspirations for her own life and she loved the comic-books about superheroes. As a kid, she’d been especially fond of Wonder Woman and it had been her dream to become Diana in real life. I was in for another surprise when she showed me dozens of her diaries. They lined a complete shelf and must have consisted of close to a hundred volumes.
‘You can read them if you’re bored,’ she said in the off-hand way I was getting used to.
I picked up one of the volumes and hoped that I could take some of them with me when the time came for me to return home. I couldn’t imagine myself having time to read on the estate.
There was one mysterious volume of gigantic proportions and it lay opened somewhere halfway. I estimated it to measure ten feet by eight and when closed it must have been over two feet thick. On the open pages I saw a family tree, but also drawings of creatures who looked not exactly human, but rather something that might be called humanoid. My curiosity was piqued, but Cindy quickly slammed the book shut.
It was the first time that I saw her even in the least distressed or ill at ease, but my curiosity soon made place for awe as she took the enormous tome, which turned out to have a metal cover, under her arm and jumped up two stories to place it carefully on a shelf which was already full of other mysterious tomes. I made a mental note to come back here later.
Cindy lithely jumped down again and said: ‘Anyway, I don’t think it’s books that you need. You seem like a smart enough kid, it’s your physical state which worries me. I don’t see many men around here but unless they’ve grown even weaker over the past few years you don’t seem like a very fit specimen. She leaned down and patted my legs and there was no way she did not notice my huge boner which was practically brushing her hair through my pants. The fact that I hadn’t jerked off for days didn’t help.
‘Your calves are what? Fourteen inches?’ She asked as she went over them with her hands.
‘I don’t know, I never measured them,’ I said truthfully. ‘Of course they are nowhere near as big as yours,’ I continued, hoping that she would offer to have hers measured, but she merely dismissed it with a scoffing grunt.
‘Don’t get any ideas into your head.’ She said gruffly.
I had the feeling that she had somehow read my thoughts and felt a need to defend myself. ‘No aunt,’ I said meekly and felt like a toddler who had taken candy out of the jar, or rather having been caught intending to take candy out of the jar.
‘I know you want to measure me, lad,’ she then said. ‘And maybe later you can, but for now you’ll first have to prove yourself. I don’t know if you have a girlfriend, but I’m guessing she’s not your type.’ And when she saw a questioning look on my face she continued: ‘Somehow the guys who are into the really big women always seem up to end up with slender girlfriends first. Don’t worry, you’ll find someone bigger eventually, maybe even an FBB if that’s your wish.’
I’d never had a really intimate talk about my sexual preferences with anyone before and as you can imagine, an Aunt is not the first person you think of when wanting to have such a conversation, but here she offered it nevertheless.
I couldn’t stop my own curiosity and had to ask: ‘This might be a strange question,’ I started, then hesitated about whether to continue but Cindy gave me an encouraging look. ‘Why aren’t you married? There must be plenty of men who would love to…’ but I didn’t finish the sentence. It was just a question one didn’t put to one’s aunt.
‘Fuck me?’ she finished it for me, catching my drift perfectly.
Some sounds came out of my mouth that confirmed that that was what I was going to say.
‘Oh come on, don’t be shy about it. This is the kind of conversation you have with an older aunt because you’re never going to have it with your parents. Besides, your parents don’t have muscles like these,’ she said as she went into a front double biceps pose that produced mounds rising well above her own head. ‘I’ve had plenty of sex in my time. I actually have quite a libido, you know, so big in fact that I haven’t met a man who could satisfy it. They simply don’t have the stamina it takes to keep up with a girl like me.’ Casting a glance at my significant erection she added: ‘Though you seem to be able to keep up your arousal for a very long time.’
‘Yeah, but I’m your nephew,’ I said, pointing out the obvious yet hoping for the unexpected.
‘So tell me about your girlfriend,’ she coaxed me.
‘Oh, what can I say. Shannon’s just so… plain compared to you.’
‘You mean you’re going to dump her as soon as you return home but you’re not sure yet? Look, I don’t know if I’m the right person to give you advice as to your love life. I’ve been living in this isolated place for some years now and though some men have occasionally come to visit, it’s been long since I was last properly in love.’
‘But what would your advice be?’ I asked eagerly.
‘Oh, honey, you’ve got some growing-up to do and not just physically. If your dick rises to every occasion at which your eyes see a flexed muscle, this Shannon’s going to find out about your… preference sooner rather than later.’
I could imagine how she would tell everyone and I would soon be the laughing-stock of the entire town. Then again, how was I ever going to date an amazon if I wanted to keep my preferences a secret? Maybe if I walked the streets with Aunt Cindy, the people would understand. I couldn’t imagine any man not falling for those big meaty muscles of hers.
And then I found myself reaching out. I can hardly tell what part of me initiated the movement, but I placed my hand upon that big arm of hers without even thinking about it. I half expected her to punch me in the face, but instead she gave it a slight flex and it grew to the size of a large watermelon. I placed my other hand on it too, but they was not way I could make my fingers meet around that enormous mass of muscle. I heard myself breathing heavily and my cock was pressing painfully against my pants. I wanted to place my mouth on that big arm, to kiss it, perhaps even to lick it, but I managed to restrain myself.
And Cindy? She was smiling down at me. She wasn’t angry or offended or whatever else I might have expected. If anything she looked satisfied, as if this pleased her as much as it did me. It was so painful that she was my aunt and that I could never get sexually involved with her and part of me felt horribly ashamed for even having such intense feelings for her. That part felt that something must be horribly wrong with me, that I was a sexual deviant.
Finally I couldn’t contain my feeling anymore and I placed my mouth on her arm. I kissed her madly and passionately, over and over again and still she didn’t try to stop me. My hands were now on her shoulders, those gigantic boulders that sat on top of her torso and almost swallowed her whole neck.
But then she pushed me away, gently, not forcefully, insofar as a woman with a strength like hers can do anything without force.
Before leaving the library, I managed to slip a small volume into my pocket. I hadn’t had time to read the title, but it turned out to be written by Cindy herself and that night in bed I stayed up late, reading. It was hand-written but perfectly legible and overall it was nice reading material. Here’s a fragment:

My search for Mokele-mbembe took me into the jungles surrounding the Congo river and I sometimes felt like a character in Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. I passed through several villages, but it was always only the elders who claimed to have seen the creature in real life. The descriptions they gave, though, all seemed to fit my hypothesis.

I had no idea who or what Mokele-mbembe was, so I Googled it on my phone. Turned out it was a legend from the Bantu people that bore a striking resemblance to some dinosaurs.

Fearing that the locals might see me only as an easy source of income, I decided to travel ahead alone, without the Bantu guide who had so far accompanied me. Besides, all the guides were men, so they would only slow me down.

Looking at the first page, I found that this expedition had taken place in 2003, so Cindy must have been in her early twenties.
I tried to imagine myself going alone into an unexplored part of the jungle in five or six years time, but I simply couldn’t make the picture fit. Aunt Cindy wasn’t only a powerhouse of a woman, she was also an undaunted adventuress, something like a mixture between She-Hulk and Lara Croft. Did she still go on expeditions like this? I thought of how cool it would be to see legendary creatures with my very own eyes, but especially of how cool it would be to spend my whole future in Aunt Cindy’s company.

[nickolai]

So great to see a continuation of this story!!

[Edhellion]

When I came down for breakfast the following day, there was something off with the manor. I had the kind of feeling you have when you go on a holiday and have the idea you’ve forgotten something, only to realise upon arrival that you left your toothbrush at home. Curiously, there was no breakfast standing ready for me, which had been the case in all the previous days. I merely yawned and started making some pancakes and eggs for myself.
Then I saw the piece of paper lying near the stove and I expected some instructions about how to cook a proper meal or which particular workout would be best for me that day. As I picked it up, I realised it was something else: the handwriting was scribbly, as though written down in great haste and I dreaded what I was to read. This is what the letter said:

Dear Roberto, do not be alarmed by this letter. I know you kids nowadays have all kinds of communication other than letter-writing but this seemed the safest way to convey my message. Your girlfriend Shannon has been in a car-accident and she’s currently kept in an artificial coma. Do not blame yourself, for I have guessed that you wished she would simply disappear from your life but there is in fact no higher authority that grants such wishes. This is pure happenstance and I would understand it if you want to return to your parents’ place right away. Knowing your father, I have decided to leave the country and lie low for a while. I’m quite certain that he will try to blame me for the accident even though I was hundreds of miles away at the time. Your father is a petty man, who will do what he can to discredit me, as I’ve overshadowed him in virtually every human aspect. He guessed that I had killed our father, but he was never able to prove it. He’s so certain of it that he wants me behind bars, though of course no prison could hold me for long. My greatest and only fear of your presence at my place was that your father would seek opportunities to accuse me of horrible things, maybe even incest. Do not trouble yourself for the feelings you have developed towards me, they were pure and you have not acted upon them. A man cannot chose what arouses him, nor does he get to control his libido. You must believe me when I write that I had nothing to do with Shannon’s accident, no matter what your father is going to say or claim or what evidence he’s going to present. You may rely upon him to come up with ridiculous claims about me, most of which will be untrue, for though you have seen that I am far from normal, I am not an evil person and I merely try to live in harmony with nature, or at least my own nature. Do not try to seek me out, because you’re not going to find me. I may be big, but there are plenty of places to hide from prying eyes. Whatever you do, do not let your father read this letter. Burn it or tear it into a million pieces, you might even eat it, but make sure that no one else ever reads it. It saddens me that our six weeks must come to a premature end and I’d like to invite you to remain at my manor for as long as you wish, or, if you chose to return home to look after Shannon, to return there one day. I’ve found our conversations and your sincere admiration truly pleasing. You are not like other men and that gives me hope for the future. One day you’re going to find a girl your own age who will dominate you with sheer muscle mass and strength and then, I am sure, you will be truly happy. I wish I could have taught you more about flirting with someone ten times stronger than you but you’ll find out on your own, or if you won’t, you’ll run into some nasty adventures but eventually you’ll learn. Feel free to read about my adventures whenever you want by taking some diaries from the library.
You loving and very muscular aunt
Cindy L—
April 28 2025

I have to confess that tears welled in my eyes as I had the letter, even though I was a guy in his puberty. It made me realise how much I had come to care for my Aunt Cindy and that made me wonder whether I was really in love with her. When I thought about Shannon, I thought only about the marvellous sex and the dirty talk, but Cindy was a person in whose company I genuinely wished to be as much as possible. And what was all this about my father? Was he really such a prick that he couldn’t see what an incredible person his very own sister was? What she’d achieved in life. He was a baron, but Cindy had a bearing a thousand times more noble than his and she didn’t ask for titles or respect, she simply put forth her claim by performing impossible tasks. Part of me wanted to go after her, to find out where she was and live a life of adventure, but like she said, I’d probably never find her. All that was left were the diaries and I resolved to read every single one of them.
Not feeling any need to return home, I was hoping that my father wouldn’t show up, either to take me home or to vent his frustration at Aunt Cindy. However, at the end of that very day I heard his car approaching the house. I considered hiding, because the estate was vast and he probably wouldn’t find me, but he might then file me as a missing person, or, worse, cause an APB to be issued against Cindy and I fancied neither idea. As he came into the house I saw that his face was red from vexation, but I could also smell a heavy odour of alcohol on his breath from four yards away. He was in a very bad state and he started yelling to me: ‘Where is that bitch? I knew she would cause trouble and now she’s gone and hit your girlfriend with her car!’ I felt angry for calling Cindy a bitch and for implying that she had tried to kill Shannon. I also thought she wouldn’t need a car for that and that made me laugh out loud. She could simply have run into her with those heavy shoulders of hers. ‘You find this funny? For heaven’s sake! Your girlfriend might die and you’re laughing?! Has she already had such a malevolent influence on you?’
‘No,’ I protested vehemently. ‘She has had the best influence anyone has ever had on me all my life. Things have become clear to me over the past week that I’d never realised before. She did a better job of raising me this one week than you and mom have done all your lives!’ I yelled it with tears in my eyes and it was meant to hurt my father. ‘Cindy is a terrific person. She’s everything you’re not. She’s kind and funny and she does what she wants, rather than what society thinks would be best! I’m not going home with you!’

NOT The End

[jbeast]

BRAVO!
The depth of feeling in this chapter and the mysteries it presents are tremendous. It makes one truly care for Aunt Cindy, the nephew and now Shannon, the innocent bystander we haven’t met yet. Cindy is a proud, strong woman… but is she completely innocent in this matter? Is the father completely innocent?

Please continue…

And KARMA!

[nickolai]

Can't wait for more.

[Edhellion]

Here's a little prequel I've been working on: one of the diaries that Roberto is reading during his Aunt's absence.

THE TRIP
Rome, 2013
The straps of the backpack cut into my back and shoulders even though I had them especially adjusted. Maybe my brother is right and I am getting too muscular, but then again, is there such a thing as having too much muscle? Of course the backpack weighed over two-hundred pounds, which most people won’t guess from the look of it. The guys from border security would get a shock when they x-ray my luggage, I thought to myself. Of course I was carrying nothing illegal. I had a license for the crossbow in it and it went into the cargo-hold so there was no way I was going to kill the pilots with it. Besides, the cabin doors of the pilots had been locked after recent events, so they fathomed themselves really safe behind their vault-like doors. Not that they would stop me, but they would never consider such a thing. I may be big, but I’m often mistaken for obese rather than hulking.
I had brought my own food, because I found what the airlines provided only a very poor excuse for food. I bet that if a person tried to live on that for a week, his entire body would start atrophying. I had roasted my own steaks back home and I’d filled a large 2 liter bottle with a protein-shake which consisted of, among other ingredients, some of the mammoth milk I had left after my trip to Siberia.
Now I was on my way to the Himalaya’s, trying to find out whether the Yeti, or Horrible Snowman, really existed and whether he was really as horrible as the name implied. So far, all the legendary creatures I’d met were just animals by nature. Some of them hunted, some of them just ate plants, but they’d all become legendary because they had become very good at protecting themselves and their habitat over the years. These Yeti would be no different: they would just want to be left alone and they were probably laughing at these puny humans who came up with all sorts of equipment to climb a mountain. They simply looked ridiculous!
Speaking of which, as I was waiting in the line I felt like a Yeti myself, with all the people watching me like I was something out of a freakshow. With my 6’4” I towered over most of the Italians (who are generally quite small). But it wasn’t my height that made me a curiosity: it was my bulk. I was over 350 pounds almost all of which was muscle, but since I didn’t want people to come to touch me, to see if I was real, I was wearing a thick ski-coat and matching pants. Add to that the cap I was wearing and most people would think I was a very big man.
The children in particular couldn’t help but stare and I overheard one teenager asking his friend, in a whisper full of awe, whether he, too, thought I was Arnold Schwarzenegger. I hated airports, because of the crowds of stupidity they attract.
I’d considered taking the Trans-Siberian Express, but having had some run-ins with the Russians when I was travelling through Siberia (see the diary under that title), I decided it would be best not to draw their attention again. Besides, it would take me over a month to reach Tibet by train and by then the climbing season would have started and the Himalaya’s would be full of pathetic guys who wanted to prove themselves.
Travelling by plane of course involved going through customs and though I didn’t expect the Italians to look at who was leaving, I knew entering China would present trouble. I hated the feeling of guys frisking me just to feel if I was real. They never trusted me and when entering Thailand a couple of years ago, I’d had to undress down to my underwear, simply because they couldn’t believe I wasn’t wearing some kind of steel armour under my clothes. There are some downsides to being freakishly muscular, but of course the upsides outweigh those easily.
As I presented my passport, I had to take off my sunglasses and the customs agent was a typical Italian macho. He’d taken my passport absent-mindedly and had then checked his screen, but when he looked up a shocked ‘Madre di Dio!’ passed his lips.
‘No, just Cindy, like it says in the passport.’
He looked at my picture, taken three years ago, then back at my face, then stood up to inspect my body, all with a look of utter incredulity on his face. ‘But, you’re a woman,’ he observed and his tone was so full of surprise that I laughed
‘I’d rather not dress down to prove it,’ I replied dryly, being ready to open my jacket to show my pretty impressive rack if he would ask for proof.
‘No, no, of course not Signora.’
He proved to be a decent fellow, though of course, being a true Italian, he couldn’t help but add a charming compliment. ‘If your body is as beautiful as your eyes you have every reason to cover it, otherwise all men would go blind.’
‘You have no idea,’ I said with my most dazzling smile, as I realised I would get through customs on this side without causing a scene.
In a way, it was a pity that this guy was a customs agent. If we had met under different circumstances I would have shown him some of my Italian passion.
I placed my backpack on the conveyor belt, but another customs officer told me it was too big and that it wouldn’t fit through the scanner. On a related subject, I hated the metal detector gates, as they were always just a tad too small for my shoulders.
I picked up the backpack and handed it over to the guy.
‘Dio mio, what’s in here?’ he asked, surprised by its weight which caused him to drop it.
‘Just some mountaineering equipment,’ I answered as innocently as I could.
‘You’re a mountaineer?’ he asked, the tone of disbelief in his voice annoying me more than I wanted to let on.
Why was it that men always thought a woman my size couldn’t be athletic? ‘I was bored with wrestling,’ I answered, knowing that this would better fit his stereotype. But just to shock him a bit I continued: ‘all these men were so small and weak. They couldn’t put me in a hold because their limbs were too short. So then I decided upon mountaineering, alone and with as little equipment as possible. I’m currently travelling to Tibet, though I’m not sure I’m ready for Mount Everest yet. Of course you expect me to cause an avalanche by merely ploughing through the snow.’ I knew that I was getting on his nerves and that he was now sorry that he had insulted me. If there’s one thing an Italian man cannot stand, it’s a woman who claims he has done her wrong.
‘I’m sorry, Signora, I just thought…’ but he trailed off in a mutter.
He returned my bag, which I easily hoisted on my back again.
After the metal detector, I was in the lounge and ordered myself a large scotch. I knew I shouldn’t be drinking this early, but hey, I was kind of on vacation.
‘Hi,’ a stunningly handsome Italian man sat down at my table.
‘Hi yourself,’ I answered, putting on my most charming smile. This could be fun.
‘Here we are both drinking in the morning,’ he said raising his glass. ‘But of course, in a couple of hours we’ll be in China, where it’s seven hours later.’
‘Indeed,’ I said, realising the guy was drunk as a skunk already.
As I picked up my glass, he laid his hand on mine and said: ‘I know an amazon when I see one, even if she’s wearing seven layers of clothes and covering 95 percent of her body.’ He started to caress my hand with his index finger in a rather childish way. ‘And you,’ raising his glass to me again, ‘are Miss Olympia-class if I’m not mistaken.’ I had to admit this was flattery I wasn’t used to.
‘I’m not a bodybuilder,’ I answered. ‘Though I do work out a lot.’
‘I knew it!’ he said. ‘Can I feel your arm?’ I hadn’t expected such a forward question and felt as though he’d just asked me to flash my boobs.
‘I bet you’ve got thirty-plus-inch biceps,’ he said, a challenge in his voice.
‘Do you now? What makes you such an expert?’
‘I own a club that specialises in oversized women. The muscular kind.’
That hardly seemed credible. At least, I’d never heard of such a place. I told him so, but he insisted and even gave the name: Miss Titan.
‘I was inspired by an American town I visited some time ago, where all of the women had your body-type.’
I told him he was a liar, that no such town existed because I was one-of-a-kind, but he insisted and even gave the name of the town: Flushing Rocks. I made a mental note to look it up and visit it when I got an opportunity. I then said that I wasn’t interested in dancing in a club, no matter how much he was willing to pay, but he said he hadn’t expected me to. He just asked whether I wanted to make him a member of the mile-high club and I frowned, because this was a lot more forward than asking whether he could touch my biceps. He was kind of a creep, like one of those porn-directors who nevertheless manage to always be in female company.
He was kind of charming in a gallant way, the kind of man who would lay a rose-petal path through to the bathroom and I had to admit that the idea of joining the mile-high club myself had its allure.
We kept talking, continually ordering new whiskeys and an hour later he was wasted.
‘You handle your liquor really well,’ he slurred.
‘I’m a big woman and I generally handle anything I do really well,’ I said boastfully. By now I clearly had the upper hand in our conversation and he seemed practically hypnotised by my body, and, I liked to think, also by my personality.
‘So what are you up to in China? They need someone to finish their wall for them? ‘Cause you would do really well as a construction worker.’ He probably meant is as a compliment.
‘No, I’m going to find the Terrible Snowman and teach him a lesson in humility,’ I said with a glint in my eye so that he would be sure I was joking.
‘Well, keep your secrets then,’ he slurred.
‘Actually I’m going to study Tibetan wildlife and the impact of Chinese economic growth on the yaks,’ I had thought of this excuse as a way of getting rid of the curious.
In the plane I had booked three seats next to each other in business class, so that I wouldn’t have a neighbour during the long flight. Belonging to a noble family, even a minor one, had its conveniences and in this way I wouldn’t have to be crammed between two strangers who would undoubtedly want to involve me in their small-talk. I found that Giorgio Maggiore, the alleged club-owner, was sitting in front of me and just after take-off he’d leaned over his seat, even more pissed than he’d been on the airport. He kept talking about the mile-high club, but I was pretty sure he was far too wasted for sex. I had taken off my coat, though and my tank-top was stretched taut across my chest and arms.
Suddenly he started breathe heavily and I saw he was moving behind the seat, a clear sign that he was jerking off in the middle of a plane.
I dragged him across the seat and finished his job for him by squeezing his dick. He came instantly, but if a dick would have contained any bones, they would all be broken now. 

[jbeast]

Great transition going to the diaries!

Please continue…

[nickolai]

Look forward to much more!

[Edhellion]

Not so much action in this part, but I intend to put in more over the next few posts.

THE CLIMB
Lhasa, not much later.
The Chinese wanted to know all about my business in China and whether I wasn’t there as an envoy from Amnesty International to look into the Tibet question. Then again, they also said I might be  a spy sent to humiliate their sportswomen and men. I assured them that I was no such thing and that I merely came to study the wildlife in Tibet, which they bought after some common bribery. Then they became very friendly and within minutes eight different men offered to become my kung-fu teacher, each of them promising me that I would win the MMA with them at my side. I said matter-of-factly that I wouldn’t need their help for that and they all laughed loudly.
One of them took on a kung-fu stance, jokingly posing a challenge. I took on a defensive jiu-jitsu stance in perfect form and then turned it into a most-muscular pose which blew all of their minds. So much for travelling secretly. All of them would remember meeting the goddess that had come out of the sky until their dying day. Some of them even took pictures with their phones and though I hated this, there was little I could do. For now, the officers were friendly but I knew that would change if I so much as touched one of them.
Three of the customs officers bowed and when I left the airport they were saluting me as though I were Mao Zedong himself.
My destination was a monastery that sat on top of a supposedly unscalable mountain. Its monks had impressed upon me that reaching it was only possible through a deep meditation that allowed one to levitate, but since I had no time to learn to meditate so deeply, I had decided that I would take away the adjective ‘unscalable’ from the mountain.
I had to admit it would be one hell of a climb, especially with little gear and while carrying a 200 lb backpack. However, I really wanted to visit this monastery because ancient techniques were taught there that, according to rumour, allowed one to punch through brick walls.
I’d already punched through brick walls a couple of times during my own training, but with my technique, my fists would feel sore afterwards and maybe, I thought to myself, their insights would allow me to punch through even tougher material. Also, the Buddhist philosophy of attaining a perfectly quiet mind had its appeals for me.
If they could teach me, as they were reportedly able to, to go without sleep, that would leave me more time to workout and hence allow me to become stronger.
The climb was a lot more difficult than I’d expected but I loved a real challenge and I wasn’t posed one often enough. Still, when I was halfway I cursed myself for always choosing the road less travelled. By then, it would be no use to go down again and since I was asked by some villagers living at the foot of the mountain to bring up supplies to the mysterious monks, I owed it to them at least to succeed. As I was already an estimated eighteen-thousand feet above sea level, the air was thin, which meant that my heart rate accelerated to 140 bpm. This was such a rare thing nowadays that I welcomed it. My fingers were constantly between tiny crevices and as I repeatedly hoisted up my 350 lbs with them, they became a bit sore.
At one point I encountered a snow leopard, but by puffing up my chest I was able to intimidate it into not attacking me. Things could have gotten ugly if I had had to fight the big cat with one hand while hanging on to the side of the mountain. It also made me wonder what prey it hunted so high up. It was the first living creature I had encountered since the villagers and even a yak couldn’t survive in this inhospitable place. Maybe the Yeti lived nearby and the leopard fed off their babies. If so, my trip could be a short one and that would be a disappointment. Besides, I didn’t relish the idea of finding mutilated or half-eaten carcasses of babies here, even if they were Yeti instead of human.
On several occasions I had to put my feet upon ice causing tiny avalanches when it broke. I just hoped the village below wouldn’t be put into trouble on account of me. The inhabitants called me Lha Mo, which I later learned translated roughly to Goddess and repaying them by burying their village underneath a deck of snow would be very impolite. They had also marvelled at my complexion, because they’d never seen anyone so pale. Television and internet had not yet reached their remote place.
Spending the rest of my life here had its charms.
Up until three quarters of the way I had been lucky with the weather. There was a pale sun that shone upon the clouds far below me, which was really a beautiful sight. But then it started to snow, first softly, but with the wind rising it became quite uncomfortable.
Soon I wasn’t able to see ten feet ahead me and my digits were starting to become numb from the cold. Any normal person would have given up then and there and called it a day, but not me. I simply climbed on, trusting the strength that was in my fingers even though I had difficulty sensing it. I could still see them and so I navigated ahead on sight. At one point I became so frustrated that I pulled a rock from the face of the mountain and threw it down, not even thinking about the villagers below who might be harmed. It was one of those rare occasions on which I simply had to vend my frustration, which had of course led to my being banished from school. The occasions became rarer and rarer as the years progressed, partly because I became more balanced, but also because there were fewer and fewer things I couldn’t handle. Climbing a mile and a half through a snowstorm was tough even for me though, and it confronted me with the fact that my body still had its limits.
Then I saw an orange sash through the snow and immediately following it a friendly face with a very surprised look.
‘Are you demon or good spirit?’ he asked in pretty understandable English.
‘Neither, but I’m very hungry and hope I’ve come to the right place,’ I answered, nutrition being my main concern at that moment.
‘But… but… You’re a woman!’ the monk said in even greater surprise.
I realised that living up here in the monastery, he might have not have seen a woman in years.
‘Yes, now please tell your masters that Cindy is here.’
The monk bounded off in a skipping pace that looked frustratingly light.
‘And tell them to prepare some food and hot tea!’ I yelled after him. I regretted the fact that virtually all Buddhist monks are vegetarians and that meat would not be on the menu.
I was taken to the Khen Rinpoche, or leader of the monastery, who did not seem in the least intimidated by my size, which was rare when people first met me, especially men. ‘I still don’t agree with your breaking our custom by climbing the Mountain that May not Be Climbed, but apparently the gods have found you worthy to come here nevertheless. You must be hungry by now and we have prepared yak-meat in honour of the first woman who visits us in centuries.’
I didn’t really know how to thank him, so I simply put my hands together and bowed forward a little. He seemed satisfied, or at least not offended. He took me to a large hall and I observed that a servant was constantly sweeping the floor in front of him. It was hard to reconcile this effort to prevent harming animals while the monastery was famous for its style of combat.
As if he’d read my mind the Khen Rinpoche said: ‘In our combat, we do not fight an opponent. We simply try to point out the weak spots in his defence, so that he may improve.’
This sounded like a philosophy that was right up my alley. I had tried several martial sports, including boxing and karate, but every time I would seriously damage my sparring partners, even when I had no intention to. The thing was, men always felt the need to prove themselves against me and took irresponsible risks merely to show that they could hit me. I did not like harming people in the least, though I did enjoy putting a man in his place.
‘Also, we do not want to put our opponent in his place, for his place is always preordained.’
By now I knew that he was reading my mind and the thought was chilling. It was immediately followed by the question of whether I could learn to do so as well, but he answered without me voicing the question.
‘Reading the energies of the mind takes many years of meditation and especially patience.’
Patience had never been my strongest suit, but learning to meditate sounded like something I could do. Harnessing my energies was something that sounded enticing, but even before the Khen Rinpoche had spoken, I knew that desire to improve for one’s own sake was considered selfish by Buddhists.