I gravitate toward true stories, and I only wish I had more to share on this forum. Regardless, the following is true -- both the good and bad -- and I have obviously changed names to protect identities. And, as you will hopefully read, I needed to wait a while to write this as all was not good.
Personal Trainer-----------------
I was fed up with being 220 pounds and not cutting down for summer, which generally was the fault of my beer and bad eating on the weekends. Now that I am in my 30s, I had noticed my metabolism starting to slow, and it sucked as a single guy in a town without a lot of available women. I have always been interested in bodybuilding, and obsessed with the females (lurking here for years, ESPN contests, etc.), but only now did I think that actually competing would provide the requisite motivation to cut weight. I want to be clear: Shaving, tanning, and prancing around on stage were not on the top of my list, but the fear of looking like Big Hero 6 as a competitor scared me enough to actually diet seriously. Also, I am a slender guy and stand 6'3", and as a former D1 golfer, we were not allowed to lift too heavy. Nevertheless, I was going to give this a shot.
Thus, I approached a guy with whom I worked about how to start this process. He had competed in the 90s, and he made it clear that I needed to hire a coach for training and diet. Admittedly, I had already looked in my rural town for local trainers, and when one FBB popped up, Barbara, I "googled" the heck out of her, secretly hoping my co-worker would include her name in this list. Thankfully, when he started rattling off names, Barbara was one of the few he recommended. He gave me her contact information, and I had that nervous first-date-call energy when I hit her number. I recall having to re-do the message three times because I was so worried about coming off as creepy.
In relaying the truth, Barbara was not exactly the type of FBB I poured over on these forums. I love me some Heather Policky, Kristy Hawkins, Annie Rivieccio, and other, feminine FBBs. These gals were facially beautiful and exuded femininity to me despite the overt muscularity. Barbara was in her low 50s, she was barely 5'0" tall, and her face was not like these dream women I mentioned. All of that reality in place, she still was a top local competitor that was attempting national status. She had huge fake boobs, enormous arms on her tiny frame, and large, sweeping glutes. For where I lived, she would certainly do! If you are visual like me, imagine Deborah Barnes (90s and '00s FBB) but not quite as pretty. (
http://www.hardfitness.com/competitions/miami2006/npcbodybuilding/lightweight/deborahbarnes/prejudging/images/DSC_0807.jpg)
We met at 5 AM the next Monday at her gym, where she wore a tight, white long-sleeve dry fit and spandex shorts with colorful shoes. She was pleasant, but very business-like, and I was so concerned about my schmoe tendencies that I did my best to keep eye contact. We first went over the intense diet and rationale for it, then the training splits, and finally we headed out to train chest. It was funny how much shorter she was, and we had to adjust the seats on the pec deck up and down about a foot given our 15-inch height disparity. As she talked me through form and added slight techniques, I noticed that we were using the same weight. I was by no means a super strong guy; further, training with someone and contracting the muscle correctly really lowered my poundage threshold. Yet, here she was, likely 90 pounds less than me, matching me rep for rep and set for set. When we moved from pec deck to incline DB press, I got out the 60s and did 12. Barbara did 8. When I had the 70s, I hit 10; she did 5. I was really trying to out lift her, while she seemed oblivious to that and focused -- rightfully -- on her form. I was getting really turned on despite all of the realities I mentioned. I mean, for fucksake, I was training with a real female bodybuilder who, despite being so much smaller than me, was pacing me the whole time.
Finally, she removed her white shirt, revealing a black, sleeveless, low-cut top. When we hit cables, I could see the striations in her chest, and how her pecs "popped" as she contracted at the extent of the movement. Her chest was amazing, and I was captivated. Her biceps had huge veins running down each head, and her shoulders rippled. I sensed other people at the gym focusing in on her amazing development as lifted next to her skinny, tall client. She congratulated me at the end of the workout for getting through it, and I sensed her finally relaxing a bit. Regardless, I was sore as hell the rest of the day and so intrigued that I pleasured myself over and over to her images on Google. Images I had just seen in real life: huge pecs with implants, great biceps, and tight, round glutes on a woman who could have been my mom's age.
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Over the next two months, she warmed to me as she saw how serious I was about this process. My weight reduced quickly, and within eight weeks, I had dropped 25 pounds, settling in around 195. I was still not ready in her opinion, and she had serious reservations about me competing without a dialed stomach, especially because at 35 I would be taking on college-aged kids who just show up with an 8-pack. Nevertheless, she pushed me hard and always trained with me, thereby maximizing her own time as she was preparing for the same contest in female bodybuilding. She would joke with me now and compliment my improvements. "Hey, I see that new little vein there!" And I would respond that I needed more veins like her, to which she would instantly flex her arm next to mine and compare, laughing.
"God good, how big are those guns?" I asked, knowing full well what I was doing.
"15 and a half in-season, a little bigger out," she said, staring at her arms in the mirror.
As I said, she was so short that her limbs create this huge, full effect on her arms and forearms. She had me doing measurements monthly, and we both knew I was at 15 inches, albeit much less vascular, defined, and with now a 65 pound advantage. In this same workout, she hammer-curled 40 pounds in each arm, and I could not match her reps. Then she got down on a small medicine ball and did 15 close-grip tricep push-ups, as I ogled her striations and incredibly hard glutes, which were flexed the entire time, showing the sweep of each individual cheek and how much power was packed in those spandex.
She got up and said "Your turn - beat that," smiling, knowing there was no way. I managed 5 reps and then crumpled like a paper bag. She laughed, and lent out a veiny, small hand to help me up from the ground. As she helped me up, I stood as close as I ever had to her, towering over her, but still in awe of her thick, curved physique. "You just owned me on that! How humiliating!" I said, half joking. She reminded me how much longer she had been lifting and that she had a body weight advantage.
"Whatever!" I said. "We've both seen you on leg day." She had amazingly strong legs. When we did squats, which was not my strong suit, she would warm up with 135. As I would stop around 225 for reps, she would get to 285 for the same rep amount. Her traps would explode, supporting the bar, and that thick ass would push the weight up and down like a piston. Seeing her small height with two 45s and one 25 per side was awesome. After leg days, I would always go home (or even at work) and jerk off to her strength, imaging this small, older woman lifting me up and out-muscling me, her larger, younger male client.
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Her texts became more frequent as the contest was one month and a half away, and many of them were personal. These ranged from "How are you doing?" to complaints about her other clients to the fact that her husband of 30 years refused to exercise. This in particular intrigued the hell out of me. I had always fantasized about a wife starting to lift very seriously and quickly gaining size and strength over her lazy husband. (See Lisa's Path story on here, which is fucking fantastic.) She revealed to me that she had started in her mid-30s, like me, but her husband thought it was another of her crazy fads: yoga, running, etc. This time, she had the genetics and persistence to grow from a 100-pound housewife to a 130-pound bodybuilder with stacks of muscle. He still refused to work out with her, and she showed me a picture on her phone of this overweight, elderly guy that you would have thought was photo shopped into her life. I would casually bring up if he would diet with her, or lift with her, or if he would come to her shows, and she would feed my fantasy, replying that she was so muscular now that he felt embarrassed. She mentioned she would vacation on her own or with girlfriends. All did not appear well in paradise.
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A month out from the show, she had to reschedule our normal 5 AM session to the evening because she had some "issues to deal with" at home. I was free on this Friday, so that was no big deal to me, and I was so depleted that extra sleep sounded wonderful. I had asked about using gear with her, which is always an awkward conversation, and implicitly we both knew that she took it -- as you do not go from small housewife to a gal who can throw around 155 bench for reps, with striations in your chest, without some help. She said that at this point for me it would not do any good, that diet and cardio was what I needed to drop weight.
When she arrived at 7 PM at the gym, I knew she was in a bad mood. She was now very talkative to me, but the front desk staff and other patrons barely got acknowledged. We hit legs, and she fucking killed it. She was really, really lean at this point, with veins all over her legs and back even, but she had a fury today that caused 550 on leg press to be nothing. She did a drop set and grunted in this primal way, although understated, that was really arousing. She ended up at 225 on the leg press and her large quads were shaking in spasm. I tried the same set, and bailed out early, simply having no energy to continue the dropping weight and more reps. I apologized to her, feeling like I was not giving the same effort, but she revealed to me how pissed she was. Apparently, her husband had caught her that AM with a needle, which they had fought about previously. This episode escalated and caused her to grab a bunch of clothes and to plan on crashing at a friend's home. I couldn't believe this strife in a 30-year marriage, but that was precisely why I was still single with no interest in settling down any time soon.
The gym closed at 8 PM, but she had worked there so long that we were able to lift until 8:30 PM, and I was so, so done. She promised the front desk staff that she would turn on the alarm and lock the doors, and as they all left, we were now the remaining two people in the gym. I was hoping to get out of there without having to pose, which I really hated, but she suggested we do it, and she wanted to practice too as she said her new posing suit has just arrived.
We headed up to the second floor room that usually had Zumba or TRX in it. The room was bright with light wood and mirrors along one large wall. She told me to change there as she walked over to the second floor women's room to get into her suit. I watched her rippling, muscular body walk out of the room, especially that rock hard ass on a 50+ year-old woman. I felt self-conscious, as I always did when I removed my shirt in front of her, as it was emasculating to sport my albeit-improved body in front of such a specimen, who was both a woman and almost 20 years older than me. I checked the parking lot, and sure enough, our cars were the only two remaining.
She returned to the room, and holy Christ, she returned. Despite all our lifting, I had not seen her in a posing suit (other than online
), so the incredible display -- even of her walking was breathtaking. Everything flexed as she casually walked into the room and said something to me. When I didn't respond, she looked up and laughed. "Not bad for an old gal, eh?"
"Um...you look unreal, Barb" I said while my mouth seemed to lose all moisture.
She mentioned how sweet I was with all of my compliments, and I immediately got guarded, feeling I might have blown my cover. As I tried to focus on myself in the mirror, she turned on the stereo system. Quickly, I heard the familiar open to ACDC's "Thunder Struck" start, and in a blur, Barb started to pose. The song had been shortened to allow for her posing, but she managed to hit all the mandatories along with working in some theatrics. She looked at herself in the mirror, and I was to her right, but she would look over at me from time to time, and I tried to be equal parts calm, encouraging, and -- most importantly -- not get a damn hard on in the middle of her work. Her dancing was not that great, but her shape made that irrelevant. My attempts to calm myself quickly failed when she turned around, facing her back to the mirror, where I mainly looked at her, fearing direct eye contact would just set me off too much. She hit a back-double bi pose and then dropped her legs out, like she was doing a sumo squat. Her blue and red suit quickly receded into her glutes, and as she slowly lowered her ass, all of its muscles and power came out. I doubt she meant to, but her glutes actually bounced in that pose, before she came back up to the top. She finished off with a few more poses, but I was a wreck, and my turquoise board shorts felt very tight. I glimpsed down and saw the outline of my cock pressing against the fabric.
"Whatdya' think?" she said, waking me up from my conundrum.
"Barb, that was awesome. You look unreal. Seriously."
I had started to do the only thing I felt appropriate, which was stretch down, doing an almost down-dog-yoga move in an effort to have my torso cover what was happening. The problem was that after she turned off the stereo, she grabbed the measuring tape off the system and started walking over to me. I was so nervous that my hard-on was just stuck, so I kind of panicked.
"Alright, I forgot to measure you, and given your work, I want to show the before and after on my site."
I moved with my back to her and flexed my left bicep. I prayed she would not walk around to the front as she usually did, but she did not seem to notice, and began to measure while standing on her tippy toes.
"You are so tall - ha! I get a calf workout just doing this."
"I don't think you need any more calf work after the workout you put us through downstairs!" She laughed again and measured the other arm. Both were just shy of 15, flexed. We both knew she was bigger.
"Turn around, let's measure that chest."
"You don't want calves first?" I was so embarrassed. Even though she was very friendly and had shared personal stuff, she was a co-worker's friend, much older than me, married, and we were at her club. I may seem like a pussy here, but I was generally afraid of my condition at this point and the fantasy of it had dissipated.
I turned around, hoping she would focus on my chest, which she did, thankfully. I forget what the measurement was, but she seemed dutifully impressed with the improvement. Then she moved to my waist, and I wanted to just stop her, explain what had happened, and apologize, but I could not think clearly, and all of a sudden her hands were behind my waist with the tape measure.
"Um, what do we have here?" she said, looking up at me. I gulped, looked down over a foot at the top of her head, which was within inches of my chest, and saw her heaving pecs that were almost touching the top of my belly button. My damn cock just got harder, and it was close to grazing her protruding abs.
"I'm so sorry Barb. I think your dance was a little too good." I tried to pull away, but she had me kind of lassoed with the tape.
"Ha! I'm actually flattered. You know I don't get this kind of response at home, and it's good to know I still can make red-blooded males get excited."
We stood there awkwardly, where I thought she might actually measure my waist. It could not have been more than five seconds, but I was still uncertain what to do, despite her casual response. Then she moved her right hand to my board shorts and put her left hand on my chest. I gulped again, thinking that this is actually happening. As she undid my drawstring, I looked down at her arm that rest on chest and the rivers of veins that stared up at me. She gently pulled out my member and began to kneel.
For those of you thinking this is BS, I get it, but hopefully the following lends some credence. I said to Barb, "Is this OK? What about your husband?" While I pride myself on being a bachelor, and I have had many dates over the years, I felt like a teenager with my first FBB. A FBB that was married and older.
"You relax. I'm just happy you find me attractive." She put my member in her mouth and began to suck. I let out a gasp as she put her right hand on my cock and stroked it as she sucked it. Truthfully, her pulling was not that rhythmic, but seeing that muscular arm pump away made up for it. And while I have already been real about her lacking facial beauty, I looked over her bent figure and saw her glutes in this squatting position. I wasn't sure how she did that after our workout, but her legs were just stronger than mine.
I started to overcome my nervousness and feigned morality. It kind of hit me: Me, the decent-looking, skinny guy who lurked on HBC cams and this forum was actually doing this. Heck, I had even had sessions before, but I picked those women. This was just supposed to be motivating and give me material at night for jerking off -- and yet, here I was. With new confidence, I started to thrust more into her mouth, and I put one hand behind her head. Barb began to feel herself with her free hand. That got me really going, and I knew I could probably cum even just a few minutes into this improbable experience.
I pulled away, and grabbed her beefy arms by the outside triceps to lift her up a bit. As she rose, I groped at her huge, fake tits. I grabbed the nipple from under her posing suit, which she quickly tossed. The height difference here was funny as my cock hit her almost by her pecs, but the angle just was not going to work for pushing my dick in that amazing crevice. Further, I had to really reach down to start kissing her neck, and then she grabbed my face and started to kiss me forcefully, but she had to stand on her toes again.
"You're just so tall," she exclaimed. She continued to play herself, and I started to reach down to her glutes, which were by then my favorite part of her. Many FBBs lose the fullness of their glutes as they age -- not Barb. It must have been her height and natural curves, but her ass jut out with all the definition I crave.
"I love your glutes" I said, starting to thrust into her stomach as I held these two boulders from behind.
"Thank you, she smiled, pulling off the rest of her bottoms. I moved toward her, and we gradually shuffled by the stairs that stack for cardio classes.
She turned around and bent over, revealing her great glutes and impossibly muscled back to me. She also reached back and grabbed my member, and I entered her, slowly. She was already wet, and I began to pump slowly while she played with herself from the front -- one hand on the stack of stairs and the other on her clit. I looked down to see her ripped ass and back, bulky shoulders, and traps. Unlike other sex, where I would bring in a FBB fantasy to climax, here I got to just focus. I grabbed her shoulders and went harder. I pumped away as she moaned loader and loader. At this point, I was worried I would just explode and leave her unfulfilled, but she started to groan in that unmistakable way. I was glad because I had not lasted very long, but now I had the license to go for it. I went on my own tippy toes and thrust as hard as I could into her, making her moan loader, and then I pulled out, furiously finishing on her glutes.
My depleted legs wobbled. We both were breathing hard. I went for a cloth towel and cleaned her sweaty back and glutes as I had exploded all over her. After a while, it felt a little awkward, and she mentioned we should get going as the gym was supposed be closed and the alarm set. I pulled on my clothes and followed her to the ladies room, but she hurried in front of me, and that seemed a bit odd. I started to come back to my senses and realized I had just fucked a married woman, something I had sworn never to do, believe it or not. When she returned, she looked tired and acted quiet.
"You OK?" I asked.
"Yes, Mike. I think we both needed that, but I have never, ever cheated on Dave {husband}. We just never are intimate any more, and I was so aroused by seeing your reaction to me today...You have to promise me we keep this quiet. You cannot tell anyone. I could lose my job, my husband..." She started to almost panic, talking faster and faster. I reassured her I would not say anything. (And I did not, for five years, until writing this with fake names.)
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Aftermath
I would have liked to tell about my illicit sex with Barb after she divorced her husband, or the dirty texts she would send me. The truth is she did not text me that entire weekend while I presumed she stayed with her friend. She had been texting me a few times a day up until that point. On Monday, after wondering what was up, but not wanting to reach out for fear her husband would see her now-not-so-innocent client text her, I got a call in advance of our Tuesday session. She told me she could not train me any more. She apologized over and over, cried, and I just sat in my office silently as all of this poured out into my ear. I felt terrible too. She mentioned how she had sabotaged her diet that weekend and would likely skip the show. She offered to refund my unused sessions and get me with another trainer. I did not know what to do, and only a month out, I wanted to go through with the process, so I ended up seeing a trainer at a different gym. This time is was a guy, who was fine, but I was very sheepish about how she transferred me to him.
In all candor, the sex was amazing as I had never been with that level of physique. The fact she had morphed from a house wife to a jacked older lady was also really sexy. But I would have never taken her out as she was really not that attractive facially, and given her age, my buddies would have just been dumbfounded as to what I was doing. More importantly, she was married, and that still gets me despite many other faults I have. She did not do the show, and while I did alright for my first physique contest, I learned later that she and her husband had moved to the South East to retire. She does still compete, sparingly, and looks great for her age. I still look her up from time to time to reminisce of that one intense night.
Thanks for reading.
