Chapter 1: Strong Arms, Weakling

I’ve always thought highly of men with muscle bodies. Men with muscles that could feed a country, made like if god had a PhD in Sculpting. Muscles that took so much effort and pain to create, the same way a baby is made when it is still in it’s moms belly. Powerful these guys are in my head. I’m jealous of them sometimes because I feel they have ascended the world I live in and have reached a whole new peak of the human experience that I have yet to see.

To know the science of every exercise and food you put into your body, and be so perfect that everyone would look at you with a confidence that you are slightly better than the average man. Sometimes I wonder if these are just thoughts I have due to the media telling me that is attractive, but I start to compare modern man to the men of the past. Men who had to fight for their food, work for it. Think of how they look and think, no, it is not the media persuading me to think this way, it is instinct.

I went out on a Friday night with a friend who was going on a date. The guy was what I would think of when it comes to the way a man should look. He had huge arms, a huge chest, toned jaw line, and a tight shirt that could barely contain everything that is him.

I wore my big jacket to cover up everything that I am as I sat in the back seat of his car alone while they occupied the front. I was use to this scenario and had already knew how to entertain myself. I would go into deep thought of how he must look shirtless, how is daily life must be being so sculpted, how many people must want to be held by those big arms. His heart guarded by a chest piece of organically made steel.

A the night went on, the fantasies I had with him as the center of it began to subside. I started to really talk to him and hope he would give me some details of what his life is like and what I was missing out on. Of course, there was nothing unusual or glamorous about anything he said. He worked a 9 to 5, went to the gym in the evenings, and fucked bitches on the weekend. Is he not telling me the details of the great life because he is so use to it?

As the night started get darker, I realized that I was more interested in the guy than my friend was. We did the typical gossiping that two close friends do and walked off to the bathroom together to talk. She was just not interested. She was bored. She thought he was nothing. She wanted nothing to do with him. I was shocked! Was I just so enamored that I wasn’t actually seeing he bigger picture? I had to investigate.

We got back to the table of the bar we were at. He had ordered her a drink.

My friend was just doing her own thing at that point, clearly demonstrating that the cocktail she had was more amusing than the man who ordered it. All he kept saying was how beautiful she is and how he has always wanted her. She didn’t care. I made sure I was wearing enough concealer to cover up that I was blushing.

He asked her what she was looking for. She said for someone else. I thought at that point, he would stop being so amused by her and just talk to me. The rejection didn’t stop him. He just kept going for it. I started to get kind of confused. This big perfect bodied man is being kind of pathetic. What? That isn’t how it is suppose to be. You’re suppose to confidently accept the rejection and walk away. Don’t keep begging. This doesn’t fit my expectations of what sexy bodied people should be doing. Stop that.

My friend then started flirting with another guy in the bar and even started dancing with him. I got my wish, the big muscle boy finally just focused on talking to me. But wishes granted always come with a price. He was only talking to me to get info n my friend. I actually just told him that she isn’t interested in him. Part of it as because I was jealous, but the other part of me was showing him mercy, the way you would kill a mouse caught in a glue trap before you throw it away.

He seemed to take it well, but then he got up and went after her again. Did he think I lied or something? He had to lube her out of the arms of the other guy, but clearly I was just fibbing. He was able to bring her back to our table where again, she was more interested in everything else other than him. He started to again, just compliment her non stop.

I started to thank everything in the universe for never allowing me to compliment these men with Adonis bodies the way he is complimenting her. At first it can be sweet, like when you get a handful of gummy bears, but as you start to eat them you get tired of them and wish you had gone with something else. Also, I can sit here and complain about him all I want, at the end of the day, I wished he talked to me the way he talked to her. Bright side, by seeing it this way, I can see that the experience isn’t all that you would expect it to be.

Finally my friend just got up and walked off with another guy, leaving me with the subject of my story. He thought I wanted to keep talking about it, but I didn’t really. I was over it. The night wasn’t as young, and neither was my superficial way of seeing these behemoth men. He thought the night went well, he really liked her, he really wants to get to know her more, and was asking me for advice on what to do next.

“She’s not into you”. He didn’t believe me. But I didn’t care at that point. Clearly, the way people look doesn’t match the way they are. He could look as confident and proud as he wants, he was still behaving like a fool. A fool enamored by someone who forgot his name. Who disrespected him in his own face, and he still wanted more. I never felt so strong next to someone who could break me in half.

The next day, I called my friend to recap on everything. In the middle of the laughter and annoyance, she said “Omg he just texted me….”

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