Muscle.

The meat of my pectoralis muscle is hidden under my breasts, but at the top, there's an exposed strip, a sweeping curve running over my ribcage to my shoulder on each side. It's hard, tough, and surprisingly large, and with one hand on my ribs, I can feel it flex. It's a strange strength to find within myself.

The other day at work, an old lady started to lose her balance. She'd had a stroke and one leg was weak but she was trying to walk anyway, and in slow motion she started to wobble and crumple and sink down. And didn't fall. I wrapped my arms around her and picked her up and bodily lifted her back into bed. I put her down all crookedwise and awkward and kind of on the edge, and it took two more people to get her situated properly. When it was just a matter of getting everything all lined up nice, I could barely lift a third of her.

I complained earlier about being bad at being on top during sex. I'm not always. When I fuck Rowdy on top, the motion I use is... like I was fucking him. Like he had a pussy and I was driving a cock into it, hard. All this is obviously the exact opposite of what's going on. But that's how it feels and that's when it works. The mental image of "I'm going to slide my pussy up and down your cock" doesn't mean anything to me. What I want to do is grab his shoulders and fucking slam into him.

Maybe it's cliche to find the sexiest part of a man to be the muscles. Maybe I'm cliche. It's funny, though, I've never been into big showy muscles, six-packs and all that. I just want to feel the muscles, under the surface. To see an arm--clothed, smooth-skinned, average sized, little light hairs, entirely ordinary and civilized-looking--and wrap my hand around it and feel the hard little lump of animal beneath.

I like to fight back sometimes. Submission doesn't always mean serving yourself up on a silver platter, patiently holding every limb out for their convenience so they can tie it just so. Sometimes it means "if you can take me, you can have me." I'm strong enough to put up a fight and not so strong that I have to hold back. Getting hit, or fucked, or both, is a different thing when you're fighting back, With all your muscles working, with your mind and adrenaline racing, with your body poised to act rather than merely receive, sex changes. It transforms from a dynamic of a hard surface against a soft one, to two hardnesses, not in harmony but in delicious tension.