Self-Worship: The Unspoken Confessions of Female Bodybuilders

Four of the most beautiful women in the world: Yaxeni Oriquen, Anne Freitas, Alina Popa and Iris Kyle.
Four of the most beautiful women in the world: Yaxeni Oriquen, Anne Freitas, Alina Popa and Iris Kyle.

Everyone knows how amazing female bodybuilders are in every aspect of life: Physically, emotionally, intellectually, socially, sexually and perhaps even spiritually.

It should be obvious that lots of men out there share these feelings. Female bodybuilders, athletes and those who love pumping their bodies at the gym are, simply put, a thing of beauty. They are beautiful in ways that cannot justifiably be put into words. The context of their beauty is so unfathomable that 100 volumes of encyclopedia-level text could not explain it all.

But that’s just one perspective. That’s the perspective of straight men who love strong women. But there’s a whole other side of the coin that deserves its own discussion.

What about women?

Specifically, women who are also strong and muscular. What do they think of their fellow muscular sisters? Or themselves?

For the past year I’ve been in correspondence with a real-life female bodybuilder who has expressed her love for my blog. Yes, I was floored when I learned that an actual flesh-and-blood FBB was reading my posts! In our many discussions, this topic recently came up: Female bodybuilders are often turned on by each other…and themselves.

A very tanned Nicki Pimm.
A very tanned Nicki Pimm.

Wait, what? In addition to that being perhaps the hottest thing I’ve ever heard in my life, in many ways this makes perfect sense. Of course, it goes without saying that I myself am not a female bodybuilder, so my knowledge on this subject is somewhat limited. But from what I do understand, let’s take some time to discuss a topic that definitely deserves a blog article unto itself.

The Underlying Assumption

First, let’s begin with the Underlying Assumption. A female bodybuilder is a woman who dedicates nearly every waking moment of her life toward one singular goal: to achieve a desired physique that maximizes her body’s muscular potential.

This potential could be realized in terms of muscle mass, aesthetic proportions, striking the perfect balance between muscularity and traditional femininity or a combination of all three. Regardless, the ultimate goal is to sculpt one’s body to become Beautiful (despite, of course, not everyone in our society sharing this definition of “Beautiful”). I capitalize the word “Beautiful” because it’s not just a general classification of “beautiful.” Conversely, “beautiful” with a lowercase “b” is defined as “pleasing the senses or mind aesthetically.” That dictionary definition is pretty basic and covers a lot of ground. “Beautiful” with an uppercase “B” means (in my personal dictionary) “pleasing one’s own personal senses or mind aesthetically.”

In this definition, “Beautiful” is not a term defined by others. It’s a standard defined by one’s own self. Yes, obviously competitive bodybuilders are being judged by a panel of other people, but that’s beside the point. Ultimately, an FBB (or male bodybuilder) is really competing against herself. Her standards are the only standards she cares about. Perfection is an internal goal, not an external one. She doesn’t seek to please others. She seeks to please herself. PERIOD.

So given all this, the Underlying Assumption is the basic premise that female bodybuilders are actively pursuing to achieve “Beauty” as they define it. It’s a lofty goal that takes years and years of dieting, lifting, supplementation, drugs (yes, this happens. Get over it), strategic periods of rest, consulting, tears, anguish and sacrifices. All to achieve what? That’s right. Beauty. To become Beautiful in ways that are almost comparable to a religious experience. It’s a spiritual quest that one always pursues, yet never fully achieves.

Sheronica Sade Henton is a rising star.
Sheronica Sade Henton is a rising star.

No professional athlete worth their weight in gold would ever admit out loud that they’ve “made it.” Michael Jordan never believed he reached the mountaintops of being a great basketball player. Even at the prime of his career, he always believed he could be better. There was something about his game that could be improved. While we all know now (and at the time) that he was indeed the greatest of all time, he never believed that. He always needed something to push him further, to motivate him to become better at what he does. Greatness is not an end result, it’s a process. A process one never stops chasing.

That being said, a female bodybuilder is – every single day of her life – climbing her own bodybuilding Mount Everest. She’s seeking out her muscular Nirvana. Her spiritual quest, though unorthodox, resembles more a Tibetan monk striving toward Enlightenment than a professional athlete preparing for game day.

Which leads us to…

Now that we’ve established our Underlying Assumption, we can now move on to the idea that started this discussion.

Cindy (which is not her real name, but a fake one to conceal her true identity), confesses that many female bodybuilders get sexually aroused by both themselves and their fellow FBBs. Whether it happens during a contest, while working out or during interactions with her muscle sisters, there are FBBs who can’t help but become sexually provoked by it all.

Just to give you a better idea of what I’m talking about, here is an excerpt from a recent conversation I’ve had with Cindy:

Cindy: Women are omnisexual. Everything turns us on. Men are more likely to be oriented in one or the other direction.

Cindy: There are a lot of bisexual men, but bisexuality in general comes STANDARD with the women’s psyche.

Ryan: Do you get turned on by yourself?

Cindy: YES very

Cindy: When I see or feel my body growing, pumping

Cindy: And my body reacts when I see other women’s bodies although I really NEED a man for sex

Ryan: Fascinating

Ryan: Are you turned on by the fact that it’s a female form that’s muscular, or because muscularity is traditionally associated with masculinity?

Cindy: No because of how it feels, the sensuality of it

Cindy: I feel so STRONG

Cindy: It makes me wet to feel this way

Cindy: And my body responds, my pits get moist, my nipples get hard

Cindy: It is just so erotic

Wow. What a fascinating conversation, wouldn’t you say? While this is coming from her own perspective, it probably isn’t a stretch of the truth to assume that other FBBs share this same experience. I wouldn’t go as far as to say that all of them do, but for the sake of argument, let’s assume this experience is common enough.

So, we’re not talking about lesbians who are naturally attracted to other women. That’s an oversimplification. We’re talking about straight (or semi-straight) women who, in certain circumstances, become aroused through the mere fact of being a bodybuilder. This means there must be something inherent within the lifestyle that causes this to happen. But what is it?

What this all means, in a nutshell

It’s not surprising that some bodybuilders (male or female) find their profession (or when participating in activities associated with their profession) to be so sexually arousing. These are men and women who are the top of their class competing with themselves to achieve a physique of gargantuan proportions. Our Underlying Assumption returns us to the concept of “Beauty” and how attaining this level of “Beauty” is an unrelenting driving force behind everything these athletes do.

You don’t reach the pinnacle of athletic achievement without passion. You don’t reach it without being out-of-the-ordinary. You don’t get there unless there’s something deep within your soul that aches to be the best you could be.

And that attitude can be very arousing. Especially when you mix in the dynamic of creating perfectly sculpted bodies, which already carries heavy sexual overtones.

The blonde goddess Johanna Dejager.
The blonde goddess Johanna Dejager.

Think about everything related to competitive bodybuilding. The time. The preparation. The sacrifices. The heart. Everything. Just to qualify for a competition is an accomplishment unto itself. But more than that, it’s a very sensual experience. The hot lights flashing down on the stage, the sweat dripping off your brow as the judges write down notes about you, the sounds of people screaming your name as you strike a pose, and especially the high stakes drama associated with any competitive environment.

Sexual arousal is predicated upon being exposed to stimuli that create a physiological and mental response conducive to sparking arousal. These stimuli come from the five senses: sight, taste, touch, sound and smell. Whether you’re in the gym, backstage before a show or in the privacy of your bedroom admiring your physical progress in the mirror, opportunities to being exposed to stimuli are numerous.

So what is “stimuli?” Stimuli can come from a variety of sources. It’s highly sensual and differs from person to person. We’re not all turned on by the same thing. But when exposed to these stimuli at the proper time in the proper manner, it triggers a sexual response in the mind.

Anything can trigger a response. Anything. A sight. A scent. Someone’s voice. Someone’s moan. Bright lights. Dim lights. Natural light. Warm air. A cool breeze. A crowded room. A lonely room. Your partner. Yourself. A thought. A memory. A nightmare. A long forgotten dream. A conversation you once had with someone. Hunger. Fullness. Thirst. Feelings of happiness. Feelings of contentment. Feelings of uncertainty. A contorted mixture of emotions too enormous to describe. Excitement. Anticipation. Anxiety. Melancholy. Nervousness. That sensation of butterflies fluttering about in the pit of your stomach. The joy of victory. The agony of defeat. The mixed feelings of seeing a loved one win while you lose. Sweat. Your heart pounding. Your pulse racing a million miles per minute. Someone’s breath. Someone’s jittery mannerisms. The look on someone’s face. The position of someone’s body. The way a beam of light shines down on someone’s face. Her face. His face. Your own face. Youthfulness. Experience. Love. Anger. Hurt. Awkward encounters. Sickness. Good health. Cleanliness. Filth. Body heat. An unspoken sense of connectedness. Intuition. Ambiguity. Jealousy. Envy. Admiration. Unconditional respect. Her muscles. His muscles. Their muscles. My muscles. Flexing. Showing off. Demonstration of hard work. Playfulness. Egos. Competition. Fierce rivalry. The epic build up. The inevitable let down. Persistence. Shattered dreams. Dreams that really come true. Waiting for your turn. Waiting for his turn. Waiting for her turn. Waiting for our turn. The spotlight. The attention. The tens of thousands of voices screaming your name. The hundreds of thousands of voices screaming the other person’s name. Loudness. Quietness. Silence. Stillness. Shaking in your boots. A chill running down your spine. A tap on your shoulder. A pat on the back. A handshake. A kiss. A whisper in your ear. That one time you made love. That one time you masturbated. That one time you saw him. That one time you saw her. That one time you looked in the mirror and liked what you saw. That one time you looked in the mirror and hated what you saw but vowed to change that immediately. The promise you made to yourself to accept who you are regardless of what other people think. Dancing in the rain. Feeling snow hit the tip of your tongue. Basking in the warm glow of a summer evening. Looking out the window at a peaceful autumn storm. The feeling of your sore muscles after a strenuous workout. The feeling of his muscles after his workout. The feeling of her muscles after her workout. Craving that pump. Needing external affirmations. Desiring to be desired. Being desired. Being the one and only. Being the focus of attention. Knowing your destiny is entirely up to you. Knowing you can fail. Knowing you can succeed. Succeeding. Failing. Not giving a damn either way. Epic moments. Subtle moments. Everyday moments. The logical. The unexplained. The magical. The divine. That which you know but cannot put into words. That which you are embarrassed to even think about. That which you need more than anything else. A goal. A purpose. Existing. God. Humanity. Everything.

Everything.

Or, better yet, anything.

Who’s to say you’re wrong to be turned on by any of this? After all, everyone has different sensual triggers. We’ve all lived lives as diverse as anything you can imagine. The list goes on and on and on. But that’s the beauty of the human mind. You can’t explain any of it. You feel things because you can. The heart and mind sometimes work in tandem, other times they work against each other. It’s all out of your control.

Sophie Legace is a spectacular view, is she not?
Sophie Lagace is a spectacular view, is she not?

Any athlete or artist who spends so much time, sweat, emotional vulnerability, personal discomfort and sense of “normalcy” is bound to be a person with heightened passion. That drive isn’t found with just anyone. The “average Joe” or “Average Jane” could not do what a room full of hot, sweaty, smelly and divinely beautiful female bodybuilders could do. Not by a long shot. What they have to do to look the way they do is simply beyond what most of us would do to pursue our so-called “dreams.”

But for them, it’s not just a mere “dream.” It’s a calling. It requires mental toughness that only a small handful of us could emulate. So when you’ve invested so much into your craft, when you’re finally surrounded by peers who know exactly what you experience on a day-in and day-out basis, you have every reason to be aroused by your surroundings. You have every reason to want to participate in a mass muscle orgy right on the spot. All your pent-up desires have to come out or else you might explode.

So…why are some female bodybuilders easily aroused by each other?

For God’s sake. Isn’t it bloody obvious?

The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi: Chapter Fifteen – Pillow Talk

I gaze up at Cindi’s alarm clock and see it’s only 7:38 p.m. The night is still young.

Fully calmed down now, I’m confident my crying has stopped. Just for the record, I wasn’t crying as if I were at a funeral. I was weeping softly, totally at the mercy of a sudden flood of emotions.

“What do we do now?” I ask her.

“We talk.” Cindi is now stroking my backside, up and down, exploring every inch of me.

“I can do that.”

I pull my softened penis out of her womanhood and lay on my back next to her. We both let out a deep sigh almost at the same time. Gee, we’re even developing the same patterns of behavior!

“So…do you feel any different?”

I think for a moment.

“I don’t think so. I mean, it just ended. Everything happened so fast.”

“Well, not THAT fast. Remember last time?” Cindi grins.

“Yeah, not as fast as that one moment in my life. Seriously, I don’t know. I need some time for this all sink in.” That was the most honest answer I could give her.

Cindi caresses my soft manhood with tender care. Though exhausted, a sudden tingling sensation rips through my spine. A small drip of semen leaks out from the tip. Cindi wipes it with her index finger and puts it in her mouth. She licks it clean.

“What does it taste like?”

Cindi ponders.

“Like…chicken.”

There’s a long pause.

“I’m kidding! It tastes…like nothing. A little salty, though. But nothing to ride home about.” Cindi proceeds to caress my thighs. I return the favor by stroking her bulging, eight-pack abs.

“Ha! I knew you were joking, but you never know. You can be very serious at times.” It’s true. You don’t expect a beastly woman like Cindi North to be a jolly, happy-go-lucky bundle of enthusiasm. I guess her large muscles play a role in creating that reputation.

“I can be serious. I’m serious when I lift. Very serious.”

“How about Julie, your workout partner? What’s she like?”

“Julie’s a wonderful woman. Very strong. Very beautiful.” Cindi’s gaze wanders into space. Does she have feelings for her? Or is she just her “workout partner?” I want to know.

“Tell me, Cindi. Is Julie…one of your lovers?”

Cindi sits up upon hearing this question and stops stroking my legs. Is this another one of her serious moments?

“Yes. Julie is one of my lovers. I have many lovers. We’ve been in a relationship for about nine years. I love her to death.”

“You don’t live together, do you? I’m just assuming you live here alone.” I’ve never seen anybody here and there doesn’t appear to be any sign that anyone does. However, you never know.

“We don’t live together. Julie lives in Seattle. She drives up here five days a week to workout with me. But don’t feel like you’re in competition with her. I love her as much as life itself. But I also love you, of course.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it! I don’t consider anybody in your life to be “competition.” You’re an independent woman. You’re allowed to be with whomever you want to be with. Man or woman. Doesn’t matter to me.” I try to tickle her belly button. She doesn’t respond to these stimuli.

“Right now, Julie is the only woman I’m intimate with. And as of last week, you’re the only man I’m being intimate with. So consider yourself in very exclusive company.” Cindi resumes stroking my legs and works up to my bellybutton. She tickles it and I, unlike her, react to it. I flinch and she laughs.

“I love this company,” I begin, shuddering from her tickling. “I’d like to meet her. She seems like a very awesome lady.”

“You should! You and Julie would get along great. Just so you know, she’s not interested in men. She’s only interested in women. Strong women; to be more specific. Actually, she’s only interested in me, and I’d like to keep it that way.” Cindi sounds a bit defensive. I’ll try to diffuse any misunderstanding.

“Hey, I’m not saying I want to…you know, get with her. I’m just saying I’d like to meet her. That’s all.” I kiss Cindi’s neck and make my way down to her breasts. She caresses my stomach in return.

“I’m sorry if I sounded a little bitchy. I get possessive over the people I love.”

“There’s nothing inherently wrong with that. If you love her, it’s natural to get jealous over the slightest hint that somebody else might be interested in them.” I’m now licking her enormous biceps, savoring every peak. They taste wonderful.

“I guess you’re right. I am jealous. But I don’t know why.”

“I’m no psychologist. I can’t give you an answer to that. Sorry.”

Silence.

“I love Julie more than any other person on earth,” Cindi confesses.

I sit up and look into Cindi’s eyes. For some odd reason…I feel jealous at this remark. Why should I? She’s allowed to love whomever she wants. I’m just the guy she happens to be with at the moment!

“That’s great. So why is she okay with you having sex with other people?”

“Well, I’m only having sex with you at the moment. She knows about you. I told her all about you last week. She actually wants to meet you, too.”

“Can I take a guess here? She’s okay with you sleeping with other men as long as it’s just that; other men. No women, right?”

Cindi kisses me on the lips and strokes my face.

“Yes, that’s exactly it.” I kiss her in return.

We stare into each other’s eyes. We share another long, passionate kiss. Then we start to hold hands, just like real lovers.

“I’m glad you’re here, Ryan. I really am.”

“You’re glad? I’m the one who should be glad! I just lost my virginity no more than ten minutes ago. To somebody as beautiful as you, no less. I think I’m way more grateful at this moment than you are.” A few of my fingers find her clitoris. I begin to stroke it gently. Cindi jerks in response to this unexpected stimulation.

“It’s not a contest. But I’m definitely proud to be the woman who popped your cherry.” Cindi strokes my penis with her free hand. Oddly, it doesn’t respond. I guess I need a little bit more time.

“Thank you for doing the honors.” My fingers make their way into her vagina. She’s still moist and sensitive to the touch. She stops stroking my penis and instead fondles my testicles. I start to feel my manhood wake up.

“Can I ask you a personal question, Ryan?”

“Go ahead. Now seems like the appropriate time.”

Cindi takes a deep breath, perhaps out of pleasure from my stimulation. I sure hope so…

“What was it like remaining a virgin at 23?”

My fingers stop stroking her vaginal walls. I pull out, wiping her juices on my leg. She senses my awkwardness at hearing her question.

“Well, to be honest, it was really embarrassing. Really embarrassing. Most of the people I know lost their virginity in high school, some in middle school, or at the very least college. But I remained one until this very evening. It’s pretty embarrassing. Even though I don’t think anybody else knew; that knowledge was enough to make me feel…terrible on the inside.”

Cindi kisses me on the cheek. Her tongue explores the right side of my face. Wow! She can lick my face all she wants. I won’t object.

“To be honest, I used to snicker at people who lost it after turning 20. But now I realize we’re all different and it doesn’t matter when it happens, if at all. What really matters is if we’re happy.” Cindi’s honesty is refreshing. She’s not afraid to say what’s on her mind, even if it makes her look bad.

“But now that I’m no longer a virgin, I feel a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I feel more complete, more of an adult. I feel more like an adult than the time I landed my first job. Somehow, that experience wasn’t as thrilling as I thought it was going to be.” Cindi’s tongue is now lapping across my left nipple. My penis starts to slowly rise back to life. I feel my heartbeat up its tempo. I think a drip of sweat is trickling down my back.

“Like I told you before, you’ve always been a man. You’re more of a man than a lot of men I’ve met in my life. And I’m not lying when I say that,” Cindi assures me, wrapping her right hand around my penis while her left hand explores my chest. This woman knows how to touch a man!

God, I must be the luckiest guy in the world right now.

“You’re awesome, Cindi. You really are. You’re the nicest, most compassionate woman I’ve ever encountered. You’re also definitely the sexiest.”

I return her strokes by stroking her bulging biceps. I swear she has biceps growing on top of her other biceps. She has at least three different levels of biceps developing on her arms.

“What makes me the sexiest woman you’ve ever met?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious? Look at you.”

“I’m not that pretty.”

“I’m not talking about that. I’m–”

“Are you saying I’m ugly?” Cindi is teasing me, I’m sure. She’s still gripping my penis like it’s a stick shift in her racing car at the Indy 500. If she grips any harder, she might tear it off!

“No! Of course not! I’m not saying you’re ugly. You’re not ugly! You’re the–”

“I know, Ryan. I’m kidding! You said I’m beautiful. I believe you when you say that.” She releases my penis and holds my hand instead. I think I like this movement better. By now, my manhood is fully re-engorged and ready for action.

“What I mean to say is that your muscles are SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO incredibly sexy. You’re so strong it boggles my mind. Just look at your biceps. They’re huge! How large are they?”

“At my peak, they can be up to 19 inches around. But right now, I’m guessing probably 17 inches. Maybe 17 and a half, if I’m lucky.”

“Do you have a sewing measuring tape?”

“I’m a professional bodybuilder. Of course I have a sewing measuring tape.”

“Here’s a question: can we measure your muscles?”

“We could, but why do you want to measure my muscles?”

“Because I want to know exactly how big you are. It would turn me on.”

A wicked grin develops across Cindi’s face. A strong surge of electricity jolts down my spine when I see her pearly white teeth shining at me.

“I think you’re already turned on.” She looks down at my erection and continues to grin wildly. I know exactly what she’s thinking. Luckily, I’m thinking the exact same thing.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Cindi North?”

“I think I am, Ryan Takahashi.”

“Round two?”

“Round two.”