The “Alternate Femininity” of Female Bodybuilders

A striking pose by Karen Garrett.
A striking pose by Karen Garrett.

The unfair stereotypes associated with female bodybuilders are both too numerous to list and cringe-worthy when heard aloud.

“Female bodybuilders are gross because they don’t look like women!”

“Female bodybuilders are disgusting because they secretly want to be men!”

“Female bodybuilders are unappealing because women aren’t supposed to be that muscular!”

“Female bodybuilders aren’t real women because…well, isn’t it obvious?”

How many times have you heard opinions like these? Maybe not word-for-word, but generally speaking does any of this sound familiar? In all likelihood, fans of female bodybuilders and female bodybuilders themselves have probably come across vitriol like this way too often.

In an attempt to shatter some of these negative stereotypes, let’s discuss a concept that a student of gender/sexuality studies should be well versed in: gender as a social construct.

The theory goes that the idea we’ve come to know as “gender” is an arbitrary set of rules, roles and beliefs that is artificially created by culture rather than inherent biology. The differences between men and women are considered “differences” because “we say it’s so.” While certain physiological characteristics separate the male and female sexes (genitalia, hormone levels, reproductive system, etc.), other factors like behavior, intellectual abilities and hierarchal positions in society are nothing more than just a product of the paradigms we’ve created over time.

If we assume this theory to have at least a certain degree of validity, this somewhat debunks the above mentioned stereotypes as, simply put, a bunch of hogwash.

Of course female bodybuilders are real women! They aren’t men. Men are men and women are women. A woman with muscles is still a woman, despite how (admittedly) unusual it is. Who says women aren’t supposed to be that muscular? Just because we don’t see that sort of thing every day doesn’t mean it shouldn’t happen.

The idea that female bodybuilders aren’t “feminine” plays into traditional gender roles that most human societies have adapted to a point. Yes, it’s true there are certain cultures out there where women are more of the “hunters” than the “gatherers,” but these types of societies are far and few between. For the sake of debate, let’s just assume that the “men are the stronger sex, women are the weaker sex” dichotomy is universally agreed upon.

Famke Janssen might be the most gorgeous woman on the planet.
Famke Janssen might be the most gorgeous woman on the planet.

It should be mentioned that “femininity” can have a fluid definition. Is “feminine” simply defined as any characteristics that a woman displays, or does there have to be a certain level of “social agreement” on these characteristics? For example, even though weightlifting is traditionally regarded as a male pastime, if more women took up the hobby, over time wouldn’t we start to associate the activity as more “gender neutral?”

Smoking was once seen as strictly a male-dominated activity. Then women started to smoke as well once feminism took off as a major social force. At the time, a woman having the right to smoke in public was a real feminist issue. Our society once upon a time ago looked down upon that suggestion. Then, things changed and both genders were given the “right” to light up a cigarette (now, ironically, smoking is looked down upon not for reasons based on gender, but health).

Perhaps it might be fair to say that female bodybuilders are part of an “alternate femininity.” They’re still feminine, but not in a traditional sense.

One could argue the decision of a woman to take up the sport of bodybuilding is unto itself a feminist act. It’s an act of a woman defying social expectations to achieve results that are both self-empowering and openly defiant of the “weaker sex” label. While many real life FBBs may not actively consider themselves “feminists,” no one can argue that the sport by itself creates problems in how we define traditional femininity.

A lovely pose by Alana Shipp.
A lovely pose by Alana Shipp.

But not “alternate femininity.” The sport of female bodybuilding doesn’t contradict gender roles; it makes it more inclusive of other roles. Men are not the only ones allowed to be physically strong. Women can too. This doesn’t violate the gender divide, rather it challenges us to reconsider whether a divide really exists in the first place (or should exist). Thus, gender roles can’t be contradicted if there is nothing at all to contradict.

The “alternate femininity” theory is based on the idea that if gender is a social construct, everyone is allowed to define gender in their own way. How can you be wrong in your own personal opinion?

So, we can now define “feminine” (and its counterpart “masculine”) in a new way:

Feminine is anything a woman is or does.

This definition completely eliminates the factors of social expectations and cultural rituals. Feminine is not defined as anything a woman is or does as defined by society, but instead anything a woman is or does PERIOD.

For example, if a particular woman likes to drink beer, watch football and play violent videogames, all these activities are “feminine” simply because a woman is doing it. It doesn’t matter that most of us associate these activities with the male species. What matters is what happens on an individual level, nothing more and nothing less.

Who wouldn't go gaga over Sofia Vergara?
Who wouldn’t go gaga over Sofia Vergara?

When we view the world of female bodybuilding through this lens, then theoretically we shouldn’t have any issues here. If a woman wants to bulk herself up, she has every right to. But not only does she have the right to do this, she isn’t betraying her sex, her femininity or her relationship with masculinity. A female bodybuilder isn’t seeking to become masculine. She’s still feminine. Just a different kind of feminine.

It begs to be mentioned that “separate but equal” is not what this is about. “Alternate femininity” is not a separate kind of femininity, but rather a substitute for how we commonly define as conventional femininity.

Alright. So…what’s really the point of all this nonsense?

The main purpose of this conversation is to prove the point that there’s nothing really unusual about straight men being attracted to muscular women. While on the surface this does indeed seem strange, when you logically play out this scenario from beginning to end, this is really much ado about nothing.

Straight men are attracted to women. This simple fact has been accepted for generations upon generations. But if we add the condition of “straight men are attracted to muscular women,” why does everyone suddenly become irrational and think this is some kind of abomination?

I want to be poolside by Simone Sousa!
I want to be poolside by Simone Sousa!

If one of your male buddies told you while you were hanging out over drinks that he thinks “Sofia Vergara is hot,” well, I can’t think of too many guys who would disagree. So why is it considered weird when that same guy also says “Alina Popa is hot”? It’s a matter of personal preference, not some arbitrary set of hard-and-fast rules about what kinds of women men are allowed to be attracted to.

This dispels the rumor that we love female bodybuilders because “they look like men” or that “we’re secretly gay.” This cannot be further from the truth. Our sexuality is not in question. When I fantasize about being with a woman like Amber DeLuca, I’m not thinking about her as one of my guy friends. I don’t daydream about downing cheap lagers with her while we shoot pool or go bowling. Instead, I’m imagining a scenario involving a romantic candlelit dinner, expensive red wine, flowers, an idyllic beach-side resort and hours and hours of very hot and sensual lovemaking.

Oh yeah!

I want to connect with her emotionally and intellectually, not just physically. My romantic fantasies involving an FBB would not seem out of place in a sappy Nicholas Sparks novel. Just the amount of weight the leading lady can bench press might differ a tad!

To summarize, let’s attempt to reduce this discussion to its most basic elements:

Men are attracted to beautiful women.

Sound crazy? Nope. Sounds pretty reasonable to me. As a straight guy myself, I can attest to how accurate this sentence is. Men are attracted to beautiful women. Who can possibly argue with that?

The caveat, of course, is that men define “beautiful” in different ways. And guess what? They have every right to! No man should ever constrict himself over what kinds of beauty he appreciates in the world. Life is too short to limit yourself. Never box yourself in. If there’s something in life that really gets your gears running, don’t shy away from it. Embrace it!

Aaaaaaaand finally, a much-anticipated photo of Adriana Lima.
Aaaaaaaand finally, a much-anticipated photo of Adriana Lima.

I am attracted to women like Lisa Cross and Lindsay Mulinazzi not just because of their muscles. You see, it’s not just about the muscles, or her strength, or her bulk. It’s everything about her. Their personalities. Their intellect. Their drive, dedication, motivation and desires. It’s the total package that makes me go gaga for them.

Simply put, I’m attracted to Miss Cross and Miss Mulinazzi because they’re beautiful women.

Denise Masino is a beautiful woman.

Gayle Moher is a beautiful woman.

Victoria Dominguez is a beautiful woman.

Iris Kyle is a beautiful woman.

Kate Upton is a beautiful woman.

Halle Berry is a beautiful woman.

Katy Perry is a beautiful woman.

They are all beautiful women. The only difference is how universally regarded their beauty is. It’s as simple as that. Most of us can agree that Bar Refaeli is super gorgeous. But not everyone can agree that Monica Martin is equally gorgeous. But the truth is that both opinions are correct. Who is to say that they’re wrong? To each his own, right?

Too often, when we discuss the subject of female bodybuilders and the men who love them, we get way too caught up in talking about an FBB’s muscles. Yes, her muscles are very important, but that misses the mark. To reiterate a previous point, it’s not just about her muscles. Her muscles are just part of why many men are attracted to her. Her muscles are not the “be-all and end-all” of her beauty. They are part of a larger package.

And what package is that? Simple. She’s a woman.

A woman. That’s right. A woman. A very beautiful (and muscular) woman, but a woman nevertheless.

Adriana Lima and Alina Popa are both gorgeous; no if, ands, or buts about it. They just are. No need to explain why. No need to put either of them in a separate category of gorgeousness. No need to justify Miss Popa’s beauty compared to Miss Lima’s. Nope. Both are stunning. End of story.

The “alternate femininity” theory of female bodybuilders really boils down to the simple idea that men are attracted to them because they’re women. We find them beautiful. We love their femininity. Granted, we may define “femininity” differently from the general population, but the essential idea remains the same:

Men are attracted to beautiful women.

This core concept is at the heart of why men like me and countless others love female bodybuilders. We find them beautiful. There’s no way I can reduce this argument any further. It is what it is.

Is there any ambiguity left?

The Erotic Dreams of Max Shimura: Episode Four – Double Dare (part two of two)

Can you imagine going to the beach and seeing Tonia Moore stretching out?
Can you imagine going to the beach and seeing Tonia Moore stretching out?

Later that afternoon, Max and Marie leave the beach and decide to explore the town a little more. Perusing through shops, street vendors and other obvious tourist traps; people still could not help but stop and stare at this very unorthodox couple.

“Holy shit! She’s huge! I mean, look at her muscles!” one passerby whispers to his friend.

“Lucky guy to be with a buff beauty like her!” another pedestrian remarks to no one in particular.

“Mommy! Is that a boy or a girl?” an innocent little girl asks her mother. The mother had no response other than dropping her jaw at the sight of Marie’s bulging biceps.

Wearing a tight fitting pink sundress and sandals, Marie shows no shame or hesitation in displaying her large muscles for everyone to see. In fact, she wants the whole world to see her hard work in plain view. She gets a tingling sensation deep within her soul every time complete strangers do nothing but stare at her in awe.

It is this sensation that Max cleverly knew to exploit.

“I’m thirsty. Shall we get something to drink?” Max suggests. Strolling through an art pawn shop, Max was quickly losing interest in walking around town doing nothing. He wanted a change of pace. Marie senses Max’s insistence to do something different.

“Are you about to give me my dare?” she casually asks.

“Maybe…” he begins, “maybe not. We’ll see. Follow me, my love.” Max and Marie link arms and leave the art shop. The shop owner’s eyes were as big as dinner plates as he watches Marie’s sexy muscular body walk out of his establishment.

“Let’s get some shaved ice. Over there!” Max says.

Minutes later, Max and Marie were heading back to their hotel (they coincidentally booked the same hotel) enjoying a cup of fruity shaved ice. Max is almost done as they approach the front steps of the hotel. Marie is only halfway finished because she could not stop talking about the deliciousness of this exquisite dessert.

“God, this is amazing! I almost never eat any sweets. The bodybuilding lifestyle doesn’t allow for too much sugars or candies. This is heavenly, Max. Great suggestion!” By now Marie has completely finished her shaved ice. She tosses the paper cup into a nearby trash bin. Max follows suit and does the same.

Cabo looks like such a great vacation spot.
Cabo looks like such a great vacation spot.

“Alright. Now what?” Marie enthusiastically asks. She grabs Max by the waist and brings him closer to her body. Her musky smell turns on Max. As if their previous coupling on the beach wasn’t enough to satiate him, he still desired her unlike any man has ever desired any woman. He knew what happens next will test the limits of his uncontrollable craving for her.

“You want to know what’s next? I have my dare for you. Are you ready to hear this?”

Marie excitedly perks up when she hears this. She takes Max’s hands into hers and kisses him softly on the lips. The sweet aftertaste of the shaved ice sends shivers down his spine. He feels his manhood awaken. She notices the beginnings of dampness forming between her long, thick legs.

“Yes. I’m ready. Tell me what to do.” She kisses him again, this time playfully biting his upper lip.

“I dare you to walk from here to the end of the street and back,” Max begins, pointing toward the busy boulevard full of pedestrians and bicyclists, “…completely naked.”

He smiles. She blinks.

“Are you serious? You want me to walk a good seven or eight blocks…totally in the nude?”

“Yes. I am being one hundred percent serious. You dared me to fuck you in public, right? Well, now I dare you to stroll down this busy street wearing nothing but your birthday suit.” Max notices Marie is wearing nothing but her dress, panties and sandals. Getting her completely nude would not be a problem. It’s convincing her to go through with it that will.

“I, uh…well, I don’t know about this…er…” Marie stumbles through her words. She cannot think of a reason to refuse.

“What are you unsure about? We’re on vacation. Nobody knows who we are. Even if they did, think about all the free publicity this little stunt would generate. Besides, you even told me yourself. You’re proud of your body. You want everyone to look at your body. Now this is your chance.” He returns the favor and kisses her. Max also nibbles on her upper lip. She blinks once more.

Marie stops to think. She’s seriously contemplating Max’s dare. He’s right. She’s very damn proud of her body. What does she have to hide? Is she ashamed of herself? Of course not! She’s very fucking proud of who she is and all the strenuous hard work she’s done to get her body to look this way. Forget decency! This isn’t the time or the place for that!

“Alright. Agreed. I’ll do it. Will you join me?”

“That’s not part of the deal!”

“I know. I’m just asking,” Marie says. Max considers.

“We’ll see.”

She laughs. He laughs too. But before he knew it, Marie impulsively pulls off her dress, drops her panties to the ground and kicks off her sandals. She picks everything up and hands them to Max. He quickly finds a nearby bush and hides her clothing behind it. He turns around and looks at this gorgeous muscular wearing absolutely nothing. Her stunning figure steals his breath. Already a few hotel employees stop dead in their tracks and stare at her. What is this beautiful female bodybuilder doing standing around completely nude in broad daylight? Is she out of her mind? What the hell is going on here?!

Before the hotel employees could process what they were staring at, Marie begins her triumphant promenade down the busy street. Passerby cars stop to look at her. A bicyclist nearly runs into a utility pole. A dozen or so pedestrians freeze at the mere sight of her. Marie’s immense sexual power emanates from her entire being. Max is enjoying every minute of it.

The gorgeous Dr. Dena Westerfield.
The gorgeous Dr. Dena Westerfield.

“Take a look at me, Cabo!” Marie screams from the top of her lungs. Max giggles uncontrollably. More cars stop in the middle of a green light as Marie crosses the intersection. Motorists start to honk their horns until they discover what all the fuss is about. People speaking Spanish yell at her thing she couldn’t understand. A few whistles and hoots are heard from all directions. More pedestrians stop cold and are powerless to resist looking at her.

Voices everywhere seemingly scream all at once:

“What the fuck is going on here?”

“Is that a man? No, it’s a fucking chick! And she’s naked, bro! Look!”

“Holy shit! There’s a buff chick walking down the street! What the fuck?”

“Look, look, look at that! Check out that muscular girl! Holy fuck, she’s naked! And really buff!”

“Wow! Holy hell, that’s one gorgeous woman. Wow!!!”

“Dude, dude! Check it out! Seriously, over there! Who is that?”

“WHAT THE FUUUUUUUUUCK????????????!!!!!!!!!!”

Marie has reached past the first intersection and is now walking down the next block. Max follows closely behind so to not attract too much attention. He smiles at the sense of joyful rebellion Marie is demonstrating at the moment: Uncaring about what people think about her, proud of her body and not afraid to show it off in all its primal glory for all to see (whether they like it or not). Nothing turns on Max more than witnessing this majestic display of open defiance.

Moments later, Marie stops at a busy cross street and poses for camera phone pictures. A few tourists with professional-quality cameras get down on one knee and take more “artistic” photographs. There may have been a camera crew shooting a low-grade beer commercial that stopped what they were doing and pointed their cameras at her instead. A large group has developed around her. It seems like everyone in Cabo at the moment is crowding around this street to take a peek at Marie’s divine nude muscular body.

Her delts, biceps, triceps, pecs, quads, hamstrings, glutes, calves, abdomen, forearms and sharply defined muscle striations were the talk of the town. No one could keep their eyes off of her.

A busy street in Mexico City.
A busy street in Mexico City.

“Come on, Max! Join in on the fun!” Marie yells. Everyone turns toward Max and stares at him. They now realize he is with her. Is he her husband? Boyfriend? Or just a casual friend? The masses had to know!

“I don’t know…I mean…” Max stutters. He tries to resist joining her in this very public display of nudity, but a voice inside his head is telling him to unrepentantly give in.

“Max, Max, Max, Max!” Marie chants.

“Max! Max! Max! Max!” the crowd chants along.

Screw decency! Max decides to bite the bullet and do what the lady says.

As he strips off his shorts and t-shirt, the crowd goes wild with cheering and hollering. Down to his boxers, the chants of Max’s name grows louder and louder. The raucous noise is almost too much to bear. The deafening racket is almost painful to his ears. Finally, Max rips off his underwear and is completely nude. The crowd screams loudly as if Max had just hit the game winning home run in the World Series.

Marie holds out her hand. Max takes it unabashedly. Holding hands like old lovers, this unlikely couple poses for more impromptu photos and video. God, will his friends and family find out about this back home? Probably! But at this moment, he couldn’t care less about any of that. For now, all he could think about what himself and his Muscle Goddess friend.

The unconventional sight of a beautiful 47-year-old female bodybuilder holding hands with a 23-year-old scrawny Asian guy must be jarring to anyone not caught up in the heat of the moment. But for the time being, all anyone could care about was becoming part of this improvised street parade.

Max and Marie continue their walk down the street to complete his dare to her. Neither one of them knows what’s going to happen with his clothes. They’ll worry about that at a later time.

About ten to fifteen other people have joined the fun and stripped down naked as well. When in Rome, right?

“Why is she with this Asian guy? He has a small dick!” one drunk and obnoxious observer screamed at the top of his lungs.

Marie hears this and looks at Max. Max blushes, embarrassed at his penis’s shriveled appearance. The cool breeze sweeping over them isn’t making his manhood look too flattering! Immediately sensing his insecurity, Marie holds onto Max’s hand tighter and kisses him on the neck. Max’s heart warms like never before.

If I saw Nikki Fuller and Amber DeLuca engage in this type of activity in public, I'd definitely stop and stare. Wouldn't you?
If I saw Nikki Fuller and Amber DeLuca engage in this type of activity in public, I’d definitely stop and stare. Wouldn’t you?

At last, the parade reaches the end as Marie and Max can finally see the edge of the beach. The street ends and splits off into opposite directions parallel to the water. Their large crowd is still enthusiastically following them from behind. Some of the other naked followers have begun posing for pictures themselves. Others are making out and engaging in other not-so-subtle sexual activity.

“Well, this is the end. Shall we walk back?” Marie whispers into his ear.

“Nah. I like it out here. There’s a cool breeze. The sun is starting to set. Let’s stay out here for a few moments. Let’s enjoy what we have right now,” Max says.

After a few moments pass, Marie has an idea.

“Let’s show these people that I love being with you. Let’s show them what that small dick of yours can do!” she says.

This grabs Max’s attention. Is she being serious right now? Is she saying they should–

But before he could think another thought, Marie squats down and puts her mouth over Max’s penis and begins sucking on it. The crowd erupts in a round of applause. Stroking her tongue around the sensitive tip, Max’s manhood is now fully engorged and ready for anything.

Marie lies down on a grassy area and spreads her legs wide. The crowd circles around them. As if on an entirely different planet, Max ignores his surroundings and plunges his “small dick” inside her. She moans loudly, perhaps a little too loudly, just to prove a point. She wants everyone to know that Max is a man, perhaps more of a man than anybody watching them!

As Max passionately makes love to Marie, several other couples follow suit, just like back at the beach earlier in the day. Good Lord, is everyone down here in Cabo San Lucas this horny and unhinged?

They kiss. They fondle each other’s bodies. Max cups her breasts and rubs her six-pack abs. He greedily explores every muscular inch of her perfectly sculpted body. Marie’s cartoonish moans turn to real moans of pleasure as she tightens her vagina around him. She wants them to come at the same time right in front of all these watching people. She doesn’t care if the entire world sees these videos go viral. She wants the whole universe to know that she’s not ashamed to make love to this scrawny, small-dicked Asian guy!

The moans continue. Max feels he’s close. Marie knows she’s even closer. One final thrust later…and they both come together. He feels her strong vaginal walls contract around him as he recklessly spills his seed into her for a second time. Her hot heavy breath raises goosebumps all over his skin. A drop of sweat drips off him and falls on her neck.

Other couples have started to make love too, but Max and Marie are too busy staring into each other’s eyes. Max brushes a lock of hair away from her cheek. He kisses her deeply. Marie carefully pulls his penis out of her vagina and teases it with her fingers. He gasps uncontrollably. Max counters by stroking her massively swollen clitoris with his thumb and index finger, which eventually brings her to another orgasm. She wrestles with him in the grass as they laugh to their heart’s delight.

Eventually, they hear police sirens screeching in the distance. Someone has obviously told the cops that there is a rebellious couple walking around town as naked as the day they were born. Max and Marie snap out of their spell and run back to the hotel as fast as they can.

They laugh. They scream. They giggle. They find moments to kiss between dodging through cars and bicyclists.

Even when they arrive at the hotel, they still continue to sprint at full speed. The police are far from them, but this is a couple that doesn’t have a care in the world. They’ll keep running, and running, and running.

To where, exactly? That doesn’t matter.

All that matters is that they’re daring enough to do it.

The Erotic Dreams of Max Shimura: Episode Four – Double Dare (part one of two)

An idyllic beach in Cabo San Lucas.
An idyllic beach in Cabo San Lucas.

“Fuck me, Max.”

Max blinks. The margarita he’s drinking almost comes out of his nose.

“Wait, what? What did you say, Marie?”

“You heard me, Max. Fuck me. Right now,” Marie whispers in his ear. She reaches down and caresses his thigh suggestively.

Max is in what you might call “paradise,” which is lying on a white sandy beach in Cabo San Lucas next to a gorgeous female bodybuilder. Marie, who was born and raised in New York City, is a 47-year-old competitive bodybuilder on vacation alone down here in Mexico. Max is lucky enough to be experiencing the same pleasure, as well as the pleasure of taking two weeks off from work.

But what makes Max even luckier is running into Marie, whom he struck up a deep conversation with at a bar the previous night. Max was sitting all alone sipping his beer. She walked in and lit up the entire joint. Heaven knows why she randomly decided to sit at his table when she had hundreds of other social options available to her. She said he looked “lonely and in need of some female companionship.”

How correct she was!

As fate would have it, Marie has chosen Max to be her companion for the remainder of her vacation.

“You can’t be serious,” Max pleads.

Marie snuggles closer to him and playfully nibbles on his ear. She tickles his kneecap. He flinches. Goosebumps race up his skin from head to toe. Wearing a white g-string bikini that leaves nearly nothing to the imagination, Marie is a spectacle of divine proportions. Not too many 47-year-old women can make men ages 10 to 90 turn their heads and stare shamelessly…but she can. She has that kind of power.

Marie has the awesome muscularity of Denise Hoshor...
Marie has the awesome muscularity of Denise Hoshor…

“I’m as serious as can be. What say you?” Her hot breath against his tanning skin nearly makes his heart stop beating.

“Uh, well, look around us!” Max gazes around at the crowded beach full of hundreds of people. Mostly tourists, with the vast majority of them American citizens on vacation. They were in a very public place during this early afternoon. The blazing sun’s oppressive heat is thankfully counterbalanced by a cool Pacific Ocean breeze.

Marie also inspects her surroundings. She is well aware there are tons of people; young and old, male and female, couples, friends, family members, people from every corner of the world; of all shapes and sizes enjoying this majestic day at the beach. She knows that. She’s also very aware that everyone around them is watching them. How often do you see a scrawny Asian guy hanging out intimately with a gorgeous female bodybuilder?

“I know what’s around us. Lots and lots of people. But wouldn’t it be fun…” she begins, moving her hands closer to Max’s engorged manhood, “…to do it in front of all these people?”

Max feels his heart skip a beat the moment Marie’s strong grip reaches over his swim trunks. His arousal is clearly evident, the bulge of his erection obvious for everyone to see. Enjoying the power she has over him, Marie continues her naughty behavior by whispering into his ear:

“If we make love right here, right now…I’ll allow you to dare me to do anything later.”

“Are you suggesting we do some kind of…double dare?” Max asks. Trepidation filling his voice, he starts to notice the people around him listening in on their conversation. Their ears perked up and their heads glancing in their direction, Max and Marie have captured the attention of at least a half a dozen people.

...combined with the gorgeous good looks of Emery Miller.
…combined with the gorgeous good looks of Emery Miller.

“Yes, a double dare. I dare you to fuck me in public at this very moment, and in return I’ll let you dare me to do anything you want afterward.” A wicked smile flashes across her beautiful face. Marie’s chiseled body looks so perfect, so powerful, so sexy. Max can hardly contain himself. He knows this will attract an audience, but at this point the Voice of Reason inside his head has taken a vacation as well.

What’s the harm?

“But, we don’t have protection. I didn’t bring anything,” Max says.

She giggles. Her deep husky voice produces an equally gravelly laugh that makes the hairs on the back of Max’s head stand up at attention.

“We don’t need protection. That’ll make us even naughtier!” Marie says, uncaring if anyone is listening. Max gets the feeling she wants people to listen and watch!

“I don’t know…” Max’s voice trails off. By now ten or twelve people, mostly couples in their 20s and 30s, are watching them and waiting for what’s going to happen next. They aren’t trying to hide their interest anymore. They want to know what Max chooses to do. The couple closest to them, who are young and attractive as supermodels, are snuggling and whispering to each other fervently – perhaps plotting something similar. Other couples are just laying back and intently watching the drama unfold.

“Come on! Be a man, Max. I chose to be with you because you’re different. You’re kind, you’re quiet and you don’t seem to be a jerk. Don’t make me regret my decision to be with you.”

Her challenge is all what Max needed. He hears enough degrading remarks about his masculinity back home. It’s time to show all these people what he’s really made of!

“You asked for it. Now you’re going to receive it! Turn to your other side, Marie.”

Marie, with fire in her eyes, obeys. She turns to her other side, with Max now behind her. Marie feels wetness between her legs starting to develop. Max pulls her bikini bottom to the side and slaps her finely rounded butt. She gasps. By now everyone around them is watching unapologetically. Max realizes he has an audience and refuses to disappoint them.

A crowded beach during the day.
A crowded beach during the day.

Max tugs at his swim trunks and pulls them down, exposing his bare butt to at least eight or nine people. He doesn’t care at all. Freeing his erection, he spits on his fingers and reaches over to rub Marie’s vagina. It’s already dripping wet. Her enlarged clitoris is hot and sensitive. He knows she’s already ready for him.

“Oh, God…Max…do it! I’m ready,” Marie begs.

“Yes, ma’am.”

In one swift move, Max pushes his penis inside her from behind. A small round of applause erupts from a couple sitting on lawn chairs behind them. Marie moans. Max grunts, pushing his manhood completely inside her. She flexes her right bicep for him in response. He caresses her bicep greedily, wanting to feel every muscle fiber she’s flexing for him.

He starts to stroke his penis in and out of her, at first slowly and then a little faster. A faint moan escapes from Marie’s throat. She lowers her right arm and bends her head forward. Max leans over and kisses the back of her neck. He licks her, wanting to taste her. Her salty skin tastes as sweet as anything he’s ever tasted before. Max ignores their growing audience but can’t help but notice a bunch of camera phones quickly taking pictures of them.

“God, Max! Mmmmm….”

A groan comes out of Max as he continues to pump into her. No protection, hardly any time to get to know each other, a large audience of 20 or 30 people, gossipy whispers, camera phones snapping illicit photos, broken public decency laws, the sight of a young Asian guy making love to an older female bodybuilder – all these taboos are further turning them on. It’s fueling their desire for each other.

Marie reaches down and grabs Max’s left hand and places it across her swollen clitoris. He gets the hint and begins to lightly stroke it, adding to her pleasure. Max’s right hand cups Marie’s small left breast. Marie has refused to get plastic surgery and defiantly allowed her breasts to shrink in size as her bodybuilding career took off. He doesn’t mind her smallness.

The supermodel couple decides they want to join the fun. They are now making love. A single woman in her early 30s starts to masturbate with her fingers. She doesn’t appear to be with anyone but doesn’t let that get in her way of pleasing herself in this moment.

Max’s strokes inside Marie reaches a steady rhythm. Marie gasps as she orgasms from Max fondling her clit. She is close to coming again from his penis pounding into her. The couple sitting on lawn chairs is now making love too, with her straddling him cowgirl-style as he plays with her breasts.

What began as a simple double dare has now emerged as a full-out impromptu group orgy!

A large crowd surrounds them. But Max and Marie are on a different wave length than the rest and pay no attention to the outside world.

“I’m going to come Max! I’m going to…”

After one last powerful thrust, Max and Marie poetically climax at the same time. Marie lets out an uninhibited scream. Max moans loudly as he spills his semen into her. A raucous round of applause erupts from the masses. The supermodel couple climaxes, then the lawn chair couple follows suit. He ejaculates all over her belly as she falls backward into the sand. The single woman climaxes herself, allowing a small squirt to escape from her vagina. She collapses on her back exhausted and dripping with sweat.

A romantic beach at sunset.
A romantic beach at sunset.

The crowd continues to cheer. Marie turns around and kisses Max deeply. She tickles Max’s penis. He pinches her nipples in return.

After a while, Max and Marie return from Cloud 9 and finally notice the enormous crowd. The number of witnesses to this small orgy is striking. But not a single participant felt any ounce of guilt or embarrassment. In fact, everyone was proud they got to be a part of it.

Marie stands and pulls her bikini bottom back up. Max also stands and readjusts his swim trunks. More clapping bursts forth from the crowd. Max and Marie hold hands and “bow” to their audience like two seasoned Las Vegas magicians paying homage to their loyal fans.

Minutes later the new celebrity couple walks hand-in-hand along the beach aimlessly. Everyone has dispersed by now and gone back to minding their own business. A sense of triumph is felt by both of them.

“Did that just happen?” Max asks.

“Yes, it did. Wasn’t that beautiful?” Marie answers.

“Yes, it was.” He leans over and kisses her on the cheek. She caresses his back in return.

No one speaks for several moments. Marie decides to break the romantic silence.

“I can’t wait to hear what dare you have in store for me!” Marie chuckles.

Max thinks for a moment.

“I think I have something pretty scandalous in mind…”

Muscle Worship, Female Bodybuilders and the Greatest 75 Minutes of My Life (Epilogue)

Muscle beauty Flavia Crisos. As you know, none of the women featured in this post is GFBB. Her identity will always remain a secret.
Muscle beauty Flavia Crisos. As you know, none of the women featured in this post is GFBB. Her identity will always remain a secret.

The moment I realize I had forgotten to take a picture of her, I quickly shoot GFBB a text asking her if she’d be willing to send me a photo of herself.

Thoughts started to flood through my mind: Is this a creepy request? Would she be afraid I’d post this on Facebook or somewhere else and people would see it? Is she protective over her image and would refuse? Would she interpret this request as me bothering her (and perhaps becoming obsessed with her)? Will she think I’m being creepy?

Time passes. I hear nothing from her for a long time. Maybe she’s going to sleep. Maybe she’s ignoring me. Maybe I crossed a line by sending her this text…

Finally, GFBB responds. She says she fell asleep before I texted her. Ah ha! This is her exact message:

Sorry fell asleep . I will send u a pic and its not creepy  But that’s because it’s u asking

Whew! That solves that mystery. I knew we developed a positively rapport. I guess all my fretting was all for naught.

So off to bed I went. I brushed my teeth, took a shower, checked my email one more time and finally crashed into a peaceful slumber. Ah, bliss. My life resumed as normal afterward. I went to work the next day. That evening, GFBB sends me a text at 8:19 p.m. PST with the photo I had requested. It appears to have been taken at a hotel room (perhaps by one of her clients). It wasn’t the highest quality picture, but since receiving it I’ve treasured it as it were a precious family heirloom.

Lovely biceps of Zoa Linsey.
Lovely biceps of Zoa Linsey.

If I’m bored and have nothing else to do (usually when I’m at the train station waiting to get home from work), I’ll occasionally get out my phone and look at her photo. Then all the memories of our 75 minutes together would start flooding back.

Sentimental value, perhaps? Yeah, without a doubt!

All joking aside, life went on as it always did. I enjoyed a restful weekend. And come Monday, it was back to the normal grind. No more female bodybuilders, muscle worship sessions or playful text conversations with strong beautiful women for me for a while. I had my fun. Now it was time to see what came next.

Life can be full of unexpected adventures, n’est-ce pas?

***

So now I take you to the present day. At the time of this blog post’s publication, it is May 23, 2014. My fateful session (or is it “appointment?”) with GFBB was on May 23, 2013. Exactly one year ago today.

Wow. One year ago when I had my session with GFBB. While it does feel like a year ago, it’s funny how certain specific moments – even the trivial ones – are as sharp in my memory as ever before.

The first time I looked at her. When we sat down to chat. When the session finally started. When I got to kiss her. When she sent me the text with her photo attached to it.

I can remember the exact spot where I was when I opened that text. It’s funny how innocuous details like that stay with you forever after everything else more “important” passes on. Perhaps this is our brain’s way of telling us what’s really important in our lives.

Asian muscle Goddess Kiana Phi.
Asian muscle Goddess Kiana Phi.

Have I changed at all as a person as a result of this amazing muscle worship session with an equally amazing lady? The truth is, not really. I have changed a bit, but perhaps not as dramatically as I’d like to think. It is true that I’ve become bolder in pursuing adventures and opportunities that benefit me. It is true that I’ve had muscle worship sessions with three other FBBs (while I’ve enjoyed all of them, GFBB still holds a special place in my heart). It is true that my eyes have been opened to a whole other world I never knew before.

But, at the end of the day, I’m still the same person I was the moment before I knocked on her hotel door 365 days ago. In the past year, I’ve never returned to the parking lot of the hotel we met at; even though it’s a mere five minutes away from my apartment. There’s something special about your “first time” that you want to remain special. It wouldn’t feel right to return back there, even for sentimental purposes.

Speaking of sentimentality, that’s probably how I’ll always remember the 75 greatest minutes of my life. Was it truly the greatest hour and fifteen minutes of my time here on Earth? Eh, who knows…but that’s not the point. My feelings, thoughts and unorthodox “friendship” I developed with GFBB will always be a sweet dream that I’ll recount for many years moving forward. That’s valuable unto itself.

I’m still a fairly shy person. I still haven’t had much luck when it comes to women and romance. I’m still looking for full-time employment, although I’m reasonably getting by just fine working at two part-time jobs.

Who wouldn't want to touch the muscles of Monica Martin?
Who wouldn’t want to touch the muscles of Monica Martin?

I’m still Ryan Takahashi. That part hasn’t changed. I’m still me.

But, I’m not the same person I was leading up to 7 p.m. on 5/23/2013. Yes, I realize I’m contradicting myself, but bear with me for a moment. I may still be myself, but something tangibly is different. My muscle worship session with GFBB was, to be honest, one of the first times I’d ever done anything really selfish in my whole life. I paid $360 on something that was purely for me…and nobody else.

It was selfish. It was hedonistic. It was a “treat” I gave myself as a reward for being…well, me.

I deserve the opportunity to express my sexuality, aren’t I? I’m allowed to touch the beautiful muscles of a strong, gorgeous woman if we both consent to the circumstances? Of course!

Later on I will write a blog post exclusively about the concept of muscle worship itself, so I will delve further into this particular social phenomenon at a later date. But for this Epilogue, all I can say is this:

I love female muscle. I love strong women. And I can honestly say that reality definitely matches up with fantasy when it comes to experiencing female muscle up close and personal.

The incomparable Elena Oana Hreapca.
The incomparable Elena Oana Hreapca.

GFBB is a great lady. We briefly exchanged emails months later when she randomly discovered my blog and asked me about it (“Guilty as charged!”). But that’s the extent of our post-session communication. We’ve never spoken again. She hasn’t come back to Seattle since. I don’t know if I’ll ever get a chance to see her again.

If I do, great. If I don’t, well, that’s the way things are. No one ever knows how life will sort itself out. Perhaps our paths will cross again. Or perhaps not. But regardless, I’ll always have my memories. Sweet, sweet memories:

The giddiness of emailing with her.

The nervousness I felt during the week leading up to my session.

The anticipation of waiting in the parking lot.

The deep breath I took before I knocked on her door.

My heart stopping when I first laid eyes on her.

The pleasantness of chatting with her and getting to know her.

The awkwardness of getting started with the session.

The sensual pleasure I experienced during those 75 minutes.

The elation I felt immediately after our session came to a close.

The romanticized maudlin feelings I feel whenever I look at that grainy cell phone picture of her.

All of it. I love reflecting on all of it. I don’t think any future muscle worship session will ever come close to surpassing what I experienced one year ago today. That’s not a negative reflection on all the other FBB out there. No, instead it’s a reflection on my magical “first time” and how that experience can never be replicated. Nor should it ever be replicated. The fact it’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience makes it that much sweeter.

If I had to summarize the whole experience in one single word, it would be this:

Damn.

The Scarcity Principle: What it Means, What We Can Learn From it and How it Relates to Female Bodybuilders

Cathy LeFrancois is the Holy Grail of female bodybuilders.
Cathy LeFrancois is the Holy Grail of female bodybuilders.

Let’s discuss a topic that’s relevant to both social psychology and economics.

The Scarcity Principle.

The Scarcity Principle refers to the belief that human beings tend to place a higher value on an object that is scarce and a lower value on objects that are abundant.

In other words, people are attracted to things that are in limited supply. We love anything that we consider to be “special” or “unique” or “available for a limited time only.”

We couldn’t care less for things that are readily available, accessible to the general public or are a dime a dozen. No sir! I want what nobody else can get.

If my cousin Bob and sister Jane can have it too…well, then count me out. I don’t want it anymore!

We can think of numerous examples in everyday life that confirm The Scarcity Principle. How about the Black Friday sales you see the day after Thanksgiving? If you think about it, any item that’s on sale on Black Friday is also available during the other 364 days of the calendar year. Yet, how can you say “no” to those low prices? How am I ever going to find discounts on washing machines this good anywhere else?

Or think of it in terms of the dating pool. Logically, we’d think that loneliness would never happen in a large metropolitan city. Unfortunately, this is not the case. Studies have shown (and I have no clue whatsoever who actually conducts these studies) that people have a harder time finding friends and romantic partners in a big city versus a smaller suburb or town. Why is this? Simple: When there are too many people around, you place a lower value on them.

Why date this particular guy or a girl when I have plenty of other options at my disposal?

Yet, people remain lonely despite these alleged “plenty of other options.” When you hear people say there are plenty of fish in the sea, it leaves a heartbroken person little comfort. Because, ironically, that’s the problem unto itself! There are way too many options out there for you to choose from. So, you get antsy and decide not to choose anyone at all.

The one and only Tina Chandler.
The one and only Tina Chandler.

It’s better to be safe (alone) than sorry (in a relationship that you ultimately find boring and unfulfilling), one rationalizes to one’s self.

According to census data, in 1950 the world’s population was approximately 2.5 billion people. Today, it’s well over 7 billion. That means in 64 years (which isn’t that much time when you consider how long humans have lived on this planet) the number of people on Earth has nearly tripled. Tripled! Think about that. At the end of World War II, for every person on the planet there would be two more today. If you killed (or magically transported to Venus) two-thirds of our population, you could return back to the days when Communism was considered the next big thing and poodle skirts were all the rage.

Oh, what a simpler time that was!

Yet, despite these statistical facts, we see worldwide an explosion of online dating websites, high divorce rates and loneliness in urban cities. With more people around, shouldn’t we have an easier time finding the love of our life? How can we not have enough friends when there are 7 billion potential buddies occupying this floating rock in space together?

Seem counterintuitive? It should, because none of this makes any logical sense. But, if you really think about it, all of this makes perfect sense.

Think of it this way. Imagine you’re about to have dinner at a restaurant. You’re celebrating a birthday, anniversary or just having a special night out on the town. You sit down (let’s imagine it’s an elegant Italian place), open the menu, scan your options and are dumbfounded. What do you order? I mean, there are so many dishes I could pick! I could get a pasta dish, a pizza, a calzone, a dinner salad, something from the seafood section…or I could sell out and get a hamburger.

I like hamburgers. Sure, I’ll go with the cheeseburger and fries, Mrs. Salvatore!

Having too many options makes people nervous. What if I choose the “wrong” option even though there probably isn’t a “wrong option” in the first place? Odds are every dish at this fine restaurant will provide you a great tasting dinner. But there’s that sliver of doubt in your mind that tells you one dish has to be superior to the rest. And you’d be a fool to pick the wrong one.

Monique Hayes is ready for her close-up!
Monique Hayes is ready for her close-up!

So do you ask your waiter or waitress to make a recommendation for you? Or do you close your eyes and randomly select a choice with your index finger? Either option would probably work equally well. Or you could simply order what someone else is having (“I’ll have what she’s having”), thus putting the decision-making pressure off of you.

The same goes for economics.

I don’t want the tablet device or smartphone that all my neighbors have. I want the newest model that none of these suckers have…even though they’ll eventually get it a year or two from now.

Because, let’s be completely honest here, who doesn’t want to be the envy of your pals for having the nicest and shiniest new toys?

Corporations and marketing teams exploit The Scarcity Principle to the point where it’s become a science. Figuring out how to maximize profit in a short amount of time given a limited supply of a particular product isn’t difficult to do. Create limited-time offers. Hype up a sales day. Intentionally release your new products slowly. Create an advertising strategy that implies that not everyone should use this product, but you can.

Everything boils down to making an object feel special even if it’s not. Conversely, when an object is in abundance, you don’t want it as much. Fifteen years ago it was cool to have a cell phone because no one else had one. Today, everyone and their grandmother has a smartphone that can call, text, surf the Internet and wash your car. Now it’s become mainstream. And nothing sucks more than something that’s lost its coolness and has become so damn ordinary.

A buff, beautiful Asian woman. Amanda Lau is scarce, indeed.
A buff, beautiful Asian woman. Amanda Lau is scarce, indeed.

So, let’s do a quick recap. We value things that are scarce. We don’t value things that are common. We get overwhelmed by too many options. We get underwhelmed when a previously rare commodity becomes commonplace. In a nutshell, supply (either the abundance or shortage of it) warps our perceptions of the actual value of said supply.

What can we learn from this? Simple. It is important to place a value on everything – using our own objective criteria – so we know what something is worth despite what external influences may tell us.

Don’t let clever marketing strategies or base emotions dictate how you view the value of something or someone. Your cute but shy co-worker who’s always around could very well be more valuable than that elusive hot blonde you see at the bus stop every day. You don’t need “new” gadgets when the “old” models work just fine. Too many options can be a bad thing despite what consumer culture tells you.

The Scarcity Principle tells us that the dynamics of supply and demand, while it has nothing to do with altering the intrinsic worth of an object, can manipulatively make us place artificial values on objects for no good reason. A slice of pizza from a shopping mall food court isn’t necessarily less delicious than a slice of pizza at a 5-star hotel. It could be, but don’t automatically assume so.

That guy who’s playing “hard to get” isn’t necessarily better “boyfriend material” than the shy fellow who lives next door to you who’s kind, sweet but a tad socially awkward.

So, what does this have to do with female bodybuilders?

Good question!

Female bodybuilders, like fine French wine or a blood red moon, are rare. Period. They aren’t available in everyday life. Millions upon millions of women in our society don’t look like Lora Ottenad or Kasie Cavanaugh. Oh, it would be sweeeeeeeeeeeeeet if that were the case, but sadly it isn’t.

The Scarcity Principle might explain why many men (and women) idolize female bodybuilders to the point of developing an obsession with them. We obsess over them because their rarity grants them God-like divine status in our eyes. We love them for all the traditional reasons (sex appeal, gorgeous bodies, stunning physiques), but we also love them because there’s this thing about them you can’t teach:

Mystique.

Female bodybuilders are mystifying. They pique our curiosity. Their mysteriousness titillates us. Muscular women are like a Rubik’s Cube. No matter how much you try to figure them out, they keep throwing more twists and turns at you to keep you guessing for all eternity. How do they look like that? Why do they want to look like that? What drives them to look like? When a female bodybuilder walks into a room, everyone’s attention instantly focuses on her. Some are aroused. Others are disgusted. A few are confused and conflicted. But the reaction that speaks loudest is this: Reverence.

We revere those whom we are attracted to but feel separated from. Female bodybuilders aren’t normal women. Technically, they’re no different from anybody else, but hot damn! How can you not become obsessed with Cathy LeFrancois or Catherine Holland?

Their ambiance is so captivating. And once you get your first taste of muscular women, you can never go back.

How much reverence do you have for Nicole Ball?
How much reverence do you have for Nicole Ball?

The deification of female bodybuilders is caused by The Scarcity Principle. There’s no other explanation for it. These women are beautiful rare specimens. Like a brilliant diamond sparkling on top of a museum pedestal, we fixate over them because they seem so far away from us. For most of us, a genuinely large female bodybuilder is probably nowhere to be found. I don’t know about you, but FBBs who look like Katka Kyptova aren’t exactly regulars at the Starbucks across from my apartment.

No wonder why many FBBs do “sessions” with their adoring fans. Where else are regular folk going to be able to touch the rock hard muscles of an exquisite muscular woman? Popular session providers can probably make a healthy amount of income (all tax free, no doubt) when all is said and done. One road trip across America, Europe and anywhere else a female bodybuilder decides to embark upon could put a lot of dough in her pocket – even after she takes travel expenses into account.

So there you have it. Now you have a better understanding from a psychological and economic perspective why we love female muscle so much. Their scarcity gives them power. Their uncommonness (yes, that’s actually a word) gives them the ultimate bargaining chip.

Female bodybuilders aren’t like ice cream flavors at Baskin-Robbins or used bicycles on Craigslist. Female bodybuilders are like The Holy Grail from the Arthurian legend.

A divine object that can make men go mad with obsession. Men will kill each other just to have it. She holds all the power. We commoners are powerless to resist.

Not that we’d want to resist, of course!

Sthenolagnia vs. Cratolagnia – Which Best Describes Me?

What about Yaxeni Oriquen turns you on? Gee, where do I start?
What about Yaxeni Oriquen turns you on? Gee, where do I start?

Here are two vocabulary words most people in the general population have never heard before: Sthenolagnia and Cratolagnia.

Don’t even ask me how to pronounce either word. Consult an online dictionary instead. Or just take a wild guess. Whichever works for you!

I’ll admit that I never heard of these words before I became an official female muscle fan. So if you consider yourself an admirer of muscular human beings of the feminine persuasion, allow yourself the opportunity to improve your vernacular.

Sthenolagnia is defined as the “sexual arousal from displaying strength or muscles” while cratolagnia is “sexual arousal from strength.” Anyone who thinks muscles are sexy should be able to identify with one of or both of these concepts.

So what’s the difference, exactly? Good question.

People who are attracted to large muscles (regardless of the gender of the person displaying these muscles) aren’t necessarily attracted to the same thing or for the same reasons. Human sexuality is very diverse and difficult to put into neat boxes. This is why we must have honest discussions about what we like and why we like what we like.

Often, sthenolagnia and cratolagnia could be considered interchangeable when discussing muscle fetishism. But that is not the case. Being attracted to muscles and being attracted to displays of strength – while definitely related – are not necessarily the same thing. Here is a brief breakdown of how these kinks are different.

Muscles as an Accessory vs. Strength as an Action

Someone who likes a person with big muscles is attracted to the way they look. The shape of their bodies is very arousing and aesthetically pleasing to the eye.

For example, someone can love the way Alina Popa’s body looks without ever having to see her bend steel or pick up a person and carry them around. Her musculature, symmetry, awe-inspiring definition and good-old-fashioned sexiness (she is a very beautiful woman regardless of her physique) are enough to make many men consider her attractive.

The stereotype that men are visual creatures may play a role in this. Sexual attraction develops from what the eye can see. A beautiful woman can make a man turn his head, stare at her as she walks by and subsequently run into a telephone pole.

The same goes for an aesthetically gorgeous muscle woman. Debi Laszewski would make many men turn their heads if they saw her walk by. Especially if she’s wearing a tight dress that generously shows off her muscular curves and high heels and allows her legs to shine! Expect many fender benders if she traversed her way across a busy crosswalk.

If Brigita Brezovac walked down a busy street, there would be plenty of auto accidents.
If Brigita Brezovac walked down a busy street, there would be plenty of auto accidents.

On the other hand, someone who is attracted to big muscles may get turned on by seeing how this person uses their big muscles. After all, what’s the point of having superhuman strength if you never use it? You don’t work that hard just to sit around and not utilize your gifts.

Some men fantasize about a strong Amazonian woman picking them up, carrying them around and demonstrating her physical dominance. Whether you get turned on by having your inferiority complex put to the test or because you love feeling helpless in the hands of someone who’s supposedly a member of the “weaker sex,” witnessing (and experiencing) a woman displaying her strength is what it’s all about for you. Power is sexy. Feeling helpless can also be sexy. For men who agree with these premises, watching a female bodybuilder show off her amazing strength could very well be their personal definition of “Heaven.”

You might equally be turned on by a woman displaying strength who doesn’t physically appear to be strong. A slender woman dressed as a dominatrix or a corporate boss comes to mind. Strength doesn’t just mean muscles. It also means mental, emotional and sexual strength. So, one could theoretically experience cratolagnia with a non-bodybuilder. All you need is a female (or male) who isn’t afraid to flaunt his or her dominance and an appreciative audience to enjoy the spectacle.

Social Taboos at Play

There are also certain social taboos that explain why people experience sthenolagnia and cratolagnia.

Let’s consider the concept of women being the “weaker sex.” If we accept the premise that, generally speaking, women are biologically weaker to men, we should also acknowledge that examples contrary to this would be considered out of the ordinary. Also, things that are not ordinary are usually found either revolting or highly intriguing to people.

We are intrigued by what is not usual. Social taboos exist because there are certain social phenomena that elicit strong emotional responses from people. These responses could be disgust, anger, annoyance, confusion and often times, arousal. So, consider the taboos a female bodybuilder presents:

Her body shape doesn’t conform to our traditional standards of femininity.

Her physical strength goes contrary to what we know about basic human biology.

Her large physical stature contradicts our common conceptions about male vs. female gender roles.

Her open willingness to display her muscles and strength is unusual for most women’s behavior.

Her muscular physique places her in a role usually occupied by a man.

Her strength breaks down barriers that customarily separate men and women.

Some of us get turned on by defiance. Defiance gives us power. It’s our way of rebelling against whatever social constructs we oppose. If it’s true that “power is the ultimate aphrodisiac,” then people get turned on by a female bodybuilder’s muscles because they love the power being demonstrated by her in such an open fashion.

Not only is she physically powerful, but she’s mentally and emotionally powerful. Her self-confidence, limitless work ethic, remarkable self-discipline and indifference toward her “haters” are attractive. If she’s willing to rebel against gender stereotypes, human physiology and mass media messages, what isn’t she willing to do?

Think muscles on a woman isn't sexy? Take a look at Alicia Alfaro and prepare to have your mind blown.
Think muscles on a woman isn’t sexy? Take a look at Alicia Alfaro and prepare to have your mind blown.

There are many men who are secretly tired of always being in control. They’re sick of being counted on to be the “strong one.” They’d rather someone else do the proverbial heavy lifting. That’s why many powerful men prefer to be the “sub” in a D/s-BDSM roleplaying scenario. For once they want a woman to be in charge. He wants to relinquish power for the time being. Being weak turns him on. Seeing the woman become powerful also turns him on.

And all of this is still very taboo.

The Brain is the Ultimate Sex Organ

Essentially, this discussion boils down to this truth: female bodybuilders are both physically and intellectually beautiful. Their physical beauty comes in their perfectly sculpted bodies that we see at the gym, on the streets, at bodybuilding contests and on the Internet. A female bodybuilder’s physical beauty, while not universally acknowledged, is a force to be reckoned with.

Also, a female bodybuilder can also be intellectually beautiful. Her willingness to break social taboos, rebel against certain cultural standards and march to the beat of her own drum is very arousing to many of us. The brain is the ultimate sex organ, right?

Strength, therefore, comes in two forms: physical strength and intellectual strength. Physical strength is self-explanatory. Intellectual strength is something else entirely. It takes someone who understands what hurdles someone has to go through and appreciates their accomplishments. A female muscle fan gets it. They understand how insanely difficult it is for a woman to “look like that.”

Betty Viana wants you to come to bed.
Betty Viana wants you to come to bed.

Anyone who openly defies society and lives a lifestyle that’s so foreign to most people is as tough-minded as they get. And bulking up isn’t easy for women. Not nearly as easy as it is for men (and for many men, it’s still not easy!). So to understand the sacrifices and hard work necessary to transform from a normal-looking woman to Yaxeni Oriquen gives you an intellectual erection.

You have permission to use “intellectual erection” all you want. It’s on the house.

So…Which Best Describes Me?

To answer this question, consider all the reasons why you find female bodybuilders (and athletes) to be so captivating. Is it purely physical? If so, physical in terms of aesthetic or action? Or is there a sociological explanation as well?

Generally speaking, it’s probably safe to say that you might be experiencing sthenolagnia if your attraction to FBBs is purely due to your love for their hard, beautiful muscles. Their socially taboo bodies make you go crazy. Watching them use their muscles in a practical way is a bonus, but not a must. Simply put, YOU LOVE HER MUSCLES.

If your love for female muscle goes beyond that, then you might be in the cratolagnia category. It’s not enough to look at their gorgeous physiques. You want to see their strength in action. You love their hard-earned bodies and defiant attitude toward society’s narrow definition of beauty. You appreciate their accomplishments both from a physical and intellectual standpoint. Simply put, YOU LOVE HOW STRONG SHE IS.

This goes to show that not everyone is attracted to female muscle for the same reason. It’s not just because of muscles, muscles, muscles and more muscles. Yes, muscles on a woman are very sexy, but so is her brute strength, dedication to her craft and eagerness to live her life to the fullest.

Nuriye Evans, an undisputed Muscle Goddess if there ever was one.
Nuriye Evans, an undisputed Muscle Goddess if there ever was one.

Muscles and strength can mean two different things to different people. Anyone who knows even a little bit about the bodybuilding lifestyle knows how difficult and grueling it is. It’s a cutthroat business. The dieting, lifting, supplementation and scientific approach to reorganizing your life’s schedule can be exhausting – especially if one is pursuing bodybuilding as a profession.

Sthenolagnia and Cratolagnia.

Two words you probably can’t pronounce. Two words you certainly did not grow up learning about.

But now you know a little more about this glorious world of female muscle, female muscle fandom and the reasons why we love our buff, strong and powerful ladies. It truly is a mesmerizing world once you jump in head first.

So immerse yourself into it as fully as you can. You never know…you just might find yourself using these two words in everyday conversation!

Confessions of a Muscle Girl – an original piece of erotic fiction written by a female bodybuilder

Muscle Goddesses in action.
Muscle Goddesses in action.

Greetings, good readers! I, Ryan Takahashi, have a very special treat for you. As you know, not too long ago I wrote a post requesting to hear your voices about our collective interests in female muscle, female bodybuilding and the men (and women) who love it all.

While this is my blog, I know for a fact that many of you out there are thoughtful, intelligent and wildly creative individuals who deserve to have their voices heard. Your perspectives matter to me and can do a great deal to add to the conversation already happening on a global scale. So far many of you have reached out to me via email. I thank you all! You, of course, can reach me at ryantakahashi87 (at) yahoo (dot) com.

For today, the special treat I have in store for you is an original piece of erotic fiction written by a real life female bodybuilder. She wishes to remain anonymous, and because I highly respect people’s right to privacy, I will keep my word and not reveal who she is. But trust me, she is a genuinely strong young woman and very beautiful to behold. The photos she has sent to me of her are quite simply breathtaking.

So, she goes by “Cindy Andrews.” This is not her real name, but we’ll call her that. Ms. Andrew’s story is very hot and I am sure you will appreciate her sensual details, erotic creativity and sheer honesty. The piece does not have a title, so I gave it the title of “Confessions of a Muscle Girl.”

If you would like to contact Cindy Andrews directly, her email address is cindyandrewsfit (at) gmail (dot) com. I’m sure she would love to receive feedback for her work.

***

I enter the backstage pump up room—even the name of the place, the word “pump,” makes me want to work and strain and grow. I am perfect, contest ready, not an ounce of excess on me, all powerfully engorged, sensuous muscle. So ready, every nerve so close to the surface.

I’ve been dieting so I am depleted, but I’m focused. I am in perfect control, I can feel and flex and command any muscle on my taut, ready succulent physique to ripple and flex and swell at will. I’m a musclegirl and I’m ready for the stage. Even though I’m depleted, I feel alive, alert, jazzed… I look around at the other women, mostly older, pumping up with the aid of friends.

Delicious bodies. So touchable, inflated, hard, superhuman. Not only sexy but sexual. The body as sculpted, muscular perfection. Panthers, tigresses. And so much heat from all these bodies, the smell of sweat and oil, of straining, of desire. I stand in the corner waiting in my sweats, anticipating the moment you will come to pump and oil me, the moment I will strip down and reveal what I’ve been building, anticipating the hunger in your eyes to touch, coax, feel my perfect body, these lovingly tuned and etched muscles. It will be a public moment—like my time onstage—but also intensely private. It smells like sex here backstage, but not as much as it will up there under the lights. I lick my lips in anticipation.

Female bodybuilding contestants showing off their hard work.
Female bodybuilding contestants showing off their hard work.

Some of the teen and collegiate men drift by on the way to their section, perfect muscular bodies, each like a giant human erection, the biggest cock a girl could ever want, primed and pumped and ripped. I want to climb them, have them penetrate me with all their muscles and with their musclecocks. I wanna cum just watching them strip off their shirts but I need my control, my focus.

You show up, fire and excitement in your eyes to see all these magnificent bodies. I can hardly wait to show you mine… I strip off my sweats – pulling the bottoms over my corded thighs and you gasp audibly.

“Impressed?” I ask, a little breathlessly, and you just nod, eyes wide, and say, “God, yes.”

I shake out a quad and flex hard, twisting it so the muscles bulge and pop. “Just wait,” I say. Pulling off my sweat top, I show myself to you in all my glory. I’m one of the youngest women here. I’m not that tall or heavy, but I am thick, wide and deep; my torso is more muscular than most guys’ but at the same time incredibly feminine because of my hourglass shape, my tiny tight waist with abs rippling and lats so wide they make me look like I couldn’t fit through a door.

I’m proud of my lats, and flare them so a vein appears in them and the thick, deep cuts of my serratus and my high tight pecs ripple. I’m wearing a red suit made of very thin satin material that hugs my body like a second skin. Three tiny triangles and some string. It feels so good to flex and to flex for you, under your admiring eyes, hearing your quick breath, sweating with pleasure and exertion even as I see you start to sweat with excitement.

More gorgeous female muscle ladies strutting their stuff on stage.
More gorgeous female muscle ladies strutting their stuff on stage.

I feel naked and ready to show myself, experimentally flexing and turning towards the mirror. When I witness the perfection I have built I can’t help but become aroused. I can hardly believe it is me, my body transforms so much over the contest preparation, and even between last night and this morning. I’ve not taped my nipples yet, and, normally dark and broad and covering most of my tiny tits that are set on top of big thick pecs, they instantly spring to sensitive, erect life. They are literally an inch and a half long and incredibly sensitive. And nothing gets them aroused as much as seeing myself flex, feeling myself flex, having others watch me flex. Just the feeling of their erectness against the thin unlined satin top makes my clit also erect, cupped in the suit bottom. I feel so wildly sensual, so ready to go out there and dominate, make the stage my own. I feel like pure sex, pure dominance, pure control, pure woman. I feel so desirable both to myself and to others, so ready to cum and cum and cum again and cum long and hard and musclecum…

You are warming your hands, waiting to put on the thin sheen of oil over my natural color. White girls get “painted” brown, but a woman as dark as I am needs only a little oil to bring out and highlight the muscles. But you need to cover every inch. Your eyes wide, smiling, looking directly at me, you begin. As your warm hands touch me, I’m sunk in a reverie. I need this, I need touching. So much of this lifestyle is training, this kind of deep tactile appreciation is so intense it’s tremendously erotic. I need to be FELT UP, not touched gingerly.

And as you oil me, you do it to perfection. You are sighing as you touch me, your hands feel so warm. You murmur in my ear, telling me I look huge, telling me I feel hard, telling me I feel so ready, telling me you can’t believe how developed I am, telling me I’m going to dominate. You come close as you are oiling my glutes and you whisper, “You are a total goddess. I want you, I want this body…”

My body responds, swelling even more, filling even more. The suit now feels like hands on me, on my little breasts, cupping them, the striated pecs and the straining nipples. I wish you were cupping my breasts, letting my nipples emerge between your fingers. My pussy is being stimulated by the thin material of the suit bottom, with its thong back up my ass, and my sweet taint and sweet pussy being rubbed and felt up by it every time you ask me to flex and my body swells in my suit. I’m so wet that if I wasn’t wearing a shield, I would be dripping down my leg, but you can smell me now… my juices and my sweat.

I leave you with this erotic image of Roxie Rain and Lynn McCrossin enjoying each other.
I leave you with this erotic image of Roxie Rain and Lynn McCrossin enjoying each other.

You are breathing heavily and your nipples too are large and erect in your tank top. You’ve almost stopped talking because you are so in awe, because as you oil my muscles, as you touch and rub and prepare me, I seem to grow and swell under your hands.

My lips are moist…. You ask me to lift my arms, and I do, revealing the sexiness of my deep, thick armpits—the convergence of pecs and delts and lats and bicep peaks. I am fantasizing now about how; although I am totally smooth all over, totally shaven, with skin like silk over steel; I like to leave a little thin line of dark hair under my arms when it is not contest time. It looks hot and makes me feel STRONG. I’m fantasizing that I want you to touch me there when I am unshaven and that makes my clit bulge even more. Sweat pours down my pits and my lats, into the crevasses of my abs and between my glutes and you need to towel me off. As you do it, you lean in close and your lips almost brush mine.

Oh God! My clit is big and engorged from all the testosterone in my system. It makes me aggressive, horny and, ironically, more and more womanly. But also a total nymphomaniac. Whenever I am pumped, whenever I see my body this way, even sneaking a flex in the mirror in the bathroom at school, I immediately feel that I want to be penetrated, touched, licked, sucked. I want to flex for you… I flex my biceps as you run your fingers over them, my lats, my abs… as I flex my abs I flex my PC muscles, muscles strong as steel, muscles that make me cum so hard, make me capable of milking a man’s cock until he is totally drained.

You are practically moaning now, and I’m so orgasmically self-absorbed, standing in the mirror, showing it to you. Other women are staring too, I can feel their eyes on me. “How did she get so big and ripped at her age?” “So much muscle maturity!!” It is very erotic and I begin to fantasize about fucking and being fucked by these women, all of us worshipping and appreciating one another…

Educating Jonathan – Part Three

A beautiful shot of a woman exuding sexuality.
A beautiful shot of a woman exuding sexuality.

“Listen, I’m…uh, not really comfortable doing this sort of thing,” Jonathan says. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say right now.

Samantha turns around but still remains on her hands and knees. She peers up at Jonathan with innocence in her eyes. She doesn’t like the fact she’s making Jonathan feel uncomfortable.

“I’m the one who should be sorry. Listen, Jonathan. I’m serious about what I’m saying. I really do deserve to be punished. Someone needs to do it, even if you don’t want to,” she says.

On the contrary, Jonathan sees absolutely no need for any of this to happen. Punishment for what exactly? Racism around the world? Slavery? Past crimes against humanity? Samantha isn’t responsible for any of that! She’s just a college professor. An author. A public speaker. She’s not a tyrant or a flaming bigot. Dear Lord…

“No, Samantha. You don’t need to do this. This is crazy. This doesn’t make sense. Get up off the floor. Let’s just…snuggle and make love again. I don’t like how you’re behaving.” He’s being sincere. Jonathan has never considered himself the “kinky” type. Of course, he’s not one to judge. What someone is into is their business and their business alone.

“I had a feeling you’d feel this way,” Samantha begins. “So I have a backup plan.”

Standing up, Dr. Sammy digs into her black bag again and takes out her cell phone. By this time Jonathan’s arousal has disappeared completely. When things started to get weird, Jonathan didn’t know how to react. He hopes things return back to normal soon.

“Do you mind if I invite my friend to come up here? I have an associate who’s been waiting in my car this whole time.”

“Wait, what? You came here with someone?”

“Yes. An associate of mine. An old friend. Can I invite her here? She’s friendly.” Now there’s someone else involved? Uh oh.

“Uh, sure. Invite her in. I don’t want anyone to be bored and wait in a car all night,” Jonathan says.

At this point, what’s the harm? It’s not like this night could get any stranger. Jonathan’s been with a few women in his life, but never under these circumstances. Most of his “hook-ups” have been just that: hook ups. No requests to whip anyone. No discussions about white guilt, compensating for injustices of the past, no need to sexually appease a so-called “oppressed” racial minority. None of that.

“Okay. Thanks!”

Samantha dials a number and puts the phone up to her ear. A moment later, the person she calls picks up and answers.

“Hello Mistress. It’s me. Come on up. He just gave me permission to invite you in. He’s in unit number 821. See you soon. Bye, honey.” She ends the call and puts her phone back in the black bag. There is a moment of silence. Samantha twirls her hair. Jonathan sits patiently on the bed, trying to rationalize this whole eventful evening. What the hell just happened during the past few minutes? Did he just step into the Twilight Zone or some other alternate dimension?

Finally, Samantha breaks the awkward silence.

“Like I said, she’s an old friend. She’ll punish me in a way I severely deserve,” Samantha insists.

“Who…exactly is your friend? And how is she going to punish you, you know, like you supposedly deserve? Or do I not want to know?”

“Oh, you’ll find out. Trust me. You’ll like her. You’ll like the Mistress.” Samantha sits down on an easy chair and rubs her nipples. They stand at attention. Jonathan sighs and leans back against the headboard. Mistress? What the hell does that mean? As if this night couldn’t get any creepier…it does!

A woman in bondage.
A woman in bondage.

Jonathan decides to use the bathroom. He does. After washing his hands, he hears the doorbell ring. Samantha, who still hasn’t put on any clothes as far as Jonathan knows, answers the door. He faintly hears Samantha and the “Mistress” exchange pleasantries, but he couldn’t quite understand what they were saying. Jonathan considers whether he should put on a bathrobe before meeting this unexpected guest, but is suddenly interrupted mid-thought.

“Oh, Jonathan! She’s here. Don’t worry about getting dressed. Just come out when you can,” Samantha says sweetly – like a mother calling her children in for suppertime.

Embarrassed and a little nervous, Jonathan reluctantly exits the bathroom to greet his newest guest. Standing near the entrance is a tall beautiful black woman wearing a long dark purple fur coat, scarlet red stiletto heels and large gold hoop earrings. She looks to be in her late 30s or early 40s. But black women can be difficult to age at times. Jonathan is mostly captured by her unique beauty. A sharp angular face, striking green eyes, minimal makeup and a husky build makes her a sight to behold.

Unsure of how to properly react, Jonathan is content to just stand there awkwardly and hope for the best.

“Jonathan, this is Mistress Nguvu. She and I go way back. We’re old friends,” Samantha proudly announces. Showing off her friend, Dr. Sammy takes the Mistress’s hand and leads her closer to Jonathan. When they finally approach him, Jonathan is taken aback by how tall she is. Well over six feet tall, his best friend from high school played on the varsity basketball team and was 6 foot 5 inches flat. She appears to be a little shorter, so Jonathan estimates her to be around 6’4” or 6’3”.

“Welcome. Make yourself at home, Mistress Nguvu,” Jonathan weakly says to her. He extends his hand to greet her and she shakes it. Her strong grip also surprises him. He feels like she could break every bone in his hand if she chooses to do so. Finally, their handshake comes to an end and all three are left standing around in silence. Samantha is relishing the moment. Mistress Nguvu’s gorgeous green eyes have not left Jonathan’s earthy brown eyes. While he is physically naked, but her piercing look leaves him exposed in ways that he’s never felt before.

“Thank you for inviting me into your home. I couldn’t stand sitting around in Sammy’s car in the rain for much longer. I needed to stretch my legs,” the Mistress says. Her deep baritone voice has a deep reverberation that could shake the foundations of Earth and Heaven; a voice that also carries confidence, wisdom, sexual prowess and unmistakable femininity. She speaks with a slight accent, one that Jonathan couldn’t quite figure out yet. In these brief few moments he’s known her; Jonathan already senses Mistress Nguvu is a human being unlike any he’s ever encountered before in his life.

“She’s here to give me the punishment you are uncomfortable to deliver. I don’t begrudge you for it. After all, we hardly know each other. But the Mistress and I have been friends for decades. We know each other all too well,” Samantha says. She leans over and licks the Mistress’s left cheek. Mistress Nguvu responds by teasing her right nipple with her long fingers. Dr. Sammy giggles at these sudden pleasurable sensations.

“Is there a place I can hang my coat?” Mistress Nguvu asks.

“Yes, there’s a coat rack right by the door. You passed it when you came in here,” Jonathan answers.

As Mistress Nguvu turns toward the front door, Samantha comes to the bed and picks up the whip, handcuffs and rope. She looks around the room, perhaps to determine where to best use these “toys.” All of this is completely new to Jonathan. He’s read about BDSM practices in a human sexuality class he took during his freshman year, but he mostly took that class to get closer to a girl he liked. They ended up dating for most of the semester, but he truthfully found the class genuinely interesting.

Who knew what he learned in that class would actually become relevant at this very moment?

As if what’s already happened weren’t astounding enough, what happens next would blow all of that completely out of the water. When Mistress Nguvu finds the wooden rack and takes off her handsome fur coat, she reveals an even more stunning spectacle:

A rock hard muscular body.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

Jonathan has never seen a sight like this. This striking black woman’s body exudes strength in a way he never knew was possible for a woman. Thick thighs, dense glutes, a chiseled eight-pack set of abdominal muscles, a broad back, plump breasts, a wide chest, vascular arms that look like they could burst out of her skin, shoulders of steel and forearms strong enough to bend iron; Mistress Nguvu has the physique of a male bodybuilder mixed with the grace of a gymnast and the sensuality of a salsa dancer. She hangs up her coat and returns back to the bedroom.

Imagine Mistress Nguvu looking a lot like a taller version of Victoria Dominguez (a.k.a. "Mistress Treasure").
Imagine Mistress Nguvu looking a lot like a taller version of Victoria Dominguez (a.k.a. “Mistress Treasure”).

Wearing nothing but the stiletto heels, fishnet stockings, a tiny black g-string thong and a tight leather corset, Jonathan wasn’t sure whether to feel fear or uncontrollable arousal. Her massive muscles and remarkable height add to her mesmerizing allure.

After everyone finally gathers back in the bedroom, Samantha starts the evening’s activities.

“Jonathan darling, there’s something I want you to watch. The Mistress and I are going to play together. We do this sort of thing all the time, but I feel it is important for you to witness it. I am confident you will get an empowering and much-needed cathartic experience from it,” Dr. Sammy explains.

“Emotional healing is good for the soul. This is why the Mistress is so vital in my life. We have a symbiotic relationship. Our interdependence is crucial for each other’s existence. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Jonathan blinks. He nods.

“Great. Fantastic. So, let’s begin, shall we?” Samantha gets down on her knees and hugs Mistress Nguvu’s legs. Her thighs are so thick Dr. Sammy struggles to wrap her arms completely around them. Jonathan sits down on the easy chair and can do nothing else but stare at the exhibition unfolding before him. He is powerless to think or even begin to comprehend where this evening is going.

Playtime has begun.

“You fucking piece of shit. Why the fuck are you even touching me? I never gave you permission to touch me, you dirty little fucking whore!” Mistress Nguvu declares to Samantha. Still unable to place the source of her accent, the Mistress’s voice is like music to Jonathan’s ears.

“I’m sorry, Mistress. I fucked up. I’ll never disobey you again,” Samantha prostrates herself on the floor, her forehead touching the carpet.

A black whip.
A black whip.

“Yes, you will. You will because you’re a worthless slut. You white bitch. You worthless white piece of fucking shit. Look me in the eye when I’m talking to you, little slut,” the Mistress scolds.

It’s been a long time since Jonathan has heard language this foul between two adult women. He’d rather not rehash the specific circumstances.

“I’ll do what you say, Mistress. Discipline me for being a little slut, I beg of you!” Samantha – clearly “in character” – looks up at Mistress Nguvu and licks her muscular calf. A smile lurks underneath Nguvu’s threatening façade.

“Thank you, cunt. Now go into your bag and give me my cock.” On cue, Dr. Sammy reaches over for the bag and takes out a nine-inch long black strap-on. The black dildo’s lifelike appearance catches Jonathan by surprise. Its considerable girth and unrealistic length (at least, Jonathan hopes its length is unrealistic) nearly makes Jonathan gasp out loud. Thankfully, he remains perfectly silent.

Mistress Nguvu puts the strap-on around her crotch and strokes the dildo suggestively. Jonathan still cannot believe all this is happening right before him. Never in a billion years would he ever guess a brilliant college feminist professor and a black female bodybuilder dominatrix would ever pay his humble apartment a visit. But alas, here they are engaging in erotic “roleplaying” right in this very room.

“Suck my cock, you white slut. Suck my beautiful black cock till I tell you to stop. And never stop looking me in the eyes, you fucking white cunt,” Nguvu sternly instructs. “If you break any of my rules, you will pay the dire consequences.”

Obediently, Samantha remains on her knees and opens her mouth wide to suck on the nine-inch long black dildo. Her eyes never leave the Mistress’s eyes. Nguvu lightly strokes Samantha’s hair and rubs her shoulders. As she sucks, the Mistress pretends to be having an orgasm from the mock fellatio. A few moments later the Mistress “climaxes.” She moans. Samantha’s eyes remain locked onto the Mistress’s gorgeous face.

“Swallow all of it, little slut. Make me happy,” the Mistress says. She bends down and kisses Dr. Sammy on the forehead. Samantha pretends to swallow Nguvu’s imaginary semen. Afterward she wipes Samantha’s mouth and kisses her deeply on the lips. The whole time Jonathan does nothing but watch. The initial shock of the situation has at last worn off, but enthralling intrigue has taken its place.

“Now give me the rope and the handcuffs, you worthless white cunt.”

Samantha obliges the Mistress immediately.

Nguvu proceeds to tie the rope around Dr. Sammy’s ankles and straps the handcuffs on her wrists. Slumped over, Dr. Sammy looks worse for wear. Unkempt hair, makeup streaking down her face and sweat dripping off her brow, her physical appearance is about to erode even further. Without instructing anyone, Mistress Nguvu walks over to the bed and takes the whip. Jonathan’s heart flutters when this beautiful strong black woman comes near him. It’s as if her presence alone is enough to make his pulse race.

A very kinky photo of Desiree Ellis and a friend.
A very kinky photo of Desiree Ellis and a friend.

“Now, you are about to be punished for your earlier showcase of disobedience. I hope you learn your lesson from this, you fucking white cunt.”

The Mistress raises her fist high in the air, waits a beat, and lashes down on Samantha’s back. The crack of the whip against Dr. Sammy’s flesh makes a sound that stuns Jonathan. He never anticipated the whipping sound would be that…jarring. He thought this was all fun and games (granted, kinky fun and games). But this is something else entirely–

Before Jonathan could process another thought, Mistress Nguvu whips Samantha again. And again, and again, and again. Four, five, six, seven, eight times. More than that. More times than he could count.

Samantha screams. Mistress Nguvu laughs out of sheer sadistic pleasure. Her screams continue. The laughter also continues. Jonathan is frozen stiff. The screams burn his ears. The lashings persist unmercifully.

The Mistress whips her at every angle: her back, her sides, her butt, her legs, her feet, her stomach, her chest, her breasts, her arms, everywhere except for her neck and face. Perhaps they agreed prior to this evening the head area was off limits. But still, Samantha hollers in pain.

For a brief moment, the Mistress stops whipping Samantha. Dr. Sammy is helplessly lying on her stomach, weeping nonstop. Is she actually crying or is she pretending to be crying? Jonathan couldn’t tell. Samantha’s beautiful body is now covered in swollen red streaks. No blood. No evidence of her skin breaking. But the redness on her body appears authentically painful. If she’s really crying because of the pain, Jonathan could understand why.

“Have you had enough, little white bitch?”

Samantha rolls on her back and looks up at the Mistress. Real tears are streaming from her eyes. She’s choked up. She’s sobbing uncontrollably. Jonathan considers intervening, but what the hell could he do? He looks at Mistress Nguvu’s face. She looks angry. Genuinely angry. Jonathan is afraid. He is clueless about what to do next.

“No answer. Pathetic. Fucking pathetic. I always want an answer. I demand an answer from you, little white cunt. You fucking piece of garbage. Just for that, I’ll give you what you deserve. I will officially make you my little slut,” the Mistress threatens.

By now, Jonathan gets it. He understands completely what’s going on here. In a “reverse slavery” motif, Samantha is, within the context of BDSM play, receiving the same treatment African slaves received from their white slave masters. The supposed “cathartic” experience she’s getting from this is feeling the same excruciating humiliation her ancestors brought upon Mistress Nguvu’s ancestors.

Mistress Nguvu, a dominant and powerful black woman, is unleashing relentless physical pain upon a wealthy, educated, privileged white woman. The irony is, of course, how they are reversing the historic roles their predecessors played centuries ago. Dr. Sammy must feel as though her white guilty conscience can come clean after this. Perhaps Mistress Nguvu gets a small degree of vicarious revenge as well.

The rope. And no, this isn't "Clue!"
The rope. And no, this isn’t “Clue!”

The Mistress throws the whip down and straddles herself on top of Samantha’s weary body. She leans over and kisses her. Her tongue slips into Samantha’s mouth. She still has not stopped crying. Her sobs and the tongue entering her mouth cause her to gag. Nguvu snickers condescendingly.

“Jonathan,” Mistress Nguvu says.

Jonathan awakes from his trance. For the first time since they shook hands, the Mistress addresses him directly. Awoken from the spell she’s cast over him, Jonathan dutifully replies.

“Yes, Mistress?”

Mistress Nguvu continues to sit on top of Samantha. The large black dildo pokes her in the back of her head. Dr. Sammy’s persistent wails fill the room. Jonathan’s heartbeat skyrockets. The room is dead quiet. The Mistress then speaks:

“I’m about to give this little slut the next phase of her punishment. But this time, I need your help.”

The Erotic Dreams of Max Shimura: Episode Three – Deidre (part one of two)

A great shot of Deidre Pagnanelli.
A great shot of Deidre Pagnanelli.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Please note that the woman featured in this story isn’t Deidre Pagnanelli. While she may resemble Ms. Pagnanelli and there are photos of her prominently displayed throughout this post, “Deidre” is NOT Deidre Pagnanelli. Personally, I think it’s a little creepy to write an erotic story about a real person whom I’ve never met without their consent. I’d rather create my own character who isn’t real instead of using an actual person whose friends and family may accidentally stumble upon this post. But for the sake of your imagination, the character of “Deidre” does indeed look exactly like the gorgeous Ms. Pagnanelli. Is she actually Ms. Pagnanelli? No, she is not. She’s a fictional character borne from my imagination.

On a freezing cold winter afternoon, an oppressive snowstorm attacks a quaint small town in the middle of nowhere.

It’s 4 p.m. in the middle of December. Ominous dark clouds, strong gusts of wind and massive piles of snow create a glum atmosphere Max has never experienced before. He doesn’t mind snow, but this is something else entirely.

Max could not remember the name of this town. He also couldn’t recall why he was here or what business he had to stay here any longer than he absolutely had to. All he knows is that he’s stuck until this terrible blizzard comes to an end.

This could take forever…

Max is staying at an old-fashioned bed and breakfast establishment in the heart of town. Cuddling up close to the fireplace with a warm wool blanket and a mystery novel, Max is surprised at how calm and peaceful he is at the moment. A city slicker at heart, these small towns in the middle of the wilderness (at least, it seems like the wilderness to him) bore him to death. There’s absolutely nothing to do.

No movie theatre. No good restaurants. No decent bars. No friends to hang out with and do stuff. Nothing of the sort.

Well, this stinks. There’s got to be something to do to pass the time! According to the local weather reports, the snowstorm could last two to three days. Does this mean Max has to be exiled here for the entire weekend? You got to be kidding!

Unfortunately, no. This is no joke. Max decides he needs to get something decent to eat. The food at the bed and breakfast is alright, but after a few meals it gets old really fast. Max heard a rumor there’s a quality grocery store at the southern end of town. Maybe that’ll be worth checking out.

Max puts on a heavy coat, boots, gloves and beanie and courageously heads outside. The snow continues to fall, but at a much lighter pace than earlier before. Max thinks he can handle this. It’s only a short walk down the street. What could possibly go wrong?

Fifteen minutes later, Max is stumbling down Main Street in the dark. Gee, how did it get so black all of a sudden?

Unsure if he’s going in the right direction, Max sees a sign posted on a street lamp saying:

Road closed ahead. Try alternate route.

Great! An alternate route; in the dark, in an unfamiliar town, during a snowstorm – just to get to a stupid grocery store? Max considers turning around, but his stomach tells him otherwise. Max reluctantly follows the arrow pointing to the “alternate route” and says a short prayer to himself before proceeding.

Five minutes goes by and Max is thoroughly convinced he made a mistake taking this so-called “alternative route.”  Unable to see anything, faltering around the slick pavement like a drunkard and freezing so badly his knees are shaking; Max realizes he needs to turn around before it’s too late.

Beautiful wallpaper image of snowfall at night.
Beautiful wallpaper image of snowfall at night.

“Lord have mercy,” Max mutters under his breath. Max can see his breath clearly but cannot concentrate on that because his face hurts from the blistering cold. If he doesn’t get inside soon, guaranteed he’s going to get a bad case of frostbite.

Looking down at the ground, Max isn’t sure if he’s still on the pavement or if he’s drifted off onto the grass. The thick sheets of snow make it impossible to tell for sure. The streetlights have disappeared. There isn’t a house or building anywhere in sight. Where the hell is he?

“I need to turn around. Now. While I still have the chance,” Max tells himself.

Max does turn around but sees nothing but darkness. He keeps trudging through the snow and suddenly gets the idea of taking out his cell phone to use as a flashlight. As he reaches for his pocket, a tree branch hits him in the forehead.

“Ow!” A sharp pain shoots through his entire head. Where the hell did that tree come from?

Then, a second low hanging tree branch strikes him, this time directly in the face. Max stops and holds his nose. He feels warm blood trickling down his chin. Max swears to himself and proceeds to continue walking. He should have stayed indoors! How stupid could he possibly be–

As if the rug had been pulled out from under him, Max starts to fall down a steep hill. Tumbling, tumbling and tumbling to the ground. Nonstop. Rocks knock into him on his way down. A small bush scrapes against his thigh, cutting him open. He wants to scream, but the intense pain and his uncontrollable anger prevent any sound from coming out. He’s out of breath. His entire body aches. And he is powerless to stop this freefall.

Finally, he stops rolling. Max reaches the foot of the hill and collapses. Defeated, Max struggles to look around to see where he is. His vision is blurred. It hurts everywhere. Where did this bad luck come from? What did he do to deserve this?

Deidre Pagnanelli lying down in a bikini.
Deidre Pagnanelli lying down in a bikini.

In the distance – or maybe it was closer than he thought – Max sees a dim light. Was it a house? Was someone inside? Where is he? Is he still in the same town or did he stumble onto the neighboring county?

As Max ponders these questions, he blacks out. Silence. Nothingness. Sleep.

Blissful sleep.

An hour later, Max wakes up in a bed. He feels groggy. His head hurts. Max reaches up to touch his forehead and feels a bandage attached to his skin. What happened? Is he dead? Is this Heaven?

Then he looks up. And sees her.

Wow. Maybe he is in Heaven.

Standing before him is the most gorgeous woman Max has ever laid eyes on. Tall, toned, shapely and as gorgeous as a supermodel, Max is sure he’s never seen a woman quite like her. If this is what the afterlife is like, then perhaps death isn’t so bad after all!

“How are you feeling?” this beautiful angel asks him.

“Oh. I’m okay. Still sore. Did you rescue me?”

“Yes, I did. I heard screaming outside and immediately checked it out. When I saw you lying there in the snow, I thought you were dead. It didn’t seem like you were breathing.” Miraculously, Max’s throbbing headache goes away. He studies her carefully. She is wearing grey sweatpants, white athletic socks and a beet red tank top that generously shows off her large, muscular arms. Max definitely has never encountered a woman with muscles that big before. He always thought bodybuilding women were gross and ugly looking. This perfect angel shatters all those perceptions to a million pieces.

A picturesque log cabin in winter.
A picturesque log cabin in winter.

Her hair is long, dark brown and carelessly flows across her back. Her dark eyes could pierce your soul. Max couldn’t quite figure out how old she is, but early 40s seems like a prudent estimate. Maybe she’s younger. Or older. Either way, she’s the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen in person.

“Thanks for rescuing me. I passed out after I stopped rolling. I’d probably still be out there if it weren’t for you.”

“You’re welcome. Come to think of it, if you were still out there you’d probably freeze to death. I’m glad I came when I did.” She walks over to the kitchen and takes a kettle of boiling water off the stove. Max is so enamored by her beauty that he failed to hear the kettle whistling. She pours some of the hot water into a mug and places a bag of Earl Gray inside it. The woman returns and hands the mug to Max. He graciously accepts her offering.

“Thank you for this. I owe you everything.” He takes a sip. The sensation of the hot liquid entering his body warms his soul.

“What’s your name?” She sits down on a chair next to the bed.

“My name is Max. What’s yours?”

“Deidre.” Deidre? What a pretty name.

“Deidre? What a pretty name.”

Whoa. Did he just say that out loud? Oh my God…

“Thank you. It is a pretty name.” She giggles and smiles at him, acknowledging his awkwardness. Max and Deidre proceed to have a lengthy discussion about why they are both in this God-forsaken snow-covered town. As it turns out, Deidre is a professional fitness model and dietary coach who was supposed to be in this town for a photoshoot. Unfortunately for her, Deidre’s photographer had to cancel at the last moment because he found an alternate gig in the Bahamas.

A shot of Deidre Pagnanelli's gorgeous face.
A shot of Deidre Pagnanelli’s gorgeous face.

“The Bahamas! Can you believe it? I’d much rather be there than here!” Deidre says, laughing smugly. Max laughs too, trying hard to picture her in a bikini. She probably looks amazing wearing one!

Max now remembers why he’s here. He’s a freelance writer on assignment from a small travel magazine to write about the ski slopes. Since Max doesn’t ski and couldn’t care less about winter sports, he didn’t feel too enthusiastic about the project. This probably explains why he also couldn’t remember why he was in this town in the first place.

“You’re a writer? You should write a story about me for your magazine instead!” Deidre jokes.

“I could. Although, they probably want to hear more about skiing instead of your personal life. Unless you have a really interesting personal life…” Max is impressed at how well he incorporated that into the conversation. Now he has an excuse to learn more about her!

Deidre, as sweet as can be, gladly explains to Max who she is.

In addition to being a fitness model and dietary coach, Deidre Veneziano is a prominent columnist for several health and wellness publications. She travels across the world giving pep talks, plugging her products and offering her nutritional expertise at college campuses, business seminars and industry conventions. Years ago, before she became a wildly successful entrepreneur, she was an amateur bodybuilder.

Ms. Veneziano pulls up a few photos on her phone from her competitive days and shows them to Max.

Holy mackerel! She looks even more stunning! At the tender age of 19 she’d already won several lower level figure and bodybuilding competitions and won a few more prestigious ones in her 20s and 30s. She’s recently divorced (who’s the idiot who willingly left her?) and is the mother of four children.

Wait. WHAT????????? She’s the mother of FOUR kids? You have got to be kidding!

Whoa. Hot damn. With a body like hers, Max never would’ve guessed!

Then it was his turn to share his life story. Max grew up in a stuffy upper middle class Asian American family. He was expected from birth to be a doctor, a musician or a scientist. When he decided on becoming a writer instead, his parents unenthusiastically went along with it. He went to a prominent university, had his heart broken toward the end of his senior year (his fiancée cheated on him with his roommate. They’re now married and have two kids) and graduated near the top of his class. Unfortunately, a bad economy made journalism jobs impossible to find. So freelance work (or, as he refers to it, “whoring yourself out for a letter of recommendation”) was his only reliable source of income. That and working the graveyard shift at a storage lot. Max isn’t too thrilled with that job and dreams of the day that he can quit.

Deidre Pagnanelli in a colorful swimsuit.
Deidre Pagnanelli in a colorful swimsuit.

During his speech Deidre frequently nods her head and interjects to point out where he and she are similar. Both are victims of cheating lovers. Both are stuck in this God-forsaken town. Neither of them wants to be here…but they both love getting to know each other!

Every moment he spends with her, Max feels more secure. It’s like they’ve known each other for years, not hours. He highly doubts the positive feelings are mutual, but it’s always nice to dream. The pain has finally gone away. He still has a nasty cut on his leg, but Deidre did a fantastic job of bandaging it up. After talking for hours (but what seemed like mere minutes to him), Deidre decides it’s time to get ready for bed. She offers Max a place to sleep for the night. Max graciously accepts her cordial invitation.

It’s nearing 10:30 p.m. Deidre says she has a flight to catch tomorrow afternoon, weather permitting. The cabin belongs to a friend of her photographer who’s on vacation in Europe. Deidre takes a shower in the upstairs master bedroom. Max, despite his injuries and bandages, takes an awkward bath in the main level washroom. The warm water cascading against his skin feels so good!

11 p.m. The wind stops howling. The snow dies down. A full moon lights up the night sky. The mood is romantic in a surreal way.

Max puts on a comfortable pair of fleece pajamas that belong to the owner of the cabin. As he prepares to hop into bed, he hears someone crying from upstairs.

Sobs. Not loud sobs, but sounds of sadness and heartbreak nevertheless. Concerned, Max walks up the stairs to inspect what’s happening. Why would Deidre be crying? Is she watching a movie or something?

Politely, Max knocks on her door.

“Come in,” Deidre struggles to answer.

Quietly as a church mouse, he opens the door and peers inside. As expected, Deidre is curled up on her bed with tears streaming down her beautiful face. Max immediately comes in to comfort her. He hugs her. Her warm body stirs a tingling sensation through his soul. After a few moments, her sobbing subsides and she sits up.

“Thank you. I don’t know what came over me, but…having you here made me think.”

“Think about what?”

“I was thinking about my life. Thinking about my ex-husband. Thinking about why he would do that to me. Why he would tear apart our family. Our beautiful family. My kids are with him now. Because I’m always traveling, the judge said he would have custody over the kids even though he was the one who ended the marriage. I fought and fought, but I couldn’t win.”

This is serious stuff. Max tries to process it all. He cannot.

“I can’t imagine what your children must be going through, Deidre. That sounds awful.” Max finds a box of tissues on the nightstand and hands one to Deidre. She blows her nose and tosses the tissue into a nearby waste basket.

“I started to hate men after that. Actually, I started to hate people after that. When my photographer ditched me in the middle of nowhere…that was the final straw. I was ready to have a nervous breakdown. Then…then…”

“Then what?”

“Then you came along. You’re different. You’re kind. You listen. You have a compassionate heart. You know what it’s like to have your heart savagely broken. You can identify with my suffering.” Max finally notices Deidre isn’t wearing makeup. He can clearly see the crow’s feet around her eyes and age lines streaking across her face. But she’s still the most gorgeous woman he’s ever seen. Age has done nothing to fade her beauty.

Age has done absolutely nothing to fade Deidre Pagnanelli's beauty.
Age has done absolutely nothing to fade Deidre Pagnanelli’s beauty.

A long silence. Max and Deidre can hear the snow start to fall again outside the window. Its melodic resonance nearly hypnotizes them.

Finally, she breaks the quietness.

“Max, I have something to ask you.”

“Go ahead. Ask me anything, Deidre.”

She turns to face him. She stares intently into his eyes. Then, she leans over and kisses him. She doesn’t hold back. Max is surprised at first, but goes along with it. He kisses her back. They embrace. They remain in each other’s arms for what seems like an eternity. They both want it to last an eternity.

Eventually, she breaks off their embrace. She looks at him once again, but this time her eyes communicate warmness and tenderness instead of seriousness.

“I want to make love to you,” she whispers into his ear.

Time stops. But Max doesn’t shy away from the moment. Instead, he chooses to stab the moment in the heart.

“No, Deidre,” he starts, fiercely pushing her onto her back. She gasps out of pleasant surprise. Max playfully wrestles with her and kisses her again. This time, on top and in a clear position of dominance, he’s the one who stares through her eyes and into her soul.

“I’m going to make love to you.”

Continued in part two…

What Your Female Muscle Fantasies Say About You

If your female muscle fantasy doesn't involve Ava Cowan, well...I don't know what to do with you.
If your female muscle fantasy doesn’t involve Ava Cowan, well…I don’t know what to do with you.

We all have fantasies. Fantasies about throwing the game-winning touchdown in the Super Bowl. Fantasies about being a brilliant scientist winning the Nobel Peace Prize for curing world hunger. Fantasies about hitting the go-ahead home run in Game 7 of the World Series. Fantasies about being elected President of the United States.

Without fantasies, what fun would it be to live our lives knowing something more exciting wasn’t possible? Of course, no one realistically expects to ever become POTUS, but it sure is fun to daydream while you’re wasting time at your desk job.

But for female muscle fans, we also have fantasies. In fact, these fantasies make up the majority of our female muscle fandom. Odds are we’re never going to ever be able to date a beautiful female bodybuilder. Romantic (and platonic) relationships with them are not going to happen any time soon. It sucks, but this is reality.

This explains why fantasy is so appealing to us. If we can’t live out our dreams, we might as well keep dreaming, right?

Right! There’s no harm in daydreaming, is there? Well, maybe if we take our fantasies a little too far or we let them negatively affect our personal lives. But that is neither here nor there. What is infinitely more interesting is dissecting what our fantasies say about us. Fantasies reveal what we find attractive. They tell us about our fears, our insecurities, our views about certain people, our most intimate desires.

The beauty about fantasies is that no one has to know about them but you. Unless you tell someone, of course. But more often than not, we keep our sex fantasies to ourselves because, well, it’s a little weird for our friends and family to be in the know about these things!

I’m not a psychology expert and haven’t done any extensive research about sexual fantasies and secret fetishes. Therefore I’m only going off of what little I do know and my own educated guesses. So take what I have to say with the proverbial grain of salt. It may be informative salt, but it’s a mere grain of salt nevertheless.

So let’s discuss a few common sexual fantasies involving female muscle and explore what they might possibly mean. Some of these fantasies I have, and others I do not but I know for a fact that other guys do. I want to be inclusive and not exclude anyone’s perspective(s) just because I don’t happen to share it.

1. I want a strong woman as my wife/girlfriend and I want her to control the relationship

The desire to have a muscular girlfriend or wife is nothing unusual for men like us. However, the dynamics of that relationship can differ from guy to guy. For example, let’s talk about the concept of a Female Led Relationship (commonly referred to an FLR). Simply put, a Female Led Relationship is exactly what it sounds like. In a male/female relationship, instead of the man being the leader of the relationship, the woman takes on that role.

However, this particular relationship arrangement is more erotic in nature than financial. When the woman is the main breadwinner of the household, this is not necessarily an FLR in the strictest sense of the term. There has to be an erotic aspect to it to really make it a true FLR. Roleplaying, BDSM-type activities and sexual banter meant to demean the man and demonstrate dominance of the woman are all par for the course.

If Kim Birtch wanted to take control in bed, I'd let her. Wouldn't you?
If Kim Birtch wanted to take control in bed, I’d let her. Wouldn’t you?

This fantasy really boils down to power. A guy who desires a muscular woman to control of the relationship really desires to relinquish the power he actually has in real life. There is a lot of pressure on American men to be everything: the moneymaker, the leader, the decision-maker and the strong one in times of duress. Unfortunately, a down economy makes this difficult. With unemployment rates continuing to stagger and women gaining higher social status than ever before, it’s difficult for a man to be a “man’s man” in today’s world.

The eroticism behind a Female Led Relationship takes root in the secret desire of a lot of straight men to have this burden lifted from their shoulders. They don’t want to lead. They don’t want to make decisions. They want someone else to “wear the pants” and “be the man.” These feelings come out in the bedroom.

Your muscular girlfriend decides what happens in bed? Check. She hurls insults at you and degrades your masculinity? Check. You let her do whatever she wants sexually and you have no say in the matter? Check. The list goes on and on.

2. I want a muscular woman to dominate me in the bedroom and torture me

This takes point #1 a step further. This crosses into the territory of bondage, domination, submission and masochism (sometimes the “d” stands for “discipline” and the “s” stands for “sadism”). You know the drill: humiliation, being tied up, forced sexual activities, ball gags, ropes, hot candle wax, collars, anal plugs, chains, whips, handcuffs, strict rules, safe words, etc.

This list is so long I won’t even attempt to summarize everything! Just Google it if you’re really curious about what BDSM and the lifestyle is all about.

This fantasy means you have a really kinky side to you. But ignore what you think you know about BDSM. Forget “50 Shades of Grey” or whatever introduced you to this subculture. BDSM, at its core, is all about trust and excitement. Regular “vanilla” sex can sometime get, well, a little dull. Why not spice things up a bit?

For female muscle fans, the BDSM fantasy seems like a natural fit. A strong woman is appealing because she is in a unique position of dominance. Her physical strength makes her unusual. She shatters the belief that women are the weaker sex. She can put a man in his place due to her physical abilities alone. This separates an FBB from a normal woman. For men who are insecure about themselves but would never dream of breaking their alpha male façade, this fantasy is the perfect escape. You can be a wuss (and enjoy it) in the privacy of your own mind without anyone judging you. How cool is that?

In addition to wanting to surrender control, men who share this fantasy want her to not only take control, but bring the definition of “control” to the next level. This is more than just a Female Led Relationship. This is a Female Dominated Relationship. The complete loss of power turns many men on because breaking social taboos can be so damn exciting!

The chief appeal of this fantasy is knowing that even though she has supreme authority over you during “play” time, she’s doing this with your pleasure completely in mind. Sure, a dominatrix definitely enjoys her work, but she’s really doing it for her client’s sake.

Oh Angela Salvagno. Tie me up. Spank me. Do what you want to me. RIGHT NOW.
Oh Angela Salvagno. Tie me up. Spank me. Do what you want to me. RIGHT NOW.

The concept of torture can be bizarre if you think about it too much. Let’s just put it like this: there’s a reason why the Saw movies are so popular. Horror movies that feature gruesome torture scenes (also known as “torture porn”) for whatever reason tap into a part of the human psyche that gets extreme pleasure from pain. I personally don’t feel that way, nor do I actually believe people honestly want to get physically tortured. This is just another example of the dark side of human nature that can safely come out during consensual BDSM playtime.

3. I want to physically dominate a muscular woman and control her

This fantasy spins upside down the previous two fantasies. It’s the first two in complete reverse. This is where you want to be the dominate one in the bedroom and your fantasy FBB girlfriend is the one at your mercy.

A fantasy like this means you get turned on by control, but you want to gain control over someone who’s formidable, strong and considered (more or less) your equal. In other words, you want to earn your dominance. If you can control a strong female bodybuilder who’s unambiguously stronger than you, it signifies that you deserve your alpha male stripes.

One of the strange appeals of a female bodybuilder is that she breaks the conventional mold of a “conventional” woman. She’s strong, assertive, physically dominant and has bigger muscles than most men. Because men traditionally have had a monopoly on musculature, an FBB should be admired because she’s staking her claim that having a vagina doesn’t mean you are condemned to lifelong sentence of “weakness.” It isn’t a barrier. Nothing can hold her back.

But this fantasy allows the man to gain back that monopoly by putting a strong woman back in her place. She may be able to lift more than you, but you’re still above her. She has larger muscles than you, but your male authority will never go unquestioned. Her attempts to break the stereotype of the “weaker sex” are admirable, but at the end of the day your masculinity still reigns supreme.

I won’t go as far as to say that this fantasy is misogynist. It definitely seems like it, but let’s not jump to conclusions quite yet. This fantasy still falls into the BDSM realm, which most of its adherents will argue is not misogynist/misandrist at all. The desire to control an FBB in the bedroom really boils down to being turned on by power.

Yeon Woo Jhi, the Asian Muscle Goddess.
Yeon Woo Jhi, the Asian Muscle Goddess.

We’ve all heard the infamous quote from former U.S. Secretary of State Henry Kissinger: “Power is the ultimate aphrodisiac.” How exciting is it to know that someone’s (or in the case of a politician, an entire nations’) fate is entirely in your hands? If you want her to perform oral sex on you, she’ll do it without question. If you want her to bow down and worship you, she has no choice in the matter. If you want her to follow your every command, she must obey you or suffer the consequences. I’m not personally into this sort of fantasy, but I can see why certain men would find this alluring. When your whims alone can effectively manipulate your environment, how incredible is that?

Just a side note, I’ll acknowledge that this particular fantasy can be rooted in misogyny. It’s certainly possible. I just wanted to say that there are alternate explanations out there.

4. I want an army of gorgeous Amazon warriors fighting alongside me on the battlefield

Now we get into territory that I can personally identify with! This is definitely a fantasy of mine. Imagine, if you will:

Dusk. In a dusty, post-Apocalyptic futuristic wasteland, planet Earth is controlled by a ruthless army of zombies (or aliens, inter-dimensional beings, robots, Communists, Nazis, werewolves, vampires, rabid bunny rabbits, etc.) who are bent on destroying the human race. Enter <insert your name> and his army of gorgeous, muscular Amazon warriors. Will our small group of badass heroes vanquish their enemies and restore peace and justice on Earth? Tune in next week for the next episode…

Yadda, yadda, yadda. The actual details can vary. The circumstances can differ. What matters is this: unlike the previous three fantasies, this one treats you and your FBBs as equals, not antagonists. You’re peers with no one in either a dominant or subordinate position. This is a fantasy I have. Here’s a little background information:

In Greek and Classical mythology, the Amazons were a nation of all-female warriors. Located in either Eurasia or Asia Minor, the Amazons participated in the Trojan War and among other things, established themselves as hardcore ladies you shouldn’t mess around with (unless you want to get your head chopped off). I understand that male sex slaves were used to keep their population going, but my specific fantasy has them fighting alongside me in battle, not me staying at home waiting for them to return safely.

Is sex involved in this? Well, yes! But after we slaughter an army of helpless zombies and liberate a captured town from oppression.

I have this fantasy because I don’t view female muscle within the lens of power and power struggles. Instead, I look at female muscle as an expression of confidence and inner-strength. A woman shouldn’t become muscular because she wants to counterbalance the power of men – she should do so because she wants to improve herself regardless of what the outside world thinks. For me, female muscle isn’t about power and control, it’s about self-determination, self-improvement and self-empowerment.

Chellss. It's a very unusual name, but she's one extraordinary woman.
Chellss. It’s a very unusual name, but she’s one extraordinary woman.

In this fantasy, my army of strong women uses their power for a greater good: fighting against the forces of evil and freeing the oppressed from captivity. With my assistance (I’m not necessarily their leader, but I could be) we are working together, side by side, to free the world from the clutches of totalitarianism, militarism and fear.

Perhaps this means that deep down inside, I’m a firm believer in using our collective strength for the greater good. Strength shouldn’t be abused or used for selfish purposes. Strength should be used to fight against tyranny. Should I reference the quote that “With great power comes great responsibility?” Well, I just did!

For me, this means female muscle doesn’t just fulfill an erotic niche in my personal psychology. It fulfills my desire for people to use their gifts for good. The gift of strength is a beautiful thing that can help liberate our planet. Don’t abuse it. Don’t ignore it. Use it to fulfill your destiny.

5. I want every woman to be as strong and muscular as a female bodybuilder

Now this is an interesting fantasy. How many of you have had this thought before? Have you ever found yourself sitting on a public bus or standing on a busy street corner and wishing every female looked like Marthe Sundby or Lindsay Mulinazzi? If this were to magically happen, I can assure you I’d struggle to contain my excitement!

Whether you like it or not, this fantasy means you secretly abhor the idea that “skinny is beautiful” or “fat is beautiful.” I don’t want to get into a debate about body image, body shaming or mass media, so here is what I will say. We all have our preferences, but we should never judge anyone negatively because of them.

I don’t believe shame and embarrassment are the best ways to inspire someone to change. Positive beliefs (I want to live healthier) instead of negative beliefs (I need to stop being so fat) are probably a more sustainable approach to weight loss. That being said, the fantasy of being completely surrounded by muscular women is rooted in being unsatisfied with how our collective culture views beauty.

If Kristin Nunn walked past me on a busy street, I'd probably hit my forehead against a light pole.
If Kristin Nunn walked past me on a busy street, I’d probably hit my forehead against a light pole.

How often do you go to the gym and see guys force their wives/girlfriends to lift with them? She always looks reluctant to be there and probably holds a grudge against him for pressuring her to lift weights. I see this all the time. The truth is lots of men wish their significant other had toned arms, a firm butt and shapely legs. And you’re not going to achieve this by sitting around all day eating potato chips and watching reruns of Gossip Girl.

Unhappy with our culture’s current standards of beauty? Sick and tired of the weight room being a “boys club?” Are you too politically correct to admit that you don’t like looking at unattractive people of the opposite sex? This fantasy is probably right up your alley.

6. I want my female bodybuilder girlfriend to have a penis

This is a strange one, but not unusual. Transgender fetishes aside, this fantasy doesn’t literally mean you want your FBB girlfriend to have a penis. You want her to have an endowment between her legs that resembles a penis.

It’s no secret that lots of FBBs who’ve taken human growth hormones tend to have enlarged clitorises. The clitoris, which is homologous to the male penis, is essentially a woman’s “little penis.” It’s ultrasensitive and exists for the sole purpose of giving her pleasure. She can achieve orgasm from it. It pleases her. She masturbates with it. Her partner can please her by stimulating it. Not unlike a penis, right?

So basically, there are men out there who want their girlfriends to have a clit that rivals Denise Masino’s in terms of size and girth. Ms. Masino is legendary for her large feminine endowment. Don’t believe me? Just run a Google or Bing search on her and turn off the safe search filter. Then enjoy.

In my opinion, this fantasy returns back to the concept of equality. You want your FBB girlfriend to be like a man, but not a man at the same time. She can have the large muscles and a penis-like clitoris proudly hanging between her legs, but she’ll never be The Man. YOU are The Man. She is still The Woman. And no freakishly large piece of female genitalia will ever change that.

Do you want all women to look like Marthe Sundby? Uh, yes, Your Honor.
Do you want all women to look like Marthe Sundby? Uh, yes, Your Honor.

This fantasy doesn’t mean you’re gay. It doesn’t mean you have a transsexual or transgender fetish. It means you want her to come very close to being like you, but never actually cross that line. Her enlarged clitoris gives her some additional power she never had before (if we’re going to assume that having a penis automatically puts you in a position of power), but at the end of the day it will never come close to fully emasculating you.

We like our women strong, but not TOO strong. We like our women to enjoy the privileges of being a man, but not ACTUALLY be a man. We want her clitoris to grant her male powers, but still maintain the distinct definition that it’s a female sex organ, not a male sex organ. A large clitoris gives her the illusion of maleness without ever making her a male. YOU are the male. Not her.

***

Of course, this list is neither exhaustive nor complete. This doesn’t even come close to scratching the surface. I will not pretend these are the only fantasies female muscle-loving men have.

Rather, this essay mostly explores how your views on gender relations, power dynamics and personal securities/insecurities determine what fantasies you have in relation to female muscle. Whether you’re comfortable in your masculinity, struggle with your identity, hold deep-seeded disdain for women (or your fellow men), recovering from being bullied when you were younger, or are in a position of power that puts too much pressure on you, hopefully you can identify with what I’m talking about.

Our fantasies that we dare not share publicly say a lot about us. They tell us things we would rather people not know about us. They expose our fears, our desires, our likes/dislikes, our insecurities, our opinions, our childhoods and some things we aren’t consciously aware of.

This is a subject countless psychologists, anthropologists, sex experts and writers have tried to explain. I am not an expert. I’m just writing about what I think can be part of a productive dialogue. I can probably lay out multiple reasons for having any of the fantasies listed above. You can too.

To claim to be a connoisseur would be delusional. I can’t write a book on the subject, but I can reassure you that whether you dream about being a Super Bowl hero or being hogtied and spanked by a muscular dominatrix, you can sleep well at night knowing this:

You’re not alone. And you’re not out of your mind.

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