Tag: female muscle

Queen Hippolyta – Prized Possession (part one)

Queen Hippolyta is a mixture of Monica Martin...
Queen Hippolyta is a mixture of Monica Martin…

As night fell, so did the rain. As thunder boomed across the black sky, so did the merciless pounding of war drums. Akiyama marched, hands tied behind his back and a blindfold wrapped around his eyes, toward the Forbidden Palace.

The Forbidden Palace rests in the heart of the Amazonian Empire. Akiyama is going to see Queen Hippolyta, the despotic tyrant who rules over the Amazons. The reality of being so far into enemy territory, where many of his friends and ancestors have perished, is enough to make Akiyama sick to his stomach.

Throughout his entire life, Akiyama has ingrained into his psyche the belief that the Amazons are his tribe’s mortal enemy. A courageous young Samurai warrior representing the powerful Nakatomi clan, Akiyama was captured in battle just hours ago and immediately was ordered to pay Queen Hippolyta a visit.

Akiyama couldn’t see the rain, but he could feel it. Like an ocean falling from the sky, he could not be sure whether his village would be flooded by morning or if they would avoid the worst. He thought about his father, his mother and his four brothers. He thought about his clan. He thought about his own life. Would Queen Hippolyta brutally execute him as a demonstration of her cruelty? Would his capture deter General Ijiri from launching another sneak attack against the Amazonian occupiers?

General Ijiri, a very wise man, loves Akiyama like his own son. He cannot imagine what the powerful military leader is thinking right now, knowing Akiyama is being escorted to his inevitable death.

The two guards accompanying Akiyama take him up a long flight of stairs. Finally they reach indoors, as Akiyama feels the rain stop. He hears whispers coming from all directions. He hates the Amazons, but respects them. Their brute strength, strategic cunning and relentless spirit should be admired by anyone. He also fears them, especially their ruthless Queen.

He hears two large chamber doors open. One of the guards kicks him in the back, forcing him to fall forward. The doors close with a loud thud. He hears a voice; a low, gravelly voice that reverberates with unquestioned authority. One of her bodyguards comes toward him and rips off the blindfold. Akiyama blinks several times to adjust his eyes to the light’s dull yellow glow. Finally, he looks up, still on his knees, and regards the all-powerful Queen who has ordered for his presence.

Standing at an impressive 6’ 5”, Queen Hippolyta wears a regal velvet green backless dress that shows off her enormously strong muscles. Statuesque and carrying the confidence of ten thousand brave warriors, Queen Hippolyta’s golden bronze skin, long black hair, piercing green eyes and strikingly gorgeous face perfectly complement her large muscular frame. With biceps the size of coconuts, a chest as broad as a bear, legs as thick as tree trunks and abs that not even her protective breast plate could hide, Akiyama now understands why she could move mountains and men at will. Who in their right mind would possibly want to defy her?

“Prisoner, stand up and come towards me,” she commands. Her authoritative voice seemingly causes the ground to shake.

Akiyama struggles to stand, as he is still in a tremendous amount of pain from the evening’s battle. A large cut bleeds across his muscular chest. He may not have the muscle mass or remarkable strength of the Queen, but he can hold his own. Akiyama eventually comes to his feet and takes several paces toward the throne, which sits at the center of the palatial chamber.

“What is your name, prisoner?”

Akiyama looks around and notices at least two dozen muscular female bodyguards standing at attention around the chamber. Wearing metallic body armor and holding six-foot long spears, Akiyama knew his chances of escape were nonexistent. He decides he could not put up a fight and accepts his fate.

...and the flawless Alina Popa.
…and the flawless Alina Popa.

“My name is Akiyama, samurai warrior of the Nakatomi clan,” he proudly announces. Queen Hippolyta steps forward and circles him, inspecting Akiyama’s appearance. Several inches shorter than her, Akiyama’s athletic body and handsome appearance pleases the Queen immensely. She unexpectedly feels a tinge of attraction toward the young samurai. He may be a representative of her mortal enemy, but her undeniable lust for this young man supersedes whatever hatred she feels for his tribe.

“You are an impressive youth. I am not surprised that you have fought my armies many times and did not die,” Hippolyta observes. She extends her right index finger and feels Akiyama’s wound. He is taken aback by the remarkable strength she demonstrates with just that simple motion. Feelings of lust also immediately erupt within his soul. “What shall I do with you, prisoner?”

Akiyama remains silent. Queen Hippolyta faces him directly. Her eyes darken.

“Answer me, boy. In what manner should I treat you, my captured prize?”

The young warrior looks around the room. He notices disdainful smiles coming from her array of lethal bodyguards. His heart races faster than it ever has before.

“Do what you will. I will accept whatever punishment you lay on me. It will be an honor to die for my tribe. I am prepared to endure your worst.”

Her eyebrow rises slightly. She locks eyes with her prisoner, stares at him intently and bellows with laughter. The rest of the chamber remains eerily quiet.

“Very brave of you. I was expecting a different answer. Something more in the realm of begging for mercy or offering to become a spy for my army. But not this.”

“I am glad I can please you,” he says with scorn. Queen Hippolyta stops laughing and grabs his throat. Akiyama feels the air cutting off from him. He drops to one knee, looking up at his enemy with fear in his eyes.

A castle overlooking the mountains.
A castle overlooking the mountains.

“You do not speak unless I give you permission to speak, is that clear?” she commands. All Akiyama could muster is a weak nod of his head. Seemingly pleased with that reaction, she drops him to the ground and walks back toward her throne. Akiyama coughs and gasps for air. The Queen snaps her fingers and two bodyguards approach the wounded prisoner and grab him by both arms. They hoist him up to his feet and drag him toward their leader.

“You will discover that my temper can be volatile at times, fair youth. I try to be as gentle as I can, but I cannot let weakness enter into my mind. The moment I relent on my brutality is the moment my Empire will begin to crumble. I will not let that happen,” she says. “You will soon learn why the Amazonian High Council chose to put me in charge. You will also learn why I had them all put to death so that my power could be omnipotent.”

Rumors of Queen Hippolyta murdering all eighteen members of the Amazonian High Council, which had ruled the Amazonian Empire for a thousand generations, circulated around the Kingdom. Nobody in the Nakatomi clan believed it fully, except for the Emperor, whose sister once sat on the Council. It was partially out of anger of his sister being killed that he ordered for the Samurai Army to rise up against the Amazons and form an insurgency.

The Queen motions to the bodyguards to take Akiyama away. They pick him up and elevate him off the floor.

“Take him away,” she orders. Akiyama and the two bodyguards start to move toward the front chamber doors.

“Stop! Not that way.”

The guards halt and turn around toward their Queen. Drops of sweat roll off Akiyama’s handsome face. He struggles to breathe.

“Take him to my bed chamber.” An audible collective gasp arises from the room. Obediently, the two guards change directions and head toward a back exit facing north. The Queen holds up her left hand to silence the room. As Akiyama and the two guards exit, he steals a quick glance her way and instantly makes eye contact with her. He sees in her eyes a wicked combination of anger, craftiness, deviousness and irrepressible lust. She smiles as the stone doors close behind him.

Walking down a narrow and vast corridor, Akiyama is taken deeper and deeper into the heart of the Forbidden Palace. They pass by an outdoor training area, which is still busy despite the persisting rain. Akiyama sees hundreds of Amazon warriors lifting heavy rocks, pushing large boulders, practicing combat with bamboo sticks, pulling ropes with stones attached to them and running laps around the square. He is stunned to see so many gorgeous muscular women of all shapes, sizes and ages diligently training to become elite warriors. He’s fought many of them before, so he knows how formidable these women can be in the heat of battle.

Jeannie Paparone is demonstrating what a typical Amazon warrior would look like. No doubt, very deadly.
Jeannie Paparone is demonstrating what a typical Amazon warrior would look like. No doubt, very deadly.

They turn direction and walk up a small grassy hill. Once they reach the top, Akiyama sees a small castle overlooking a lake. A beautiful garden surrounds the castle from all sides, featuring flowers he’d never seen before, as well as marble statues of ancient Amazon Queens from centuries past. All of them as muscular and intimidating as Hippolyta, he can see that she’s descended from a long line of legendary warriors. But none of them compare to Hippolyta’s impressive accomplishments, as right now nearly seventy percent of the Kingdom is under Amazonian control, which far exceeds the forty percent achieved by Hippolyta’s great–great–great grandmother many moons ago.

One of the guards takes out a key and unlocks the front door. They motion for Akiyama to go inside.

“Go in. We will close the door behind you,” one of the guards tells him.

Looking up at a majestic stone spire that reaches up to the Heavens, Akiyama is enjoying the icy rain drops falling on his face.

“Get in, prisoner,” the other guard orders. “Do as you’re told.”

Akiyama takes the hint and steps inside. The doors close behind him. The two guards take out broadswords from their belts and stand at attention by the door. Inside the castle, rich tapestries and polished furniture adorn the entryway. On the walls are paintings celebrating the victories of past wars. Akiyama feels disgusted when he sees a portrait of the Nakatomi Emperor’s head being held up by Hippolyta’s great grandmother. This story is taught to every young boy growing up in his clan. It is with a sense of righteous vengeance that Nakatomi Samurai warriors live every single day of their lives.

Moments pass. The rain continues its downpour. A flash of lightning sweeps across the skies. Akiyama finds a mirror hanging on the living room wall and inspects his wound. The cut has clotted, but the pain still persists. He sees his disheveled appearance and says a short prayer to himself, wishing the gods above will grant him good fortune in this time of peril.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a procession of female guards marching in a straight line toward the front entrance. A looming sense of dread suddenly fills Akiyama’s heart. He knows she’s coming for him. There’s absolutely no chance of escape. Whatever happens will happen. Akiyama will accept his fate no matter what transpires in these next moments.

An elegant flight of stairs in an old European castle.
An elegant flight of stairs in an old European castle.

The front door opens. It’s Queen Hippolyta, dressed in a scarlet red night robe and an elegant violet gemstone necklace hanging between her bountiful breasts. She closes the door. Her imposing frame struggles to fit through the small entrance. Akiyama can only stand still, completely frozen in time.

“So, boy. What is your name?”

“Akiyama.”

The Queen approaches him. Even from a distance, Akiyama can feel the intense heat rising from her powerful body. Her scent. Her presence. Her authority. Her muscles. All of it petrifies Akiyama with both fear and awe. He does not know how this will end, but he knows she has different intentions than whatever she implied earlier in the throne room.

“I am pleased that my army brought you to me. I did not expect my captured prisoner would be so…pleasing to the eye. Congratulations, Akiyama,” she says, wiping a drop of rainwater from her immaculate face. Akiyama’s breathing becomes more serene. He does not presently sense the degree of danger that he had felt before.

“Am I allowed to speak?”

She gives him a curt laugh. The Queen walks toward a sturdy oak table and pours herself a glass of wine. She takes a sip and turns to face him, leaning her daunting body against the wall, right next to a painting of two Amazon warriors cutting off the penis of a captured enemy soldier.

“When we are alone in my castle, you are free to speak whenever you feel the urge to do so. When we are in front of my fighters, you must obey the proper protocol. From now on, you must address me as ‘my Queen.’ It’s how we must do things around here. Do you understand?” Akiyama nods his head. Queen Hippolyta appears to accept this response.

“Good. Then go with me to my bed chamber. Now.”

As she turns toward a staircase running along the center of the foyer, Akiyama boldly chooses to exercise his right to freely speak.

“What do you intend to do with me, my Queen?” She stops and finishes the rest of her wine. She sets the empty glass on a nearby bookshelf.

“I intend to enjoy your presence for as long as I wish. You will eventually meet your unavoidable demise, but before that happens, I must get what I want from your short time left on this Earth.” An ominous rumble of thunder rolls across the night sky. The castle, lit by candlelight, casts a spooky orange glow that makes Queen Hippolyta seem almost otherworldly in her appearance.

“I understand. You are the Queen, and I am your prisoner. Do with me what you will, my Queen.”

Queen Hippolyta, filled with untamed desire, sweeps toward her young prisoner and picks him up with her strong arms. Akiyama temporarily forgets his fear as he feels her bulging biceps press against his body. She kisses him on the lips and bites down on his tongue. He tastes blood as she removes her mouth from his. She feels no remorse whatsoever.

“I intend to, young boy.”

Holding him tightly, the Queen takes her prized possession with her and walks up the stairs toward her bed chamber.

To be continued.

For Female Bodybuilding Fans, Workout Videos are Our Porn

The next generation of female bodybuilding, Shannon Courtney.
The next generation of female bodybuilding, Shannon Courtney.

We all have our own vices.

Some of us like to gamble. Others like to party “in da club” till the wee hours of the morning. There are some who enjoy high-fat and high-sugary foods a little too much. How about smoking? Or excessive drinking? Or, *gasp* hitting the Mary Jane a few times here and there?

Unless you’re an ascetic monk living high in the Tibetan mountains, most of us have vices that we’re either proud of or wish would remain a secret. But let’s face it. Unless your vice hurts someone else, what’s the true harm? I, for example, am not one to claim to be a police officer of “outstanding character.”

Another popular vice that many of us share is pornography. Whether we’re talking about late night pay-per-view skin flicks, dirty magazines, snuff films, or good-old-fashioned Internet porn, we all know what we’re dealing with. Porn is everywhere in our society. On the cover of magazines, in popular movies, in clothing store advertisements, in music videos…everywhere. Not just hidden underneath your mattress or behind the playground monkey bars. Both softcore and hardcore porn (however you define either term) is saturated in our culture.

It’s so saturated, we sometimes forget what we’re seeing. Most of us would point to a Jenna Jameson video and say with definitive confidence, “That’s porn!” However, we might look at a Beyoncé music video and say, “Well, it’s not quite porn, but it is quite risqué. I would say…that’s NOT porn.” Fair enough. Everyone has the right to hold their own standards.

The real definition of “pornography” is as follows: “Printed or visual material containing the explicit description or display of sexual organs or activity, intended to stimulate erotic rather than aesthetic or emotional feelings.”

This photo of Lisa Cross might give me a heart attack if I stare at it long enough. But I'd die a happy man.
This photo of Lisa Cross might give me a heart attack if I stare at it long enough. But I’d die a happy man.

Basically, porn is media that’s intended to turn you on. It doesn’t have to be explicit. It doesn’t even have to be visual. Written erotica can constitute as porn if we assume a wide all-inclusive definition. Are risqué music videos or provocative fashion ads intended to sexually arouse you? Well, not primarily. They’re intended to persuade you to buy record albums and clothing. But if the adage that “sex sells” is true – which nobody would argue it isn’t – certainly eliciting an erotic response is one of the tactics used to convert advertising media to sales.

Alright. We’ve established that porn is everywhere. We’ve also discussed that porn can manifest itself in a variety of ways, not all of them explicit. Porn can also have objectives outside of just turning you on, such as convincing you to open your wallet and buy something. Other objectives could include persuading you to think about a social issue in a different way (nude PSAs by PETA, anyone?) or inspiring you toward self-improvement (pole dance aerobics isn’t just for exercise, people!).

This all ties in to female muscle fandom, trust me. What, did you think this post would be totally unrelated to what my blog is primarily about? I start with this simple question:

As a female muscle fan, what turns you on the most?

Many of us would answer with traditional responses like FBBs masturbating, FBBs having sex with scrawny guys (or each other), FBBs dancing around in the nude, FBBs glamorously posing in the nude, etc. Essentially, we get turned on by FBBs doing things in from of the camera that traditional looking women also do in mainstream porn. But if there’s one thing I understand about female muscle lovers, it’s that we’re especially turned on by something else entirely, something that’s not necessarily X-rated.

Workout videos.

Or, more specifically, videos of female bodybuilders doing what they do best: building their bodies at the gym.

When I say “workout videos,” the image that probably immediately pops into your head is that of what Denise Austin and Jane Fonda created in the 80s and 90s. Or maybe those old-school Tao Bo videos by Billy Blanks. Ah, yes. Those were the days. The good old days of cheesy music, bad camera angles, bright yellow stretch pants and enough sweat to fill a small lake. I can’t imagine what it must’ve smelled like in those studios. Yuck.

But, no. These are not the type of workout videos I am referring to. Instead, I’m referring to amateurish or semi-professional looking videos of female bodybuilders pumping iron in the gym. They could be shot on a cell phone camera, a store bought camcorder, or perhaps an actual professional-quality video camera. They could be shot for Flex magazine, Bodybuilding.com or for the FBB’s own personal brand. Quality notwithstanding, the idea stays the same: video footage of beautiful athletes doing what they do best.

For female bodybuilding fans, workout videos are our porn. They are what turns us on the most. They titillate us unlike any other media. We find them more arousing than videos that are explicitly sexual in nature. Sound strange? Let me explain what I’m talking about.

As female bodybuilding fans, we don’t just love the final product. Yes, of course images of Alina Popa or Lisa Cross looking ripped and contest-ready can be a divine spectacle to behold, but we’re just as interested in the process it took them to look that way in addition to drooling over how they eventually look.

What’s arousing about female bodybuilders isn’t just that they look so damn sexy, it’s also the fact that they have to bust their butt in order to look that good. There’s something about the strenuous nature of bodybuilding that makes these athletes so remarkable. Female bodybuilders are especially intriguing because their looks are both unconventional and supremely difficult to attain (and maintain).

This is why a grainy 90-second clip shot on an iPhone of a female bodybuilder, completely covered in sweat pants and an old t-shirt, squatting 300+ pounds is way more erotic than watching two silicone-enhanced teeny boppers sucking on each other’s clits with awful automated music playing in the background. If I were a sheltered teenage boy, the latter might excite me like no other. But as an adult, that stuff bores me to death. It’s unexciting. I’d even go as far as to say that it’s disgusting.

Watching two nameless 18-year-old women engaging in sex acts with total lack of interest or passion while moaning from an orgasm so fake it belongs in a can of Velveeta cheese isn’t erotic. It’s dumb. It’s an insult to my intelligence. It’s sophomoric. It’s a shame to the word “erotic.” I’m not necessarily knocking on those who actually like this sort of thing (I’m just kidding – I am knocking on you!), but get with the program, people! Doesn’t authenticity count for something anymore?

Ah, yes. Now we get to the heart of the matter. Authenticity. Workout videos are authentic. I’ve seen a fair share of fake or staged workout videos, but the ones that are real are so fun to watch because it gives you a brief glimpse into the process it takes to transform a woman’s body from “sexy” to “All-Powerful Goddess.”

If more women looked like Mavi Gioia at the gym, I'd go there every single day of my life.
If more women looked like Mavi Gioia at the gym, I’d go there every single day of my life.

But it’s not just about the process of becoming a bodybuilder or the authentic nature of these videos that excite us so much. There’s something unspeakably tantalizing about watching a woman work hard to achieve her dreams. Maybe it’s because a lot of us guys aren’t accustomed to seeing women lift heavy at the gym. There’s an Internet meme that says that “A girl in the gym is much hotter than a girl in the club.” I would agree with that wholeheartedly. But why do I feel that way exactly?

Maybe it goes back to the meritocratic nature of our society. We love female bodybuilders because they earn their beauty. Not every one of us is born with a beautiful face or flawless skin. But we can (to an extent) control the rest of us. A bodybuilder does exactly that. They are in complete control of their physical selves, even to the point that it becomes an obsession. A ripped body is something you earn with your sweat and labor. Mother Nature may not have given you other natural physical gifts, but if you want six-pack abs, you can go out and get it. If you have the willpower to do whatever is necessary to get it, of course.

Another reason why we love watching women lift is because it goes against our collective history. Historically, men were the laborers and women were the caretakers. Men were expected to do all the heavy lifting, both literally and figuratively. The fact that men are naturally stronger than women explains a lot of this. But these gendered roles still in many regards persist to the present day. So when we’re in the gym – and I should hurry up and say that the “workout video” thing could also apply to stealing peeks at women lifting at the gym – and we see a cute girl deadlifting more than her own bodyweight, it’s pretty damn sexy to watch. Very damn sexy.

Breaking the old rules of male/female roles? Making an effort to sculpt a sexy body instead of relying on plastic surgery, deceptive clothing (padded bras, for example) and heavily caked-on makeup? Yes, please!

Workout videos, and seeing up-close-and-personal women lifting heavy weights, are without a doubt our porn of choice. Regardless of the production values or quality of the video footage, this excites us more than anything. Here’s an example:

On Lisa Cross’ Facebook page, she’s uploaded a short video that illustrates exactly what I’m talking about. It’s a ridiculously short clip of her squatting a ton of weight on a hack squat machine. In the brief 41-second video, we can hardly even see Lisa. We can’t see her face. Nor her full figure. In fact, she’s as completely covered as a nun. No sexy revealing clothing. Nothing glamourous happening here. But she’s lifting a jaw-dropping amount of weight. And you can clearly hear her grunting as she squats up and down. Her heavy breathing isn’t exactly orgasmic, but its resemblance is impossible to ignore. But most important, you truly get the sense that she’s working her tail off. This isn’t showing off for the camera. This isn’t staged. This isn’t theatre of any sorts. This is authentic. She’s actually working out with the real intent of getting stronger and bigger. This is the master artist in action. She didn’t earn my nickname for her, “Lisa Cross, the British Bombshell,” just by sitting on her butt, watching TV and eating potato chips all day long. She’s a beautiful sexy Goddess because she’s willing to do the dirty work a lot of us aren’t too keen to do.

That might be the best explanation yet. The Dirty Work. Porn videos are also known as “dirty videos” because they show people engaging in unclean, filthy sex acts (as dubbed by certain folks). But ironically, workout videos of FBBs doing the dirty work of heavy lifting, grunting, sweating and torturing themselves for the sake of self-improvement are way more sexually exciting than watching two nameless bozos who can’t act have unemotional sex with each other. That stuff is a dime a dozen. Witnessing an elite female bodybuilder work on her craft is like watching Laurence Olivier perform Shakespeare, Luciano Pavarotti sing opera or Itzhak Perlman play the violin. You cannot look away from watching the elites do what they do best. The rest of us mortals can only stare and passively watch.

To reiterate a previous point, men who love muscular women aren’t just interested in the final product. We’re also interested in the process it took to achieve that final product. Workout videos, and other related media, excite us for reasons we can’t fully explain. Watching that video clip of Lisa Cross – and for the record, you can hardly even tell it’s actually Lisa! – genuinely gives me the chills. It makes my heart skip a beat. It’s a feeling I can’t explain, but every female muscle fan knows what I’m talking about. But it’s not just this particular clip. It’s the thousands of others like it.

Alina Popa doing leg lifts. Debi Laszewski doing lateral pulldowns. Colette Nelson bench pressing. Brandi Mae Akers doing bicep curls. Lindsay Mulinazzi deadlifting. Jana Linke-Sippl killing her arms on a bicep machine. Shannon Courtney punishing her rock-hard quads at the gym. Mavi Gioia doing triceps extensions. The list goes on. And these are videos that I’ve seen. No doubt there are countless more like them out there on the Internet ready for us to drool over.

The larger point is that female muscle fans love strong women for a variety of reasons. It’s not just about lust or appreciating a certain aesthetic. Female bodybuilders are unique in so many ways. They have a quality to them that’s almost impossible to describe, but equally impossible to ignore. Once you’re hooked, you instantly “get it.” You understand their appeal and even begin to wonder why you didn’t notice them earlier. I honestly cannot believe why I didn’t become attracted to FBBs sooner. I really started to notice them when I was 18 and a freshman in college. And how did it start? I was researching workout videos online and stumbled upon amateurish clips of beautiful women lifting at the gym.

Well, viola! There you go. For many of us, including me, workout videos were what got us hooked in the first place. So there’s a reason why they hold a special place in our hearts. The element of sentimental value is also at play here. Maybe that explains a lot. Maybe there’s something about witnessing a beautiful woman exert herself at the gym that lights a fire inside our souls. It begins the “Madness,” as the expert blogger Female Muscle Slave puts it.

Come to think of it, calling workout videos “porn” cheapens what they mean to us. “Porn” is what people view to fulfill a momentary sexual urge. Workout videos, on the other hand, have a more spiritual component attached to them. It’s like a music lover watching Sir Georg Solti conduct Beethoven’s 9th Symphony. Or a great philosopher delivering a lecture on the state of the universe. It’s poetry in motion. Watching a strong, muscular woman lift is like a religious experience, or to put it in more easy-to-digest secular terms – it is art. Female bodybuilders are artists. And watching them lift is like watching a painter paint, or a sculptor sculpt, or a musician compose.

Female bodybuilders are masterpieces of human achievement. And witnessing them transform into who they are is as enticing as it gets. Just ask any one of us. All we can do it sit back, relax and indulge in the captivating beauty on full display before our eyes.

The Impeccable Female Form

Would I consider Jay Fuchs to be "perfect?" In a word, "yes!"
Would I consider Jay Fuchs to be “perfect?” In a word, “yes!”

What defines the perfect female body?

It’s a more difficult question to answer than you’d think. For those of us who are attracted to women, we just know beauty when we see it. We can’t describe it. We can’t explain it. We can’t quantify it. We just know what a beautiful female body looks like whenever we are fortunate enough to come across one.

If you took a poll of hundreds of straight men (and perhaps some lesbian women) to describe the “perfect female form,” the answers you’d get would probably be pretty predictable:

Gorgeous face.

Big boobs.

Sleek arms.

Long, smooth legs.

Rounded butt.

Hour-glass hips.

Curved back.

Yadda, yadda, yadda. Certain adjectives may change, but the general idea stays the same. Our collective definition of the perfect female form is for the most part fairly uniform.

But for fans of female bodybuilders, our personal definition of perfection is significantly different. We prefer not sleek arms, but bulging arms. We love long legs, but we’d rather gaze upon veiny thighs the size of tree trunks. We love calves big enough to crush a watermelon. We love breasts just like any other guy, but we’re perfectly willing to sacrifice noticeable cleavage if it means her broad pecs are allowed to shine boldly.

Everyone has a different definition of “perfect.” The results from this imaginary poll may be varied, but odds are they will share in common the aesthetic we’ve come to accept in today’s world: a perfect combination of slenderness with curves.

Call it the “Marilyn Monroe Look.” Or what Cindy Crawford was back in the 1990s. Or Kim Kardashian today. Famous sex icons come and go, but beauty is more or less timeless. True, historians will point out that light skin was considered beautiful back in the Middle Ages because it demonstrated wealth and prestige. People with tan skin were considered poor because they had to labor outdoors all day long, as opposed to their pale skinned peers who had servants do their dirty work instead. Today, almost the exact opposite is in vogue. Tanned skin communicates healthiness, vitality and trendiness. There’s a reason why tanning salons are so darn popular. Tanning practically seems like a full-time job for some people these days. Giving people tans definitely is, that’s for sure.

A vast majority of us would consider the women you see on the cover of Sports Illustrated Swimsuit magazines or featured in Victoria’s Secret ads to be the peak of female beauty. The names and faces may change over time, but atypical-looking women usually don’t find themselves so widely plastered across such media. Caitlyn Jenner being a unique exception, what most of us consider “beautiful” can typically be widely agreed upon.

So this begs the question: If beauty is, by and large, relatively universal, can the same go for perfection? Is the “perfect female form” something we can widely recognize? Or do differences of opinion make this conversation moot?

Marilyn Monroe, the greatest sex icon of her generation, perhaps of all time.
Marilyn Monroe, the greatest sex icon of her generation, perhaps of all time.

The best way to answer this question is to pose yet another question: What specifically defines “perfect?” In baseball parlance, a “perfect game” is when a starting pitcher retires all 27 batters in a row without giving up a single hit, walk, hit-batter or error. No one reaches first base in a nine inning ballgame under any circumstances whatsoever. Even if an error is committed by a defensive player, which is obviously not the fault of the pitcher, the perfect game is undone. If the center fielder accidentally drops a can-of-corn pop fly, the perfect game ends, even if 99.999999 percent of the time he makes that catch.

So, in baseball, “perfect” isn’t a passive state of being; it’s an accomplishment. Something isn’t perfect simply by being deemed perfect. Perfection isn’t passive. It’s active. It requires work. It requires meticulous labor to reach a goal. Leonardo da Vinci’s “La Joconde” (better known as the “Mona Lisa”) didn’t happen by accident. He didn’t just splatter paint onto a canvas Jackson Pollock-style and call it good. Rather, he put much thought into his process and painstakingly worked to render his creation. That’s why art critics call it a “masterpiece.” That’s also why these same critics cringe at what is known today as “modern art.” While it could be bold and expressive, a lot of the modern art you see hung up at respectable museums don’t appear to be that artistic. I’m no art connoisseur myself, but I can certainly see the difference between a Rembrandt and a dried up piece of animal dung meant to represent the existential nihilism derived from our excessive militaristic oppressive capitalistic Euro-American-centric hetero-normative patriarchy.

What just happened? I don’t know.

The point is that perfection is an end goal, not just a mere label we place onto an object. The Impeccable Female Form is perhaps not just an opinion, but a commentary on the state of femaleness, cultural aesthetic and male/female dichotomy. For example, Michelangelo’s sculpture of David is considered a Renaissance masterpiece. Created in the early 16th century, the marble male nude of the Biblical hero David represents the height of human power. In the Old Testament, David was a hero who defeated his enemies with help from the Almighty. David is The Man if there ever was anyone who deserved that nickname.

The sculpture, at the time, symbolized the zenith of the human form. Standing tall and proud, David’s muscular stature and overwhelming confidence should instill fear into his enemies. Not even the mighty Goliath stood a chance against our celebrated hero. Meant to signify the fierce independence of the Republic of Florence, between 1501 and 1504 Michelangelo crafted his legendary masterwork with the political implications of power, authority and the almost God-like importance of one man on Earth, in mind.

In David, we’re supposed to see exactly that. A man with God-like implications here on Earth. Thus, in a very literal sense, David perhaps was supposed to represent the Impeccable Human Form. In a world dominated by men, “human” became synonymous with “male.” Female beauty was almost kept in a separate category. Male beauty was human beauty. If humans were created in the image of God, it make sense a perfect looking human would be the closest we can ever get to actually witnessing God up-close-and-personal.

"David" by Michelangelo.
“David” by Michelangelo.

The perfect human form, therefore, now has the element of the divine attached to it. If men are gods, are women goddesses?

The answer is unequivocally “yes.” Women are indeed goddesses. A perfect female form would in fact be a close reflection of divinity, just as male perfection was once considered. Zeus may be wholly powerful among all gods, but Athena shouldn’t be disrespected in her own right. The ancient Greeks believed the gods in the heavens shaped the affairs of the men and women below. They even personified their gods into the images of men and women. How interesting.

This is a long way of getting to the point that should be obvious to us all: the Impeccable Female Form should reflect the same strength, gracefulness, power and beauty we’ve come to appreciate in today’s female bodybuilders. Alas, our much beloved muscle bunnies aren’t just athletes. They’re symbols of human perfection. And they didn’t get that way by accident or privilege. They earned it with their sweat, dedication, hard work and treasure.

Like a pitcher tossing a perfect game or a bowler rolling a perfect game, they had to earn their stripes. David, likewise, wasn’t deified (as much as a mortal man can be) arbitrarily. He had to go out and defeat Goliath. Then he had to rise through the ranks and become King of Judah. Whether you’re religious or not is not the point here. The point is that perfection is never granted passively. You have to earn it every step of the way.

This explains why many women (and men) resort to plastic surgery, fad diets and unauthorized medication (which may or may not be effective) to achieve the “perfect look.” Most of us are not born flawlessly beautiful. Most of us look at Monica Bellucci on the silver screen and think to ourselves; “I’ll never look that beautiful because she was born that way.”

Indeed, beauty is genetic. There’s no escaping that fact. No amount of makeup or trips to the surgeon’s office will undo what Mother Nature (a.k.a., your family’s gene pool) gave you. However, we’re not necessarily talking about facial beauty. We’re talking about the human form, which is what your silhouette looks like. We’re referring to not what you look like in a mirror, but what you look like behind a white screen and bright light.

As a young lad growing up in the late 90s and early 2000s, ex-WWF diva Rena Mero was my first major celebrity crush.
As a young lad growing up in the late 90s and early 2000s, ex-WWF diva Rena Mero was my first major celebrity crush.

You can, to a point, control what your silhouette looks like. Female bodybuilders are doing that every single day of their lives. What they choose to eat, when they choose to eat, when and how they lift weights, when they sleep, what supplements they take…all of these choices are carefully made to ensure their bodies can look a certain way. Crafting a perfect combination of muscularity, symmetry and femininity, FBBs are truly artists in every sense of the word. Just as our friend Michelangelo sculpted with marble, FBBs work with their own flesh and blood. Sounds pretty hardcore, doesn’t it?

If we assume female bodybuilders to be artists, are they not working toward the goal of attaining perfection? Even world champion bodybuilders should never rest on their laurels and assume they’ve “arrived.” That sort of complacency breeds mediocrity. The mindset of a champion dictates that you constantly work toward self-improvement, regardless of what people say or how tangibly “good” you already are at your sport. In this respect, female bodybuilders (and their male counterparts) are indeed artists, striving toward sculpting their perfect masterpiece with the materials given to them by God. As Amedeo Modigliani used a paintbrush and palette as his tools, a bodybuilder uses dumbbells, barbells, and food as theirs.

So it makes perfect sense for the Impeccable Female Form to come from a bodybuilder. After all, they “earn” their physique through hard work, dedication, scientific precision and sacrifice. No one wants “perfection” to be a product of passive entitlement. A slender looking woman may in fact be beautiful, but isn’t there something to be said for a physique that’s very darn difficult to attain? Looking like Alina Popa is a challenge that only an elite number of women will ever be able to achieve. Her flawless balance between being highly muscular and unquestionably feminine makes her as unique of an athlete as there’s ever been. And that is no exaggeration.

This is not to disrespect or discount the challenges of maintaining a “traditional” feminine look. The point of this blog post isn’t to shame or condemn any particular body type. Instead, I’m trying to illustrate a larger point: the ideal female form – or perhaps, better yet, the quintessential female form – should lean more toward the muscular than the skinny. Bulky rather than thin. Bigger instead of smaller. You get the idea.

The simple argument that the Impeccable Female Form should be that of a bodybuilder implies that strength should be a crucial facet to femininity. Ignore any of that talk about the “weaker sex.” That’s complete and total nonsense. If we genuinely want to lift up women as being strong, independent beings, this paradigm shift is a welcomed first step. Aesthetically speaking, if the Impeccable Female Form is defined as being muscular, curvy and strong – does this not communicate empowerment more than mere words? Words are cheap. Action is not.

Besides making an obvious feminist statement, a Muscular Feminine Ideal does more to break down negative stereotypes than anything else. For as much as our society preaches the importance of “female empowerment,” how seriously do we accept this? Do we truly mean that, or are we more interested in patting ourselves on the back and verbalizing what we want instead of actually pursuing what we want to see change? I leave the answer to these questions to you.

Whether or not anyone will ever accept this frame of mind is not the point. Not everyone will agree that muscularity should have anything to do with how we define female beauty. Nor should we all agree to this. But as female muscle fans, we share the inherent belief that there’s a reason why we love strong women beyond simple lust. I believe that wholeheartedly. We may not explicitly know it, but we know female bodybuilders represent something bigger. A female bodybuilder isn’t just a competitive athlete; no different than a soccer player, basketball player or tennis player. We know they belong in a separate category apart from the rest. Am I right?

Indeed, there is something noteworthy going on. Bodybuilders, both male and female, symbolize the highest form of human achievement. They represent the human being at its pinnacle of perfection. There’s a reason why Michelangelo chose to portray David as a strong warrior instead of a skinny average Joe. Wonder Woman may not traditionally be illustrated as being muscular, but you definitely can tell the artists who draw her would definitely do that if they were given more lenient creative license. That might not help them sell more comic books per se, but they would be making a pretty bold statement in doing so.

The Impeccable Female Form personified in Lindsay Mulinazzi.
The Impeccable Female Form personified in Lindsay Mulinazzi.

Deep down inside, female muscle fans wish more women in society looked like Larissa Reis or Shannon Courtney. Not necessarily out of selfish fetishistic reasons (although that is a major part of it), but because we truly believe society would be better for it. The Impeccable Female (and Male) Form isn’t just about determining what kind of eye candy we like best. It’s more than that. It’s about maximizing what it means to be a human being, a creation of God (or whatever higher power you believe in). If we assume the Imago Dei theological concept to be ingrained into Western culture, we take on the belief that bodybuilders of all genders are doing what they can to become Divine.

Not in a literal sense, but in a figurative sense. A muscular man or woman isn’t actually a god, but they’re the closest we can get here on Earth.

So, what exactly defines the perfect female body? Divine. Intentional. Elite. Strong. Powerful. Potent. Authoritative. Commanding. Muscular. All of these things.

Regardless of your ideological or theological background, every single female muscle fan knows the women they love are bigger – and not just literally – than most of the people we encounter day-in and day-out. They represent something tangibly deific. We don’t refer to them as “goddesses” for no good reason.

Oh yeah. Goddess. I do seem to recall that label being put onto a female bodybuilder at least once or twice. Now we all know why that is. We view them as belonging to a higher status than the rest of us. They’re gods among men, or goddesses among women. We intrinsically know this to be true.

The Impeccable Female Form explains all of this. Muscles are a form of physical Nirvana that every one of us is striving to achieve. Maybe not in any practical sense, but we feel it intuitively. I’ve never considered my love for female muscle to have a spiritual component, but the more I think about it, perhaps it does.

Maybe we female muscle fans are helping usher in a new age of Enlightenment. Are we the forbearers of a shift toward a higher level of Consciousness?

Uh, yeah. Probably not. But it sure is fun to think about. This is probably overthinking things, but life is too short to shortchange yourself. Don’t be afraid to take pride in your female muscle fandom. You may not be a modern day culture warrior, but you are definitely on the right track. Muscular women are beautiful, and our world would be a better place if every man, woman and child felt that way.

Can I get an “amen?”

A Female Muscle Fetish Isn’t as Complicated as You Might Think

The reason why Jill St. Laurent is gorgeous definitely isn't complicated.
The reason why Jill St. Laurent is gorgeous definitely isn’t complicated.

Sometimes in life, we tend to overthink things.

Nobody needs to spend twenty minutes thinking about which brand of hair coloring they need to buy. Or a whole hour organizing your wardrobe for the day. Or testing out twelve different fad diets only to discover that none of them actually work.

Overthinking things can be exhausting. It can waste your time, money, energy and faith in your own judgement. Don’t we all wish someone would have the good sense to knock us over the head and tell us this before it becomes a problematic obsession?

Yes, perhaps we do. But our tendency to overthink things can usually be remedied by following this general guideline: KISS.

Keep It Simple, Stupid.

In other words, sometimes the simplest explanations are the best. Occam’s Razor, anyone?

The same could be said about female muscle fetishism. We all have our own explanations as to why and how we got into female muscle. Everyone has their unique personal story. And the truth is, anecdotes can be remarkably insightful in explaining so much about our lives. For some, it was a single magazine cover that did it. For others, it was following the career of one specific female bodybuilder. Maybe you caught a glimpse on television of a female bodybuilding competition back in the good old days of the 1980s. Regardless, everyone remembers the time they “discovered” this amazing world and had their eyes opened to an aesthetic that transcends “traditional” standards of female beauty.

There are psychologists, sex experts and ordinary people everywhere who try to “explain away” the larger meaning of these personal stories. Do they reflect hidden insecurity? Or do they reveal latent homosexuality? Are guys who are into “muscle chicks” self-hating men? Do they secretly wish to be physically dominated by their girlfriends? Are they sexual deviants who need counseling? Is this a sign of obsessive behavior that can eventually consume his entire life?

Yikes. That got out of hand in a hurry. Perhaps not all of these stereotypes immediately come to mind when you learn a guy really digs strong women. But certainly these thoughts cross your mind at some level. If it does, don’t worry. Here’s something that will bring ultimate clarity to this situation.

We’re overthinking things. Maybe, just maybe, female muscle fetishism isn’t that complicated. It’s just a simple form of lust that’s inherent in all of us (or, almost all of us).

Hm. An interesting thought. So a guy who drools over the Ms. Olympia contestants is no different than a middle school boy who drools over the girls in the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issues? Well, I’ll be darned!

Remember when Pamela Anderson was strutting her stuff on Baywatch? The 90s were a glorious time, indeed.
Remember when Pamela Anderson was strutting her stuff on Baywatch? The 90s were a glorious time, indeed.

Most of us guys know what we’re referring to. Face it. We all kept a hidden stash of dirty (or semi-dirty) magazines under our bed. Or old VHS tapes of cinematic sex scenes in the sock drawer. Or porn we printed off the computer when mom and dad were out of the house. Raise your hand if this described you when you were a lad of 14.

You can put your hands down now. Thank you for participating in this unscientific study.

Now turn the clock forward 10-25 years. You’re now a fully grown adult. You might be married, in a relationship, divorced, or single. It doesn’t matter. You’ve ditched the contraband magazines for more sophisticated resources. In the decades between your teen years and adulthood, you expanded your preferences to include beautiful women with more…bulk.

Yes, bulk. Adult women with more muscular development than the pop stars, movie starlets and celebrity socialites of yesteryear. Of course, you might still retain a faint nostalgic lust for these types of females, but you’ve moved on to bigger (emphasis on “bigger”) and better options. You prefer a brawnier look. You prefer fitness models, athletes and bodybuilders over silicone-enhanced Playboy bunnies, Photoshopped fashion models and Botox-injected Hollywood ingénues. So these new preferences can coexist with your old preferences. Expanding your horizons doesn’t mean shutting yourself off to the “old.” It means incorporating more things into the “new.”

So, with that in mind, what’s changed? Why is it considered socially normal for a teen boy with raging hormones to obsess over “mainstream” looking girls but it raises eyebrows when an adult man can’t stop fantasizing about being crushed between the legs of a female Olympic powerlifter?

Lust is, simply put, simple. Whatever floats your boat, right? Whether you’re into skinny women, rotund women, muscular women, skinny men, rotund men, muscular men, light skin, dark skin, tall, short, long hair, short hair, hairy legs, green eyes, tattoos, or whatever else you can think of, does it really matter? What does one’s preferences say about that person?

Uh, who knows and who cares?

But this is not meant to breed any kind of negativity. By and large, guys who dig muscular women are not a persecuted class by any stretch of the imagination. Not even close. That has never been a contention of myself or, to my knowledge, anyone else for that matter. But all the blatant misconceptions can get annoying after a while.

Taylor Smith is everything you could have asked for. EVERYTHING.
Taylor Smith is everything you could have asked for. EVERYTHING.

On a side note, if being annoyed is the worst thing any of us ever experience, then consider us to be lucky. Very lucky.

The real message is this: female muscle fetishism probably doesn’t have an explanation beyond simple carnal lust. The same lust we started to feel when we reached the age of puberty. Remember that adolescent madness we went through when those icky girls with cooties suddenly transformed into immaculate creatures of divine beauty? Yeah, of course you do. Remember when you first thought of female bodybuilders as gross, freaks of nature she-males who are disgusting to look at…but now you consider them to be Amazonian Goddesses of Higher Consciousness?

Same deal. We might be exaggerating a bit, but the basic idea should ring true. Human attraction isn’t that complicated. It’s what allows for human civilization to persist for generations upon generations. The “Circle of Life” stops the moment we find no reason to find a partner, copulate, reproduce and sow the seeds for the future of humanity. Lust is instrumental to the survival of our species. It can get us in trouble at times, but without it, none of us would be here today.

Some guys are into long legs. Other guys are into muscular legs. Some gentlemen prefer blondes. Other gentlemen prefer blondes with bulging biceps and a six-pack abdomen. Some men want to watch the world burn. Other men fantasize about a Powerful Muscle Goddess lighting the torch.

All of this is to say that not everything in life has a clear and clean explanation. Not every sexual kink has to be picked apart and analyzed like the stock market. Sometimes, it is what it is. That sounds boring and un-academic, but that doesn’t mean it’s not the most prudent answer.

Nobody is denying that it can seem a bit odd for a guy to obsess over muscular women. Men are, theoretically speaking, the stronger sex. This is a role that has given us (both fairly and unfairly and with mixed results) dominance in the social sphere over our female counterparts. Who would want to abdicate that kind of power by allowing (even in a playful context) a woman to take on the “stronger sex” role? Wouldn’t guys feel intimidated by being in the presence of a muscular woman? Would that challenge his manhood? Would she attempt to challenge his manhood? What happens if he “loses?” Would this change his very identity? Why risk it in the first place?

Strong yet sexy, sturdy but feminine, striking yet accessible. Rita Sargo is all that.
Strong yet sexy, sturdy but feminine, striking yet accessible. Rita Sargo is all that.

But these questions might be completely irrelevant. In fact, one could argue they are all tone deaf to the reality of things. Female muscle fetishism most likely has nothing to do with gender roles, gender identity, self-esteem or even sexual orientation. It’s just one particular tool he has in his toolshed of lust, right next to the “Shy Catholic School Girl” and “Sexy Older Librarian Wearing a Skimpy French Maid Outfit” fetishes.

On a side note, I don’t know what a “Toolshed of Lust” would look like, but I can imagine the possibilities.

On second thought, let’s not!

In conclusion, I’ve discovered an irony in this whole essay. I could have simplified my thesis by merely stating:

A female muscle fetish isn’t as complicated as you might think.

Well, that’s sort of the title of this blog article. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in our modern age of Twitter, Facebook, Instagram and social media, it’s that our shrinking attention spans are making it so that all we have the time or the inclination to do is read the headline and be on our merry way. Nobody wants to read anymore. That takes effort that I could be using watching Netflix or ordering an overpriced caramel macchiato at the eight different Starbucks located across the street. But I digress, the actual point is that this whole 1,898 word (which, by the way, is an exact word count) essay isn’t really necessary to make my point.

Don’t overthink the concept of female muscle fetishism. You can, but you might be wasting your time. It’s not pointless or futile, but probably unnecessary. We do lots of things in life that are unnecessary. We put “lol” at the end of every text message despite the fact we didn’t actually laugh out loud. We say “just sayin’” after getting done saying something. Maybe overanalyzing certain sexual fetishes is a similar exercise in frivolity.

Some guys love muscle chicks. Why? They just do.

BAM.

A Semiotic Study of a Muscular Woman’s Body

Asian Muscle Goddess Penpraghai Tiangngok.
Asian Muscle Goddess Penpraghai Tiangngok.

“Semiotics” is the study of signs and symbols as elements of communicative behavior. A more comprehensive definition is “a general philosophical theory of signs and symbols that deals especially with their function in both artificially constructed and natural languages and comprises syntactics, semantics, and pragmatics.”

Huh?

Let’s dispense with the complicated academic language. “Semiotics” is a fancy way of figuring out what signs and symbols mean and why they mean it. And by “signs,” we’re not just talking about STOP signs or “Do Not Walk on the Grass” signs. The most basic and obvious form of symbols is your basic alphabet. When put together, letters of the alphabet can form words. And words have meaning (or as Led Zeppelin would like to point out, sometimes words have two meanings).

But let’s look at a few less obvious but common signs and symbols. When someone raises their middle finger at you, that usually means they’re expressing displeasure toward you at that particular moment. When someone is wearing the jersey of their favorite sports team, they’re saying – even without using any words – that they love their team and are not ashamed to show it. When someone wears a tattoo featuring the Nazi swastika, that’s a pretty good indication you probably don’t want to interact with this person at any level.

Signs and symbols are the basic ways people communicate. Speaking, writing and nonverbal indicating (such as pointing, nodding your head or clapping your hands) are only one form of communication. But there are numerous other ways people can express ideas. For example:

  • Hand gestures
  • Hair style
  • Clothing
  • Tattoos
  • Decorations inside and outside your home
  • Piercings
  • Paintings
  • Photographs
  • Poems
  • Artwork
  • Dance
  • Body language
  • Jewelry
  • Make-up
  • Bumper stickers
  • Facebook profile picture
  • Flags
  • Job title
  • Dietary choices
  • Choice of spouse or significant other
  • Pets
  • Music
  • Choice of what city/neighborhood/region you live
  • Choice of when to use certain languages (English, Spanish, French, Cantonese, Arabic, etc.)
  • Religious insignias (cross in Christianity, Star of David in Judaism, bindi in Hinduism, etc.)
  • Hashtags
  • Nicknames
  • Colors
  • Volume (of words, actions, and so on)
  • Word choices
  • Transportation choices
  • Body art
  • Facial expressions

The list goes on. Flags can be an expression of nationalistic pride. Religious-themed clothing or jewelry can signify adherence to a certain faith. Dietary choices communicates to the world messages like how you view your own health, opinions on environmental stewardship and social responsibility. In fact, here’s an old joke. How do you know if someone is a vegan? Don’t worry. They’ll tell you over and over again!

I’m not anti-vegan, but you get the idea. Being a vegan isn’t just a set of eating choices. It’s a statement on your views pertaining to health, animal rights, the environment, urbanization, human rights, sustainability, ethics, and so forth. Can it get annoying? Perhaps, but it gets annoying because from a semiotic perspective, they’re trying to tell you much more than the mere fact they prefer not to eat animal-based products.

All of this brings us to the focal point of this post: A muscular woman’s body. I’ve covered the topic of muscular women and semiotics in previous blog articles, but I’d love to explore this in further detail.

In bed with Ashley Starr.
In bed with Ashley Starr.

A muscular woman; whether she’s a professional or amateur bodybuilder, personal trainer, athlete, or noncompetitive gym rat; makes a lot of statements even without saying a single word. And not just statements, but definitive statements. I once had a college professor who told our class that “you can never not communicate.” Everything you do, whether you intend to or not, is a form of communication.

To help us understand what this means, imagine this scenario: You’re walking down a crowded street. You’re minding your own business. It’s a perfectly sunny Saturday afternoon. Clear skies, tourists and pedestrians out everywhere. All of a sudden, you see walking down the sidewalk a beautiful muscular woman. She’s making no attempts to hide her muscularity by wearing sleeveless shirt and yoga pants. She casually strolls by you. You stop and stare, but she keeps on moving at her own pace. She’s minding her own business. Most important, she doesn’t utter a single word to you. Nada. Nothing. Although she doesn’t verbally speak to you, she’s told you a whole encyclopedia’s worth of material…whether you realize it or not.

When I talk about a muscular woman’s body, I’m not referring to her hairstyle, choice of clothing, tattoos, piercings or anything like that. I’m only talking about her flesh and blood body. By themselves, her muscles are a symbol. They carry with it meaning beyond her physiological composition. So what we’re talking about isn’t a muscular woman’s entire appearance, just her muscles. Everything else is very interesting unto itself, but let’s keep it simple for the sake of this discussion.

Let’s look at some of the messages inherent in a muscular woman’s body:

1. Social defiance

Perhaps most jarring, social defiance is the loudest message being communicated by a woman’s muscles.

If we presume that society traditionally equates femininity with weakness, a muscular woman shatters those stereotypes with a sledgehammer. Female frailty is an ancient and overused theme that goes back centuries, crossing almost all cultures and continuing to persist even to the present day. Outside of a few fringe cultures that treat women as equals (or superiors) to men, for the most part human civilization has associated femininity with feebleness, softness and fragility.

Muscular women defy all that. They defy the notion that women are the weaker sex. They defy the assumption of female frailty as inevitable. They defy traditional standards of beauty. They challenge us to accept that muscles on a woman can be sexy. They refuse to be put into a box.

Unlike political beliefs, religious beliefs or any other kind of ideological system, a woman’s choice to develop muscle is obvious for all to see. There’s an old saying about how some people “wear their opinions on their sleeve,” which is to say they don’t just have opinions; they shove it in your face and persistently let the entire world know about it. However, that can get exhausting. No matter how passionate you are about something, even at the most superficial level it takes a small conversation with someone to know about it. But that’s not true with a muscular woman. Her decision to bulk up her body can’t be hidden. You can’t wear baggy clothes forever.

A woman’s decision to bulk up flies in the face of our conventional expectations of beautiful women having to be slender and curvy. Big muscles are supposed to be reserved for guys. Big muscles on a woman, on the other hand, aren’t what any of us expect to see. So when we do see it, we instantly realize what she’s doing. She’s creating her own standards of beauty. She’s redefining what it means to be attractive. She’s defying other people’s expectations and setting her own.

2. Self-respect

Anyone, whether male or female, who can boast having a fit, muscular body might as well carry around a sign that says in big bold letters “I Take Care of Myself.” Generally speaking, you don’t look that way unless you make a conscious decision to do so. You don’t become muscular by accident. It’s a choice you make to sculpt your body to fit a certain aesthetic.

Becoming “buff” isn’t just about lifting weights. It requires watching your diet. So no excessive sugary sweets, rich coffee drinks or deep fried foods. You have to make sacrifices most of us in the general public (me included!) wouldn’t want to make. While it’s true that excessive exercise and extreme dieting can be unhealthy if taken too far, generally speaking men and women who “look good” take specific measures to look that way.

Self-respect means believing in your own potential. It means setting goals and having an actionable plan to achieve those goals. Goal-oriented people tend to achieve more in life than people who wander around aimlessly. A female bodybuilder, for example, wants to be a winner. Professional (and dedicated amateur) athletes all want to be winners. You don’t get to that level unless you sincerely believe you can do it.

But even if a muscular woman doesn’t compete at any level, she still has self-respect. Perhaps her goals are different. She wants to look fantastic. She wants to inspire others. She wants to prove to herself that she can do whatever she wants. Regardless, the common denominator is that she has her goals set high and will never back down from reaching her full potential. This determination is obvious just from looking at her hard-earned physique. You don’t have to ask her about it. You can see it right in front of you.

3. A desire to shatter social stereotypes

Directly related to point #1, a muscular woman’s body can be an indication that she wants to shatter the stereotypes we have about strength and gender identity. The most obvious example is the idea of female weakness/male superiority. But, if you add elements of race, height, sex appeal and fashion choices into the mix, things can get very complicated.

For example, if a muscular woman chooses to wear baggy jeans and a fur coat everywhere – even if it’s not particularly cold – that’s probably an indication she doesn’t want the public to notice her muscularity. If, on the other hand, she chooses to wear yoga pants and a skimpy top that generously shows off her arms and torso, she definitely wants people to notice her. Not bother or harass her, but see her. Whether she’s motivated by narcissism or personal comfort is impossible to tell. What is obvious is that she’s okay with people seeing her hard work on full display.

In addition to social defiance, a muscular woman who chooses to show off her body is also maybe trying to change the way people view women as a whole. Not just muscular women, but every woman on planet Earth. She wants people to no longer believe women are destined for weakness. She wants people to be convinced that men don’t have a monopoly on strength. Maybe she wants society to redefine what it means to be “beautiful,” “feminine,” and “desirable.” Instead of telling people that “strong is beautiful,” she decides instead to put her money where her mouth is and let the entire world know that she’s a muscular woman who believes she’s just as beautiful as the women you see on the cover of magazines.

Julie Bonnett looking as lovely as ever.
Julie Bonnett looking as lovely as ever.

Stereotypes are commonly accepted boxes we use to put people into. Not all stereotypes are malicious. Some are quite flattering (all Asians are good at math, anyone?). But some are hurtful. For example:

Muscular women are gross. Women shouldn’t look like that! Big muscles makes her look like a man! Men will never find that attractive. She needs to stop bulking up or else she might actually become a man!

All these stereotypes are complete B.S. We female muscle fans know it. But not everyone shares our perspective. Muscular women know this as well, probably better than us. This is why her biceps aren’t just an indication that she works out. They’re a metaphorical hammer of Thor intended to smash into a million pieces every one of these sophomoric beliefs.

4. A redefinition of sexuality

For many of us, the first thing that catches our attention when it comes to sex appeal is a person’s physical appearance. Their face, body, the way they walk, etc. What really catches our attention is anything out of the norm. A stunningly gorgeous face or a killer pair of legs, for example, stand out because of their uniqueness in addition to their obvious aesthetic appeal.

A muscular woman’s sexuality also stands out. Because so much of sex appeal is based on looks, a muscular woman’s intentional transformation of her physical appearance makes this discussion almost inevitable. How can she not be making a statement about her sexuality?

As mentioned before, not everyone who appears “sexy” is intentionally trying to look sexy. But if you have natural good looks, no matter what you do (outside of covering your entire body with a sheet) you’re going to communicate desirability. Or, perhaps, how we as a society defines “desirable.”

Consider this: How many people in our world consider muscles on a woman to be sexy? A number of us, obviously. But certainly not everyone. A woman who chooses to sculpt large muscles on her body cannot help but make a statement about what limits we should or should not put on female attractiveness. She’s saying (implicitly or explicitly, it doesn’t really matter) muscles on a woman can be sexy. She’s saying guys who find her attractive are right to do so. She isn’t necessarily saying that people who find her unattractive solely because of her muscles are wrong, but they shouldn’t discount the opinions of others who do.

Muscles challenge our preconceived thoughts about female sexuality. It shows they can be both strong and beautiful, muscular and feminine, unconventional and desirable, empowered and nonthreatening. They’re not trying to shatter how we view female sexuality. They’re trying to expand how we think about female sexuality (and male sexuality, for that matter). They’re not trying to destroy the box. They’re trying to make the box bigger.

Why must we limit how we define “beautiful?” It makes no sense.

5. Unconventionality

This is probably the broadest point of all, but a muscular woman’s body communicates that she’s an unconventional person. Unconventionality comes in many forms. We’ve already discussed a few of these aspects above. But generally speaking, muscles on a woman’s body tell us many things such as:

“I’m the most competitive person you’ll ever meet.”

“I may not look traditionally beautiful, but I am.”

“I’m stronger than most women around here.”

“I will fight back if provoked, unlike others.”

“You can doubt me all you want, but I’ll prove you wrong every single time.”

“My life is different than the rest. But it’s the life I choose to live.”

“I don’t eat the same foods you do, nor eat at the same times you do.”

“I’m a professional athlete. I don’t spend 8 hours behind a desk every day.”

“I truly don’t care what other people think.”

“I love being different.”

“I will prove that muscles on a woman can be sexy. See? Look at me!”

How can a muscular woman not be unconventional? Anyone who consciously defies social norms is intentionally going against tradition. She may not abhor tradition or wish to knock it down with a wrecking ball, but she’s definitely a daisy growing in a field of red roses.

It’s hard not to return back to the point of female frailty. Everything revolves around this paradigm. A muscular woman is so fascinating precisely because she forces us to rethink our preconceived notions about the fundamental differences between men and women. Everything we thought we knew about the world may be wrong. They may be right, but every once in a while we encounter situations that challenge us to open our minds to new hypotheses.

Check out the colorful bikini being rocked by Maria Rita Penteado. Very cute!
Check out the colorful bikini being rocked by Maria Rita Penteado. Very cute!

The unconventional challenge us not to alter our conventions, but question why we have conventions in the first place.

Strong women raise these questions. It is now up to us to try to answer them.

In conclusion, there is no doubt that muscular women are a fascinating topic to talk about. Whether you love them, hate them, or aren’t quite sure what to feel, you cannot help but have an opinion about them – even if you’ve never actually met one in the flesh. These snap judgements are at the heart of this semiotic analysis of a muscular woman’s body.

Fairly or unfairly, every one of us communicates something every single moment of our lives. Intention has nothing to do with it. We see signs and messages everywhere we go. Messages telling us what to think, what to believe, how to feel, how to behave, how to interact with others, and so on. Our world is full of these symbols. Most of us are not aware of them, myself included. But the more alert we are to them, the better we can understand our world.

What interests me on a personal level is talking about how mesmerizing muscular women are. They’re captivating for reasons that go beyond their beauty. When we look at the symbols inherent in her physique, we start to better understand things like sexism, misogyny, human sexuality, relationships, biology, social prejudice, social defiance, the business of advertising, marketing strategies, double standards, beauty, aesthetics, power dynamics, expectations, gender roles, stereotypes, femininity, masculinity, world history, politics, money, human communication, cognitive development, and much more. The list can go on forever. When we really think about female bodybuilding, female athletes and the presence of muscles on a female body, almost every problem we face in the 21st century starts to become clearer. Think about how fundamentally different our society would be if women were just as biologically strong as men. Think hard about that. It’s enough to blow your mind, isn’t it?

The badass that is Suzy Kellner.
The badass that is Suzy Kellner.

Semiotics is all about being aware of what we’re being taught, how we’re being taught, and how we can teach others. Communication is the building block of human civilization. Cities, nations, communities and families would not exist without communication. So the better we understand how we communicate; both verbally and nonverbally, both intentionally and unintentionally, both implicitly and explicitly; the better people we’ll be.

Sound like a big task? It should because it is. Muscular women are creatures who blow my mind. I can’t stop thinking about them on both a primal and intellectual level. They demand closer inspection. They demand our attention. They demand our respect. They demand us to understand them better. Let’s hope that comprehending them on a semiotic level is a productive first step.

Bridgette – A Star is Born (part four)

A very pumped up Theresa Ivancik.
A very pumped up Theresa Ivancik.

At exactly 5:58 p.m., Sean is waiting outside the Downtown Convention Center. His sweaty palm grips his phone like a slugger clutching a bat. He has a text message ready for Bridgette. All he needs to do is press “send” and the message will be sent to her.

Well, what exactly is he waiting for?

He looks at his phone. 5:59. One more minute.

His pre-written message says “Hi Bridgette! It’s Sean. I’m waiting outside the Convention Center. I’m here!” Simple enough. Sean knows Bridgette has his number in her phone already, but he figured identifying himself wouldn’t hurt. He glances at his phone again. It’s now 6:00. Okay, time to send off this puppy…

Then his phone buzzes. He answers it. It’s her.

“Hi Sean! Are you outside?”

“Yes, I am. I was about to send you a text letting you know where I am, but you beat me to the punch. I’m here!” It’s a bit chilly, but not unbearable. He’d rather be inside though, in the presence of the most gorgeous muscle lady in the known Universe.

“Awesome! I’ll let you in through the back door. It’s on the west side of the building. There’s a sign that says ‘Talent Entrance,’ or something like that. Do you know what I’m talking about?” Sean scoots himself to the west side of the Downtown Convention Center and indeed sees a brass sign above a bamboo wooden door that says “Talent Entrance.” He sees a homeless guy sleeping next to it with an empty bottle of Hennessy and a used marijuana joint. He tells Bridgette that he’s right at the entrance.

“Great! I’ll be down in a minute or two!” She hangs up on him. He waits for her to open the door. He wishes she’d come sooner because the stench of the homeless man is starting to give him a massive headache. Soon enough, the bamboo doors open and he marvels at the woman standing inside it. Bridgette. The Blonde Muscle Goddess. Dressed in jeans and a revealing lavender tank top, all her muscles look primed and pumped. She is a spectacle to behold.

“Sean! Come in. Hurry. The show starts in an hour but I have tons of press interviews to do. Do you know TMZ is here?” Bridgette ushers him inside a dazzling maze of humanity. The smell of spray tan permeates his senses. Everywhere, around every corner and every hallway, he sees what seems like hundreds of fit and muscular men and women of all shapes and sizes. Buff dudes with biceps as large as basketballs. Women with thighs that could crush a watermelon. Men and women with bodies like Greek Gods and Goddesses. They could bend steel, push a truck up a mountain and rip a phone book in half if they wanted to. Sean couldn’t take in what he was seeing with his own eyes. Bridgette was holding his hand and running toward somewhere, darting between oiled up musclemen and musclewomen. He hardly had time to catch his breath.

Eventually, they arrive at her dressing room. As the “Marquee Guest Poser,” Bridgette is entitled to a dressing room all to herself. Small and cramped, it does the job. Mirrors on three of the four sides, the room is both very hot (from all the lights) and smelly. He doubts anyone has cleaned this tiny room in years. He would usually be disgusted by all this, but the room had a very distinct musky “Bridgette” smell that he found so incredibly intoxicating.

“Sorry for rushing you over here. You probably saw all the camera people and photographers out there. If any of them saw you with me, they might start to suspect that you’re the star of that infamous video of mine,” Bridgette says.

“Hey, no problem. I understand. Thank you for respecting my privacy,” he says. “You look amazing as always, Bridgette.” She leans over and kisses him deeply. It steals his breath. When their lips depart, she reaches down and feels his arousal. Sean blushes at his instantaneous hardness.

“I can tell that you think I’m amazing. Look at you! Already hard. Naughty boy.” Bridgette turns from him and applies ruby red lipstick on her gorgeous luscious lips. Sean exhales and sits down on the nearest available chair. He listens outside and hears two male bodybuilders arguing over who has better calves. He also hears a female sports reporter interviewing one of the female figure competitors. Regardless of the pandemonium happening beyond these walls, he could only think about the gorgeous woman standing before him.

“I can be a naughty boy, yes.”

“Well, we’ll have more time to explore that later. For now, I got to get ready. Can you please hand me my mascara?” She points to a small black tube lying next to him. He hands it to her. She begins to apply the mascara onto her eyebrows when all of a sudden a quiet voice comes out of the PA system.

“Miss Beaulieu, you’re needed in the Media Room in five minutes. Thank you.”

Bridgette presses a red button on the wall. “Gotcha. Thanks.”

“It looks as though I have to do some media sessions with these reporters. Lots of them will be asking about our video. Right afterward I have to get back stage and get ready for my performance. I’m opening the show, if you can believe that.” Bridgette stands up and takes off her tank top. Wearing no bra, he could see every mound of muscle on her broad back. He looks at her tiny breasts and the incredibly long and thick nipples protruding out of them. She smiles at him.

“Like what you see, Sean?” She teases him by pinching her nipples and licking her lips.

“Nah, I’ve seen better.”

Bridgette laughs and playfully punches him in the arm. Though she didn’t mean any harm by it, her brute strength is hard to control. Her light tap on his bicep is enough to leave a stinging pain. He doesn’t mind.

I imagine Bridgette's lips would look as luscious as these.
I imagine Bridgette’s lips would look as luscious as these.

“You mean little boy! God, I should punish you for being so mean. Perhaps later, no?” She removes her jeans and slips off her tennis shoes. Her massive quads are enough to make his heart pump a little faster. She unzips her bag and takes out an absolutely stunning lily white cocktail dress. She shows it to him.

“Tell me honestly. Should I go with underwear or without?”

“Oh, without underwear. No doubt about it. That would be supremely hot. Go for it, Bridgette dear.” His eyes still have not left her legs. Long and abundant, he could only imagine having them wrapped around his neck and being helplessly at her mercy. He wanted to be helpless. He wanted her to control him.

“Okay, you got it. Naughty it is.” Bridgette slips off her panties and reveals her plump, jaw-dropping clitoris. Almost three inches long, he remembers his reaction the first time he saw it. But nothing could ever prepare him for seeing it again up-close-and-personal.

Bridgette puts on the white dress. It generously shows off every inch of her powerful figure. Very little is left to the imagination. That’s the way she likes it.

“Alright, I got to go. Oh, I almost forgot!” She reaches into her bag and takes out a nametag. She gives it to him and Sean pins it to his shirt. The nametag identifies his name and says he’s a “VIP.”

“A VIP? What privileges does this entail?”

“You get to sit in the first five rows of the Convention Hall. And you get a free drink at the bar! My treat.” She puts on a pair of sexy 4-inch black stiletto heels. The sparkly tip shines a light that could probably be seen from a hundred miles.

“Gotta go. See you after the show! Text me to let me know where you are,” she says. “As you can tell, there are several thousand people here and it can be easy to lose each other.” They kiss and she leaves the dressing room. Sean sits around for a while, all alone, and ponders how he ever got to be so damn lucky.

45 minutes later Sean is sitting in the front row of a jam-packed Convention Hall. Thousands of people, many of them bodybuilders, many of them not, have found their way to their respective seats. He opens his program and discovers Bridgette isn’t actually performing first, but somewhere in the middle of the evening’s festivities. Disappointed, Sean could do nothing but sit back and watch the endless stream of competitors roll on.

Male fitness. Female fitness. Male physique. Female physique. Junior competitors. High school competitors. Female figure. Female bikini.

Nothing but faceless people, of all shapes and sizes, standing around trying to get noticed. A lot of the competitors were quite remarkable, but Sean knows Bridgette knocks them all down a notch. Her flawless balance of beauty, traditional femininity, and pure muscularity is unparalleled. No one compares to her. None of the female competitors are nearly as radiant and charismatic as her. None.

An hour in. Sean yawns. Then, the MC makes an important announcement:

“Ladies and gentlemen, you are now in for a treat. She is a nationally-known competitive female bodybuilder. A world class athlete. In 2006 she won her first contest at the Tampa Classic. She followed that up in 2008 by finishing in the top five at her first shot at the Bay Area Cup. Between 2010 and 2015 she has been a top 50-ranked female competitor. Her sights are now set on the Ms. Olympia. Recently, she has gained viral fame for her ventures in the world of adult entertainment.”

An awkward murmur rises from the crowd. Sean blushes. Are they harshly judging her? Are they labeling her a “whore?” He hopes nobody thinks of Bridgette like that.

“Now, please sit back, relax and give it up for…BRIDGETTE BEAULIEU!”

The catty chatter ends and raucous applause begins. Lights go down. The people become quiet. A lump of nervousness sits high in Sean’s throat. It’s about to begin.

Spotlight on Bridgette. She stands there with her head down. Then, the first few beats of “Dark Horse” by Katy Perry blare across the PA speakers. Bridgette’s head whips up and she surveys the crowd. She strikes a sexy Beyoncé-like pose, her hips bouncing upward like a marionette puppet. As Katy begins to sing, Bridgette twirls, bends, leaps and dances her way toward further stardom. As graceful as a ballerina and as sexy as a Las Vegas showgirl, Bridgette moves with the fluidity of a professional dancer in the body of a powerful bodybuilder. Nobody in the room could blink.

Sean could not look away as Bridgette dances to her heart’s delight. His heart skips a beat after she completes a seemingly endless series of Fouettés without stopping. Her 1080 degree spin in the air brings down the house. As Katy wraps up the song, it’s no mystery why Bridgette became an overnight sensation. She knows how to captivate an audience like no other performer in history.

The lights go down. Blackout. The lights come back up. There she is. Bridgette takes a step forward and bows. Then, bedlam. Total bedlam. Everyone in the audience expresses their unanimous approval by giving her an enthusiastic standing ovation. Including Sean. Hoots, hollers, endless applause and shouts of admiration fill the room. Bridgette takes it all in and waves to her adoring fans. She struts off the stage with her captivated audience begging for more. But, like an expert tease, she denies them any further engagement.

Holland Canter showing off her impressive biceps. Can I touch?
Holland Canter showing off her impressive biceps. Can I touch?

The rest of the evening went downhill from there. Sean reluctantly watched group after group of male and female bodybuilders stand up on stage, pose for what seemed like forever, and walk off looking smug and annoyingly arrogant. This went on for what felt like a week. While many of the competitors looked great (a few of the female contestants made his heart flutter), none of them could compare with Bridgette. None. This assessment made him yearn to be with her even more. Sean could do nothing but look at his phone and count down the minutes until he could see her again.

Throughout his entire life, Sean never felt comfortable in large crowds. He isn’t claustrophobic, but he prefers more intimate settings versus public spaces. The smell of spray tan, sweat and cheap whiskey didn’t help, though.

As if the show wasn’t bad enough, the party afterward was far worse. Within minutes of the competition coming to an end (and the winners being called back on stage for group photos), almost everyone in attendance shifted away from the auditorium and crammed themselves in a (relatively) small ballroom across the hotel lobby. The massive number of people, combined with terribly loud music, assaulted Sean’s senses. It was nearing 10 p.m. and Sean already wanted some alone time with Bridgette. He wanted to compliment her on her crowd-pleasing stage performance. He wanted to hold her, kiss her and find an excuse to make love to her. He wanted her so badly he could scream.

He stood at one corner of the ballroom, next to the drink bar, and watched Bridgette from a distance. There she is, talking, laughing and networking with bodybuilding celebrities, media types and corporate sponsors. Everyone seems enthralled with her. Hardly anybody cared to speak to any of the actual winners from the evening’s competition.

Minutes pass by. Sean continues to sip on his vodka and tonic while he watches countless people dance, mingle and flirt the night away. The irony being, of course, even though Sean is surrounded by hundreds upon hundreds of people, he feels lonely. All he wants is to be with Bridgette. Is that too much to ask?

“Fuck this,” Sean mutters under his breath. He sees out of the corner of his eye a large screen door leading to a balcony outside. He decides to check it out so he could get some fresh air.

Meanwhile, Bridgette pauses from some innocuous conversation she’s having with a horde of bodybuilding fans to watch Sean leave the room. She thinks of an excuse to leave this discussion circle so she could go talk to him. She intuitively senses his loneliness. As she struggles to navigate through the crowd, Sean steps outside onto the long balcony and sighs with relief.

Finally, he could breathe. If he had to endure one more minute of that hot, smelly, mayhem-filled room, he might pass out and need CPR to be resuscitated. The cool evening air is refreshing. The long outside balcony offers him a little peace and quiet from the sea of humanity congregating inside. He could finally be alone for a few moments.

He doesn’t expect Bridgette to come out and visit him. She’s too busy schmoozing with the movers and shakers of the bodybuilding industry. She’s preoccupied with enjoying her newfound celebrity status. She needs to build her brand and do whatever she can to become the international superstar she deserves to be.

Moments pass, and a few other people start to wander outside as well. Drinks in hand, one guy (who looks to be a professional bodybuilder himself) is talking to someone on his cell phone. An older lady, who clearly is not a bodybuilder, has a martini in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. They pay no attention to Sean. He prefers it stays that way. Eventually, both of them leave and Sean is left alone once again. He has only himself and his thoughts. He takes out his phone and checks the time. 10:45 p.m. The night is still young. Anything can happen.

Indeed, something does happen. A familiar voice, one that Sean has grown accustomed to, breaks the silence.

“Hey there, stranger. Not a big fan of crowds?”

Sean turns around and knows exactly who it is. It’s Bridgette. Also with a drink in hand (from the looks of it, a Long Island Ice Tea would be his guess), she looks as radiant as ever. Sweaty and still looking gorgeous, Sean notices some of her makeup has smeared across her flawless face. He doesn’t mind. The image of Bridgette looking a little rough around the edges starts to turn him on.

Who's in the mood for a gin and tonic?
Who’s in the mood for a gin and tonic?

“You’re here. With me. Shouldn’t you be with your adoring fans?” Bridgette and Sean share a brief kiss. He quickly looks around to see if anyone is watching them. She doesn’t seem as concerned.

“I need to take a break from those people. You can only hang out with egocentric bodybuilders and media vultures for only so long,” Bridgette says. “I want to keep my sanity, if you get my drift.”

“Yeah, I understand. Totally. I don’t like crowds of people. It makes me uncomfortable. But you seem to enjoy it,” Sean replies.

“To tell you the truth, I actually do like it. I love working a crowd. I love entertaining them. Enthralling them. I love it when people watch me. I guess I’m a voyeur’s dream come true.” She takes a sip of her cocktail and leans over the cedar wood railing of the balcony. Sean peers out into the city landscape and takes in how beautiful Seattle looks at night.

“Says the porn star. Didn’t you once have sex with some random Asian dude on camera?” Sean teases. Bridgette throws back her head and laughs.

“Yes, I believe I actually once did that! And, correct me if I’m wrong, didn’t that video go viral overnight and put me on the international porn map?”

“More like mainstream map. Everyone across the world knows who you are now. You’re practically a household name. That is, households who are comfortable talking about porn.” A cool breeze flows by, lifting Bridgette’s impeccable blonde hair over her shoulders. It wasn’t chilly outside, but both Bridgette and Sean could feel that wind pick up.

“God, that was so risky. You could’ve been anyone. Thank God you were as sweet and kind as I thought you would be.” Bridgette leans over and kisses Sean again. This time, they hold their lips together for a longer time than usual, wanting to savor this beautiful moment for as long as possible. By now, they don’t care if anyone catches them being intimate together. They want to share this kiss as if it were the last kiss they would ever experience together.

Susanna Tirpak is the perfect combination of beauty, femininity and muscularity. Agreed?
Susanna Tirpak is the perfect combination of beauty, femininity and muscularity. Agreed?

“Thank you, Bridgette. Thank you. I’m glad you’re equally sweet and kind. You’re not just a pretty face with big muscles. You’re so much more than that.” Bridgette puts down her drink and takes one step closer to him. He could feel the heat of her body emanating out of every pore. She touches his face and rubs her strong thighs against his.

“I know I’m much more than that. But you’re right. I’m a risk-taker. I love being naughty. I love doing things impulsively. I suppose you could call it a weakness of mine.” Sean feels her biceps while looking into her pretty blue eyes. She smiles, blushing at the sincerity of his gentle touch.

“A weakness? I was under the impression there wasn’t a single weak part about you.”

“You’re way to flattering of me, Sean! I can be very impulsive at times.” Going in for the kill, Sean leans forward and whispers into Bridgette’s ear.

“Are you feeling impulsive right now?” He slaps her on the butt, causing her to gasp audibly. Feeling defensive at first at his sudden spanking of her, Bridgette then realizes what just happened. He wants to fuck her. Right here. Right now.

“Hell yes, I feel impulsive right now, you dirty boy. Come here!” Forsaking all of her inhibitions, she grabs Sean’s head and kisses him again, biting his lower lip in the process. She didn’t break the skin, but she’s damn close. Sean eyes a small glass table sitting off to the side. He clutches her hips and guides her toward it. She gets the idea. Bridgette lifts her dress up and exposes her bare feminine parts to him. She then sits on top of the table and spreads her legs as wide as she could without ripping her expensive dress. Sean unzips his pants and pulls out his penis. It’s already engorged and ready for her.

They share a brief moment of eye contact, but immediately decide to cut to the chase. Sean reaches down and feels her dripping wet vagina. He pinches her long, thick clitoris, which makes her throw her head back and moan out loud. After kissing her neck and breasts, Sean positions his penis at her moist entrance and enters her without hesitation. They both groan loudly at their intimate joining.

“I want it like this, Sean. This is how I want it. Now fuck me until I beg you to stop!” Bridgette commands. She wraps her long, powerful legs around Sean’s waist, which only allows him to penetrate her deeper. What thrills them both is the knowledge that at any moment, someone could walk in on them. Someone could also spot them from the ground or witness them in action from a nearby building. Out in the open, for the entire world to watch, Bridgette and Sean make love with an urgency neither one of them could explain.

Sean pumps into her as she unbuttons his shirt and kisses his chest. He tries to wrap his arms around her, but Bridgette’s thick torso makes that almost impossible. He’s surprised she hasn’t busted out of her dress yet. How the dress’s fabric could contain her muscular body is a complete mystery to him.

“I’ve wanted to do this, to be with you like this, for a long time, Bridgette baby. Ever since that beautiful night, darling,” Sean quietly says. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a small crowd gather around the balcony entrance. Eight or nine people. Bridgette notices a couple of people on the ground stop what they’re doing and look up to see them. One woman even pulls out her phone and starts recording them in action. Being an irresponsible voyeur, Bridgette doesn’t care they’re drawing an impromptu audience. In fact, she welcomes it. Sean isn’t quite so sure. He wants to make love to her without stopping. If complete strangers are there to witness it, so be it.

Sweat dripping down their faces, Sean slides in and out of her rhythmically. Bridgette deep kisses him and tightens her legs around him. Sean feels his back crack. A flash of someone’s camera phone goes off. But this only empowers them to make love more furious than ever before. Bridgette gasps as Sean’s manhood penetrates her as deep as it can go. She can sense that he’s close to the edge. She squeezes her vagina around him out of sheer selfishness of wanting to milk as much pleasure out of him as possible.

Sean pumps once more into Bridgette, whispering something inaudible in her ear. He can’t remember what he said to her. She couldn’t quite understand what it was either. But that one last thrust into her body makes him come hard. He empties himself into her recklessly with a curiously voyeuristic audience watching them. Bridgette releases her vagina around his manhood, which leads to her coming as well.

Their heavy breathing intensifies as Sean and Bridgette’s orgasmic waves come to a slow end. Still as hard as a rock inside her, they share a long, passionate kiss, much to the pleasure of the people around them. Applause and shouts of encouragement pour from all directions. But the two lovers couldn’t hear them. They only cared for each other. This moment belongs to them, nobody else.

Eventually, the crowd scatters away. Sean pulls out of Bridgette and zips his pants back up. Bridgette scoots off the table and wipes dirt off her dress. A professional photographer, who happened to capture some video of their coupling, asks for permission to publish this footage on his website. Bridgette and Sean unconditionally say “yes.” To hell with what the world thinks. Bridgette and Sean are the Universe’s newest power couple…and they want everyone to know it.

“I’ll see you later, in my room,” Bridgette says.

“Yes. Later. I’ll be waiting for you outside your hotel. Take as long as you like, darling,” Sean says.

They share one last kiss. Bridgette saunters back indoors to the rowdy party. Sean remains on the balcony, staring at her walk away, without a care in the world.

My Top 10 Favorite Female Bodybuilders

The future of the sport of bodybuilding: Shannon Courtney.
The future of the sport of bodybuilding: Shannon Courtney.

Since the subject of female bodybuilders is of keen interest of this blog, I figure it’s about time I created a list of my favorite FBBs and why I like them.

After all, isn’t it conventional wisdom that “top 10 lists” are prime ways to score high clicks and search engine optimization strength?

Of course, these rankings are purely unscientific and bear no resemblance to actual truth. It’s not like I’ve seen photos of every single female bodybuilder on the planet and can rank them with the knowledge of a seasoned connoisseur. Even if I did, I still couldn’t give you specific quantifiable criteria as to why I chose to rank a certain lady over another.

When coming up with my list, I sincerely struggled. I wanted to mention at least 20 or 30 of these women, but I had to only narrow it down to my top 10 because…well, because I said so. I make the rules, so I should follow them, am I right?

I’ve also discovered that my top 10 list of favorite female bodybuilders changes as I discover new ones. One woman in particular, who’s listed as number five, is one I’ve discovered fairly recently, perhaps in the past six or seven months. Naturally, she had to boot someone off, which is no slight to that unfortunate soul. It’s not about you. It’s about her. Yes, I’ll stick to that excuse for now.

Enough of that. Let’s get to the good stuff. So, without further ado, here is a list of my top ten favorite female bodybuilders, starting with the bottom and going up.

Love those abs on Karen Zaremba!
Love those abs on Karen Zaremba!

10. Karen Zaremba

Karen Zaremba holds a special place in my heart. She was one of the first muscle women who caught my eye when I first discovered my attraction to female bodybuilders.

Though more of a figure competitor than a hardcore bodybuilder, Karen is the full package: Beautiful, toned muscles and alluringly sexy. What more could you ask for?

Ms. Zaremba is the kind of woman who can steal your breath away in a heartbeat. She could also stop your heart from beating as well. If she’s wearing baggy clothes, she might not appear to be that big, but when she’s wearing something skimpier there’s no doubt she can turn heads left and right.

I think I first stumbled across Karen sometime early in my college years. I could not believe my eyes when I first saw photos of this amazing woman. How could a 40-something mother of multiple children look THAT AMAZING? What makes her even more incredible is that she doesn’t depend on extensive cosmetic surgeries or caking on layers of makeup to look beautiful.

She’s a natural beauty, no doubt about it.

My guess is she’s either fully or partially retired from bodybuilding. Nevertheless Ms. Zaremba will always be one of my favorites. She deserves a “Favorite Female Bodybuilder Emeritus” trophy. She’s the elder stateswoman you know isn’t “active” any more but deserves an honorable mention. You never forget (one of) your first(s), am I right?

May I touch Debi Laszewski's arms?
May I touch Debi Laszewski’s arms?

9. Debi Laszewski

As a bona fide bodybuilding superstar, Debi Laszewski is one of the most well-known stars in the sport today. Ms. Laszewski’s incredible muscularity is only matched by her physical beauty and charming personality. She’s incredibly motivated to be the best in the business and you can certainly see her drive and determination come out in her interviews. If you want somebody to be the ambassador of the sport to the general public, Debi is more than fit for the job.

Of course, I’ve never met her (or any of these women, for that matter), but she seems to be very genuine, down-to-earth, and more interested in lifting other people up rather than tearing them down. In a cutthroat business like competitive athletics, I’d guess that sort of attitude isn’t as common as it should. For me, personality matters.

So does her body. Her body is incredible. Her blonde locks of hair combined with her bulky frame make her seem superhuman. How can one person be that beautiful? How can one person be that perfect? This almost makes me question why Debi is number nine of my rankings and not down further. I may have to adjust this list somewhere down the road.

Who can resist the rich Italian looks of Deidre Pagnanelli?
Who can resist the rich Italian looks of Deidre Pagnanelli?

8. Deidre Pagnanelli

If you don’t know who Deidre Pagnanelli is, stop whatever you’re doing immediately and do a Google search of her as soon as possible. Deidre’s greatest asset – and she has a long list of them – is without a doubt her beauty. Ms. Pagnanelli is a classic beauty of the vintage Hollywood variety.

Part Sophia Loren and part Monica Bellucci, she’s comparable with those legendary Italian beauties on every level: femininity, pure beauty, gracefulness, mysteriousness, sensuality, and on and on and on.

And know what? She’s in her 40s and is a mother of four kids. Yes, you heard that right. This is no joke. She is a middle aged woman with four children who have emerged from her body. Now, there’s a certain popular acronym that’s used to describe women like this, but I refuse to use it. That would be disrespectful to her. It’s vulgar, partially sexist and cheapens who she is. Deidre Pagnanelli is more than just a woman who looks incredible at this stage of her life. She’s a personal trainer, motivator and athlete who should be treated like a Goddess.

She is someone who stops you dead in your tracks. She’s the type who can redefine how you feel about muscular women. To be fair, she’s not as muscular as a pro-level bodybuilder, but her physique should not disappoint anyone. She shatters all stereotypes about muscular women being gross. She commands the room. Once you learn who she is, there’s no way you can get her out of your mind.

I remember when I first came across Ms. Pagnanelli on the Internet. My pulse raced. My eyes were as big as dinner plates. My jaw probably fell to the floor. I could not believe she was real. Is she an actual person or a comic book hero created by a female muscle-loving illustrator?

Nope. She’s real. Very real. And we should all be thankful for that.

How did I not realize Emery Miller's beauty right off the bat?
How did I not realize Emery Miller’s beauty right off the bat?

7. Emery Miller

There are some women in this world whose beauty doesn’t hit you right away. You need to let them grow on you. Emery Miller is one of those women.

I didn’t fall in love with her right off the bat. It took me a while to warm up to her. But once I did, I never looked back. When I first came across her, I figured she was just another cute blonde FBB. But after watching interviews of her and some of her more “adult entertainment” oriented videos, my thinking about her changed. She became a joyfully sexy woman with a level of sexual intelligence that is so extraordinarily appealing.

Emery’s beauty is more on par with the “girl next door” category. She’s pretty, but not too pretty. She’s that really cute girl you knew in high school whom you ignored but years later you regretted it once you realized how awesome she is. That’s Emery Miller. You kick yourself for not realizing how amazing of a woman she is until it finally hits you over the head like a frying pan.

She’s also a very intelligent woman. Underneath her sexy smile lies someone with an equally sexy brain. I don’t know why I feel this way, but I do. There are certain people you meet you who know are special even though you can’t exactly describe why. Emery Miller wouldn’t have made this list a year ago, but she certain does now. I sure am glad I finally saw the light.

The unbelievably sexy Angela Salvagno.
The unbelievably sexy Angela Salvagno.

6. Angela Salvagno

Out of every pore of her body, Angela Salvagno drips with sexiness. She’s a little rough around the edges but possesses a level of sensual intrigue that leaves you wanting more. And without a doubt, I want more!

Other than her rich Mediterranean looks, Ms. Salvagno is striking for one other reason: her beautiful genitalia. Large clitoris, luscious labia and a pretty pink vagina that seems oh so ready for loving, Ms. Salvagno is a wonder of Mother Nature between her strong legs. Many of you may think it’s rather strange for me to remember her for her genitalia, but that’s just the kind of guy I am.

I discovered Angie through her work in porn. She’s not afraid to masturbate for the camera, that’s for damn sure. She’s proud of her body, isn’t ashamed of a single inch of it, and doesn’t need permission to please herself to her heart’s delight. There’s a lot to like about that kind of attitude. She doesn’t have the salient beauty of Deidre Pagnanelli or the insane muscular development of Debi Laszewski, but she doesn’t have to in order for me to notice her. She oozes with sex. It radiates out of every square centimeter of her being. You can practically feel the heat rising from her body when she performs for the camera. It’s tangible. It’s palpable. It’s very, very erotic.

In addition, Ms. Salvagno also has a little bite to her. She isn’t a “Miss Nice Girl” by any stretch of the imagination. Whether she’s wearing an eye-popping BDSM outfit or wrestling a hapless opponent into total submission, Angie can kick your ass if you’re not careful. There’s something undeniably sexy about that. To be truthful, every single woman on this list could probably manhandle you if you push them to their limits, but Angie is someone you genuinely don’t want to mess with. She’s not dangerous, but she can be if you want her to be.

God help us all if you ever make her angry!

It must be the eyes of Lindsay Mulinazzi that's so hypnotic.
It must be the eyes of Lindsay Mulinazzi that’s so hypnotic.

5. Lindsay Mulinazzi

It must be her green eyes. That has to be it. They’re so captivating. I swear her eyes could hypnotize me and force me to jump off a bridge. I’d be in a trance so powerful I’d empty my bank account in an instant if called upon to do so by her. And you know what? I probably wouldn’t complain too much. I’d accept it as the cost of admiring Lindsay Mulinazzi’s immaculate body.

But not just her body, but her entire self. Everything about Ms. Mulinazzi intrigues me.

Lindsay Mulinazzi has an air of mystery about her. She has so much going in below the surface that none of us will ever know about. Is she sweet or sexy? Is she naughty or nice? Is she a Good Girl or a Bad Girl? She’s probably all of those things. All at once. Yeah…she’s that multifaceted.

Ms. Mulinazzi’s looks are exotic. She’s the type of woman a sophisticated gentleman would appreciate. She’s like a glass of Henri Jayer Richebourg Grand Cru, Cote de Nuits, France served with filet mignon, grilled asparagus, pâté de foie gras and rich buttery mashed potatoes (that bottle of wine, apparently, is one of the most expensive in the world). She’s a treasure. She’s for sophisticated tastes only. I realize it’s rather odd to think of a female bodybuilder as being “high class,” but Lindsay fits the description perfectly. Savor her like she deserves to be savored. I can guarantee you would not be disappointed.

Denise Masino = SEX
Denise Masino = SEX

4. Denise Masino

For a woman with a gorgeous face, mouthwatering figure and fun, sexy personality, Denise Masino is most famous for another one of her assets.

Her world famous clitoris.

It looks like a pastrami sandwich. Maybe not the most refined analogy, but anyone who’s seen it would have to admit it’s not a terrible comparison. Think it’s strange for us to be so fixated on someone’s genitalia? It is, but rest assured what’s situated between her legs isn’t the only thing I love about her.

Like other women on this list, Denise Masino is an exceptionally intelligent woman whose business savvy is second to none in the industry. She understands her appeal and isn’t afraid to take advantage of it for her own benefit (and ours!). Her large clitoris isn’t a point of embarrassment. It empowers her to make her irresistible to adoring fans worldwide. She’s sexy and she knows how to market herself. She may not be a mainstream Hollywood celebrity, but among female muscle fans across the universe, Ms. Masino is as big as Marilyn Monroe ever was.

She embraces her sexuality in ways many of her peers do not. True, many FBBs will star in sexy videos from time to time, but Denise seems to thoroughly enjoy it. Many female athletes struggle with balancing being an athlete and a (often times reluctant) sex symbol. Denise, however, appears to have embraced her role as a sexually-charged woman who has no problem being both physically powerful and erotic at the same time.

I could go on for days praising Ms. Masino, but I will leave you with one thought: When you first think of Denise, her muscles aren’t necessarily the first thing that comes to mind. You think about her beautiful clit, her gorgeous face, smarts, sexiness and shrewdness first. Her muscles, while undoubtedly attractive in their own right, seem to be almost an afterthought. This demonstrates the depth of her appeal. Denise is a one-of-a-kind. There may never be another one like her. For that, we must treasure her while we can.

Lisa Cross, a.k.a. "The British Bombshell."
Lisa Cross, a.k.a. “The British Bombshell.”

3. Lisa Cross

World class female bodybuilder. Author. Part-time dominatrix. International superstar. Perhaps one of the most beautiful women on the planet.

Who could I possibly be describing? Lisa Cross, of course.

Ms. Cross, a.k.a. “The British Bombshell,” captivates your attention. That’s what really sticks with you when you first come across her. Your attention immediately goes to her and no one else. She looks dangerous. She looks intriguing. She’s unique from other female bodybuilders. There’s something about her that sets her apart from her fellow muscle sisters. Once you’re introduced to Lisa, you keep wanting more and more.

Lisa has almost the perfect combination of size, beauty, intelligence, femininity and mysteriousness. She’s exactly what you’d expect a female bodybuilder to be like, yet she’s always surprising you in one way or another.

For example, have you ever read her book Devil and Disciple: The Temptation? I have. While it has a few flaws you often see in new authors, overall it’s a strong book with a compelling story, well-crafted characters and intelligent poetic prose. As far as I can tell, she wrote the book all by herself. Her editor, of course, obviously had his or her input during the creative process, but fitting in writing a book (without a ghost writer) with an already jammed pack schedule of being a professional bodybuilder is nothing short of impressive. How many athletes could say they’ve written such a piece of art?

Lisa Cross is one of my favorites because you keep wanting more from her. She makes you pay attention to her. Not because she forces herself upon you, but because you can’t help but keep on coming back. She’s enthralling because she’s so multifaceted. She’s a beautiful and intelligent woman who’s overcome a lot of obstacles to get to be where she’s at right now. Her success wasn’t handed to her. She earned it with her hard work, dedication and relentless spirit. And she finds time to be creative, personable, confidently sexy and a much-needed ambassador of the sport to the general public.

Hats off to you, Ms. Cross!

Don't cross Victoria Dominguez. You'll regret it!
Don’t cross Victoria Dominguez. You’ll regret it!

2. Victoria Dominguez

Haters gonna hate. She might not be on everyone’s top 10 list (or even top 50 list), but I don’t care. I genuinely don’t care what anybody else says. Victoria Dominguez is one of the sexiest women in the known universe.

She might not have a traditionally beautiful face, but that doesn’t matter to me. Vicky has plenty of attitude, erotic appeal, confidence, intrigue and curves in places most women don’t have curves to make up for it. Know what? I actually think her face is quite beautiful. Don’t agree with me? I really don’t care.

Vicky’s strength as a female bodybuilder is her raw sexual power. Her alter ego, Mistress Treasure, is a true dominatrix in every sense of the word. She’s a scary lady to be around when she’s in her full “Mistress” mode. Don’t ever cross her. EVER.

More than any other FBB out there, Vicky has a level of confidence in herself that borders on cocky. But the truth is, when you’re as ripped and gorgeous as her, you have every right to be as arrogant as you want. She expects cleanliness, respect and adherence to her rules when she’s meeting with her session clients. And do you know what? She deserves every ounce of respect and reverence possible from them. They are the weaker sex, after all.

Ms. Dominguez doesn’t appeal to everyone. But that’s perfectly okay. I love Vicky because she is a powerful, authoritative woman who isn’t afraid to kick your ass if you get out of line. Her intimidating presence, combined with muscular definition that I could explore for days, makes her peerless. She has curves on top of curves embedded within more curves. She’s a beautiful black woman who’s exotic, unapologetically rough and flaunts her sexual prowess whether you like it or not.

Whew. What’s not to like about that? But sadly, not everyone is willing to jump on the Victoria Dominguez bandwagon. For those of you who think her facial features are off-putting or that her persona is too abrasive for your tastes, all I got to say is that haters gonna hate!

Alina Popa is number one! She's number one! She's number one! Whoooooo!!!!
Alina Popa is number one! She’s number one! She’s number one! Whoooooo!!!!

1. Alina Popa

Oh, Alina. You know how to charm a man like me.

Some guys really love a woman with an accent. If you do, then Alina Popa is the lady for you.

Ranking at number one, Alina Popa boasts the impeccable combination of brawn and beauty. Born and raised in Romania, Ms. Popa currently lives in the United States. Those of us in America who love muscular women couldn’t be happier. Welcome to the U.S. of A, Alina!

Alina’s charms come in many forms. First, she seems like a very sweet and kind-hearted person. It’s hard to argue with that, right? Second, she had to overcome her family’s disapproval of her dreams of pursuing bodybuilding. Apparently her mother wanted a “normal” looking daughter instead of what Alina chose to become. Fortunately, she’s warmed up to Alina’s bodybuilding career and right now is her most passionate cheerleader.

Perhaps more than any other female bodybuilder on the planet, Alina strikes the perfect balance between superhuman muscularity and undeniable femininity. If you’ve ever seen her interviewed, she’s very fun, outgoing, irresistibly sexy and unquestionably feminine. She’s unintimidating. She isn’t the type who will try to emasculate you or show off her impressive strength out of sheer narcissism.

Alina Popa may not be my hands-down favorite FBB, but after careful thought, I really have no reason not to put her as number one on my list. If I created a checklist of every quality I value in an FBB, she would score high marks on every single one of them. That counts for something. Alina is like that world class athlete who may not be your personal favorite, but you cannot deny their greatness. They’re the G.O.A.T. (Greatest of All Time) while the rest are mere mortals.

I’m also glad Alina hasn’t gotten breast implants yet (as far as I know). Her natural look makes her all the more incredible. She’s like a comic book hero…except she’s real. I don’t know her personally, but she seems to be as authentic of a person as you’ll ever meet. Celebrity status has a way of destroying that facet of your personality. From what I can tell, being an internationally renowned state-of-the-art female bodybuilder has not diminished that part of her one bit.

***

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

I can’t list everybody, but here are five more FBBs who deserve Honorable Mentions.

Shannon Courtney – A newcomer on the world stage, Shannon is a rising star in the bodybuilding industry. She’s young, gorgeous, unbelievably muscular (especially for someone her age) and belongs to the millennial generation – who, for better or for worse, is the future of our world. How lucky we are if Miss Courtney is the future of the sport.

Lynn McCrossin – a.k.a “PecPanther,” Ms. McCrossin’s pecs are not her only noteworthy asset. She’s a bona fide muscular porn star who definitely isn’t afraid to strut her stuff in front of the camera. Lynn may call herself a panther instead of a cougar, but after watching enough of her videos you should get the idea about what she’s into.

Dena Westerfield – Perhaps the poster child for the “natural” look, Dr. Dena Westerfield is legendary for, among other things, her flat chest. She’s as beautiful as she is smart, but her choice to flaunt her body – despite her nonexistent breasts – turns me on like nothing else. Dena is a gem.

Krissy Chin – Finally, an Asian lady! Miss Chin’s petite Asian figure makes her tight muscular body all the more alluring. How can you not want to cuddle up with her on a cold winter evening and stroke her six pack abs over a mug of hot chocolate? She has the figure of a fitness competitor more than a bodybuilder, but that doesn’t matter. Krissy is as cute as a button but feisty if she has to be.

Yvette Bova – If there’s anyone who deserves the “Porn Star” label in all capital letters, Yvette would get that distinct honor. Probably the most sexually dynamic woman on this list, Yvette isn’t for all tastes. But if you really love her, you know why. She brings “sexual liberation” to a whole new level. Yvette doesn’t lack confidence or sexual experience. That combination is dangerous to guys like me!

Ethereal Beauty: A Rational Explanation to Why Female Bodybuilders Seem Otherworldly

Andrea Giacomi showing off her gorgeous legs.
Andrea Giacomi showing off her gorgeous legs.

Anybody who has ever been in the presence of a muscular woman, either in an intimate or public setting, knows the ethereal feeling that inevitably summons inside you.

They’re otherworldly. They’re angelic. They’re supernatural spiritual beings who defy conventional description. When you see (or have the privilege of physically touching) a muscular woman with your very own eyes, you know this experience is vastly different than being in the presence of any other attractive human being.

This feeling isn’t limited to being physically present with a female bodybuilder, athlete or fitness enthusiast. Looking at pictures of them, watching their videos, or reading about them can also conjure up this reaction. But it’s most pronounced when you get to witness up-close-and-personal a muscular woman in the flesh.

What kind of “reaction” are we talking about exactly? Consider the following:

You’re minding your own business one fine day. It’s a warm spring Saturday afternoon and you’re outside running some casual errands. Shopping for dinner, buying a birthday present for your mother, or just going out for some good old fashioned exercise; it doesn’t matter why you’re out and about.

You’re walking down a busy street. Thousands of people are milling around, minding their own business. It’s a sea of humanity. Cars, pedestrians, people taking public transportation…there are men, women and children everywhere. You’re instantly reminded of how large this world can be. Thousands of souls, each with their own personal lives and unique histories.

As you turn the corner to head to your favorite retail store, something catches your eye. You see the figure of a person walking straight toward you. It must be at least 30 yards away. Despite being surrounded by countless bodies, all milling about their own business, this one particular figure catches your eye. You take a closer look and you see why.

It’s a woman. A beautiful woman. But not just any other type of beautiful woman. She’s special. What’s remarkable about her appearance isn’t her gorgeous face, flawless hair, powerful feminine charms, impeccable fashion choices or her graceful gait. It’s something else entirely.

Her muscles.

You can clearly see her muscles as she walks closer and closer to you. Broad shoulders, bulky chest, pumped biceps, a ripped six pack abdomen, long tree trunk legs and a rounded butt that nearly makes you pass out unconscious, you know right off the bat that she has to be a competitive bodybuilder. There’s no way someone who casually goes to the gym and lifts could look that incredible. She’s a one in a million and everybody surrounding her knows it.

She walks right past you without taking a single moment to acknowledge your existence. You turn your head to follow her and you run right into a telephone pole. Normally you’d feel foolish to make such a gaffe in public, but you’re so captivated by this woman that none of that matters. You get up off the ground and follow her. You don’t know where she’s going, but you know you have to follow her. You completely forget where you’re supposed to be going. Your plans have just changed. For the better.

You’d follow her to the ends of the earth. You want to know more about her. You want to learn about her life’s story. Why did she become a bodybuilder? What’s the lifestyle like? How many trophies has she won in her career? Is she dating anyone? Is she married? Does she have kids? Or, is she not into guys and prefers girls? Just show strong is she? Can she lift me? Can she push a truck with her bare hands? Can she knock me out cold with only one swift punch to the face?

Do we have any shot at being together?

You wake up and realize how ridiculous all of this sounds. She’s a complete stranger. She doesn’t know you. You don’t know her. She barely even saw you walk past her. She has bigger and better things to do right now. What are the odds that she’d even take two seconds out of her day to say “hi” to you, let alone spend the rest of her life with you? The self-embarrassment you feel from this delusional fantasy is enough to make you blush beet red.

But you can’t stop thinking about her. Even hours, days, weeks and months later, you still think about that brief moment when time seemed to stop and nothing else mattered but her. Only her. Your world became just about her. Are you crazy? How could someone whom you only saw (not touched, spoke to, or got to know) cast such a commanding spell over you? She almost doesn’t seem real. It’s as though she were just a figment of your imagination. A complete fantasy. A lovely daydream. A passing hallucination that’s here one moment and gone the next.

You know she’s real and your heart can’t stop beating to her drum. You sincerely believe she can’t be human. She has to be a creature from outer space. Or a robot created by a team of scientists who love the sport of female bodybuilding. Or an angel from God sent down to Earth to do His bidding.

Whoever she is, you can’t get her out of your mind. Not that you want to, though.

Even if you’ve never actually encountered a situation like that before, hopefully the general idea comes across. When you see, meet, or come in close proximity to a muscular woman, for many of us the experience borders on something mystical. Not to get too “woo-woo” or anything, but the point is that you know intuitively that meeting a beautiful muscular woman is a radically different experience than meeting any other kind of person.

This isn’t necessarily the case with all beautiful women. How many of us casually meet a beautiful person (regardless of your gender or sexual orientation) and come away thinking, “Wow! She’s smoking hot!” This person could be a man or woman, it doesn’t matter. Their good looks make you want to look at them and appreciate them. But that’s normally where it ends. You acknowledge their beauty, maybe think about what they’d look like naked or how they’d behave in the bedroom, and swiftly move on with your life. You may or may not even remember seeing them an hour later.

A rising star, Sophie Arvebrink.
A rising star, Sophie Arvebrink.

But a muscular woman is different. You can’t get those images out of your head no matter how hard you try. The shape of their bodies. The way they carry themselves. The potency of their physical prowess. You know they’re special, even if you can’t articulate why. You know being graced by her presence is something you’ll treasure for a lifetime.

It might be this way after you meet a female bodybuilder for a muscle worship session. You might get this reaction after attending a bodybuilding competition. Or going to the gym and seeing a woman lifting heavy weights. Or after watching a TV special about female bodybuilding or seeing a photograph of one in a magazine or sports website. Regardless of how you come across this particular female, you treat her with a level of awe and wonderment almost exclusively reserved for a deity.

Why is this exactly? Is there a logical explanation for this illogical reaction? What makes this particular type of human being feel so metaphysically different in such a real and tangible way? There may be a rational explanation.

1. Muscular women almost seem non-human

Even seeing it doesn’t make it real. She can’t be real. There’s no way in your mind that a muscular woman can possibly be human. Women, especially, are not supposed to be that big and bulky. They’re supposed to be small, frail and weak. Yes, these are pretty sexist attitudes, but stereotypes exist for a reason (even if those reasons are atrocious).

Guys can get that big because they have loads of testosterone. Women have some, but not nearly enough to get that muscular. Nature isn’t supposed to allow female bodybuilders to exist.

So when you meet a woman who defies all these conventional descriptions, your mind can’t properly process it. Women aren’t supposed to look like that! She’s not supposed to have more muscle mass than a man! Women are the weaker sex, right? How can this be?

This is why, in a strange way, muscular women seem almost non-human, as if they’re fictional cartoon characters or superheroes from a Hollywood blockbuster. Cyborgs from The Terminator movies can be big and buff because…well…they’re robots designed to look like that! They can go against social norms because they’re a product of science fiction storytelling.

Muscular women are human, of course. Which is why they seem so darn supernatural. You can see her muscles, but can you actually believe they’re actually there? You know she’s not an intergalactic space alien fashioned by someone’s active imagination. She’s a real human being just like anybody else. She’s no different from a so-called “normal” looking woman…only a lot stronger and with a lot more meat on her body.

The beautiful face of Ginger Martin.
The beautiful face of Ginger Martin.

This cognitive dissonance created by seeing a muscular woman explains why we (subconsciously) treat them like divine beings instead of people. Women aren’t intended to look like that, we might say. So when a woman does indeed look like that, there must be some divine explanation at play here. This is why whenever we’re caught staring mindlessly at a human female with muscles larger than most males who regularly lift at the gym, we treat this experience with celestial reverence.

Psychologically, we’re not capable of completely fathoming these contradictions. This explains why the mere presence of an FBB in the same room as you makes you act irrationally. Your eyes see it, but your mind cannot comprehend it.

2. When you’re in the presence of a muscular woman, you know you’re in the presence of Greatness

Relating to the previous point, in order for a woman to achieve such a high level of muscularity, you know she must make an inordinate amount of sacrifices to earn that physique. But it’s more than just sacrifices that make her great. It’s the results. And her results turn her into a superstar.

We feel awestruck by people whom we perceive to be Great. Not just good, but Great. It’s the same feeling you might have if you ever meet a Nobel Peace Prize winner, a Hall of Fame baseball player or an author whose writings have literally changed your life for the better. Meeting them is akin to meeting an illustrious spiritual leader. They’re Greatness in the flesh.

Just like being able to meet Michael Jordan or Muhammad Ali, it’s intoxicating to be in the presence of people who have achieved legendary status. You admire their accomplishments. You understand that what they did is so difficult that they have to be “made of stuff” that nobody else has. Greatness is a status reserved for only a select few.

G.O.A.T. Greatest of All Time.

A muscular woman is just like that. Because it’s so exceedingly difficult for a woman to achieve a high level of muscle mass, you know she had to go through extraordinary measures to get it. She had to be Great. Bodybuilding has to become her life, not just a passive hobby. Greatness is enthralling. It’s compelling. It’s majestic to witness.

3. Many muscular women are also celebrities

While not nearly enough of them are famous, there are a significant number of muscular women who have earned mainstream fame. Recently, athletes like Ronda Rousey and Venus and Serena Williams are nationally recognized for both their athletic achievements and their muscled physiques. While not bodybuilders, nevertheless these are women whom even casual sports fans should recognize.

There are some bodybuilders, like Bev Francis and Rachel McLish, who were (somewhat) household names at one point a few decades ago. Iris Kyle and Alina Popa may not be “true” celebrities, but if you pay close enough attention you definitely will know who they are.

Which brings up the obvious point: the celebrity status of muscular women is really just confined to those of us who love them. Ms. Popa, Ms. Kyle, and others like Yaxeni Oriquen-Garcia and Debi Laszewski may not be famous to the general populace, but they’re famous to people like us. We consider them celebrities. And just like how millions of teenage girls’ hearts flutter when they see members of One Direction live and in-person, we also have to fight against the urge to faint to the ground whenever we’re in the same vicinity of our favorite muscular ladies.

Dominique Furuta showing off her swag.
Dominique Furuta showing off her swag.

Their celebrity status adds a level of intrigue to them. Society, going back several centuries, has always deified celebrities. Celebrity worship is not a recent phenomenon. Medieval lords, members of royalty and charismatic social and religious leaders would be on the cover of People magazine if such a publication existed generations ago. We may not necessarily elevate celebrities like that in our own personal lives, but the intrigue stays the same. Are they like us? What do they do in their spare time? How can I be as awesome as them?

Some people adore pop singers. Others prefer movie stars. Lots of little kids look up to star football or basketball players. We, on the other hand, idolize female bodybuilders.

4. Generally speaking, muscular women are a rare type in our society

Whenever a commodity is rare, it becomes more valued. Call it the “Scarcity Principle.” Call it the dynamics of Supply and Demand. Whatever the explanation is, we all know that muscular women are prized because (unfortunately for the rest of us) there aren’t too many of them.

It’s sad, but a fact of life. Muscular women are rare. If half of all the women we encounter in our lives were as buff and beautiful as Lindsey Mulinazzi, we would all be remarkably happy campers. But alas, that is not the case. Ho hum.

Thus, because of the scarcity of muscular women in our everyday lives, whenever we do encounter one, our reactions proceed accordingly. We get shortness of breath. Our heartbeat increases. We can’t move, talk, or act normally. We treasure these once-in-a-lifetime experiences because, for all we know, they might actually be once-in-a-lifetime experiences.

Muscular women don’t just fall from the sky or grow on trees. They’re a rare breed. So we must treat them with veneration whenever we’re privileged to meet one.

5. More often than not, muscular women have that “It Factor”

You sort of have to be a little “off your rocker” to become a professional bodybuilder. Male or female, it doesn’t matter. Being a bodybuilder is a really weird thing to do. The diet, the workout schedule, the time, the sacrifices, the bizarre changes it brings to your body…all of it is exceptionally odd.

That being said, any woman who dedicates her life to developing such great levels of muscle mass has to have the “It Factor.” Simply put, the “It Factor” is when someone has a certain air or quality to them that’s dynamic yet unexplainable. Whether it’s charisma or having certain skills/abilities, the “It Factor” isn’t a label one can give one’s self. Only other people can hand that out.

The angelic Mavi Gioia.
The angelic Mavi Gioia.

It’s pretty fair to say that many FBBs have this “It Factor.” When they walk into a room, everybody becomes still and falls silent. All eyes become glued to her instantaneously. When she walks into a gym and starts to workout, nobody dares get in her way or asks her “how many sets do you have left?” You’d be a foolish mortal to do that. A commoner. A peasant. You let her control the room because she’s earned the right to control it.

A female bodybuilder, especially in the eyes of a female muscle fan, can essentially do whatever she wants and get away with it. This explains why some men will pay hundreds of their hard-earned dollars to participate in a muscle worship or BDSM session with her. It’s a lot of money, but it’s worth every penny.

Why, exactly? Simple. She’s got “It.”

6. Muscular women are beautiful in ways that cannot be put into words

Lastly, muscular women are beautiful in ways that none of us can describe. For all the reasons stated previously, their Ethereal Beauty goes beyond the physical. A blind person who can only feel a muscular woman’s body would know that what he or she is experiencing is unique. Even hearing someone describe a female bodybuilder being able to leg press 1,000 pounds is enough to make your pulse race and a chill run down your spine.

Their beauty is otherworldly because our worldview tends to be quite limited in terms of female beauty. Strict beauty standards leave very little room for body types that are brawny. Hopefully this will change, but in the meantime we’ll just have to accept that our points of view are not shared by a majority of us.

In short, we cannot help but feel the way we feel about female bodybuilders. It’s instinctive. It’s a gut reaction that we cannot control nor do we desire to control. While there might be a completely rational explanation to why we become so irrational in our female muscle fandom, hardly anyone will ever complain about being introduced to this world. Loving muscular women isn’t something to be looked down upon. It’s something we should celebrate and embrace.

Women of all shapes, sizes and colors are beautiful. But muscular women are beautiful in a distinctive kind of way. We may not be able to describe how, but we know. We know our devotion to them may not make sense, but it feels so right. Our reactions to them may be irrational, but there’s a perfectly reasonable method to our madness.

Divine. Otherworldly. Angelic. Goddess. Heavenly. Celestial. Perfection. Beautiful.

Different words, but the same meaning. It all means the same thing.

A Word on the Social and Political Implications of Being a Female Muscle Fan

We need more of Paige Hathaway on the covers of magazines.
We need more of Paige Hathaway on the covers of magazines.

Equality between the sexes.

It’s a topic of discussion our world has been having for some time now. Schools, churches, workplaces, universities, homes, gyms, bars, everywhere. What kind of a society do we want to achieve? What should the proper relationship be between men and women? In what ways are men and women different? Are these differences inherent or are they completely a product of cultural subjectivity?

While women have made tremendous strides in making high achievements in traditionally male-dominated sectors such as business, politics, media, sports and entrepreneurship, there is still a lot to be desired in terms of giving every single person on planet Earth a fair shot at reaching their dreams. This isn’t any one particular person’s fault, however. It’s a group effort to make our world a better place.

At first glance, one would think that men who love muscular women would be at the forefront of gender equality and other like-minded causes. But the truth is, this is not necessarily true.

In observing from a distance the world of female muscle fandom, there doesn’t appear to be any overt political or social motivations underlying people’s love for female muscle. No doubt the men (and women) who love female bodybuilders and athletes also hold a diverse range of political, social, religious and philosophical beliefs. There doesn’t appear to be any obvious trend in any particular direction.

A rising star in the world of female bodybuilding, Sheronica Sade Henton.
A rising star in the world of female bodybuilding, Sheronica Sade Henton.

That being said, generally speaking men who love muscular women do so without any explicit social agendas. Lust, as it were, is as simple as it can get. Human attraction is as basic a force as anything our species can experience. Without it, how would we reproduce and continue the cycle of life?

So, along those same lines, men who love strong women may not necessarily do so for any feminist or quasi-feminist reasons. Being wildly attracted to Catherine Holland isn’t an act of social justice. None of us lust after Debi Laszewski because we’re trying to right some historical wrong. We aren’t channeling our inner 1920’s era First Wave Feminist by drooling over photos of Sheronica Sade Henton. Some of us may also carry these personal beliefs, but they are not necessarily an explanation to why we choose to lust over these women.

There might be an element, however, of equal-mindedness present in all aspects of female muscle fandom. After all, those of us who willingly pay handsome amounts of money for muscle worship, wrestling or BDSM sessions with female bodybuilders/athletes/fitness enthusiasts wouldn’t do so unless we carried a certain degree of admiration for these women. We wouldn’t be participating in these activities unless we thought highly of these ladies and the hard work they put into sculpting their much-earned physiques.

On the flip side, there definitely could still be traces of sexism present in one’s female muscle fandom. Some guys, unfortunately, still treat these beautiful women as mere pieces of meat whose only purpose is to satisfy their selfish sexual fetishes. When you treat someone as a means to an end instead of an end unto themselves, you dehumanize them. Yes, there’s nothing wrong with the profession of being an “erotic provider,” and fetishism will inevitably enter into the equation, but that’s still no excuse to ignore the woman’s humanity. She’s a flesh and blood human being just like you. She’s trying to make her way through this harsh and confusing world just like you or anybody else.

Another aspect to this conversation is the concept of fetishism itself. As defined by the dictionary, a “fetish” is “any object or nongenital part of the body that causes ahabitual erotic response or fixation.”

Feet, leather, feces, handcuffs, and other things fall into this category. So do muscles. So when we consider the concept of fetishism, we’re going to get into some murky territory. We lust after female bodybuilders because we get turned on by their muscles. Does that mean we treat female bodybuilders as just muscles and not human beings? No, not really. But we can’t pretend like her muscles aren’t absolutely crucial to our fascination with her.

To fetishize a female bodybuilder’s muscles isn’t to dehumanize her. If you lust after her muscles and disregard everything else about her, that would be dehumanizing her. If you act like she’s a worthless whore whose muscles are there purely for your own enjoyment, that’s a terrible way to treat a person. But by and large, that attitude isn’t too pervasive in the female muscle fandom community.

Who wants to work out with Renee West?
Who wants to work out with Renee West?

So, while fetishizing a type of person doesn’t necessarily mean you’re dehumanizing them, it could lead you down a dark path if you aren’t careful of how you express that fetish. Being attracted to a woman’s muscles is perfectly okay. Treating her like garbage isn’t.

Returning back to the subject of politics and society, do female muscle fans have an obligation to become a vocal champion for women’s rights, gender equality, and the like? In short, not really.

Social and political activism is a brutal monster unto itself. Systems that are intended to fight other systems tend to become systems unto themselves. Without getting on too high of a soapbox, let’s just say that social activism and female muscle fandom can live in separate spheres. One doesn’t have to be an admirer of female bodybuilding one day and march in an anti-sexism parade the next.

Part of the problem with modern day social activism is that many of its prominent adherents use tactics that we may find objectionable. Name-calling isn’t the best way to tell people not to name-call. Stifling debate by unmercifully mocking your opponents’ ideas doesn’t lead to anything productive. How many times have we seen activist movements operate more like a cult than a group of passionate people working toward solving a tangible problem? This is why female muscle fans don’t need to also be activists. Activism is, as previously stated, a beast in its own right.

Does this mean female muscle fandom is totally apolitical? Well, not quite.

If we argue from the assumption that “everything is political,” then one cannot escape political ramifications in every facet of life. Even for the most anti-political or politically apathetic female muscle lover out there, one cannot avoid making the strong social statement that’s embedded in our shared interest.

What is that social statement, exactly? Simple. Strong women are important. We swoon over them because they matter to us.  We can’t get enough of them because they stir up feelings inside us that are untamable. Our thirst for them is unquenchable. Whether we’re hardcore fans of the sport or admirers from a distance, strong women are intrinsically important to us. They pervade our thoughts and change the way to think about mainstream beauty standards. When you first “discover” the awe-inspiring world of female bodybuilding, you can’t remember why you never admired these women before.

Them biceps on Asha Hadley, though.
Them biceps on Asha Hadley, though.

Female muscle fandom isn’t just about lust. Sexuality, while important, isn’t the only prism through which our fascination can be understood. These women aren’t mere pieces of meat that we enjoy purely for primal, carnal reasons. They’re gorgeous and highly accomplished human beings who deserve endless praise.

There’s a reason why many of us engage in “muscle worship.” We worship them not in a literal way, but in a playful way that borders on the spiritual. There’s something very spiritual about being in the presence of a muscular woman. She doesn’t seem real. She is real. We know she’s real. But there’s something otherworldly about her. Her muscles aren’t just muscles. They’re an extension of her humanity. They don’t define her, but they complement her core identity.

Men who love strong women inevitably go through a mini-paradigm shift. They start to see potential in women that they never considered before. They become open to new standards of beauty. They also become open to new experiences. Men who love strong women might not transform into overnight social activists, but whatever negative stereotypes they once had about women and femininity can’t helped but be at the very least slightly altered.

A gorgeous lady from across the Atlantic Ocean, the lovely Laura Madge.
A gorgeous lady from across the Atlantic Ocean, the lovely Laura Madge.

Female weakness? Male superiority? Stigmatization of erotic service providers? These feelings may diminish over time. Or maybe your female muscle fandom has forced you to completely reconsider how you look at the world. That’s also possible.

Or maybe not. Perhaps your female muscle fandom only provided the attitude shift that women can lift at the gym like guys. Muscular women aren’t gross, but can be strikingly beautiful. We not be total equals, but we should try to treat everybody with respect as much as we can.

Maybe this is how we can achieve equality between the sexes. Not by shaming, isolating or attacking one another, but by teaching universal values of respect.

Now there’s a bold idea.

805

Amy Neal showing definitely has the legs to showcase those boots.
Amy Neal showing definitely has the legs to showcase those boots.

They couldn’t wait.

Not after all this agonizing anticipation. Not after the hours they’ve spent silently looking at each other, trying to hide their lust-filled glances from preening eyes.

Not anymore. There’s no holding back. It’s now or never.

The tension between them couldn’t be stronger. It’s at a tipping point. The raw energy surging through them is going to explode at any moment. They need release. They need to shatter the invisible wall separating them. They need each other.

Desperately.

For the past 72 hours, they’ve been dancing a seductive tango without a single word being spoken. She’s a world class professional bodybuilder. He’s a rising amateur photographer. They come from two completely different worlds, but this sensual dance feels as natural and seamless as Fred and Ginger.

It’s the final day of the big competition. The entire weekend has been one long blur for both of them. But now it’s quickly coming to an end. Her exhibition came to an end yesterday. She got screwed by the judges again by placing 3rd when she (and her competition) fully expected her to win it all. Fucking politics. Placing 2nd last year was a travesty. Placing 3rd this year is more like a cruel joke.

Fuck the world. Fuck these pathetic judges who wouldn’t know excellence if it tied them up in a dark alley and fucked them up the ass.

But all that is behind her now. All that matters is getting what she wants. She really needs a guy right now. After spending months upon months training for this competition, she realizes she hasn’t had sex in at least half a year. Fuck. Has it really been that long?

Meeting guys isn’t the hard part. Meeting guys who aren’t complete assholes is a completely different story. She’s met her fair share of pricks (working in the bodybuilding industry can do that to you), but hardly any gentlemen. She hopes he’s different.

He, on the other hand, also hasn’t been with anyone in a while. He’s too embarrassed to think of when. All he knows is that from the moment he locked eyes with her, he knew she was special. He’s met plenty of female bodybuilders and athletes before, but she has an aura around her that made her…unique. He couldn’t explain why. He just knew she was.

She sparkled for the camera. Her smile feels genuine. There’s real warmth to her personality. She’s not fake. She’s not putting on an act. She is who she really is. And that attracts him to her the most.

Camera in hand, he’s already taken more photos than he knows what to do with. At least 500. Maybe 600. God, editing all these photos is going to be a fucking nightmare. But none of that is important to him right now. At this moment, he needs to be with her.

In the grand lobby of the convention center, there is a sea of humanity sprawled all over. People of all sorts. Bodybuilders, spectators, journalists, photographers, vendors, security guards, and maybe even a few celebrities. He’s supposed to photograph all the events (especially the final event), but he’d rather brush it off if it means he could be with her. He frantically looks around for her.

She’s also frantically looking around for him. After the final event, everyone goes their separate ways. This could be her last chance to connect with him. All the flirting, all the loving stares, all the sexual tension between them could be for naught.

Finally, a familiar figure crosses her path. It’s him! Wearing his camera around his neck, he looks as hungry and fierce as her. Wearing sweat pants, an old t-shirt, and no makeup whatsoever, she doesn’t look particularly sexy, but he doesn’t mind. In his opinion, she always looks dazzling. She approaches him and forces him to stop dead in his tracks. His heart stops. Her hearts beats faster. She leans in and whispers this simple message into his ear:

“805.”

Then she walks away. He knows exactly what that means. Room 805. Her room. Her hotel is across the street from the convention center. He knows that for a fact. It is time to meet her there. He snaps a few more photos, knowing she would want a few moments to herself before accepting visitors to her room.

The male and female bodybuilders covered in orange tan spray nearly make him puke. Seeing the annoying wannabe bodybuilders line up at the vendor booths looking for the perfect supplement that will give them the most “gains” also makes him sick to his stomach. He usually hates covering these events, but meeting her changed all of that for the better.

A nice looking hotel room.
A nice looking hotel room.

Meanwhile, back at her room, she quickly disrobes and takes a short shower. She loves the feeling of the hot water cascading off her hard, muscle-bound body. She turns the water off, pats herself dry, and puts on a lily white bathrobe. She then remembers to brush her teeth. Since yesterday’s monstrosity, she’s finally been able to splurge on the foods she’s had to refrain from for the past six months. That pulled pork taco she had for lunch today nearly gave her an orgasm. For real.

She sits on a comfortable beige sofa and waits. Waiting to be ravished. Waiting to be touched. Waiting to be made love to. Waiting for him.

Moments pass. Minutes pass. She becomes impatient. Where the hell is he?

He’s trudging through the rain to get across the street. A damn taxi driver nearly runs him over. Fucking asshole. Can’t he see he’s trying to cross the street?

He enters the hotel and immediately walks toward the elevator. He pushes “up.” He waits. The doors open. He gets inside. He presses “8.” The doors close. The elevator begins its ascension. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. Finally, the doors open. He exits the elevator. He passes an attractive couple making out in the hallway. He pays no attention to them. A cleaning maid walks by. A loose toddler waddles underneath a chestnut table. He pays no attention to them either.

After taking a sharp right turn, he finds her room. 805. He closes his eyes and visualizes what she must look like naked. He’s sure reality would far surpass his imagination. Determined to find out, he knocks on the door. Time passes. His palms get sweaty. He holds his breath in anticipation of the door opening.

She gets up. She remembers to tie her bathrobe. She starts to notice her palms get sweaty. She hopes he isn’t as much of a nervous wreck as her.

She opens the door. She looks at him. He looks back at her. Beat. Finally, she welcomes him inside and she briskly closes the door to avoid prying eyes from peeking into their impromptu rendezvous. Rumors start when eyes spy in places they shouldn’t. She wants to make sure that doesn’t happen. She wants to cut that shit in the bud.

There is dead silence between them. Which is fitting, considering they’ve never actually carried on a conversation together. The time for talk is later. Now is the time for something else. Something way more intimate.

First, he places his camera (sporting an impressive telephoto lens) on top of a mahogany credenza. His shoes come off shortly afterward. Then his jacket. Then he stops. He turns to face her. She studies his face, hopelessly trying to guess what’s on his mind. She gives up and instead waits for him to make the first move.

He does.

He goes to her. She throws her thick arms around him. Her embrace is so tight he’s afraid his ribcage will crack. They kiss. Wet, sloppy, and unrefined. Just the way they prefer it. She reaches down and unzips his pants. His erection strains against his underwear. He makes no effort to prevent her from stripping him naked. Within seconds he’s stark naked. His hardness stands at attention. She gently pushes him onto the bed and he falls backward. She stands back and strikes a half dozen bodybuilding poses for him. He applauds at every one of them.

He recognizes excellence when he sees it. Unlike those fucking scumbag judges. She notices his appreciation and takes it to heart.

Enough with the foreplay. Now is the time for intimacy. She unties her bathrobe and lets it fall to the floor. It pools around her ankles. Her muscular naked body glistens in the dim yellow light of her hotel room. His eyes try to take in every square inch of her immaculate body. He knows he will have plenty of time to enjoy her unrivaled physique all to himself.

She jumps on him like a lion attacking its prey. Her massive body entirely covers him, enveloping him. He feels the tip of his penis rubbing against her six-pack abs. They playfully wrestle for a few minutes. Tongues explore each other’s faces. She sucks on his bottom lip while he licks the tip of her nose. He strokes her swollen clit. Holy fuck. Her clit is fucking huge. He then feels her sheer wetness. Dripping. Gushing. Juices flowing. She’s ready for him.

Who wouldn't want to spend an hour or two in a hotel room with Nicole Berg?
Who wouldn’t want to spend an hour or two in a hotel room with Nicole Berg?

They share a momentary gaze. There’s a mutual understanding between them. Should they use protection? She does have a box of condoms in her suitcase, but she trusts him. And he trusts her. They decide to forego it and make love without any barriers.

On his back, he moves his legs together so she can properly straddle him. She starts off on her knees and gradually lowers herself onto his erect manhood. He completely enters her. His scrotum rests snugly against the base of her pelvis. She rocks back and forth gently at first but eventually quickens her pace. She closes her eyes, wanting to drink in every sensual moment of their coupling. He plays with her small breasts, pinching her nipples and caressing her protruding abdominal muscles. She kisses him and breathes deeply. Her hot breath streams across his neck, making the hairs on the back of his head stiffen.

Their eyes meet. He looks at her beautiful face. She looks at his handsome face. They were meant to be together, like this, making love like old lovers, even though they hardly know each other. Each stroke they share, every kiss, every orgasmic buildup brings them closer and closer together to a level that’s so familiar it frightens them.

He’s close. She’s closer. She hasn’t been made love to like this in a while. The same goes for him. They need this release more than they’ve ever needed it before.

One hard pinch of her nipples sends her over the edge. Her vaginal muscles contract around him. She squeezes her beastly thighs around his waist, making him come. He throws his head back and empties himself inside her. She tries to suppress a scream but lets it out anyway – perhaps disturbing their neighbors. She collapses on top of him and feels his chest breathing deeply. They remain like that for a long time.

They choose not to speak a word to each other. Not because they don’t want to talk, but because their form of communication doesn’t need words. There exists an intuitive connection that makes spoken words irrelevant. Nobody can speak this language but them and them alone.

He massages her endless mounds of back muscles. She caresses his softened penis and fondles his scrotum. Their eyes never break focus.

Once the glow of their lovemaking began to wear off, she gets up, takes out a bottle of chilled champagne from a small refrigerator, and pops the cork open with her bare fingers. Then she grabs two plastic cups from the bathroom and pours a frosty glass for both him and her. They drink, talk about a wide range of topics, engage in friendly debate, drink some more, kiss, switch topics to something else entirely different, drink some more, and kiss some more.

Finally, they come to the end of the bottle. Both a little drunk, they decide to make love for the second time. This time, he’s on top. The animalistic passion of their previous coupling was gone for something more subdued. He takes it slow and feels no need to rush. She enjoys every moment of it. They came together from one gloriously shared orgasm. He moans. She gasps. They lay limp in each other’s arms. They decide to turn off the lights and fall asleep.

A bottle of champagne being uncorked.
A bottle of champagne being uncorked.

A little less than an hour later, he unexpectedly awakens to a pleasant surprise. He looks down and sees her gently sucking on his little penis, trying to make it grow to her liking. It does. Now hardened, she grabs his hand and escorts him outside. She opens a large glass door and takes him onto a small balcony overlooking the entire city.

Still naked, they look out at the blackened night sky and watch traffic still crawling by even this late at night. He glances back inside at a wall clock and sees it’s nearing 11 p.m.

Boldly, she wraps her strong arms around him and kisses him fervently. Then they decide to make love for the third time. Knowing at any moment someone could catch them in the act of doing it al fresco made it seem naughtier and riskier. One of their next-door neighbors could easily slip outside and watch them make love!

None of that matters. She grabs onto the balcony’s metal railing and spreads her legs wide. She bends over and invites him to take her from behind. At first he enters her vagina, but she quickly indicates she wants him to enter her in a different way. He takes the hint by licking his index finger and sticking it inside her anus. After properly moistening her tight cavity, he swiftly inserts his hardness inside her. She welcomes his penetration and reaches down to masturbate her strikingly large clitoris.

Her clit, unnaturally enlarged by years of hormone injections, is a signature part of her body that only her most loyal fans know about. He is now privileged to come in very close contact with this legendary feminine appendage.

He pumps into her leisurely at first so he could get used to her tremendous tightness. As he began to get more comfortable inside her, he pumps harder and harder until he starts to get into a rhythm. She continues to masturbate herself and bellows out loud cries of pleasure for the whole city to hear. She doesn’t care if the while city does in fact hear her. On the contrary, she wants everybody to hear her throaty screams of passion!

Soon, he pumps into her for a final time and climaxes. He fills her anus with six powerful squirts of his warm semen and kisses the back of her neck. She eventually climaxes herself from her own self-pleasuring. She tilts her head upward and feels the cool evening breeze cloak her naked skin. Her taut muscles defiantly remain rigid in the cold wind.

When she feels his penis soften, she turns around and hugs him firmly, refusing to let go. She needs this so badly it almost makes her want to cry. But her inner strength, which is just about as formidable as her physical strength, refuses to allow her to do such a thing. He greedily feels her beautiful muscular body while locking on to her gorgeous eyes. Her bulging arms, rounded shoulders, broad chest, tree trunk thighs, wide back, six-pack abs, sharp nipples, curvy butt – everything about her arouses him. She’s a piece of art.

They stay wrapped up in each other’s arms for a long time.

Soon it became too cold to stay outside. They promptly return back inside and slid the balcony door shut. Did anybody see them in action? There’s no way either of them would ever know.

Shortly after midnight they take a brief shower together. He enjoys every opportunity to soap up her bulky muscles! Now fresh and clean, they dry off and head back to bed.

There might not be an ounce of energy left in their bodies, but their souls are as vibrant as ever. He cuddles up next to her and lightly strokes her still wet hair. She giggles. Her low rumbling voice shakes the entire room. He then reaches over and turns off the bedside lamp. In total darkness, they prepare to make love for the fourth time that night. Though his body feels like mush, he knows this may be the first and last encounter they will share together. She feels the same way. They must soak up this entire experience as much as they possibly can.

Just the kind of balcony these two nameless characters would be making love from.
Just the kind of balcony these two nameless characters would be making love from.

And so they began their sensual dance once again. She mounts him and takes him in at a deliberate pace. There’s no hurry to get to sleep. Morning will come, like it always does. This moment of shared pleasure and love may never be rekindled. This is their time. They must do with it what they can before it’s too late.

By now, he feels so right inside her. He feels right at home. It’s like they were always meant to make love to each other, as if some unseen and all-knowing cosmic force drove them together to this humble hotel room, number 805. Neither one of them ever give much thought to the Divine, but now is as good as ever a time to do so.

Perhaps an hour passes; perhaps it was only a few minutes. But eventually she and he climax together – for the fourth time – and it is without a doubt the most beautiful climax of the night. Pure, unadulterated, right. So right. So real. So needed.

He falls asleep instantly. She follows soon after. And then they sleep. Whatever happens in the morning is out of their control. To hell with what happens next. Next can wait. Morning can wait. The future can wait.

What happens now cannot wait.

The Art of Sardax

The Wonderful and Wacky World of One Single Mom

A place to write all I need to write.

To Helen a Handbasket

Just another WordPress.com weblog

submissy

Married submissive: The love, the kink and the connection.

Jade Mask Entertainment

Follow the lewd adventures of a digital whore.

A Dissolute Life Means...

The Other Livvy

My secret alter ego...

HornyGeekGirl

Scandarella

Story to Tell

Fia Naturie

Let's Burn

Dark Desires

Erotic Fantasies

Eve's Temptations

Erotica & opinion on all to do with sex amd kink

Bill Dobbins Photo

The Creative World of "The Body Photographer"

Simple living...with kids

Helping great parents raise terrific kids

Erotic Escapades

Erotic tales curated and cared for by our small band of (deviant) writers...

Fearless Ophelia

Speaking Out on the Unspeakable

Sarah Doughty

Novelist, Poet, Wordsmith

Babbling Beauty

Beauty, life, and the inner workings of a female mind.

Attila Ovari