Fetish – Page 4 – The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi

Beautiful Monsters

Monster - Isabelle Turell — Isabelle Turell is one beautiful Lady Hulk.

Growing up I’ve always been a huge Godzilla fan. I was first introduced to the franchise when I saw the original 1954 film on VHS as a little kid. Yes, it was the American version featuring English dubbing and Raymond Burr unnecessarily shoe-horned in for no good reason other than to give U.S. audiences a white person to identify with, but it was nevertheless the landmark film that introduced the world to Godzilla. Despite Perry Mason.

As if the Big Fella himself wasn’t enough of an attraction!

I may have been eight or nine years old when I first watched it. Then I saw several of the “Godzilla vs. <Insert Name of Random Kaiju>” movies. I believe those films are known as the Toho Showa Era. Some were better than others. I always loved Mothra and King Ghidorah (this may sound blasphemous, but I was never really a fan of Mechagodzilla), and will appreciate the underrated Gigan.

And yes, I am secretly a fan of the horrible 1998 Roland Emmerich film starring Matthew Broderick and Jean Reno. It’s a guilty pleasure of mine. Sue me.

Just kidding. Don’t sue me. I have very little for you to take…

Do I like other monster movies? Of course. King Kong is a classic. I think the original 1933 film holds up pretty darn well. It’s not just a “classic movie” that deserves recognition because it’s historically important. It also works as a solid piece of entertainment. Even for our modern standards. There’s something refreshing about seeing a puppet move via old-time stop-motion animation instead of everything just being animated by CGI artists in a dark sterile room.

Both Godzilla and King Kong are not just silly monster movies. They’re allegories for societal fears of the time. Yes, the filmmakers insist that King Kong isn’t a racist archetype of black men in America, but you can insert your own meaning into a story about a wild animal being captured in the jungle and brought to “civilized” society only to run amok and go on a rampage. At the end of the day, King Kong can be interpreted as a warning against the Western world exploiting the Third World (or “exotic” world) for glamour and fame. Or it can be an allegory of immorality of the trans-Atlantic slave trade. Allegory.

Godzilla is more obvious in its messaging. It’s a parable of the Atomic Age and a metaphor for the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It’s critical of nuclear weapons, the fallout of nuclear testing on the environment, and the foolish nature of the U.S./Soviet Cold War. Godzilla is the offspring of humanity’s destructive nature, a constant reminder that death and destruction only begets more death and destruction. Not less. It was Japan’s way of coping with the traumas of World War II – both the traumas they suffered and the traumas they caused.

Like Frankenstein’s monster, Godzilla is the result of mankind playing God. In this case, mankind created massive weapons of war and decided it can be the judge, jury, and executioner for no other reason than they believe that “history is on their side.” Sound familiar? To a smaller extent, the dinosaurs in the Jurassic Park movies serve the same thematic purpose.

For American and Japanese audiences, King Kong and Godzilla are monsters who represent hidden fears that can’t always be talked about in academic terms. We all know that Nuclear War is a bad thing. Yet, when we go to the cinema and watch images of cities being destroyed by a humungous uncontrollable man-made creature, it makes the threat of Nuclear War seem both more frightening and intensely personal. We caused this mess; and we are therefore the ones who can (and should) clean it up.

In this way, movie monsters are fictional representations of our own deeply ingrained fears. King Kong is a critique of how far mankind will go for fame and fortune. Godzilla preys on our fears that we will be the cause of our own destruction. We need these monsters because they make our fears seem real. They are the physical manifestations of our nightmares. They are the nexus of bedtime stories ripped straight from the headlines. It’s a cathartic form of punishment to see helpless human beings be murdered by the millions by creatures we either created or kidnapped. And when we leave the theater we feel a sense of guilt relieved and a valuable lesson or two learned.

But monsters don’t always have to prey on our fears. They can also tap into our hopes and dreams. Our ideals. Our best intentions. Godzilla isn’t always the villain. Sometimes he’s the hero defending Earth from alien kaiju. In a twist of fate, Godzilla is the savior we need. He’s a horrifying monster, but he’s our monster. He’s on our side. So monsters are not always a negative thing. They can also be an asset.

Take female bodybuilders, for example.

You knew I was eventually going to get back to them, right?

Like King Kong, Godzilla, Jurassic Park’s Tyrannosaurus Rexes, and slasher killers like Michael Myers and Jason Voorhees, female bodybuilders are also monsters. They’re beautiful monsters. Gorgeous monsters. Flawlessly angelic monsters.

And strangely enough, they tap into both our deepest fears and highest aspirational dreams.

Monster - King Kong — Got to give some love to King Kong too.

At casual glance, it’s a bit strange why straight guys would be attracted to muscular women. Most people assume that men would be naturally repulsed by female bodybuilders. And many are. But many are not. Conventional wisdom tells you that guys wouldn’t like female bodybuilders because they would make them feel inadequate. The sight of a woman with bigger muscles than you’ll ever achieve is enough to make you feel insecure, lazy, and a pathetic excuse-maker.

I mean, if she can get that big, what’s your excuse, buster?

This probably explains why guys are so quick to yell “Steroids, steroids, steroids!” in YouTube comments as if they were Jan Brady from The Brady Bunch. They need to remind others (and themselves) that the reason why these ladies are so big is because they’ve become so through unnatural means. It provides them psychological comfort knowing FBBs “cheat the system” by taking anabolic steroids that infuse them with an unnatural level of male hormones. And this, in turn, makes it easier to build so much muscle mass.

So if they see photos of Alina Popa or Nataliya Kuznetsova and scream “steroids!!!” as loud as they possibly can, that’s enough to protect their fragile egos from being shattered by a complete stranger they’re peculiarly stalking on Instagram.

In other words, for these Female Muscle Haters (FMH), FBBs are an attack on their masculinity. Or their title as the “Stronger Sex.” Female bodybuilders are monstrous to them not because they look freaky or weird, but because they remind themselves of how inadequate they are. They have a constant need to be better than women at every aspect of life (including professional and personal achievements) and treat every woman who is superior to them at something as a threat. It’s a sad commentary on how many people view the world, but that’s the way it is.

But for Female Muscle Fans (FMF), we choose to put our egos aside and embrace these strong beautiful ladies. We celebrate their impressive achievements and cheer them on to get bigger, stronger, and more famous. We don’t feel threatened by them. Rather, we feel an odd sense of empowerment by them. We know that we’re not as strong as them, but we don’t feel emasculated by that fact. We feel turned on. We feel – and this will sound strange to anyone who isn’t initiated into female muscle fandom – stronger because of them.

Stronger, you say? Oh yes.

Female bodybuilders inspire us to be better. They are the living embodiment of “strong independent women” that too many people claim to be but really aren’t. They give us a warm tingly feeling inside that cannot be explained. They are a reminder that women are not destined to be the “weaker sex” and that men can lose the label of being the “stronger sex” if they get complacent. It’s both scary and empowering to know that our destinies are in our own hands. We control who we are and what we become. Nobody else. That can be frightening because it makes us responsible for our own failings.

Monster - Jay Fuchs — Jay Fuchs is both beautiful and a Goddess you don’t want to anger.

Female bodybuilders take the initiative. They refuse to make excuses. When they fail, they learn from that failure and adjust accordingly. Nothing is given to them on a silver platter. They have to earn their muscles, going as far as having to work harder than men if they want to achieve the same level of muscularity. And the bodybuilding industry is doing them no favors either. They’re on an island, swimming upstream in a hostile and indifferent world.

And so when they do achieve eye-popping physiques that make our jaws drop to the floor, we are turned on by them even more knowing how damn difficult it is to look that way. I’ve written before that female bodybuilders “earn their beauty.” It feels more meritorious. An average-looking woman who isn’t born with natural beauty can transform herself into a Supreme All-Powerful Muscle Goddess by following a strict diet, workout regimen, and supplementation schedule. She can go from being an ugly duckling to an Unstoppable Muscle Queen Who Slays Her Enemies through means that are totally within her control. That’s true empowerment.

Charlize Theron hit the genetics jackpot and was born naturally drop-dead gorgeous. Not everyone is so lucky. However, bodybuilding is one way (certainly not the only way) that someone can transform themselves into a more physically beautiful person without having to resort of cosmetic surgery. I love Kathy Connors dearly, but unlike Miss Theron, she was not born with natural beauty. But right now, Miss Connors is a Devilishly Sexy Muscle Siren through her own blood, sweat, and tears. And I applaud her for it!

This is why female bodybuilders tap into both our deepest fears and highest aspirations. Depending on how we choose to view the world, FBBs can make us feel either inadequate or inspired. Emasculated or empowered. We either reject their uniqueness or we embrace it. We see their muscled physique as either a reminder of our own weakness or a celebratory example of human perfection personified. We love them for who they are or we hate them for who they remind us we aren’t.

Who knew female muscle fandom could be so complex?

That being said, like all cinematic monsters, female bodybuilders are not inherently grotesque or beautiful. Those are labels we attach to them. We could look at Godzilla as the destroyer of humankind or we can look at him as a mere animal – granted, a very large animal – doing what all animals do: try to survive. Is Michael Myers a mindless psychopath who kills people because it’s in his nature? Or is he the product of a sick and twisted society that treated him like dirt and murdering hapless teens is his way of avenging that miserable childhood?

Monster - Bride of Frankenstein — Bride of Frankenstein was created to make sure the Creature didn’t get too lonely.

Perhaps this leads to an obvious conclusion: Monsters reveal our inner most fears because deep down inside, we’re actually afraid that we deserve the punishment that monsters levy upon us. When Godzilla stomps all over downtown Tokyo and kills scores of innocent people, it’s actually poetic retribution for mankind’s carelessness with regards to the environment. Or, a valuable lesson that man’s militaristic nature will eventually come back to haunt him. Peace begets peace, while war begets more war.

The vitriol aimed at female bodybuilders can be harsh, but not unexpected. People can be terrible when they can hide behind the anonymity of the Internet. Calling them “man-like” or “gross” or “freaky” may hurt their (and our) feelings, but in today’s trollish culture we must come to expect such idiocy.

Some FBBs use their haters as inspiration. Others choose to ignore them and instead focus on the people who genuinely love them. I think this is a more healthy route. Indeed, female bodybuilders are Beautiful Monsters. They are truly polarizing. Either you love them dearly or you are viscerally repulsed by them. Your reaction to seeing a photograph of a muscular woman can cause you to post bigoted misogynistic comments or unzip your pants and masturbate. I’ve received plenty of emails from fans who claim they’re “addicted” to female bodybuilders and that this fetish is so strong it’s causing their relationships with friends and family to break down.

Oof. I usually recommend they step back, take a deep breath, and seek the assistance of a counselor. That’s not healthy. That’s not fandom. That’s an obsession taken way too far.

It’s really bizarre that FBBs can elicit such totally opposing reactions.

Sexist hatred. Uncontrollable lust. Blatant misogyny. Animalistic sexual urges. Vitriolic comments. Fascination bordering on unhealthy obsession. Regardless, all of this leads to a much more disturbing but ultimately truthful assessment:

Perhaps female bodybuilders are not monsters after all.

We are.

Sexy Summer Short Story #5 – It’s Getting Hot in Here

Hot in here - Lynn McCrossin — The late Lynn McCrossin. May she rest in peace.

“Enough chit chat. Let’s get down to business!”

Madeline stands up, positions herself right in front of Max, and shows him her double biceps pose. Max remains sitting on the bed, captivated by her flawless physique. She knows she’s got him mesmerized in every way possible and is enjoying every moment of it. Madeline has seen her fair share of guys for muscle worship sessions, but she never tires of the feeling of being adored, revered, and lusted after.

“So hard. So powerful,” Max observes in a trance-like state. “You’re even bigger than the last time I saw you. And you were ridiculously huge even then.” Cupping her bicep peak in the palm of his hand, Max feels his manhood swell with arousal.

“Thanks, sweetie. Good eye for detail,” she says. “In fact, I am a little bigger than I was last year. I’m trying to move up a category the next time I compete.”

By now Max has moved his hands down to feel her hardened abdomen. Madeline’s six-pack abs are more pronounced now since she plans to compete in Europe in seven weeks. As a professional female bodybuilder, Madeline has placed high in several prominent bodybuilding contests across the world – spanning the globe from the United States to Europe to Africa to Australia to Central America to Southeast Asia.

Unfortunately, despite her impressive accomplishments, Madeline doesn’t make enough money doing these competitions. She has a part-time job teaching yoga to little old ladies in retirement homes, but even that doesn’t come close to paying the bills. So, she has to earn money on the side through “alternative” means.

Muscle worship and fantasy wrestling appointments are those means.

And Max – and lots of men (and occasionally women) like him – are her clients.

In Max’s case, this is his third time seeing Madeline. He first saw her five years ago when he was a nervous 19-year-old kid meeting his first ever real-life female bodybuilder. Ever since he was a little boy he’s always had a strange and unexplainable fascination with muscular women. He never could figure out why. They just turned him on more than “traditionally” beautiful women. Of course, he kept this a secret. And he’s pretty sure his mom never discovered the elicit bodybuilding magazines he had hidden underneath the bed.

So when he saw on a bodybuilding forum that Madeline – a woman he’s had a crush on for several years – was travelling to his city, he couldn’t let this opportunity go. He had to pursue this chance to meet her in-person. And he did. Then he did a second time. And now, he’s seeing her for a third time.

Usually they meet at an upscale hotel in the downtown area, but not today. Due to a major comic book convention happening this weekend, Madeline had to settle for a cheaper motel located outside the main city. Oh well. Her fans will follow her to the ends of the Earth for the chance to touch her heavenly body.

Hot in here - motel — A typical motel. Nothing fancy. Just a place to sleep.

“Your calves…my God…so dense,” Max whispers. Madeline accommodates him by raising her right leg and flexing her calf. Wearing a sexy crimson red bikini, Madeline reflects on all the guys she regularly sees. Most of them are men in their 40s and 50s. Very few are in their 30s, never mind their 20s. But alas, here’s Max enjoying the company of a woman like her. Big, tall, bulky, muscular, eye-popping, pretty, and infinitely confident. There aren’t a whole lot of women like Madeline in this world.

Max has moved on to her backside, admiring her curvy butt and broad back. He lightly pats both of her butt cheeks and she wiggles her hips for him.

“You like a woman’s ass?” Madeline asks.

“I like your ass!”

Madeline smirks and bends forward, inviting Max to further explore her glutes. He is glad to oblige.

***

Meanwhile, a motel employee is putting a large batch of bed sheets into an industry-sized dryer machine. It’s just a typically boring day at the office for her.

It’s almost lunchtime – and as any normal human being can testify to, it’s easy to mentally check out when you have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and bag of Funyuns on your mind. Right now, this employee has forgotten to clean out the lint trap before putting in the new load.

Statistically speaking, it’s exceedingly rare for a piece of hot lint to catch fire and burn down a building. Rare. But not impossible.

“God, it’s hot in here. No air conditioning, no windows, no nothing,” she complains. “Fuck this. Time for lunch.”

She closes the dryer hatch, sets it to the default cycle for white linen, and walks away to the staff break room. Little did she – and every single person in this motel at this particular moment – know that a disaster of epic proportions is about to occur just a few minutes later.

***

Thirty-six minutes later, Max is sitting on the bed watching Madeline take off her bikini. He’s in awe as she exposes her breasts and genitalia to him. Her boobs are small (she’s chosen not to get implants), but her clitoris is definitely not. She’s not erect yet, but Max still cannot believe she’s that large down there.

“You’re perfect,” he begins. “An impeccable beauty.”

Madeline is accustomed to compliments and does not blink an eye.

“Thank you sweet thing. Thank you.” She approaches him and helps Max strip nude himself. First, she removes his socks. Then she pulls down his jeans after Max unbuckles his belt. Soon, both she and her client are completely naked. Madeline peers out of the corner of her eye at the bedside clock and sees she has about fifteen minutes left with him. Time to end this session on a high note.

And to give him quite a surprise!

“I’ve got a surprise for you, Max,” she says. “I really like you and you’re a great guy. Do you want to go all the way?”

Max’s eyes widen. Did he hear her right? Did she just offer what he thinks she offered him?

“Uh, yeah! I guess…are you being serious?”

Without saying a word, Madeline walks over to her luggage and takes out a box of condoms. She selects a packet, opens the foil, and returns to the bed.

“Deadly serious…”

Max silently nods his head in approval. Taking that as her cue, Madeline hops on the bed and tickles Max’s scrotum. He closes his eyes and moans. Wanting to take in every sensual moment, he lies down and allows Madeline to do whatever the hell she wants to do. Eventually, Max’s penis is completely erect, ready to enter Madeline. She dutifully rolls the latex condom onto his penis and climbs on top of him.

“Oh my…you look so sexy right now…” Max finally opens his eyes and looks at Madeline’s beautiful face. “I’ve dreamt of this moment ever since I first met you.”

Madeline slowly lowers herself onto Max’s erection. Facing him “cowgirl style,” she finally takes in his entire penis and deliberately sways back and forth. Her client groans and grabs her fists. Holding hands, Madeline rides him like a stallion until Max sniffs something unusual in the air.

“Um, do you smell that?”

Madeline stops making love to him and raises her nose. She sniffs and shakes her head.

“I have a bad sense of smell. Sorry ‘bout that,” she concedes. “However, it is getting a bit humid in here. I think I have the A/C turned on…”

She resumes making love to Max by raising and lowering her pelvis. Unfortunately, he’s distracted by the distinct odor of smoke filling the room.

“I think something’s on fire…maybe not here, but somewhere else,” he says.

“It’s getting hot in here,” she concedes. “That I can tell. That is rather strange.”

Hot in here - fire — A firefighter doing what they do best.

All of a sudden, a loud blaring noise bursts through the building. Ear-piercing and relentless, Madeline and Max immediately know what this sound signifies. It’s the fire alarm!

“Fuck! You’re right!” Madeline screams. “Something is on fire! Fuuuuuuuck!!!”

Both of them jump out of bed and run toward the door. A voice cracks across the PA system – neither Madeline nor Max knew the motel had a PA system to begin with – announcing:

“Attention guests and staff! This is not a drill. There is a fire in the building. Please leave your rooms immediately and head to the nearest exit now!”

Still naked, Madeline and Max don’t think about their nude state because their survival instincts have kicked in. They burst through the door and sprint down the hallway. A small handful of other people are doing the same. At the far side of the hallway is an emergency exit that leads to the south parking lot. A sea of desperate human beings surge through the door to escape certain doom.

White smoke fills the hallways. Nobody running saw it, but an orange glow can be seen pouring out of a door marked “Employees Only” at the opposite side of the building. The sprinkler system has activated, soaking everyone in its path.

“Run for your life!” Madeline shouts.

“Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!” Max exclaims to anyone who is willing to listen.

Moments later the motel parking lot is full of a few dozen people in various states of dress. One young woman is topless. A little girl has no pants on. A middle-aged businessman is wearing only a towel, evident that he’d been taking a shower when the fire alarm started to shriek. Most of the people don’t have shoes on. The five motel employees are fully clothed of course, but that’s to be expected. Madeline and Max are the only two who are completely naked.

“My God, the whole damn building is on fire! Look!!!” a random person in the crowd yells. Sure enough, smoke is seen rising out of several windows on the west-facing side of the building. In the distance the reassuring sound of fire trucks racing to the scene can be heard by everyone present.

Now that the hysteria has died down and everyone has regained their mental bearings, everyone looks around at the crowd that has assembled in the parking lot. All eyes are on Madeline and Max.

“Mommy, look! That boy is naked!” a small boy blurts out. “Is that another boy with him? Or is that a girl…?”

It’s not every day you see a gorgeous nude female bodybuilder and a short nerdy nude young man standing side-by-side in plain sight. Not to mention a young man with a condom rolled on his (miraculously) still-erect penis. The frenzied life-and-death atmosphere has not dissipated his arousal, apparently. A crowd of random people have gathered near the building since the smoke can be seen for miles. Half the people are looking at the motel that’s burning to the ground…but the other half are fixated on Madeline and Max.

“Holy shit…” Max mutters under his breath. His penis has deflated considerably, with the condom hanging on the tip. “People can see us!”

Madeline, on the other hand, is enjoying the attention. She strikes a few poses, proudly showcasing her nude muscular body. A few onlookers cheer. Others have deliberately moved away to avoid participating in this “scene.”

“Don’t be embarrassed, Max! We can put on a little show before the fire department arrives!” Madeline’s side chest pose elicits a “damn girl!” reaction out of someone. One young woman looks at Max’s little penis and giggles.

The crowd disperses after four large fire trucks arrive to the parking lot. Ten minutes later everyone moves to the sidewalk as the first responders courageously do their job. Madeline impulsively picks up Max, holds him up over her head, and pauses for pictures. Several people – mostly men – take out their phones and snap a few shots of this unlikely couple. Max still feels embarrassed, but strangely…

…empowered.

A firefighter offers both of them a blanket to cover up their nude bodies. They graciously accept it. People have switched their focus away from the couple and toward the flaming building. Thankfully, the fire seems to be relatively small. It shouldn’t take too long to tame it.

Hot in here - Lindsay Mulinazzi — Can you imagine what it would be like to see Lindsay Mulinazzi dressed like this walking down a busy sidewalk?

“Still want to go all the way, darling?” Madeline whispers into Max’s ear.

“Uh, really? Now? Where can…”

Before he could finish that sentence, Madeline sweeps up Max into her strong arms and carries him to the back side of the building. She eyes a large recycling dumpster and plops him on his feet behind it. Away from prying eyes, Madeline notices the condom is still hanging off the tip of his penis.

“You still have it on. That’s cute!”

Max blushes and turns beet red. Sensing his vulnerability, Madeline kisses him and rolls the condom back on. Max feels his manhood become erect again. Then, Madeline turns around, places her hands on the wall, and bends over – exposing her moist entrance to him.

“Take me.”

Without hesitating, Max enters Madeline slowly. A soft groan escapes from her throat. Gaining confidence, he grabs her hips and moves in and out of her; leisurely at first, then more rapidly as his pleasure intensifies.

“Fuck, yeah…” Madeline moans. Max quickens his pace as his orgasm builds. Madeline bends her knees slightly to adjust to his short stature. Standing at a striking 6’ 1” barefoot, most guys are shorter than her. Especially Max. Making love doggie style can be difficult if she doesn’t lower herself to the man she’s with.

“Oh, yes!” Max growls.

He climaxes hard, sending chills throughout his whole body. Madeline doesn’t come, but she doesn’t need to. She gets enough pleasure from knowing her clients are receiving pleasure. After his spasms subside, he pulls out of her and violently turns Madeline around to face him. She’s surprised by this sudden move. He stands on his toes and kisses her. When their lips part, she kneels down and takes the condom off his deflated penis. She tosses it into the garbage dumpster and orally cleans him. After she finishes they kiss again.

Moments later, Madeline and Max walk hand-in-hand down the sidewalk in plain view of the entire city as naked as the day they were born. They cheerfully give the blanket back to a random firefighter, who is stunned at what he’s witnessing.

“What the fuck?” he exclaims.

The naked couple continues to walk away from the scene, which by now has been successfully contained. They don’t know where they’re going or if a police officer will arrest them for indecent exposure. But they don’t care. All they care about is sharing this moment together and making it last as long as they can.

A Most Magnificent Body of Work – Part Four of Five

Cindy Landolt possesses a most magnificent body of work herself.

Continued from part three

“I knew I had no chance of winning,” Jonathan begins. “But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have run for office. I don’t regret doing something I knew wouldn’t work out.”

By now, the shock that the mystery man is none other than Jonathan Westmore has mostly worn off. Deborah is almost finished with her dinner and probably hasn’t spent a single moment looking away at her handsome host. She’s lost in his deep blue eyes, still fantasizing about what it will be like to share a bed with him – the realization that they will (most likely) make love soon hit her like a ton of bricks – for the entire evening. She smiles and nods, not in a condescending way, but in a genuinely captivated way.

“You gave people hope that we can have more options. Our elections don’t have to be just between two people nobody actually likes,” she observes. “That’s an accomplishment unto itself, trust me!”

He chuckles and drinks the rest of his wine. Deborah quickly glances outside, noticing the sun slowly setting in the distance. Wow, has time flown by that fast?

“Hope. That’s a funny thing. I’ve never put much value into that. I prefer to take action, not sit around and wait for somebody else to do it instead,” he says. And with that, Jonathan runs his finger up and down Deborah’s swollen right bicep, tickling the vein running down the middle. She feels her heart flutter a little. Maintaining her composure, Deborah lays her napkin on top of her plate, drinks the rest of her wine, and stares at her dashing host right in the eyes.

“Are you a man of action?”

“I am. Can’t you tell?”

The sun sets lower over the horizon. The temperature outside may be gradually going down, but the heat inside is being turned up considerably. Jonathan impulsively stands up and positions himself behind Deborah’s seat. He rubs her broad shoulders and kisses her on the neck.

“You are a work of art. A masterpiece, my darling,” he whispers. Deborah feels dampness forming between her massive legs. Jonathan inconspicuously looks down her chest to see the sharp division between her pecs. His manhood awakens from its slumber. And despite their significant age difference, he plans to ravish her like she’s never been ravished before.

“Thank you. I think I know what comes next.” She cranes her head upward to get a better look at him. He smiles, sending shivers down her spine. Jonathan pulls Deborah’s chair out and invites her to stand up. She obliges.

“Before we get to that, there’s something I’d like to show you. Perhaps this will explain why I was so keen on bringing you here tonight.” He takes her hand and squeezes it lovingly. He leads her into another area not far from the dining room. When he opens the door, she’s greeted by yet more art featuring hypermuscular women doing what they do best: show off their beautiful strong bodies.

Paintings of female warriors with bows and arrows. Sculptures of Greek goddesses smiting their enemies. Photographs of female athletes competing in track, basketball, martial arts, boxing, and MMA. Sketches of hypermuscular cartoon characters and celebrities with enhanced musculature (Deborah sees one drawing of Marilyn Monroe looking like she can bench press 500 pounds). All of it looks personalized, as if someone – such as Jonathan himself – commissioned them to be created specifically for one owner in particular. Deborah wonders whether she’ll see a rendering of herself anywhere.

“I think I get the idea. You really love muscular women. Wow.”

Jonathan wraps his arms around Deborah and squeezes as tightly as possible, indulging in experiencing her unbelievable thickness. Deborah kindly flexes for him, challenging his ability to maintain a grip on her massive torso.

Body of work 4 - Boris Vallejo artwork — Female muscle artwork from artist Boris Vallejo.

“Can’t you tell? I’m not very subtle about my interests. I’m glad you’re not offended by this.”

“Not at all.” She flexes her right bicep. Jonathan sticks out his tongue and trails it along its peak. “So, why me? Why did you ask me to come here, out of the thousands of women like me across the globe?” Deborah turns around to face Jonathan. He lets go of Deborah’s body and looks into her beautiful face. He traces his finger along her jawline and pinches her meaty shoulder. She gasps with pleasure at this bold, unexpected move.

“I chose you because you’re the most perfect woman I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he says. “I’ve researched most of the women in your profession. But out of all of them, you captured my attention. It’s probably when you were dating William Harris. His death was unfortunate, but it did provide the opportunity for me to be introduced to you. The moment I saw you, I knew I had to have you, one way or another.”

“I was a celebrity of sorts for a while, especially when everyone thought I was a murderer,” Deborah confesses. Jonathan reaches down to rub her abdomen, relishing her hardened core. He knows his erection is poking out of his slacks, but he doesn’t care one bit. “But that was a long time ago.”

“Indeed, it was.” Jonathan plants a soft kiss on her neck. Deborah audibly gasps. He is unable to control his animalistic desires – and Deborah isn’t sure she wants him to. For some inexplicable reason, her thoughts immediately turn to Cassie. Oh, God. Cassie! She wonders what the fuck she’s doing at this moment. Thinking of her, perhaps? Petting Bruce on the head while he sleeps on her lap?

Thankfully, Cassie gave her permission to come here. She’s okay with it, even though they’re both reluctant about the whole thing. The fact she’s given Deborah her blessing has put her mind at ease and given her much-needed peace.

“Enough talk. Follow me to my bedroom, lover.”

Lover? Just hearing that single word uttered from his deep masculine voice is enough to make her knees tremble. Fortunately, she doesn’t fall down to the floor like a pathetic drunk. He graciously takes her by the hand and guides her down the hallway into the room at far end of the mansion.

Jonathan’s bedroom is much more modest than she was expecting. It’s spacious and roomy, with plenty of erotically-charged artwork adoring the high walls (no surprises there, considering where they were just at). Deborah may have seen out of the corner of her eye a watercolor rendering of dozens of nude Amazonian warriors engaging in a massive orgy. Or maybe they were just bathing in a river. Whatever.

Sitting at the far north-facing wall is one of the largest beds – probably a super king-sized one, by Deborah’s estimation – she’s ever seen. It also has the largest number of fluffy white pillows she’d ever imagined could possibly fit on such a bed. Jonathan quietly shuts the door (as if anybody is left inside the house who could disturb them) and presses a button that opens roller blinds that have been covering the entire east-facing wall. It reveals a grand floor-to-ceiling window that boasts an immodest view of their natural surroundings.

“Wow! You can see the entire ocean from here,” Deborah exclaims. Jonathan quickly maneuvers behind her and lightly caresses her wide shoulder blades again, signaling to her that he’s definitely a “shoulder man.” He marvels at how broad they are. He’s seen countless photos of her before – yet being able to finally touch her makes him realize just how massive her body actually is compared to what existed in his imagination.

“It’s a fantastic view, but I prefer the view from in here…”

Body of work 4 - bedroom — A room with a view.

And with that, Jonathan peels away the layers of Deborah’s Xena costume. She almost forgot she was wearing it. Soon, she’s reduced to just her underwear. Jonathan stands back to regard her entire figure. He lets out a whistle.

“Magnificent. Simply magnificent. You possess a most magnificent body of work, my darling. Just fabulous.” He approaches her as he unbuttons his shirt. Deborah kindly showcases all the bodybuilder poses she knows. The fading sunlight’s orange glow accentuates her muscles in the post poetic way possible. Finally, they’re both wearing nothing but underwear. His erection looks almost painful as it presses against the thin fabric.

Deborah takes a closer look at Jonathan’s devilishly handsome face. He’s got some lines here and there, especially around his deep blue eyes. His hair is peppered with greyness in a way that makes him look “distinguished.” He keeps his body in great shape. She estimates he regularly works out and maintains a healthy diet. That’s probably not too far off from the truth.

“Show me why you brought me here,” Deborah dares him.

He smiles and runs to her.

Caught off guard, Jonathan picks her up and carries her to bed. He plants a deep kiss on her. Deborah forgot to take a breath beforehand and nearly chokes. He meticulously lays her down and unhooks her bra. She responds by squirming out of her panties. Finally, she is completely nude. Jonathan tosses her underwear aside carelessly. He gets down on his knees and spreads her legs out wide.

“Just beautiful…so fucking beautiful…” Deborah is proud of her larger-than-normal clitoris. Cassie constantly reminds her of how enormous it is. “You’re not like the other girls down there,” she’d always say. Right now, it’s fully engorged and ultrasensitive. Cassie once measured it just for fun. She says it can get up to three inches long. Deborah has reasons to believe she was exaggerating, but Jonathan’s fascination with her endowment makes her believe perhaps she was telling the truth…

Jonathan greedily opens his mouth and surrounds her feminine endowment with his lips. He experiments with a few lingering licks and kisses. Deborah moans, feeling the tension inside her body start to escape. All the fantasies he’s ever had of doing this to her is finally being realized right here, right now. He’s feasting on the most beautiful woman in the world. This cannot compare to any other experience he’s ever had in his life.

Pressure builds inside her body. All she can do is close her eyes and feel. Feel his tongue inside her sensitive area. Feel his lips gripping her fleshy bud. Feel every pore on her body emanate with pure bliss. Feel…

“Oh!!!”

Deborah climaxes suddenly, sending jolts of electricity through her whole being. She involuntarily raises her pelvis upward as she orgasms. Jonathan continues to feast on her until her spasms subside. Finally, she falls back down onto the bed and opens her weary eyes.

Body of work 4 - Brandi Mae Akers — Who wouldn’t want to spend the night with Brandi Mae Akers?

“My God, Jonathan. That was fucking fantastic.” She struggles to catch her breath. “You’re a real pro. Fuuuuuuccccckkkkkkkkk!”

“My dear…” He leans over and kisses her hard abdomen. “We’re just getting started.”

Jonathan stands up and removes his athletic briefs. He kicks them aside. Deborah sits up and finally gets a good look at him. She’s impressed by his, uh, “endowment.” It’s bigger than she was expecting! A solid six and half inches, perhaps? Maybe seven! Or maybe that’s just because the fading light is playing tricks on her eyes…

Jonathan’s full erection is now liberated, free to be satisfied for its own sake. Deborah will make sure that happens.

“Come here, sweet thing,” she beckons him.

First, Jonathan walks over to the bedside table and takes out a box of condoms. Deborah reluctantly sighs, but realizes it’s the smart thing to do. He finds a single wrapper, tears it open, and sheathes the oiled latex onto his manhood. Deborah watches in anticipation. He comes to her and plants several kisses on her left calf. She kindly flexes it for him, making it jut out further than he thought was possible.

“So hard…so beautiful.” Ignoring all pretenses, Jonathan positions his penis right in front of Deborah’s moist entrance. “I’m taking you. Now.”

“Do it!” she commands.

And with that, Jonathan enters Deborah with the full force of a man who is unsure if this moment is real or not. For years, he’s fantasized about making love to this woman. From a distance of thousands of miles he’s dreamt of this. But now, he gets to fulfill this fantasy. He hooks his arms underneath Deborah’s thick legs and runs his fingers down her sides, feeling the striations of her dense core. He thrusts in and out methodically at first, but then increases his tempo as his furious lust gets the better of him. He’s usually a calm and rational man, but not now. Not today. Not with her in his bed. In this moment, he’s an animal. But she is not his prey; but his lover. His equal.

Deborah moves her hips up and down to match his rhythm. She’s impressed with his ample girth and hardness for a man his age. At first his penetration was painful, but her body eventually adjusts to him. She focuses her eyes on him, watching him grunt and labor as sweat beads down his handsome face. She tries her best to not think about Cassie, the absurdity of her surroundings, or the shock of actually making love to a man she’s admired from a distance. But that distance is long gone. They are as close to each other as is humanly possible, intertwined in a way where physical intimacy transitions to emotional intimacy, which then becomes something closer to…

…spiritual.

With one last heave, Jonathan pushes into her as deeply as he can and finally climaxes. It goes on forever. It’s been a long time since Jonathan has this ferociously made love to a woman. Deborah cannot remember what it was like the last time a man penetrated her in this way. Perhaps never?

Body of work 4 - candles — Romantic candles.

Totally spent, Jonathan collapses on top of Deborah and kisses her intensely. Still hard, he sways back and forth in hopes of giving her a few more moments of pleasure. She appreciates the gesture.

After several minutes of lying together in complete silence, Jonathan pulls out and removes the condom. Deborah sits up in bed and sighs.

“Fuck. That was worth it. You’re fantastic,” she whispers. Jonathan smiles and walks to the bathroom on the far side of the room to clean up.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that to you. Especially you.” He places the condom on top of a nearby table. Deborah is curious why he’d do that.

“You’re not throwing it away?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Nah, I will later. But not now. Think of it as a, um, ‘record’ of how we’re going to spend this evening together.” Deborah isn’t sure what to think of this, but she goes along with it. She stands up and sees a row of candles next to the condom. She finds a lighter and lights all of them. The gorgeous golden yellow glow illuminates the entire room. By now, the sun has completely set. Jonathan comes out of the bathroom and nods approvingly at Deborah’s initiative.

“Nice choice. Now the ambiance is perfect,” he begins. “Not that it wasn’t before.”

He sits down on the bed and strokes Deborah’s massive quads. She reciprocates by caressing his softened penis.

“It never occurred to me that Mr. Presidential Candidate would be hung like a horse,” Deborah smirks. “But alas, you are.”

“Well, I wouldn’t quite go that far,” he chuckles. “Maybe your standards are too low. Or you haven’t been with enough guys.” She tickles his scrotum in response to his teasing.

“You’re right…I haven’t been with that many men,” she says. “But I like what you’re packing down here…it’s beautiful.” Despite their recent lovemaking, Jonathan’s manhood begins to grow again. Deborah is astonished that he’s able to do that after such little time has passed–

“It’s not how many you’ve been with,” he kisses her delicately on the cheek. “It’s who you’ve been with and how they’ve treated you that really matters.” Touched, Deborah feels her eyes water. Before she can wipe away her tears, Jonathan playfully nibbles on her earlobe, causing her senses to go into overdrive. Cassie isn’t the sentimental type, and if Deborah is to be completely frank, not the most sensual lover. But Jonathan is different. He’s both fierce and gentle. Impulsive and methodical. Calm and unhinged. He’s a complicated man, one who is used to getting what he wants but also cherishes what he has once it’s right in front of him.

“Lie down on the bed for me, lover,” she orders. “I’m about to give you a show.”

To be continued…

Sexy Summer Short Story #4 – School’s Out

School's Out - Ginger Martin — When you think of Miss Richardson, think of Ginger Martin.

Packing up the things in her classroom, Nikki takes a moment to stop, inhale a deep breath, and sigh in relief. Those pesky kids are gone for three whole months. This time in September, she’s going to have a whole new crop of little monsters who will make her life a living hell.

But now is not the time to think about that.

Nikki Richardson is the PE/health teacher at Marianne Wadsworth Elementary School. She’s also an amateur bodybuilder who regularly competes in triathlons and strength competitions. She’s sort of a local celebrity, having appeared on ESPN and sports podcasts many times over the years. But at the end of the day, she’s a teacher through and through. Until summer vacation kicks off, of course.

Then she’s something else entirely.

She has a side job that she does throughout the year, but mostly during the summer months. It’s something she keeps on the downlow for obvious reasons.

She’s also a webcam performer.

As she starts up her car and proceeds to leave the school’s parking lot, Nikki remembers that she needs to run a few errands before returning home. She needs to stop by the local sex shop and purchase new crotchless lingerie. Her loyal clientele already knows what she owns and will expect to see something different, Nikki figures.

***

Derek recently heard a rumor that he could not believe.

Is Miss Richardson actually a porn star?

Derek’s best buddy, Marcus, texted him yesterday saying he made an epic discovery: As a side job, Miss Richardson – their former PE teacher from a long time ago – hosts a weekly webcam show where she answers questions from fans, gets undressed, and does…stuff.

What kind of stuff, exactly? Neither of them knows. But they’re curious to find out.

Marcus emailed Derek earlier this morning a link to an erotic cam website where amateur performers from across the globe host regular “performances” for a modest fee. They keep a portion of the proceeds, while the website hosts keep the other portion. There are thousands of performers on this forum, but only a small handful actually make a substantial income from it. Nikki Richardson isn’t one of them, but her “following” is large enough that she can make a nontrivial amount of dough to supplement her meager teacher’s salary.

According to the forum’s chat board, Miss Richardson’s next webcam appearance is scheduled for tonight at 9:00 p.m. sharp. Luckily for Derek, his roommates are planning to attend some boring art gallery opening, so he’ll have the house entirely to himself.

Growing up, all the boys loved Miss Richardson. She was gorgeous, tough, strong, and didn’t take shit from anybody. She also had a soft spot and a good sense of humor. She’d challenge anyone to a pull-up contest and always won easily. Always.

Nobody knew if she was married – rumors spread that she was a lesbian – or had any kids. Her life was an enigma, which is pretty typical of all teachers. But her unique combination of beauty and brawn made her especially intriguing to impressionable hormone-raging adolescent boys.

The time is now 6:40 p.m. A little more than two hours away from the start of the show.

Time to get something to eat!

***

“Hm, this looks pretty damn good on me,” Nikki says aloud to no one in particular. All alone in her bedroom, Nikki regards herself in a full-length mirror in her newly purchased lingerie. A ruby red satin number with sexy white frills lining the edges. Nikki can be very particular about her outfits. She is supremely satisfied with this one.

Nikki glances at her phone and sees it’s 8:30 p.m. She typically logs in to the streaming site 15 minutes before showtime (which is recommended) so that if any technical difficulties were to arise, customer service could fix them before her impatient audience decides to bail. That’s not an unusual occurrence. Unless you’re really popular, if you’re even five minutes late, people will assume you’re a no-show and go somewhere else. Even if you’ve paid the entry fee, the website gives you a 10-minute grace period to switch to a different performer if the one you originally wanted to see is absent.

As a teacher, Nikki hates unexcused absences.

School's Out - webcam — A typical webcam.

Boris, Nikki’s black Labrador, looks at his mommy with sad eyes. He wants to go out for his nightly walk around the neighborhood. But not yet.

“We’ll go for our walk later, sweetie. Sorry, but you have to go downstairs now.”

Miffed, Boris is led downstairs where he must live in exile for the next hour. He’s used to it by now, but that doesn’t mean he hates it any less.

***

8:58 p.m.

Derek has already paid his $25 for this 30-minute show (he doesn’t want to think about how much that is per minute). The screen is blank with the ominous words “The Show Will Begin Shortly. Thanks for Cumming” sprawled across. That pun couldn’t be more cringe-worthy.

A single drop of sweat rolls down his face. He just texted Marcus to let him know that he’s going to watch tonight’s performance. Marcus replied: “Me too bro. Looking forward to it!”

Memories of 6^th grade start to flood back. Derek remembers trying to steal a peek at Miss Richardson’s enormous biceps during class. One boy claims he spied on her during lunchbreak and saw a glimpse of a tattoo on her broad back. He couldn’t verify this claim.

Growing up, Derek often fantasized about making love to her. He spent many nights jerking off to the thought of touching her muscles. He knows he’s not the only one who did that. Far from it.

It is now 9:00. Oh boy. Derek’s heart is pounding hard. His pulse is racing a million miles per hour. He might pass out if indeed Miss Richardson is the one who will be performing at this webcam show.

The blank screen starts to load. A familiar voice beckons.

“Good evening, boys.”

Oh shit!

Sure enough, from the comfort of her bedroom, Nikki Richardson appears wearing nothing but red underwear. Her chiseled pecs, sculpted arms, husky shoulders, and six-pack abdomen are all there for viewers to see. It’s been more than ten years since Derek last saw Miss Richardson. She still looks as gorgeous as ever, even with a few new wrinkles lining her face. Derek is almost surprised that Miss Richardson could ever get…old.

School's Out - red lingerie — Sexy red lingerie.

“Judging from the email addresses I’m seeing here, I’m guessing a few of my former students are watching this. So I’d like to say “hi” to Derek, Marcus, and Stephen. Hi boys! I miss you all!”

Derek falls backwards out of his chair and lands on his ass.

“What the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck???”

Damn! She knows he’s watching her! How fucking humiliating…

“Don’t feel embarrassed,” she continues. “I won’t expose your last names or anything. I know all of you are adults now, so it’s fine.” She smirks with guilty pleasure.

Derek gets back in his chair and catches his breath. He’s surprised he didn’t suffer a heart attack. Or knock himself out cold when he fell to the floor.

Nikki starts by brushing her dark brown hair and talking about her summer plans. She doesn’t reference any boyfriend or husband, yet she seems to imply she’s travelling to Europe with somebody else. Her bedroom looks pretty standard, with a neat-looking Chinese lamp in the background. Derek could not stop staring at her large pecs sitting underneath her modest breasts. He fantasized for many years of what it would be like to fondle those breasts. This moment is the most surreal of his life.

The double striations going down her chest make a chill run down Derek’s spine. Then she stops chatting and unhooks her bra. Derek’s breathing stops. She drops it, revealing her flat yet enticing breasts. The very breasts that he’s thought about for years. Nikki’s nipples stick out nearly an inch – by Derek’s distant calculations – and look as hard as a rock. This moment was definitely worth the years of waiting.

“It’s way too hot in here. No AC. The windows in my room don’t open all the way,” Nikki observes. “It looks like I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands…”

She stands up, revealing her crotchless panties. Derek audibly gasps. Nikki rolls them down her hips and drops them to the floor. Nearly naked – with the exception of her cream-colored white high heels – Nikki knows she has her former students in the palm of her hand. And that they have something else entirely in the palm of their hands!

“This is a side of me you’ve never seen before but have always dreamed about, right boys?”

“Yes, Miss Richardson,” Derek replies, knowing she can’t hear him.

“Let me show you a side of me you definitely haven’t seen before!”

Nikki reaches down and lightly pinches her swollen clit. She rubs it between her index and middle fingers, going up and down as leisurely as she can. Derek can’t help it. He unzips his pants and takes out his hardened penis from his boxers. He begins to stroke it. He has no clue if Marcus or Stephen are doing the same thing, but he doesn’t really care. All that matters is seeing what Miss Richardson is capable of…

Damn!

“Oooohh, yes….Mmmmmm………..” Nikki moans.

Sitting down on her bed, Nikki then falls on her back and spreads her legs as widely as she can. By now she’s flat out jerking her clit as if it were a little cock, hungry for stimulation. Derek intensifies his own stroking. Nikki’s moans become shorter and are replaced by heavy breathing and animalistic groans. The viewers can almost literally feel the heat emanating from their computer screens. She’s about to come, as is Derek.

“Oh fuck!” Nikki screams.

Indeed, as if on cue, Nikki comes. Her thick legs – still spread apart – convulse wildly. Her entire bed shakes. Meanwhile, Derek reaches his climax and spurts hot semen all over his keyboard. Damn it! That better not cause it to malfunction…

Nikki’s spasms subside. Derek’s spasms keep on going. But eventually, it stops too.

Whew.

Nikki then takes out a large black dildo from an unseen bag and licks the tip with her tongue. Derek has yet to catch his breath when he realizes that the show isn’t over yet…it has just begun.

“Well, boys. What did you think about that? What do you think about this hefty toy of mine? Doesn’t it look…intimidating?”

Derek silently nods in agreement.

“If you want to know what I plan to do with this toy, you’ll have to wait until, ahem…next week,” she says. “I’ll see you all later. For now, enjoy the rest of your evening.” Nikki continues to lick the dildo up and down its realistically veiny shaft.

“School’s out!”

The Female Muscle Dark Web

Faceless hooded anonymous computer hacker — You’ve just entered the Matrix…er, the Dark Web!

Deep within the shadowy depths of the Internet, there exists a dark and mysterious space where few dare to tread. You may have heard of it, or perhaps you’re hearing about it for the first time. No matter what, you’re scared to acknowledge it. You’re frightened to visit it. You cannot wrap your mind around why it exists in the first place. Its very existence is a conundrum to you, a macabre riddle that cannot easily be solved.

To attempt to understand this enigmatic space is to dip your toes into a New World that you never knew existed. Even if you’ve already heard of it, there is nothing that can prepare your mind for what is to come. No one is ever “ready,” even those who claim to be. No one.

And once you discover this New World, your mind is changed forever. Your attitude is permanently adjusted. Your worldview flips upside down. Your paradigm doesn’t just shift; it shatters into a billion pieces and is unable to reform itself. You aren’t sure if you would ever want to go back, but that debate is now over. You’re past that threshold, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Resistance is futile. That’s for damn sure.

What type of Internet space am I referring to? Shouldn’t the answer be obvious by now?

Of course, I’m talk about…

…Bronies.

Grown men who adore “My Little Pony,” a Hasbro-developed entertainment franchise aimed at little girls. Apparently, there are adult men – at least, they claim to be adult men – who are into this sort of thing. Very into it.

Wait. That might not be right. Maybe I’m talking about furries? “Twilight” fan fiction? Uh, people who actually liked the Star Wars prequels?

Nah. That’s been done before. Nothing to see here. Move along now. Outside of activities that are clearly criminal, there aren’t a whole lot of fetishes, strange fandoms, and social perspectives that we, as a whole, won’t tolerate. Chalk that up to our “live and let live” attitude that, for the most part, still permeates throughout our society. You don’t need to “approve” or “understand” these subcultures to acknowledge that it’s fine that they exist as long as no one gets hurt.

Arguably, the very concept of “common culture” is starting to go by the wayside. Sure, there will always be things that unite us as a culture – at least temporarily. The Super Bowl, the release of a new Marvel movie, and catchy pop songs are a few examples (this, despite the fact that sports is becoming increasingly more politicized in the wake of high profile protests during the singing of the American national anthem). However, what’s becoming a more significant facet of modern life is the growing acceptance of subcultures as acceptable off-shoots of our main culture.

Dark web - Angela Salvagno — Angela Salvagno chatting with her fans through webcam.

For example, once upon a time ago drag culture was an underground subculture that existed out of sight and out of mind for the majority of us. Today, it’s still not quite a “mainstream” culture (properly understood), but it lives just outside that bubble. Or, it lives tangentially within mainstream culture. Or on the fringes of our main culture. Or, drag performers like RuPaul have one foot inside main culture and the other food inside the drag subculture. RuPaul’s popular TV show certainly contributed to the evolution of drag going from “out of sight, out of mind” to “not quite out of sight, not quite out of mind.”

Female bodybuilding fandom, on the other hand, is still considered an underground subculture. While going to a strip bar or smoking weed are still fairly taboo activities, they’re not as taboo as they once were. You don’t need to “approve” of what goes on inside a strip club, but you can accept it existing right next to your favorite nail salon. You don’t need to like the smell of marijuana at a public park, but that won’t stop you from walking your dog along his or her favorite dirt path. Just try to avoid the odor if you must.

Yet, engaging in a muscle worship session with a female bodybuilder is not like going to a nudie bar or getting high while watching reruns of All in the Family. It’s not a very well-known activity. In our mainstream culture, female bodybuilders are nowhere close to being within an ear shot. Thus, for those of us who love FBBs, the Internet is the only place where we can enjoy our mutual love for them.

Is there such a thing as the “Female Muscle Dark Web?” Eh, sort of. But not really.

There are popular websites like HDphysiques.com, saradas.org, sexymusclegirls.com, wb270.com, areaorion.blogspot.com, and sessiongirls.com. Heck, a small number of you might consider my humble blog to be among them. I’m also a fan of Female Muscle Slave. He’s an incredible blogger who is keenly tuned-in to the competitive side of the industry in addition to the fandom side of the industry. Check him out if you haven’t already.

So are there popular female muscle-themed websites where fans gather to congregate? Sure. Does that qualify as a “Dark Web?” Meh, probably not.

Hold on. Before we proceed any further, let’s try to define what the “Dark Web” actually means.

The terms “Dark Web” and “Deep Web” sometimes get used interchangeably. This shouldn’t be the case. Technically speaking, the “Deep Web” is a portion of the Internet that exists below the Surface Web. The Surface Web are things like Amazon.com, Facebook.com, Twitter.com, NFL.com, ESPN.com, StarWars.com, Reddit.com, and any other “normal” website you come across every day. These websites – and countless others that aren’t as popular – are indexed by Google and other search engines for easy access. The idea of the “Surface Web” doesn’t need too much explaining.

However, beneath the Surface Web exists a whole host of websites that aren’t indexed by these search tools. The concept of the Deep Web includes all the websites that are intentionally (or unintentionally) hidden from traditional search applications. Most of them are beta sites or old websites that have gone out of commission. Most of it is useless junk. Most of it is boring.

Dark web - Callie Bundy — Callie Bundy has become sort of a mini Internet “celebrity” due to her Instagram page.

Some of it can be exciting. Or useful. Journalists and human rights activists who live in repressive regimes use channels like Tor that are outside of the Surface Web to network with peers in other countries. How do you think we’re aware of the diabolical starvation methods employed by the Kim regime in North Korea or the anti-theocratic movement in Iran?

That being said, there’s a portion of the Deep Web that is a bit more, uh, scandalous. This includes websites where you can sell and purchase illegal guns, stolen credit cards, drugs (both narcotics and prescription medication), child pornography (and other kinds of illegal pornography), leads to hired assassins, and anything else you can think of that you can’t exactly find at your local Target.

This is what is meant by the Dark Web. Dark, scary, frightening, unethical, illegal, and potentially deadly. Terrorist organizations like ISIS and al-Qaeda communicate with each other through Dark Web channels. So do Neo-Nazis, white supremacists, and other extremist groups that are under FBI surveillance.

Not exactly the type of stuff that you want your Grandma to know you’re into.

To be clear, female muscle fandom exists solely on the Surface Web. I highly doubt much of it exists below that. And if any of it does, it’s probably there for a reason. By and large, female muscle fandom can be found through a simple Google search. No need to go further than that. Thanks to Instagram, our access to our favorite FBBs, fitness models, and weightlifting enthusiasts is more open than ever before. Thanks to video curating sites, I can watch endless footage of Denise Masino playing with her clit without having to put on my detective hat. Of course, such videos shouldn’t be viewed during work hours or on your office computer.

Yet, FBB fandom remains an Internet subculture. An Internet subculture that can be found on the Surface Web. So while the so-called “Female Muscle Dark Web” isn’t really a thing, we can use it euphemistically to describe the forums where this subculture is alive and well.

Dark web - Lindsay Mulinazzi — Not following Lindsay Mulinazzi on Instagram? Shame on you!

In many ways, the Internet is the only substantial place where female muscle fandom can happen. Not too many of us get to attend bodybuilding shows. Only a small number of us have the expenses, inclination, and opportunity to meet an FBB for a muscle worship or fantasy wrestling session. So when it comes to experiencing these beautiful women, our computer screen and smartphone are really the only avenues in which we can do that. I can easily go to my local shopping mall and purchase a brand new Star Trek shirt. I cannot easily go to that same mall and find any paraphernalia affiliated with female bodybuilders.

This is why many FBBs utilize social media as much as they can. It’s their best way to connect with their fans. Or to put it another way, it’s the only way they can regularly connect with their fans. Many FBBs offer webcam appointments, AMA chats (“ask me anything”), and members-only content through their personal websites. This is a classic example of meeting your clients where they’re at. Why break your back working a traditional 9-5 job when you can easily make $100 per hour just chatting with a bunch of strangers from the comfort of your living room?

The Female Muscle Industrial Complex – a term that apparently I just coined – is a niche market with a fairly undefined consumer base. In any given city, town, or municipality, you could have 200 female muscle fans, 2,000 female muscle fans, or 20,000 female muscle fans. You don’t know exactly. But it doesn’t matter where they are geographically. It doesn’t even matter what language they speak. The only thing that does matter is whether or not they have Internet access and enough privacy to feel “safe” to experience their love of muscular women. That’s it, practically speaking.

The Female Muscle Dark Web isn’t dark, nor is it just confined to the web. But it is a real space full of real people who share a mutual interest in women with lots of muscle. And this space hasn’t been driven underground by some prudish cabal of anti-FBB misogynists. In fact, it’s always been underground. Or rather, not within the mainstream. Just because something isn’t considered “mainstream” doesn’t mean there’s some massive conspiracy to ensure it remains outside of the mainstream. Some things just don’t pick up steam. Some things are just destined to stay put where they are.

This isn’t a tragedy by any stretch of the imagination. Muscular women will always be here, regardless if mainstream bodybuilding organizations want them included or not. As long as there are women who desire to become a better version of their current selves, female bodybuilders will always be with us. As long as there are women who believe being “strong” and “independent” means being something beyond a simple corporatized rallying cry, FBBs will never die out. The demise of female bodybuilding has been greatly exaggerated. I don’t see any evidence of that happening anytime soon.

Dark web - Goddess Severa — The 6’5″ Goddess Severa is a fan favorite of female muscle/dominance enthusiasts.

Long story short, FBBs and fans of FBBs cannot wait for legacy media outlets to give them their due. It just won’t happen. Sports Illustrated or ESPN aren’t going to cover female bodybuilders (or male bodybuilders, for that matter) like they do basketball or football stars. Those athletes enjoy a powerful perch that doesn’t appear to be eroding. To expect FBBs to ever be mentioned in the same breath as Kevin Durant, Serena Williams, or Julio Jones is folly.

So the obscure and not-so-sinister parts of the web are where FBBs are allowed to shine. And fans don’t seem to mind all that much. Some of us may hope and pray for a day when FBBs can enjoy mainstream status as any normal celebrity would, but most of us aren’t holding our breaths. And the good new is that we don’t need to.

Our access to our favorite athletes is as open and easy as it’s ever been. Just because you don’t feel comfortable talking about Alina Popa’s glutes or Theresa Ivancik’s pecs openly at Thanksgiving dinner doesn’t mean you have a reason to feel ashamed or embarrassed that you are secretly into that sort of thing. On the contrary, you have nothing to worry about. You can be into muscular women without having to tell a single soul about it. That should feel liberating. But if you do want to tell somebody about it, you know where to look. And that can also feel liberating.

Your female muscle community is just a few clicks away. Like it or love it, you can choose to engage in this community, or you can choose to ignore them and keep your interests to yourself.

Either way, it’s your choice. And that’s truly liberating.

The Vulnerable Female Bodybuilder

Female bodybuilders are strong. They seem invincible. Unstoppable. Powerful. Authoritative. A force of nature. One who shall not be reckoned with.

If you mess with her, she’ll mess with you. And you don’t want that to happen to you. Trust us.

Fans of female bodybuilders have put these ladies onto a pedestal, one in which they don’t seem to be human. FBBs are often described in quasi-spiritual terms; using words such as “goddess,” “angel,” or “queen.” These words evoke ethereal images of immortals walking amongst men. FBBs are somehow not human because a “normal” human can never actually look that breathtakingly beautiful. Regular human beings are not able to make your heart skip a beat, your jaw drop to the floor, and a chill run down your spine just by simply posting an untouched photo of themselves on Instagram.

But alas, many FBBs are able to do just that. Many times over, in fact.

Yet, in the back of our minds we know that FBBs are not actually goddesses. They are flesh and blood human beings with feelings, thoughts, fears, insecurities, families, hobbies, and faults. We know that intellectually, on a theoretical level. But emotionally, we cannot help but view these ladies as invulnerable angels whose unique beauty somehow endow them with some sort of shield against typical human imperfections.

In our fantasies, our favorite FBBs are warriors who can slay thousands of enemies at a time. They’re powerful deities who can make the most formidable kingdoms tremble to their knees. They’re sirens who can enslave men to do their will. They’re so breathtakingly beautiful you cannot imagine a moment when they’d ever be sad, intimidated, or not in control.

Yet…

…

…yet we know the reality of things is much more mundane. But we don’t want to think about that. We’d rather focus on an FBB’s perfections instead of her basic humanity. However, it is worthwhile to keep this important point in mind: Female bodybuilders are much more vulnerable than you’d think.

Here’s why:

First, female bodybuilders exist in a world that doesn’t always accept them for who they are.

The aesthetic of a woman with big muscles certainly excites some of us, but not all of us. As incomprehensible as this sounds, not everyone appreciates the beauty of female bodybuilders. Some are disgusted by a nontraditional feminine figure that doesn’t fit into the narrow box society has come to define. This could be caused by people not liking what they’re not familiar with, but it goes deeper than that.

They’re disgusted because the sight of veins popping out of a muscular arm isn’t terribly appealing – regardless of the gender of the person it belongs to. But especially if it’s a female arm. We’re taught to believe that a beautiful woman should be smooth, angular, and soft. Female bodybuilders are not smooth, angular, and soft. They’re rough, bulky, and coarse. Their bodies do not fit within the acceptable parameters society (properly understood, that is) has arbitrarily established. And because of that, female bodybuilders are always at a disadvantage when it comes to breaking into the entertainment and modeling industries. Even the fitness industry seems to prefer the “fit” look instead of the hypermuscular look.

This lack of acceptance has pushed the female bodybuilding community underground, away from mainstream attention. Is there any need to bring up the unfortunate demise of the Ms. Olympia contest?

Of course, there will always be the token role in a sitcom for a “muscle chick” who shows up, looks menacing, and does something comedic to the male star like kick his ass or wallop him at arm wrestling. They’re not there as a character, but as comedic foil. It’s a bit dehumanizing, but when it’s slim pickings in the entertainment industry, beggars can’t be choosers. You have to accept whatever paying job you can get. Jayne Trcka’s role in Scary Movie (2000) exploits every single negative stereotype about female bodybuilders you can possibly imagine. But from her perspective, it’s a paying job in a major Hollywood production. Can you really blame her?

Kathy Johansson enjoying fun in the sun.

Second, and this point is directly related to the first one, female bodybuilding isn’t a very lucrative profession.

There’s almost no money to be made through competitions. Traditional modeling jobs don’t pay a whole lot no matter what your body type happens to be. You can work as a personal trainer or fitness coach, but being a bodybuilder isn’t necessarily an advantage. It’s not a disadvantage (as far as one can tell), but there are no “bonus points” to be had from being a bodybuilder except for it gives you an extra sense of validity. But not everyone thinks that’s a deal breaker.

And living the life of a bodybuilder isn’t cheap either. The food and supplementation alone costs quite a bit of money if you’re trying to eat clean, often, and strategically. It takes time to go to the gym, lift, do cardio, stretch, shower, and go home to eat and devour a protein shake. It’s challenging to balance working full time, training as a bodybuilder (even if you’re not competing professionally), and enjoying personal time with friends and family. It boggles the mind to ponder how male and female bodybuilders are able to do it.

In other words, female bodybuilders are essentially normal people like us with much different kinds of living expenses. Unlike pro baseball or basketball players, pro bodybuilders aren’t making $20 million per year. They need to hold down a regular 9-5 job just like the rest of us, except squeeze in several hours of training on top of that. You don’t need to be a life coach to understand the difficulties of balancing all of these priorities.

But where exactly is the money at? Well, one can make plenty of dough if they’re willing to offer muscle worship or wrestling sessions. Which conveniently transitions us to our next point:

Being a session provider can be a risky business.

If you need a primer on what “muscle worship” means, you can read all about it in a prior post. While most of us think (and fantasize) about muscle worship and wrestling sessions from the perspective of the client, we mustn’t ignore the provider’s side of the story. Even if rules are set and established beforehand, participating in a fantasy wrestling session can be quite risky.

You never know when you’ll accidentally get injured. Or intentionally get injured by someone with less-than-honorable intentions (there are a lot of strangely insecure guys who feel like they have something to “prove” to a well-meaning FBB who is just trying to earn a living). Or meet a creepy person who stalks you afterward – both online and perhaps even in-person. Stalkers affect all sorts of people, but female bodybuilders are a special breed. They’re as rare as a solar eclipse, which can drive a person whose mental state is already “shaky” at best to do things that definitely cross the line of sane behavior.

For these reasons, FBBs often lay down ground rules before the session even begins. They want to know how much you weigh if you’re interested in “lift and carry” activities. They want to make clear that the wrestling is for fantasy purposes only, as opposed to being a recreation of the Olympic trials. They want to be clear that “tap out” rules will be honored by both sides. In other words, they want to know that they – and the participant – will be safe at all times.

Honest accidents without any malice will inevitably happen from time to time. That is unfortunate, but a reasonable risk one faces when engaging in such strenuous activities. If you want a job without any physical hazards, get a desk job where you sit at a computer and type all day long. But that is not what an FBB who offers muscle worship/fantasy wrestling appointments chooses to do.

Injuries stink for obvious reasons. They hurt, can lead to future health problems, and can be demoralizing. Injuries also inhibit your ability to train, work, travel, and live comfortably. And when your body and health are central to your income stream, being hurt is a double whammy. It’s difficult to earn a living when you’re preoccupied with healing up from a recent torn ligament or fractured bone.

Any lifestyle that is that physically demanding with carry with it inherent risks. And when you throw in clients who may or may not be familiar with you (not every session provider asks for a reference or makes background checks), you never know what sort of person you’ll be spending the next hour or two with. That can be a scary proposition, no matter how emotionally and physically strong you are.

On top of all that, travelling from city to city takes you away from your friends and family for long stretches of time. It’s hard to imagine what that type of life is like unless you’ve lived it. If you have young children – or even older children – being away from them for long periods of time can be stressful. Think of it from the mother’s perspective. Then the children’s. See why this can be a volatile profession?

The next point goes along with that concept: Being a female bodybuilder can be really awkward at times – both for you and your loved ones.

Can you imagine being a little kid and having a mom who “doesn’t look like the other moms?” She’s a lot bigger, stronger, and physically imposing than Billy and Jimmy’s moms. She even has a deeper voice, smaller boobs, and more veins popping out of her arms than is typically considered, uh, typical. And she can bench press more than all the dads out there.

Talk about awkward.

This idea is directly connected to the first point about FBBs living in a world that doesn’t always accept them for who they are. This explores that very concept from everyone else’s perspective.

The older kids get, the more vicious the rumors will become. It doesn’t take a hardboiled private detective to find out what happens at those mysterious muscle worship sessions. It doesn’t take an avid porn aficionado to stumble upon an obscure video of an FBB giving a blow job or hand job to a nameless and faceless beta male client. This sort of information is out there for anyone who is willing to search for it. And not every blog is as respectful as the one you’re currently reading right now. Some blogs and comment sections (ah, yes. The dreaded “comments section” that has single-handedly contributed to the catastrophic dumbing down of our society) can be quite crude in describing what goes on behind closed doors. And come to think of it, it isn’t necessarily crudeness that makes this an issue. Just the basic knowledge that prominent FBBs provide sessions as a side gig is enough to get people to chat, gossip, and speculate on what actually is going on in those remote hotel rooms.

Rumors are rumors, but when rumors are spread widely and loudly enough, they start to become “fact,” even if they are not actually facts. No need to bring up “fake news,” is there?

Can you imagine being a normal kid who does a Google search on your mom and discovers she gives hand jobs to hundreds of guys across the world each year? And she does it for cash that eventually will help fund your college tuition? Talk about an epic discovery that you’d want to erase from your memory “Eternal Sunshine-style.”

Can you imagine being teased for this by the other kids whose parents are more “normal,” if such a thing even exists? Perhaps your FBB mama is remarkably open about her life’s work. Or maybe she tries to shield you from it. In today’s Internet age, it’s nearly impossible to keep something like that under wraps forever. Eventually, the truth will come out if you wait long enough. Nothing can stay hidden for good. Not anymore. We’re far beyond that point. If there’s a grainy video of you – even if this video is more than twenty years old – doing something even slightly embarrassing (never mind performing sexual acts on strangers), you know for a fact it will eventually smack you in the face. Usually when you least expect it. And especially when you don’t ask for it.

Here’s a true story that I feel compelled to share: Not too long ago a real-life female bodybuilder whom I’ve met for a muscle worship session once before contacted me via e-mail about a recent blog post I had written. She kindly asked that I remove a photo of her that appears in it. The blog article wasn’t about her specifically, but I wanted her picture to be in it because I like her so much.

I dutifully did remove it, carrying out her request as swiftly as I could. She didn’t want her name and reputation to be tarnished. She didn’t want to be associated with an underground subculture that could come back to haunt her, her husband, and her kids.

She didn’t want her daughters to be teased about what their beloved mama does with men in hotel rooms across America. Even if these rumors aren’t based in reality, that doesn’t matter. Harmful gossip is harmful regardless of its truthfulness. I removed her photo because I didn’t want to upset her, but I also did so because I instantly put myself in her shoes. I choose to remain anonymous on this blog because I wouldn’t want my friends and family to know about my unusual fetish. I can grant myself anonymity with very little effort on my part. For an FBB who is considered a “celebrity” in the eyes of many people worldwide, they do not have that luxury.

Public figures cannot control what people say about them. And not everyone can pay a high-quality spin team, PR representative, or “search engine scrubber” who can find creative ways to hide bad stuff said about you. It’s just not possible in today’s interconnected and plugged-in world to totally control your online reputation. I can create a Ryan Takahashi avatar and establish whatever persona I want to. Public figures cannot do that as easily.

This is something I must – and the rest of you, too – keep in mind at all times. When you write about an FBB, wrestler, or session provider on an Internet chat forum, you’re not just communicating to the people with whom you’re directly corresponding. You’re also spreading information – and this includes both accurate and inaccurate information – to the world at large. That’s someone’s reputation. That’s someone’s mom, sister, wife, friend, or lover. That’s another human being, not a brand new air conditioner that deserves a four star rating out of five.

When you call her a whore, you’re saying that about a person with feelings. When you reveal what goes on behind closed doors without honoring her anonymity, you risk harming her reputation. It makes perfect sense why many FBBs are reluctant about allowing people to write reviews about them on chat forums. Who knows what some disgruntled yahoo will say to a captivated audience?

Female bodybuilders are some of the strongest willed people on planet Earth. But they are not invincible. They are flesh and blood human beings who are just as vulnerable as you or I. They may not seem like it in the fever pitch depths of our imaginations, but this is the truth. They are vulnerable, often times in ways you cannot see or understand.

Truth or Dare (part one)

Twice a week, I get to see Shawna.

Shawna is a professional bodybuilder, personal trainer, model, fitness accessory spokeswoman, pornographic actress, and overall Muscle Goddess. I first got acquainted with Shawna at a fitness expo last year when she delivered the keynote address to a room full of hundreds of nutritional experts. I was among those in attendance on that fateful day.

Shawna is the Most Perfect Woman in the World…and I do not mean that lightly. She’s strikingly beautiful, stands at 6-feet tall barefoot, and has bigger muscles than the typical Meathead Bro you see at the gym. She has long blonde hair, ocean blue eyes, curvy hips, and bulging muscles covering every square inch of her incredible physique. She’s absolutely flawless. I don’t know how old she is, but she probably hasn’t hit 40 yet. Or maybe she has. I don’t know. None of that matters. She’s ageless.

I work for Healthy Living Nutrition, a medium-sized startup company that specializes in producing breakfast bars, protein shakes, and hot to-go meals that people can order via an app. Just download the HLN app and within minutes you can plan an entire month’s worth of breakfasts, lunches, and dinners (not to mention a few snacks here and there).

The app allows users to plot out every single one of their meals in advance and have them shipped to the address (or addresses) of their choice. We began serving clients only in greater Seattle, but have recently expanded to include Spokane, Portland, Coeur d’Alene, Boise, and Redding. We foresee expansion to Los Angeles – which is considered the Holy Grail of markets – and Phoenix within the next two to three years.

But first, we needed a spokesperson who could sell our app to the bodybuilding community. We’ve already enlisted pro baseball, football, basketball, and tennis players, respectively. Now we need an “in” with bodybuilders, figure competitors, fitness models, and anyone who aspires to become one of those. When me and a colleague registered to attend this fitness conference, I knew Shawna could be that “foot in the door” that we so desperately needed.

And as it turned out, she was.

My co-worker Dale and I chatted with Shawna after the expo ended over glasses of wine and plates of cheap happy hour nachos. We told her she can use the app for free for an entire month, report back to us how she felt about it, and choose to endorse it if she wanted to. We told her the percentage of our profits that she can earn in a year, which appeared to go over well with her. She agreed to our deal, downloaded the app onto her phone, and went about her merry way. Dale and I felt happy about ourselves, all the while staring helplessly at her impressive, angelic muscular body.

“Holy shit, she’s perfect. She can’t possibly be human,” Dale quipped after she left.

“The amazing thing is that she is human,” I said. “She looks like that because she dedicates her entire life to looking like that. It didn’t happen by accident.”

“Damn,” Dale replied, downing the rest of his wine. “So fucking gorgeous.”

A month passes and Shawna emails me saying she loves the app and would be happy to endorse it in our upcoming advertising blitz. She signed her name on the dotted line and agreed to keep using the app for at least a year and appear in several promotional videos, radio hits, and social media posts. I got a promotion. Dale ended up leaving the company after being plucked by a competitor. His replacement ended up being a dopey idiot fresh out of college. Life moves on.

Factory where pre-packaged food is made.

Me being promoted meant I had to move to a different city. Now I reside in Santa Monica, right in the heart of where we want our business to expand to. I guess the logic is that if the company moves its best people into a desirable target market…eventually that’ll mean we will successfully penetrate that market. We’ll see if it actually works.

Shawna, coincidentally, also lives in the area – albeit Torrance. We’ve met up a few times to discuss business-related items, chat about our lives, and complain about the things regarding the fitness industry that drive us up a wall. As it turns out, we both hate everything Planet Fitness stands for and would love to see its business model burn to the ground. Great minds think alike, right?

My office is located within walking distance of the factory where we produce our breakfast bars. Every day we churn out tens of thousands of granola bars and ship them to gyms, grocery stores, convenience stores, gas stations, and online retailers across the country. And occasionally, out of the 25,000 we produce daily, a good dozen or so will be “unfit” for sale.

What does “unfit” for sale mean exactly? It could mean a variety of things. A bar could accidentally get smashed, come out wrongly shaped, not fit within the designated packaging, or fall on the floor when a clumsy warehouse worker nears the end of his shift. Regardless, we normally toss out the “bad” bars so that the public doesn’t see them. We can’t allow our newly developed brand to be sullied in any way.

Sometimes, employees will steal a few bars that didn’t make the final cut when nobody is looking. There’s technically no internal rules against that, although the higher ups at Corporate would prefer these misshapen bars never see the light of day. Heaven forbid if a random guy on the street accidentally sees one of our breakfast bars with an unauthorized crack down the middle. That’ll spell our inevitable doom for sure.

Recently, I got the brilliant idea of delivering some of these misshapen bars to our favorite customer – Shawna. These bars don’t taste all that great, but they aren’t supposed to. They pack a nutritional punch, stuffing in every single vitamin and mineral known to mankind in a single bite. They’re supposed to help bodybuilders get “gains,” and that’s exactly what they do. Shawna recognizes and appreciates these benefits better than anyone. That’s why she’s our #1 spokeswoman.

Whew. Deep breath.

All of that is to say that twice a week, I come over to Shawna’s home and deliver to her as many “unfit” breakfast bars as I can manage. I usually visit on Tuesdays and Fridays, but sometimes I come on a Thursday if she plans on being busy the next day. I have no life, so it doesn’t matter to me when I get to meet her. No girlfriend, no kids, no hobbies, no nothing outside of work. It’s depressing, but I try to not think about it too often.

I should also hurry up and mention that because these bars are so super nutritious, they’re also super expensive. $8 per bar. Yeah, that’s quite a lot. But they’re supposed to supply an entire meal’s worth of nutrition in a few bites, so they’re pricy for a reason. The bean counters aren’t just making this up out of thin air. Shawna likes them a lot but can’t afford to purchase too many of them legitimately.

So, that’s where I come into play.

I give her free breakfast bars twice a week. Each delivery could be worth up to $100. That’s a lot of free stuff. Although, it’s not completely free.

Nope. She does pay me.

In sexual favors.

I usually arrive at her house between 7:00 and 7:30 p.m., depending on traffic (and, for the record, traffic really sucks in California). I park my car in her driveway, take out a non-conspicuous looking brown cardboard box out of the trunk, and casually walk to her front door. I knock three times. Within 30 seconds she opens it. We kiss each other on the cheek. We exchange pleasantries for a couple of minutes. Sometimes she offers me iced tea or lemonade. I graciously accept. I politely drink it all, whether I like it or not. She takes the box of contraband granola bars from me and stashes it away in her kitchen.

Then, she dims the lights, closes the shades, turns on some quiet music, and strips naked.

I also strip naked.

We enter her living room and begin the festivities. She poses for me. She shows off her muscles. She goes to the gym and trains five days a week, with Tuesday and Friday being her two off-days (hence, this is why I visit her on these days). She’s a Tall Blonde Muscle Goddess who stands – I believe I’ve said this before – 6-feet tall without shoes on. She’s a marvel to look at. From head to toe, she’s ripped. Completely ripped. Jacked up. Her biceps are larger than my legs. Her legs are larger than my torso. Her torso is larger than…a freight train? A Mack truck? A Boeing 747?

I touch her body. I sometimes rub oil on it. I worship her muscles. We almost never talk during our “play time.” I kiss her skin as she flexes. Occasionally, when she’s in the mood, she’ll lie down on the sofa and spread her legs wide, revealing her swollen clitoris.

It’s huge. HUGE. Three inches long when fully erect. That’s not a fucking joke. I’m not exaggerating one fucking bit. Her clit is that enormous. Unbelievably enormous. It defies science. And that’s an understatement.

Eye-popping. Jaw-dropping. Heart-stopping. And highly erotic.

After she spreads her legs, I get down on my knees and suck on it. I suck on it until she comes. She’ll come multiple times. At first, I was terrible at it. But after repeated attempts, I’ve become exceptionally good at it. Shawna’s coached me on how to properly give her cunnilingus. She explicitly tells me how to use my tongue, lips, and fingers to my advantage. Now, I can play her like a fiddle. I know how to give her pleasure that literally makes her scream.

Shawna could be a taller Lindsay Mulinazzi. Note: This story is fictional and does not reflect any real world experiences.

I know how to give her satisfying climaxes that make her entire body shudder. I know how to prolong her orgasm just long enough to make her beg me to finish the job. I know how to tease her, how to torture her, how to make her teeter just long enough on the edge of orgasm but deny her the conclusion she seeks. And once she does reach that orgasmic climax, it’s the greatest orgasm she’s ever experienced…up to that point, of course.

Once I’ve satisfied her, she enthusiastically returns the favor. Most of the time, she’ll give me a simple hand job. Occasionally, a blow job. But that’s it. Those are my two options. We’ve given each other oral and manual stimulation hundreds of times, but we’ve never had actual penetrative sex. She has strict boundaries, and I respect those boundaries.

I always respect her boundaries.

Although she’s not currently married (she’s been divorced twice before) and doesn’t appear to be in a relationship with anyone (that I can tell), she doesn’t want to cross that threshold with me. She says it’s not personal. It’s strictly a professional choice. I dutifully accept that explanation.

“In a weird way, this is a business transaction,” Shawna once said to me moments after cleaning up my semen off her neck. “An unconventional business transaction, but a business transaction nevertheless. Wouldn’t you say?”

“I would agree with that,” I replied.

So we’ve never had sex – at least, “sex” properly understood and traditionally defined. But we’ve been very intimate with each other. Many times. During the past year I’ve spent countless hours with her clitoris in my mouth. She’s had my semen smeared on almost every imaginable place of her magnificent body. Yet, we’ve never gone “all the way.” I don’t think we’ll ever get there.

Shawna is a unique kind of person, both externally and internally. She obviously looks different on the outside – not too many “normal” women have muscles as big as an NFL linebacker – in every conceivable way. But on the inside, she’s both open to talking about her life and extremely guarded in other areas.

For example, she rarely talks about her kids. During one moment when both of us were slightly drunk, she revealed that she has four kids. She first became pregnant when she was 15. Her second born arrived when she was 17. Her other two kids were born when she was 18 and 20, respectively. She’s now in her late 30s or early 40s, and her youngest child is now old enough to be a college student. Yikes.

The father of her first child was a 15-year-old kid just like her. He panicked, ran away from home, and later joined the Army. He was deployed to Iraq shortly afterward and came home in a body bag. Very tragic. The father of her second child was a Catholic missionary who apparently tried out the “missionary” position with her. That’s no joke. When she became pregnant and refused to have an abortion, he quit his job, renounced his Catholicism, and committed suicide by overdosing on sleeping pills. Yet another senseless tragedy.

Her other two children were the product of her first marriage. I don’t know much about this guy. She didn’t have any kids with her second husband. I also don’t know much about him.

Her first husband was 25 years her senior, and her second husband was born two weeks earlier than she was. She’s now single…and definitely not ready to mingle. She says she has no intention of getting married ever again.

I don’t know which of her kids are male and female. They could all be boys or they could all be girls. Or somewhere in between. It’s probably somewhere in between. But at the end of the day, I don’t know much about this part of her life. And that’ll probably be the way things remain.

As I pull up to her driveway for the umpteenth time, I think about whether or not her kids are aware of what Mom has to do in order to get her daily quota of protein, vitamins, and minerals. I’d rather not ponder that, but how can the thought not cross my mind?

I knock on the door and wait. The wait is shorter than normal.

“Hello sweetie! Come on in,” Shawna greets me after opening the door.

I step into her house and take off my shoes. I try to not notice the glaring hole in my left black sock, exposing my big toe for everyone to see. It’s embarrassing, but Shawna is like an old buddy to me. A buddy with big muscles. And the Universe’s Largest Clit.

Her house smells like freshly coated paint. I hope I don’t start to sneeze.

“Did you finally repaint the bathroom?”

“Yes, I did! Thank you for noticing,” she says. I drop a box full of contraband granola bars on the kitchen counter as Shawna deals with something in the dining room. Cleaning up after dinner, perhaps?

Shawna pokes her head in the kitchen with a glass of champagne in hand. “I have an idea for what we can do tonight. It’ll be fun. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“I’m sure I will. In the mood for something more creative?”

“Yes, I am,” she begins. “I’m feeling a bit adventurous tonight, for some odd reason. Probably because I’m still on cloud 9!”

“Oh? What happened to you?” We move our conversation to the living room. I start to undress like usual until Shawna places her hand on my shoulder, indicating I should stop.

“I just got cast in a movie! It’s not a major Hollywood film, but it’s not a typical porno either. It’s something low budget, independent, and artistic,” she announces.

“That’s awesome! What’s it called?” I kiss her on the cheek to congratulate her.

“It doesn’t have a title yet, but it should soon. It’s basically about a middle-aged couple whose marriage is going through the motions. In order to spice things up, they decide to play a game of erotic Truth or Dare.” Shawna sits us down on the sofa. Even when we’re both sitting, I still have to look up to her. “One of the dares the wife makes to the husband is to hire a female bodybuilder for a competitive wrestling match. You can guess who I play in this little drama.”

“Neat! You play the chauffeur, right?”

Shawna laughs. I do too.

“Not quite. We start filming in two months. Locally, so I don’t need to travel anywhere. However, in the meantime, I thought it would be a cool idea to play our own game of Truth or Dare. What say you?” She stares at me, smiling with a big toothy grin. I cannot think of a reason to refuse her offer.

“Of course! Let’s do it. You can go first if you’d like.”

Shawna sits up and blinks a few times. I feel my heart start to race, as this is a very unusual way for our evening to commence. We’ve settled into a routine. She clearly wants to break this routine, at least for one night.

“I would love to go first,” she says. “Alright. Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“Fantastic.” Shawna clears her throat. “I dare you to have anal sex with me. Without protection. Right now.”

In Bed with a Female Bodybuilder

I’d love to share a bed with Alina Popa.

When I think about what I would love to do with a female bodybuilder in an intimate setting, there wouldn’t be any whips, handcuffs, gags, rope, hot candle wax, wrestling mats, or blindfolds.

Instead, there’s a large bed with white linen cloth. A bottle of chilled champagne. A bright warm fireplace with plenty of spare logs. Clothing carelessly littered across the room. And of course, her. Naked. Smiling. Confident. Caring. Loving.

There isn’t a hint of animosity in the air. The mood is playful, tender, genuine. We lock eyes. We kiss. We stroke each other’s bodies. I feel her muscle-bound figure not in awe, but with a gentle sense of familiarity. I know her body well. Yet, I am still amazed by it. I’ve felt her enormous biceps thousands of times, but they are still able to send shivers down my spine. I’ve stared into her gorgeous eyes a million times before, yet they still have the uncanny ability to captivate me.

I am under her spell, yet I do not complain. I do not fight back. There is no fight to be had. She is stronger and more powerful than me. Yet I do not feel emasculated. Rather, I feel like I’m more of a man when I am with her. Her feminine strength does not invalidate my masculinity. It enhances it. I am a man and she is a woman. Her impressive muscular built does not change or disrupt that equation.

We are at peace. We are quiet, but not silent. She has no makeup on, but she is still more naturally beautiful than any supermodel who has ever lived. We love each other. There is no superficiality going on between us. As I caress her body, I am constantly reminded of the countless hours she spends at the gym and the enormous sacrifices she makes every single day to achieve her remarkable physique. She does not have to tell me how difficult it is to look the way she looks. I know everything I need to know just from the touch of my fingers on her flawlessly picturesque body.

Whew.

I can go on and on describing my hypothetical experience of being in bed with a female bodybuilder. But this will do for now.

Guys and gals who love female bodybuilders have a wide array of FBB-centered fantasies. This ranges from desiring to have a female bodybuilder wrap her strong thick legs around your neck and squeeze to feeling up her broad back while she flexes her arms right in front of you. Some fantasies are violent in nature, others are peaceful. Some of the more violence-oriented fantasies hug that fine line between “normal” and “criminal” – although who are we to judge?

FBB fandom can take many forms, yet there is one common element that cannot be ignored: the indescribable feeling that female bodybuilders conjure up inside of us. They make our entire body shake. They capture our attention like nothing else can. They make us do irrational things. We are attracted to them in ways that we are not attracted to in more “conventional” people. While seeing a pretty girl wearing a skimpy bikini at the beach can make our heart skip a beat, watching a video of a beautiful female bodybuilder flex her huge muscles wearing sexy lingerie can make our heart stop beating entirely.

See the difference?

How we prefer to experience this “indescribable feeling” differs from person to person. Some of us fantasize about – or actually get to experience if you have the resources and good fortune of a real-life FBB travelling to your area – being pinned to the ground by a powerful woman. Others of us are rougher around the edges and prefer her to pour hot candle wax on our chests, spit in our faces, and call us demeaning names as we demand further insults to be hurled our way. But there exists another cohort of female muscle lovers who prefer an experience that’s more quiet, tranquil, peaceful, low-key, measured, and intimate.

You can probably guess which group yours truly belongs in.

This is not to say that people who prefer to experience the, uh, “bumpier” side of female bodybuilding fandom are wrong. Far from it. It’s just that some of us aren’t as enamored with power dynamics, sexual politics, and muscle fetishization as others are. That’s it. Nobody is “right” or “wrong” when it comes to fantasizing or actually playing out their FBB-related desires. Unless someone gets hurt unintentionally, of course.

Personally, the few times per year that I get to meet a real-life female bodybuilder for a muscle worship session tend to be as low-key as you might imagine. No wrestling, no submission, no hint of competition. Just her and me. In bed. We talk. We share stories. I compliment her. She grins and giggles. I touch her magnificent body. Goosebumps flare up across my arm. My fingers feel like they could melt after caressing her warm, coarse skin. It’s quiet. The room is dimly lit. There’s music playing softly in the background. The window is open, allowing the bright moonlight to freely fill the room. Whatever happens stays between us. She’s as beautiful as you can possibly imagine, except more so. My heart can burst out of my chest at any moment. Luckily, it does not.

I enjoy everything about a female bodybuilder, not just her muscles. I enjoy her personal journey. Learning about her hopes, dreams, aspirations, fears, annoyances, and joys. I marvel at her self-confidence and unwavering belief in her ability to achieve anything she wants. I enjoy her femininity. I enjoy her power. I enjoy her calmness. I enjoy giving her pleasure (if she lets me). I enjoy receiving pleasure from her (once again, if she feels like doing so). In short, I enjoy everything about the experience of meeting her. Everything.

As gorgeous as can be, the lovely Sheronica Sade Henton.

It’s difficult, though not impossible, to experience those same things when you’re pinned to the ground, gasping for air. I know she’s strong. I don’t need her to demonstrate it for me. But that’s just how I prefer to experience her full power. I certainly don’t speak for everyone. Nor would I want to.

To me, female muscle is highly erotic. Erotic in a way that almost transcends the meaning of the word. It’s not just sexually arousing or exciting. It’s emotionally moving, almost in a quasi-spiritual way. I feel like I’m in the presence of Greatness. Not exactly a goddess, but something very close to that. It’s difficult to describe, but those who do understand what I’m talking about are no doubt nodding their heads in agreement right now.

There is no right or wrong way to pass your time with an FBB, considering everything is consensual and what is previously agreed upon to happen actually happens. For me personally, I love experiences where I can show my appreciation for an FBB’s hard work in the most respectful yet erotic way possible. The feeling of her rock hard muscles against my fingers is indescribably sexy. I’ve tried to explain it, but have failed over and over again. It’s truly something that the English language – or any language, for that matter – cannot justifiably articulate.

In a way, what I enjoy doing (and fantasizing about) is no different than what a “normal” couple would do when they’re getting intimate with each other. They lie in bed together. They flirt. They exchange needful glances. They chat. They touch each other. They disrobe. They engage in foreplay. They…make love.

I’ve never made love to a female bodybuilder, but that isn’t a precondition to talking about what I’m talking about. What I’m talking about is the beautiful feeling of sharing time and space with a female bodybuilder in the privacy of a hotel room away from the eyes of anyone else but ourselves. No one has to witness what we do together. It’s just her and me. That’s it. That’s all there needs to be.

Privacy is a wonderful thing. Even more so when you’re willing and eager to become vulnerable with the other person.

Muscle worship is very personal. Extremely personal. It’s fun, of course, but fun in an intimate kind of way. You don’t become “friends” with her, but you certainly share a special connection that will never leave that rented room. There’s something poetically beautiful about that: a private period of time between two people where one party expresses appreciation for the physical beauty of the other party – in which cell phones, modern technology, and eyewitnesses are nowhere to be seen. That’s the way it should be.

Being in bed with a female bodybuilder is like kneeling before the altar and praying before whatever god you worship. It’s deeply personal, yet surreal in its mundanity. The anticipation of being able to meet her is palpable. Your palms are sweaty. Your heart rate is through the roof. You count down the hours till you get to meet her with the same anticipation of a small child waiting for Santa to deliver your presents. When you do get to knock on her door and walk into her room, you need to pinch yourself in order to discover whether or not you’re actually living in a realistic dream. Thankfully, you are not.

And when you do eventually get into bed with her, you feel like pausing and saying a brief prayer to the Heavens. You want to thank the stars for granting you this privileged moment. This moment may happen to you again, or it may not. Regardless, you want to make the most of it. And you do. You do in fact make the most of it by staring intently into her eyes, whispering melodic compliments into her ear, and caressing her muscular body with the careful prudence of an artist painting a canvas.

What you do is simple. You lie next to her and enjoy each other’s company in complete silence. Not a care in the world. The outside world means nothing right now. You’re like two old lovers rediscovering your shared passion. Nothing about this picture would seem out of the ordinary in any bedroom in the world.

Except for the romantically whimsical image of a man sharing an intimate moment with a woman. A woman who happens to have enormous biceps.

Thank Heavens for the Clit Pump

Denise Masino proudly showing off her best asset.

Throughout the history of human civilization, there have been several inventions that changed the trajectory of society for the better.

The wheel. The compass. Gunpowder. The printing press. The combustion engine. Vaccinations. The lightbulb. The telephone. The automobile. The computer. The Internet.

These new technologies revolutionized how human beings communicated, learned, traded, survived, and lived. Without getting too deep into the weeds, suffice to say that these inventions – and its descendants that we still use today – have made it possible for our life expectancies to go up and the global population to boom to more than 7 billion people and counting.

Yet, there is one particular technology that we cannot overlook. We must not underestimate its importance to our shared humanity. To not acknowledge and recognize its impact would be intellectually dishonest.

What am I referring to?

The clit pump, of course!

Huh?

Well, that might be a slight exaggeration, but hopefully you get the idea in a tongue-in-cheek sort of way.

The clit pump, in case you aren’t acquainted with its existence yet, is a sex toy that increases blood flow into a woman’s top erogenous zone using a small tube and hand pump that creates suction around the clitoris and labia. It is a device that is derived from the penis pump, a gadget that essentially does the same thing for men. The vacuum created inside the cylindrical tube both increases blood flow to the clitoris and enhances its size. This leads to the nerve endings in the clitoral head becoming more sensitive – and subsequently heightens sexual pleasure.

Women tend use clit pumps to masturbate, as foreplay before actual sex, or alternatively on the nipples, which is also an erogenous zone. Since lots of female bodybuilders have larger than normal clits, it makes perfect sense why they’d love to use a clit pump – and why fans of female bodybuilders love watching them use it. It’s a textbook win-win situation.

Any casual fan of female bodybuilding has probably watched a video or two (or three, or four, or five) of a female bodybuilder using a clit pump to pleasure herself. Some prominent FBBs who’ve participated in such videos include Denise Masino, Amber DeLuca, Brandi Mae Akers, Angela Salvagno, Ashlee Chambers, and Kathy Connors. There have probably been others, but this should give you the idea that this activity isn’t rare or unusual.

Angela Salvagno is redefining how we think women “should” look.

The benefit a clit pump provides a woman shouldn’t have to be explained in further depth. You can probably imagine how much pleasure it gives them to have such a sensitive part of the body stimulated in a sucking manner. Um, yeah.

However, female bodybuilders are a different breed of woman. And fans of female bodybuilders recognize this fact as clearly as anyone. Watching a female bodybuilder use a clit pump is an experience unlike any other. Yes, that could seem like hyperbole, but it does indeed deserve special acknowledgment.

The reasons why we love female bodybuilders and their big clits have been outlined before, but here’s a brief summary: In short, a large clitoris is an outward expression of an FBB’s sexual sovereignty. Unlike the vagina, which is an internal organ that serves – at least from a reproductive standpoint – the purposes of receiving a man’s penis and birthing a child, the clitoris is an external-facing organ that exists for the sole purpose of giving a woman sexual pleasure. It’s hypersensitive and provides her satisfying orgasms. However, because the clit is normally very small, our culture at large (as well as other cultures around the world) doesn’t always recognize its importance to a woman’s sexual health. It’s not talked about at school or at home. Thus, many women across the globe never realize what their clitoris is and what unique function it serves.

Men, on the other hand, have penises. The penis is a much larger external organ that is obvious in its appearance and universally understood to give a man sexual pleasure. No culture throughout human history has ever misunderstood the purpose of the penis. Therefore, boys do not grow up not knowing what purpose this organ serves and what benefits it can provide. It also gives men a sense of unearned sexual superiority because of the obvious nature of this particular organ. Women, however, do not have the luxury of possessing an outward-facing organ that serves an obvious sensual purpose. The clitoris is small and is often overshadowed by the vagina, which can be seen as a “passive” organ that only exists to please the penis during coitus.

We know that the vagina isn’t a passive organ, but that fact isn’t ingrained in our culture’s psyche. However, women who possess a larger-than-normal clitoris are a different matter. They do in fact possess an organ that is both obvious in its appearance and unambiguous in its functionality. It gives a woman pleasure, period. End of story. No need to elaborate.

So, an FBB with big muscles and a large clitoris is a special kind of woman whose sexual independence is punctuated by their enormous genitalia. They are in fact sexual beings who don’t just exist to please others, but exist for their own sake. They don’t need a man to please themselves. They don’t need another woman either, so this is not a matter of sexual orientation or preference. This is a case of sovereignty. This is a matter of our culture giving permission to women everywhere to enjoy their sex lives with or without a partner. It’s about women being able to experience orgasms without any rhyme or reason. She doesn’t need any reason to do so other than she desires to have orgasms. Whenever she wants to, how often she wants to. That is the definition of “sovereignty.” Unfortunately, this simple concept hasn’t always been universally agreed upon.

We’re better than we were in the past, but we still have a long way to go. For sure.

Whew!

A female bodybuilder fits the definition perfectly of a “strong independent woman,” yet our culture doesn’t see it that way. Our culture doesn’t really acknowledge female bodybuilders at all. They’re still at the fringes of the “mainstream” and don’t have a seat at the table. It’s a crying shame, but it’s a reality that FBBs and fans of FBBs have come to accept. For those of us who are aware of female bodybuilders and their vast accomplishments, we’ve come to appreciate their sovereignty. Their long hours at the gym, grueling dietary choices, and financial sacrifices are not lost on us. Nor is their sexuality lost on us. Far from it.

Ashlee Chambers filling that tube with her girly meat.

We all know Denise Masino possesses a lot of meat between her legs. A long clitoris, thick labia, and a fleshy pink vagina await anyone fortunate enough to be able to witness her substantial feminine endowments. But here’s the kicker: Her enormous genitalia doesn’t exist to please a man. Nor does it exist to please a woman. Instead, it only exists to please herself.

A clit pump only emphasizes that point. When you see Denise’s large clitoris become even larger, your eyes become so big you’re afraid they’ll pop out of their sockets. It serves as a valuable reminder that Denise is a sexually independent being. She might be showing off for the camera, but the real purpose of her performance is to prove a critically important point: Her body is capable of providing her immense sexual pleasure and she isn’t afraid to explore these possibilities to its fullest limits.

Denise, and every other FBB who’s shot clit pump videos, is willing to titillate her audience as well as educate them. She’s teaching them an important lesson in female sexuality. She’s schooling us on the fact that women are not passive creatures who need a man to please them. Rather, women are sexually autonomous and don’t have to apologize for being so. These ladies may not mean to make this statement, but they are regardless.

A clit pump, therefore, is a fantastic invention not just because of the primary function it serves, but also for its secondary function. It drives home the point in the most bombastic manner possible that women do not exist to give men pleasure. Women are not second-class citizens. They don’t have to be subordinate to anyone. These concepts are arbitrarily drawn up by our culture and have been passed down from generation to generation. When you see an FBB’s clitoral meat nearly fill up the entire tube, your jaw drops to the floor not just because you’re “impressed” by what she has, but also because you finally realize what you’ve been missing all these years: The way women experience sex isn’t radically different than how men experience sex.

Kathy Connors is not afraid to show us her best features.

Yes, there are remarkable differences. Biologically, male and female genitalia are very different. No reason to contest that. Yet, where they are similar is the basic configuration of how orgasm is achieved. Stimulate the genitals during the proper state of arousal…and orgasm will ensue.

This stimulation can be provided by a man. Or a woman. Or herself. Or by a toy. No matter what, the result is the same: Bliss.

There’s even one video where Denise jerks her clit off between her fingers, similar to how a man would masturbate. She strokes her endowment up and down until she comes. Of course, whether she actually climaxed in that moment is beside the point. What’s more important is how much guys watching this can identify with Denise’s actions. We’ve all been there in some form or fashion. It’s supremely arousing to see a lady do what we’ve been doing since we were teenage boys. Denise is a fine looking lady who’s strong, confident, intelligent, sexy, and proud of what her body can do for her. She isn’t ashamed. She isn’t embarrassed to have a large clitoris that provokes Internet trolls to make denigrating comments like “She’s actually a man!” or “Gross! That’s what steroids will do to you!” Denise isn’t a man of course, and not only are these idiots totally wrong, they’re missing out on enjoying an entire facet of femininity that many of us deeply appreciate.

FBBs who use clit pumps aren’t redefining “femininity.” Instead, they’re expanding the definition of it. Big muscles, large genitalia, and an assertive personality can also be feminine. FBBs aren’t trying to be like men; they’re trying to be a better version of themselves. When we see Angela Salvagno stretch her golden brown labia as far out as it can go, we’re reminded that she’s showing off her feminine body in all its glory. We’re not seeing a masculine-looking figure inhabiting a female body. We’re seeing a nontraditional womanly body that doesn’t conform to our preconceived notions of what “feminine” should look like.

These truths can go over the heads of far too many of us. However, clit pumps play an integral role in tearing down these barriers. When that clear tube is filled with 2-3 inches of meat, our philosophical paradigm shifts completely. We finally recognize the irrefutable truth that female bodybuilders are exactly that: females who build their bodies up to proportions that shatter our expectations. And they build their bodies in ways that go beyond their muscles. It includes their genitals, too.

Witnessing a cute girly girl like Brandi Mae Akers filling her tube with a couple inches of clitoral meat really proves the point that our perceptions of “masculine” and “feminine” are completely wrong. Our brains struggle to comprehend how someone so unmistakably feminine can also have such large genitals. How is that even possible? Then, she jokes about walking around in public with the tube still attached, giggling at the possibility of strangers stopping dead in their tracks when they see a pretty young lady like herself sport a substantial endowment between her legs. What a sight that would be!

Whether we’re dealing with a pretty girl-next-door like Brandi Mae or an intimidating Alpha Female like Amber DeLuca, both of these ladies force us to reevaluate how we should view the differences between men and women. Personally, when I see Amber proudly filling that tube with her large clit, I don’t feel insecure or apprehensive. Instead, I feel a sense of kinship and commonality with her. I feel like she isn’t all that different from me. She’s obviously quite different from me in every aspect of life, but in that moment I feel as though we’re two sides of the same coin.

Male/female. Masculine/feminine. Blah. Why does it matter? What’s the difference? Differences do exist, but why are we so focused on them all the time? Can’t we just celebrate our distinctions, recognize our similarities, and enjoy what every single one of us can bring to the table? I pray the world may wake up and finally realize that we’re tearing ourselves apart for no good reason.

In closing, we should be grateful that there are a number of female bodybuilders who are not afraid to pump their clits for the entire world to see. They’re not ashamed of what Mother Nature has endowed them with, as well as the side effects of living life as an elite bodybuilder. But it’s not just that they’re not afraid; they’re proud of their bodies. They take pride in being unique. They relish being able to shatter our preconceived notions of human sexuality and gender identities. They’re taking all of us to school one way or another.

Every time they film themselves using a clit pump, they’re planting seeds inside our imaginations of what women are actually capable of being. They aren’t people who “lack a penis,” but instead are people who affirmatively “have a vagina, labia, and clitoris.” These parts do not singularly define their identity, but they certainly play a role in shaping how we view and treat them. We take pleasure in watching them experience pleasure. And whether we know it or not, we’re becoming better people, little by little.

As they expand their clits to larger lengths, they’re also expanding our hearts to newer heights.

Muscle Note: A Shinigami’s Greatest Gift to Mankind?

A Muscle Note. Whose names would you write in it?

“Hear this: I’m not only Kira, but I’m also God of the new world!”

Or so proclaims Light Yagami, the protagonist of the manga (and later anime) series “Death Note.” With the release of the American film version on Netflix happening not too long ago, it seems only appropriate to discuss a Death Note-inspired fantasy that every female muscle fan would love to see enacted in real life.

What if there existed a Muscle Note?

For those of you who need further background information, Death Note is a popular Japanese manga (or graphic novel) series written by Tsugumi Ohba and illustrated by Takeshi Obata. It was released between December 2003 and May 2006. The animated television series followed from October 2006 to June 2007. Shortly afterward it was dubbed into English and released in North America.

The plot is simple yet ingenious: From the realm of the spirit world, a Shinigami (or a God of Death) named Ryuk drops into the human world a black notebook known as a Death Note. The human who discovers this paranormal tool is named Light Yagami, an intelligent, popular, handsome, and – for the most part – normal high school student. The basic function of the Death Note is easy to understand: If you write the name of any person in the notebook, he or she will die. There are plenty of other finely tuned rules attached to it, but that’s pretty much all you need to know for now.

Eventually, Light tests it out and discovers that the notebook is no joke. It’s real. Its powers are genuine. Then, he gets the idea of killing off criminals who are either crowding the prison system or just simply deserve to die. Light imagines how much more “just” and peaceful the world could be if criminals could easily be “erased” with the literal stroke of a pen. The criminal justice system is too slow, corrupt, bureaucratic, and flawed to serve justice effectively. Fancying himself as the judge, jury, and executioner all in one, Light exhibits delusions of grandeur as he proudly proclaims that he will be the “God of the new world.”

If you are not already into Japanese anime, do not let that stop you from watching this epic 37-episode long TV series. It’s a compelling watch. You could actually waste an entire weekend binge watching it if you’re not careful. And odds are, you won’t regret it. I highly recommend it for everyone out there, even those of you who don’t normally like Asian animation shows. There are a few moments that unfortunately cross over into “immature” territory, but for the most part the series is intelligently written, briskly paced, and a joy to behold.

What if you could transform Gal Gadot into Aspen Rae?

But let’s spin this in a different direction. As alluded to earlier, what if instead of a Death Note, you stumbled upon by happenstance a Muscle Note? The functionality is essentially the same, except for one significant difference: By writing a person’s name in the notebook, you magically transform their bodies to become as muscular as you desire (within a certain limit).

Here are the rules of the Muscle Note:

The human whose name is written in this note shall experience enhanced muscular growth.
This note will not take effect unless the writer has the person’s face in their mind when writing his/her name. Therefore, people sharing the same name will not be affected.
A number on a scale of 1 to 10 must be written next to the name to indicate the level of muscular growth that will occur. Failure to write a number will result in no change in his/her physical appearance. 1 means minimal muscle growth and 10 means maximum growth. Writing a number larger than 10 will not result in any additional growth beyond the threshold of 10.
The muscular growth will happen within 40 seconds of the name being written.
Muscle atrophy will result if the human does not take measures to maintain his/her muscle structure. Therefore, the enhanced muscle growth is not permanent.
The human whose name is written must be between the ages of 18 and 70. If he/she is older or younger than these parameters, no change in physical appearance shall occur.
If the paper on which the human’s name is written is burned, his/her body shall return back to its original state. Erasing the name is not sufficient.
The human who possesses the Muscle Note cannot use it for their own body.
The same human’s name can be written multiple times if the paper on which his/her name was previously written on is properly burned. Writing a different number will result in that human’s body adjusting accordingly.
No more than three humans can possess the Muscle Note at a time.
No human can lose possession of the Muscle Note unless a Kratos decides to take it away from him/her. A human can request to have the Muscle Note taken away from him/her. A Kratos is under no obligation to honor this request.
Humans who suffer from debilitating diseases or chronic physical disabilities and have their name written in the Muscle Note will not experience better health, only enhanced muscular development.

There are probably additional rules, but that’s enough for now. Also, just for your reference, a “Kratos” is named after the Greek god of strength, might, power, and sovereign rule. A Shinigami is a Japanese god of death, so it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense for them to be distributing Muscle Notes to the human world. So there’s that.

So imagine you encounter such a notebook. Let’s say the Kratos who decides to drop it on your lap is named “Ryanuk.” He seems friendly enough. Sure, a bit frightening in appearance, but once you get used to him it becomes no big deal. Ryanuk unexpectedly visits you in your bedroom one fateful evening. He carefully introduces himself and explains the rules in detail. Nothing is left up to ambiguity. You thank him for this unrequested gift.

Alright. So now what?

Odds are, since you are unable to use it on yourself (sorry!) you have to use it on somebody else. Where do you begin? Do you “test” it out on somebody first, such as your best friend or a random classmate/officemate? Or do you dive in head-first and go for jugular by writing the name of a young lady you’ve had your eye on?

Oh, the possibilities! Perhaps that’s why the story of Death Note is so compelling. Not only are we watching Light Yagami make these sorts of decisions on the fly, we are also making them for ourselves. What would we do if we were in his shoes? How would we react if unforeseen stumbling blocks like the enigmatic detective “L” or an infatuated fan-girl like Misa Amane with the Shinigami Eyes were to hinder us from properly executing our larger plans? Could we evade capture for as long as he did, especially considering his own father is a police chief? The suspense built up by the plot has more to do with these endless “what if questions” versus presenting a series of boring and pointless action scenes.

Possessing a Muscle Note would present different questions, but equally intriguing questions – especially if you are a female muscle fan. The first question you’d be asking yourself would be:

“Who?”

Who would you choose to magically transform into a bodybuilder? Maybe you write the name of a girl you have a crush on. Or perhaps a famous celebrity like Gal Gadot or Ariana Grande. Or, of course, your best buddy who goes to the gym five days a week but still can’t get gains to save his life (he’s clearly not consuming enough protein). Regardless, you cannot use it on yourself. Sorry. Ryanuk does have his limits. Selfishness is not a virtue he shares.

Ryanuk also values realism. The peak muscularity a person can reach is that of a Mr. or Ms. Olympia (R.I.P.) competitor. He’s not a fan of “female muscle growth” fiction, so fantasies of transforming a person into a superhuman muscle freak with as much bulging flesh as the Michelin Man is not going to become a reality. So, writing a person’s name and the number “10” after it will result in him or her becoming really muscular, but not unreasonably so. If you were expecting anything more than that, you will be sadly disappointed.

A person who loves muscular women will no doubt feel giddy being in possession of such a supernatural tool. One can only imagine how he or she would utilize it. No doubt many of you have already fantasized about possessing such powers (although not necessarily in the form of a physical Muscle Note). It’s hard to not ponder such things when the supply of muscular women is as rare as a solar eclipse (when statistically compared to the entirety of humankind, that is).

Therefore, the candidates whose names would be written down in this notebook would probably include the following:

Real life crushes
Celebrities
Best friends
Athletes on your favorite teams
Enemies whom you would like to play tricks on
Complete strangers who would look more attractive with enhanced muscle mass

The list can probably go on from here, but you get the point. One does not simply possess a Muscle Note and not take full advantage of it. Especially when you might actually be doing some people a favor by using it. This is your opportunity to become a genuine humanitarian. Did that thought ever occur to you? Well, now it has.

Here’s what your first page of names might look like:

Katy Perry 7
Megan Fox 10
<Cute girl who works at Starbucks> 4
<Your wife/girlfriend> 3 (hey, you want her to look good, but not better than you!)
Nicki Minaj 9
Kim Kardashian 10
<Your favorite basketball player who could grab more rebounds if he were a bit stronger> 6
<Superstar athlete who plays for your hated rival> 1
<Idiot jock who bullies you at school> 1
Pamela Anderson 8 (for those of you who grew up in the 90s)
Scarlett Johansson 5
Gal Gadot 8
<Your boss whom you hate with a passion> 10 (just to see him/her freak out!)
<Your best buddy> 4
<That hot chick who jogs around your neighborhood> 9
Donald Trump 1

You delight after reviewing this list. Then you look at your watch for 40 seconds to pass. Then you check Twitter 10 minutes later to see who’s freaking out. And then you relish the fact you’re causing so much havoc on a global scale without standing up out of your chair.

Right, right. This is all fine and dandy. All of that being said, the second question you might ask yourself is this:

“Should I?”

Obviously, the taking of somebody’s life without their permission is an act of moral reprehension. We call it “murder” and it’s highly illegal for a reason. While making someone’s body more muscular isn’t nearly as morally repulsive as murdering them, there are still ethical considerations to be had.

Basically, is it ever right to do something to a person without their permission, no matter how trivial or “beneficial” it might be? Becoming stronger is almost always a benefit, but that’s irrelevant when we consider the question of personal sovereignty. Using the Muscle Note would be a violation of personal sovereignty, even though many of us dream of looking like Arnold Schwarzenegger in the 1970s. Think about how many 20-year-olds who dream of playing in the NFL or MLB or UFC could actually get there if someone (strategically) used the Muscle Note on their bodies. Obviously, one should not use it in drastic fashion – such as transforming someone with a “3” body into a “10” overnight – that could arouse suspicion. That would blow your cover and expose the existence of either a Muscle Note or a miracle drug that somehow snuck into the open market.

These folks are not who we’re talking about. Rather, we’re talking about a gorgeous supermodel who wakes up one morning and finds her physique transformed into Aleesha Young without her permission. That might bring joy to many of us, but that would bring feelings of horror to her. You don’t need to be the world’s most empathetic person to know that’s probably a bit unethical.

But let’s face it. Being the owner of a Muscle Note isn’t about ethics, philosophical values, or vague notions of empathy, compassion, or integrity. Instead, it’s about making your wildest dreams come true with the innocuous stroke of a pen. A Muscle Note is the greatest gift to mankind because it can be used to improve people’s lives, not end it. Yet, one cannot help but think about the grave ramifications of using it on a large scale. Could it instigate a worldwide panic much like Kira did in Death Note? Perhaps. Or it could go unnoticed if it’s used modestly.

Yet, wouldn’t this sort of “cheapen” what it would mean to become a muscular person? Bodybuilders, both men and women, earn their impressive physiques through hard labor, perseverance, strategic planning, forethought, and mental toughness. If you could magically transform someone into a bodybuilder in less than a minute, wouldn’t that person lack a certain level of intrigue?

Many of us love female bodybuilders partly because we are turned on by how difficult it is to be one. Those of us who have participated in a muscle worship or wrestling session with a muscular woman deeply appreciate the blood, sweat, and tears that must have been shed during her journey of achieving such muscularity. We love them not only because their bodies are beautiful; but also because we respect what they’ve chosen to do with their lives. They’ve elected to lead an unorthodox life in pursuit of a physical aesthetic that is not only untraditional but supremely difficult to reach.

One cannot rest on their laurels and still be a bodybuilder. Muscles eventually recede if they are not probably maintained. Thus, being a bodybuilder is like climbing a mountain that has no summit. Even when you reach the top, you still have to labor in order to stay at the top. It’s like reaching the peak of Mount Everest and still having to work in order to stay there. You can’t stop to smell the roses. If you do, you will start to slip further and further downhill. What a cruel thing the human body can be at times.

Or Scarlett Johansson into Shannon Courtney?

But a Muscle Note is one way of bypassing all those scientific rules. With a Muscle Note at your disposal, you can reach the top of Mount Everest and stay there for as long as you want without lifting a finger. Seriously. Just keep that pen handy at all times. That’s all it takes.

Yes, that does cheapen what it means to be hypermuscular. But if we’re just using it for fetishistic ends, the philosophical/ethical considerations are a moot point. If you want your girlfriend to look like Minna Pajulahti for one night only, you can do that by writing her name in the Muscle Note and burning it after you’re done “playing” with her in her temporary costume. So on a crude level a Muscle Note only exists to fulfill our primal sexual fantasies. Oh great. Nothing more, nothing less.

But isn’t that the point of Death Note to begin with? Human beings cannot be trusted with supernatural powers because inevitably people will use it for destructive means, even if their intentions are good and noble at the beginning. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, as the old saying goes. No person should ever have that much power because no person will ever know how to control it. Eventually, power will control you. History has taught us that lesson repeatedly. The real tragedy is that we fail to learn it.

Perhaps this means a Muscle Note is not actually the greatest gift to mankind from the spirit world. No matter how “innocent” our fantasies might originally be, one can never anticipate which road our behavior will go. Will we choose the honorable path, or will we be completely consumed by our own greed and carnal desires that we abuse our powers to the detriment of others?

We can promise that we’d use the Muscle Note to help people like victims of polio, aspiring athletes who come from poor families that could earn riches beyond their wildest dreams, insecure people who could gain considerable self-esteem, and all sorts of individuals suffering from debilitating diseases. Yet, we all know how supernatural powers are usually put to use: to punish people we don’t like or to indulge in our own greediness.

You can guess which path most of us would probably take. Be honest with yourself. You know you’d go crazy and use it for purely selfish means.

And that would be wrong. Yet unquestionably enthralling. And arousing. Oh, the possibilities…

Humans are so interesting, indeed.