For our next entry into this series, I’m proud to introduce you to Carmichael. He’s a 22-year-old fellow who is also a blogger like myself. He loves female bodybuilders, wrestlers, and Amazonian Women. Who doesn’t, right?
When did you first discover your love for female muscle?
It all started when I was a freshman in junior high school. At that time, I didn’t know there was something called an “Amazon woman,” but I was always attracted to tall and huge women. Then one day I decided to just Google “tall woman” and “strong woman” (I know it’s lame, but hey, I was just a little kid!) then I found Mikayla Miles! She was the tallest fitness model I’d ever seen at the time! She was the first huge strong woman I’d ever loved.
At first I didn’t know that I loved women with huge muscle like female bodybuilders, I just knew that I loved a fit woman. But then my love for muscles grew and now I love female bodybuilders more than ever!
Why are you attracted to (or an admirer of) female bodybuilders?
I’m not really sure why, but maybe because I’m a submissive at heart. I always wanted to get dominated by women, but not just an ordinary woman. I want to be dominated by a strong, huge woman who can really dominate me.
I also got bored by the typical “skinny woman” you see nowadays. It aroused me more to see a woman with arms as big as my legs!
Have you ever met a female bodybuilder (or a woman with a lot of muscles)? If so, what were the circumstances?
How would you react to someone who says that a guy (or gal) who likes female bodybuilders is strange, weird, kooky in the head, etc.?
I’m cool with it.
Female bodybuilders are a strange thing in society. It’s their loss to be honest LOL
It’s their loss for not liking females with muscles!
Have you ever told anyone that you’re into female muscle?
Noooo…even though I love female bodybuilders, I’m not ready to be judged by my friends and family. They will never understand the beauty of female bodybuilders.
If you could tell someone who doesn’t understand your attraction to female muscle one thing, what would it be?
Strong and dominant women are the future.
Do you ever foresee a situation in the future when women with muscles and people who admire them will become more accepted by society?
No, not in a short time. Maybe in another 10 or more years since there are a lot of young female bodybuilders like Julia Vins, Bakhar Nabieva, etc. who can inspire a lot of young girls to train at the gym!
At the gym where I frequently workout, I often see a sight that I’m pretty sure many of you can also recognize.
I see a huge Gym Bro who looks like he spends way too much of his free time lifting weights and avoiding cardio (not to mention Leg Day) drag his girlfriend (or wife) to the gym with him. She may or may not be in shape. She may or may not even want to be there. Perhaps she’d rather be at home watching reruns of The Bachelorette or reading a book. Or going out to drinks with her friends. Or going to the gym, but not five times a week.
Gym Bro clearly loves working out. You can see it in his huge arms, enormous chest, and cocky strut. The Reluctant Girlfriend of Gym Bro is a different matter. She could be skinny, a bit overweight, or perhaps quite obese. But the body type she isn’t is “muscular.” And you can tell, whether he is willing to admit it or not, that he’d love it for her to become as muscular as he is.
He teaches her how to deadlift, squat, bench press, and shoulder press. She does as she’s told, but you can tell she does it with little enthusiasm. When she uses improper form, he lashes out, or at the very least aggressively tries to correct her “errors.” Not wanting to upset him further, she does her best to please him. It’s a sad sight to see. It’s pathetic. You feel sorry for her and secretly desire to punch him in the face.
I could very well be misinterpreting this situation, or maybe I’m spot on. I don’t see this all the time, but it happens enough that I feel compelled to write about it. Long story short, Gym Bro secretly – or not so secretly – wants his girlfriend to look a certain way. He thinks she’s too skinny, too fat, or too average. Regardless, he wants her to bulk up. He wants her to look like Michele Levesque, even if she has no desire herself to look like that. For those of you who don’t know who I’m talking about, Michele is a gorgeous fitness model who possesses the ideal look: she’s fit, unquestionably feminine, as gorgeous as a supermodel, and has built enough muscle to turn people’s heads – but not so much muscle that she upstages the man she’s with.
Our friend the Gym Bro understands that women who look like Miss Levesque, Julie Germaine, Autumn Cleveland, Lauranda Nall, and Sheronica Sade Henton don’t just grow on trees. They are far from a dime a dozen. They are a one-in-a-million rare specimen that must be treasured because they are few and far between. However, Gym Bro secretly dreams about possessing a girlfriend with such a treasured physique…and will not sit around idly and wait for it to happen.
Therefore, he must take matters into his own hands. Even if that requires “forcing” his girlfriend to put a pair of dumbbells into her hands.
Thus, he nudges her in the direction of bulking up like him. He tells her it’s a healthy choice. He reassures her she won’t start “looking like a man.” He insists she’ll develop more confidence, curves in all the right places, and unsolicited compliments from complete strangers (naturally, the flattering kinds of compliments, not the creepy ones). She sort of goes along with it. After all, she wants to spend quality time with her boyfriend, right? Who wouldn’t?
She goes to the gym whenever he goes to the gym. They lift together. He “trains” her and cheers her on. He gives out advice as if it were candied apples on Halloween. She learns how to lift. She’s taught the proper form, breathing techniques, and recovery methods. He makes post-workout protein shakes for the both of them. She begrudgingly drinks it every single time. Maybe she likes the taste, maybe she doesn’t. But it’s all to keep their relationship intact, so it must be worth it.
If this scenario doesn’t seem familiar to you, don’t worry. Sooner or later you’ll witness something like this up close. And it’ll make you squirm. Or at the very least, feel sorry for her and all involved. You might start to ask yourself whether this behavior crosses into the territory of abuse. Does it? You sure hope not, but how can these thoughts not come to mind?
Essentially, Gym Bro wants his Reluctant Girlfriend to become Human Clay. He wants to sculpt her into becoming a Perfect Muscle Goddess who will fulfill his every lustful carnal desire. He wants her to become an Amazon, a strong confident young woman who takes life by the horns and never relents in pursuing her goals. He wants the ultimate arm candy. He wants a sexy flesh-and-blood trophy he can call his own and show off to his fellow gym bros.
Meanwhile, you get the sense she doesn’t really want to do this. She’s all for living a healthy life and looking good, but is it worth the soreness and agony of going to the gym all the damn time? It goes without saying that one does not simply become a Muscle Goddess overnight. Nor does it happen by accident. You only look like Cindy Landolt if you put in the effort to look like Cindy Landolt. If you don’t want to look like her, then you won’t ever look like her. It’s as simple as that.
The scenario described above troubles me. But unfortunately, I see it – and hear about it – all too often. It’s frustrating. It’s maddening to see. But alas, it’s quite common. When you start to “force” somebody to do something they don’t actually want to do, that’s problematic.
As I’ve written before countless times, I love muscular women. But I would never pressure my significant other to ever become a muscular woman unless she genuinely wanted to become one. And if that were to happen, I’d enthusiastically support her 100%. But if not, I’d understand completely.
It’s perfectly natural for straight guys to be attracted to muscular women. It happens more frequently than a lot of us are aware of. And it’s also understandable why many of us dream about having a muscular girlfriend. Who wouldn’t want to come home every night after a long day of work to a woman who looks like Minna Pajulahti? I know I would!
And you can share a bed with her every f*****g day? Count me in!
So the awfully awkward situation where guys start to treat their girlfriends like Human Clay seems sort of inevitable. Isn’t that the logical next step? Isn’t this just a natural progression for anyone who appreciates fit women? Well, no. It doesn’t have to be this way.
I fully believe that a woman has every right to pursue bodybuilding and fitness if they choose to do so. Many women find participating in the sport empowering, uplifting, and worthwhile. Yes, it’s a cliché to use the word “empower” when we’re dealing with women and their physical appearance, but clichés are formed for a reason. For many women, bodybuilding has helped them deal with trauma, overcome emotional obstacles, and provide them with a renewed sense of purpose. The list of benefits goes on.
However, women also have the right to not pursue bodybuilding if such a lifestyle does not totally appeal to them. This seems obvious, yet this is not really at the heart of the problem. I don’t think too many women are forced to lift weights at the gym at gunpoint. But pressure (both overt and subtle) from a loved one can be just as coercive. The desire to please your partner will drive people to do almost anything. The same goes for the fear of losing a loved one – and by “losing,” I mean that person choosing to find a different lover, not death.
I understand why a guy would want a sexy muscle goddess for a girlfriend. Trust me, I daydream about this all the time! But, I’d like to think I would never cross that line and pressure my better half to torture herself at the gym just because I want the shape of her body to be more pleasing to my eye. But this is not about me being “holier than thou.” All I want to do is send a warning to those of you who might (or already have) cross that line, either intentionally or unintentionally.
There’s nothing malicious about wanting your partner to look and feel healthy. After all, don’t we all want to be with our loved ones for as long as possible? Of course we do. But this goes deeper than that. This is about the ethics of female muscle fandom. This is about being a decent human being.
No person is Human Clay. No person should ever feel obliged to do anything against their will for any reason whatsoever. There’s nothing wrong with wanting a muscular girlfriend. It’s quite another thing to use coercive measures to make that dream come true. Even if you’re a Gym Bro who thinks they have good intentions at heart, odds are not everyone around you will agree. Being a Reluctant Girlfriend is like being stuck between a rock and a hard place. Of course you want to look fabulous and sexy. But what are you willing to sacrifice in order to do that? And who is allowed to define what “fabulous and sexy” even means?
If I could snap my fingers and magically make a Sexy Powerful Muscle Goddess appear right before my very eyes, I wouldn’t think twice about doing it. But alas we don’t live in a universe where such miracles are possible. While it never hurts to dream, it can hurt the ones we love if we bully them into fulfilling our dreams – regardless if such a thing is even feasible in the first place.
At the end of the day, the awkward relationship between Gym Bro and Reluctant Girlfriend is probably never going to go away. It will always be here with us until the world comes to an end. Or until we discover a secret potion that miraculously transforms a humble bumpkin into Muscle Cinderella. If that ever happens, instead of a glass slipper, would the Handsome Prince go around town seeing whose torso is muscular enough to handle a weightlifting belt that was left behind?
In conclusion, we all want Cindy Landolt to be our girlfriend. But women who actually look like her are not so common. So accept that. Understand that we can’t always get what we want, just like The Rolling Stones once reminded us. But, as they also remind us, we get what we need:
A loving companion who joyfully goes to the gym with you but doesn’t want to lift super heavy. It may not fulfill all your dirty desires, but it’s much more realistic. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but that’s the way the cookie crumbles.
The lesson to be learned is this: don’t pressure her to be a bodybuilder. Let her get her workout in, kiss her on the cheek, and tell her “I love you the way you are.” And if she’d rather stay at home and play Candy Crush Saga while you’re across town busting your tail at the squat rack, let her…even if you’d rather watch her bust her tail while jealous onlookers stare at you with envy in their hearts.
One more set, Debbie. That’s it. Just one more set.
Looking up at the bench press bar, Deborah knows she has only one more set of ten repetitions remaining before her chest workout would come to an end. Then she could cool down, work on her abs, shower, buy a protein smoothie, and go home.
At this point Deborah has worked her way up to benching 275 pounds. The only woman currently in the weight room, all eyes are on her and she’s well aware of it. Some men are rooting for her, others are hoping she will fail. But Deborah is determined to prove everybody wrong. Even her supporters.
“Alright, time to do this motherfucker,” Deborah whispers to no one in particular.
Deborah places both hands on the bar, equidistant apart, and lies down on the bench. Her forehead is dry, not a single drop of sweat is left remaining in her body. She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and imagines herself pumping this bar up and down ten times before putting it back on the rack. She can do this. She’s done this many times before. Even with all these idiots watching her. For her, pre-visualization is the key to success. If you cannot imagine yourself doing it, how can you actually do it?
Time to do it, Debbie. Time to make yourself stronger. Stronger than you’ve ever been before.
She opens her eyes, focuses on the ceiling fan above her, grips the bar tight with both hands, and lifts the bar off the rack.
Deep breath in.
Down, exhale, up. One.
Down, exhale, up. Two.
Down, exhale, up. Three.
Down, exhale, up. Four.
Inhale. Slight exhale. Another inhale.
Down, exhale, up. Five.
Down, exhale, up. Six.
Deep inhale. Holy shit. This is getting tough. Dammit.
Down, exhale, up. Seven.
Her eyes burn when a drip of sweat seeps into her eye socket. She was under the impression her body had no sweat left in it. She is wrong.
Down, exhale, up. Eight.
Down, exhale, up. Nine.
Oh, shit. She has to give up. Her arms tremble. She feels her elbows start to wobble. She’s going to drop the bar and smash her neck in half. She needs a spotter. But no! She refuses to give up. Nobody tells Deborah she can’t do anything. Fuck that shit. Deborah can do whatever the fuck she wants. Fuck the world. Fuck her doubters. Fuck anybody who thinks she’s a weakling because she’s a woman. Fuck that!!!
Down, exhale, up, up, up, up!
Just a little bit more….
Deborah groans loudly, her booming voice reverberating across the room. She couldn’t care less if she’s distracting her fellow exercisers. This is all about her, nobody else. Fuck everybody else.
On the verge of collapsing, Deborah places the bar back on the rack and drops her arms to the floor. She’s gasping for air harder than a heavyweight prize fighter after the twelfth round. Her chest feels so tight it could burst with the prick of a needle. Her arms feel like jelly. She doubts she can move a single muscle until tomorrow morning.
But she has to move. She can’t spend the night and sleep here. No way. No fucking way.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen. This is a classic case of mind vs. matter. And in Deborah Frost’s case, her mind won. She kicked matter’s ass. Big time. Oh yeah.
After a minute or two (which felt like an hour), Deborah sits up, grabs her towel, and wipes herself off. She then stands up, wipes down the bench, and proceeds to take the weight plates off the bar and place them back where they belong. Her “audience” has moved on and returned to their own little worlds. She just bench pressed all that fucking weight and her doubters are left to eat their own shit. Let them eat shit.
Time to do some ab work.
Deborah’s tall 6 foot 2 inch frame is covered from head to toe with big, thick muscles. As ripped as a professional bodybuilder and athletic as an Olympic gymnast, Deborah Frost is a unique, one-of-a-kind physical specimen. She doubts anybody in the world has ever had a body quite like hers. And she’s determined to make sure it stays that way.
At 27 years old, Deborah is certainly young enough to still be in the prime of her physical potential. Everything depends on her work ethic. And her work ethic is off the charts.
Forty-five minutes later, Deborah is stark naked and standing at a shower stall, feeling the hot water cascade off her strong, muscular body. She is not alone, showering alongside a short elderly woman, a grossly obese high school girl, and a young ditzy blonde who looks like she could be a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader.
Mmmm. Delicious. She’d love to lick her sweet pussy. She looks so soft, so sweet. She must smell like roses.
But Deborah isn’t usually into girls like her. She prefers women like Cassandra, her long-time girlfriend who lives with her. Like Deborah, Cassandra is as strong as an ox and refuses to let anybody tell her she can’t do anything. She’s just got back home after serving an eight month-long tour of duty in Afghanistan with the U.S. Marines. Cassandra was wounded when a road-side bomb hit her patrol vehicle, lodging a long piece of metal into her left leg. She sees a physical therapist every single day to help her recover.
But all Deborah could think about is fantasizing about Cheerleader Girl. That, and getting clean. Maybe she should focus more on getting clean.
Cheerleader Girl turns off her shower and walks away to her towel hanging on the wall. Deborah watches her curvy, round butt sway from side to side as she struts. Deborah can feel an electrical current pulsate between her legs. God, she needs release. Really bad. All this pent-up energy can’t be taken out through a workout. She needs a good, old-fashioned fuck.
Cassandra can help her with this when she gets home.
After her shower, Deborah quickly dresses and buys a small protein smoothie at the gym’s food bar. Her preference is banana strawberry. It’s fucking fantastic.
“Thank you. Have a good night,” the Smoothie Guy says. Deborah cannot remember his name to save her life and it’s beyond the point of embarrassment to ask him again. So she just smiles and nods as pleasantly as she can.
“You’re welcome. See you next time!”
He’s cute. A bit short and pudgy, his dark hair and perpetual five o’clock shadow is too irresistible to ignore. Deborah hasn’t had sex with a guy in nearly a decade, but she’d consider it if Smoothie Guy ever mustered up the courage to ask her. Or the foolishness to ask her. Same thing.
“See you tomorrow, right?” The Front Desk Gal asks.
“Yup, tomorrow. For sure. Today was chest day, so tomorrow is back and shoulders. Got to balance yourself out, you know what I mean?” Front Desk Gal nods. Deborah flashes her a subtle smile and sashays out of the gym.
The time approaches 10:30 p.m., which is a little bit later than she’s used to working out. Today she had a late start because she had to drive Cassandra to and from her therapy appointment. Usually she can snag a ride from her sister, but not today. Today, Cassie’s sister was meeting with her brand new sugar daddy. Deborah hopes things work out this time. Heaven knows she needs one right now.
Tonight, Deborah parked her car in the back lot. The gym’s super popular Zumba teacher taught back-to-back classes today so the front lot was completely full when Deborah arrived. Oh well. It could be worse. Heck, odds are stupid aerobic classes like that keep the gym in business. So she doesn’t have a whole lot to complain about.
Deborah fumbles with her car keys. She really needs to simplify how many damn keys she carries around in her tiny purse–
Deborah turns around to see whose voice it is that called out her name. It’s pitch black outside, so it’s nearly impossible to properly see who it is.
“Yes? Who is it?”
Standing next to a broken light post smoking a cigarette is a thin man wearing a black overcoat, a burgundy red fleece scarf, and a light gray fedora. The man approaches her nonchalantly. Even though she has every reason to feel threatened, she remains calm and collected. The man takes one last drag and tosses the cigarette on the ground. He steps on it for good measure.
“Good evening. Don’t feel alarmed. I’m not with the paparazzi or anything like that,” the man says. “I know people like that are constantly swarming you.”
“From time to time. But not for a while.” Deborah briefly dated in college a guy who was the school’s stud quarterback. He was drafted in the top ten and played two seasons in the NFL before overdosing on heroin. Deborah had broken up with him prior to his death, but the mysterious circumstances surrounding his sudden passing made her the subject of a criminal investigation. His fame, combined with her unusual muscular body, created a temporary media firestorm. Eventually, her name was cleared and she resumed living her life as normal.
She and William never had sex because he was secretly gay but refused to publicly come out. She was just a “girlfriend” for show. He felt like being outed would hurt his chances of playing in the pros. He wasn’t totally wrong. She went along with the charade as long as she received a cut of his paycheck. He agreed to this arrangement. Their phony relationship resulted in her receiving $15,000 per month from him in cash. They were both happy with this “business arrangement.” They both benefitted. But eventually even that had to come to an end, like everything does.
“I’m glad. It’s good to see your life has returned back to the way it was.”
“What do you want? An autograph?”
The Thin Fedora Man takes another step toward her. Deborah’s heart rate increases slightly.
“Oh, no. I’m not looking for that at all. I’m actually here to deliver a message to you. Would you like to hear it? I believe you will find it financially rewarding.” Deborah’s ears perk up at the mention of money. Due to her living life as a professional bodybuilder – which pays very little – and Cassandra having to spend so much of her money on therapy sessions, money is always tight with them. Always.
“Go away.” Deborah unlocks her car and takes one step toward it.
“Very well. As you wish. I will inform my client that you have refused his offer before even hearing it. He will be quite displeased with this news.” The Thin Fedora Man turns around and walks away. Impulsively, Deborah shouts back at him.
“Wait! Come back. I want to hear your offer.” The Thin Fedora Man stops dead in his tracks and smiles. He turns around and faces Deborah, a woman who is by far the most muscular he’s ever seen in his life.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I want to hear it. Go on.” How fucking pathetic does she look right now? Deborah shudders at the thought of her actually talking to a complete stranger who claims to represent someone interested in giving her a lot of money…
“Fantastic. I will not reveal my client’s name, but he will reveal himself if you choose to meet with him. He is offering you this: My client wants to spend one evening with you at a location of his choosing. The time parameters will be agreed upon beforehand,” he says.
“During this time together, he asks that you allow him to do whatever he pleases with you. Whatever he pleases, if I may reiterate that crucial point. Don’t worry, no physical or psychological harm will come to you. He can assure you of that. In return, you will receive $1 million in cash on the spot. No questions asked. No need to do anything else after that.”
Deborah can smell Thin Fedora Man’s smoky breath from several paces away. She tries to not cough. The struggle is real.
“Wow. That’s quite an offer. I’ll give you and your client credit. I’ve never been approached before about something so elaborate. But my answer is still no,” Deborah says. She begins to walk away toward her car for the second time.
“He figured you would immediately refuse. I also can sympathize with your reaction. This is why he’s offering you this ahead of time.” Thin Fedora Man takes out a white envelope from his coat pocket and hands it to Deborah. “It’s $10,000 in cash. Straight up. Even if you ultimately refuse my client’s offer, the money is still yours. No need to return it. Go ahead. Open it. It’s yours.”
Cautiously, Deborah takes the envelope from him and opens it. She peers inside. Sure enough, a thick stack of 100 dollar bills greets her. She gasps.
“Fuck me. You’re not joking around,” she mutters under her breath.
“No, he is not,” Thin Fedora Man chuckles. “Also inside this envelop is a business card with a phone number that you are to call if you would like to take him up on his generous offer. You have 48 hours to respond. If he does not hear from you, he will then pursue other potential candidates for this particular escapade. Understood?”
Unable to believe her eyes, Deborah looks up at Thin Fedora Man and nods her head faintly. “Yes, I understand completely.”
“Good! We look forward to your response. Have a pleasant rest of your evening, Miss Frost.”
And just like that, Thin Fedora Man turns around and calmly walks away. He gets inside a car parked several yards away and turns on the engine. Deborah still has not moved an inch since looking at the stack of bills. She sees red break lights illuminate the pitch black parking lot as the vehicle driven by the enigmatic man backs up. A chill runs down her spine.
“Holy hell. Is this guy for real?” she says to herself.
Dumbstruck and clutching the envelope as if her life depended upon it, Deborah can do nothing but watch Thin Fedora Man’s car speed off toward the main highway, leaving behind a thin trail of dust floating around in the darkness.
As quiet as a church mouse, Max creeps out from behind the corner and reveals himself to Tanya. Embarrassed to his very core, Max isn’t sure whether he should immediately run away into the next zip code or stand there and take his punishment.
Either way, he’s going to be in major trouble!
“I, uh, seem to have been unaware that the gym had closed,” Max stutters. “My mistake. Sorry about that!”
Tanya, glistening in her own sweat and standing as tall and confident as an Amazon warrior, smirks at Max’s clumsy excuse. She knows he’s full of bullshit…and thinks it’s completely adorable.
“Don’t worry, Max. Come on out. Seriously. I won’t bite,” she says. “I’m not even angry.”
She steps forward away from leg press machine and places her hands on her shapely hips. Max reluctantly approaches her. Although she’s naked from head to toe and is possibly the most perfect physical specimen he’s ever seen in his life, he maintains eye contact with her as he gives her the most shame-filled expression possible. Tanya still smiles.
“You probably didn’t expect me to take off all my clothes, huh?” Max nods his head in agreement. She bobs her head in response. Out of the periphery of his vision, Max notices an unusually large phallic organ hanging between her massive legs. He chooses to ignore this observation and remain focused on crafting an apology in his head.
“No, I didn’t. That came as quite a surprise,” Max says.
“That’s okay. I’d be shocked too if I were you.” She reaches down into her gym bag and takes out her water bottle. In one fell swig, she empties it and tosses it back inside. She lets out a modest burp.
“The truth is, I never work out in the nude. Especially not in public. Especially when there are security cameras everywhere.” Tanya points to the ceiling at a panoramic 360-degree camera stationed almost right underneath her. Max gulps as he reckons with the fact that this entire interaction is being recorded and stored into the cloud. Holy shit, will some random bloke working at some God-awful private security company watch this whole thing and…
“But, I don’t worry about such things. Generally speaking, nobody watches this unless they have a reason to,” Tanya takes a few steps closer to Max. He feels a chill run up his spine as she closes the proximity gap between them.
“I am…um, really sorry for peeping on you,” Max says.
“I’m sure you are. In your defense, you aren’t the first guy who’s tried this, and you probably won’t be the last.” Tanya strikes a quick side chest pose, showing off her impressive triceps. Max cannot believe his eyes…or the situation he finds himself in!
“I should be going…”
Tanya grabs Max by the shoulder and squeezes it tightly. Instead of pain, which is what he was expecting to feel, Max is pleasantly surprised at both her considerable strength and gentle touch.
“Why? We’re just getting started. Aren’t we?” Tanya leans over and kisses Max unexpectedly. He quivers in response. She steals his breath away from him. Their lips come apart after what seems like a blissful eternity. “You’re different from everyone else, Max. You’re modest, you don’t show off, and you treat everyone with respect. There’s a lot to like about that.”
“Thanks. I don’t know what to say. I just try to be myself, I guess.” As he fumbles his words, Max is afraid he might tip over and fall flat on his face. Luckily, he doesn’t.
“You just want to be yourself? Good for you,” she says, leaning in toward him. He can smell a grimy musky sweaty scent emanating out of every pore of her gorgeous body. Usually he would grimace at such a noticeable stench, but in this moment it smells like sweet exotic perfume. “I try to do the same. I try to live my life as authentically as possible, and without any regrets.”
Max nods. It’s the last thing he can do until…
Tanya squats to the ground and tears off Max’s shorts. Taking the not-so-subtle hint, Max takes off the rest of his clothes until he’s down to only his underwear. His erection is as plain as day. But instead of being embarrassed by it, he feels powerful. More powerful than he’s ever felt in his entire life. Even though Tanya is stronger and more authoritative than he is, for some unexplainable reason he cannot help but feel invincible.
“So, who do you think has a bigger one, you or me?”
Max blinks unintelligently. He is as dumbfounded as he’s ever been.
“I…um, uh, beg your pardon? What are you talking about…who has a, uh, bigger one?”
She smiles. He still cannot think straight. Then, she takes his hand and leads him toward a wall mirror. The two of them stand side-by-side in front of a smudged-up mirror, looking intently at their reflection. The sight of a tall muscular woman dwarfing a medium-sized man almost looks comical, but in this environment it’s as erotic of a sight that has ever been produced.
“It’s a simple question, Max. Who has a bigger one, you or I?” Suddenly, out of nowhere, Tanya spreads her massive legs apart and shows off her…
…her enormous clitoris!!!
Hanging between her legs, almost as if it exists purely for shock value, is the largest clitoris Max has ever seen before. Before he can process what he’s just seen, Tanya abruptly rips off his underwear and exposes his erect penis for the two of them to see. Fully hardened, Max’s modest size never bothered him before. At least, not before he encountered a fully nude Tanya!
Protruding out from between her legs is what appears to be a hefty six-inch long piece of meat. Mostly covered by a thick-layered dark brown clitoral hood, the head of her clit looks to be the size of the tip of Max’s thumb. What the hell!!!!!!!!!!!!!! How the FUCK is that even possible????????
“Is that what I think it is? Is…um, is that your…you know?” Max’s erection deflates as he attempts to mentally process what he’s witnessing. He doesn’t seem to notice. She doesn’t seem to care.
“What? What do you think it is, Max?” She continues to flex her enormous muscles.
“Is that a, uh, penis?”
There is a long awkward pause.
Tanya bursts out laughing and slaps Max playfully on the back. She doesn’t mean to cause any harm, but her sheer strength causes him to screech in pain. She grabs him by the shoulders and pushes him down to the floor. Max is on his knees with his face right in front of her divine clit.
“Fuck, no! It’s my fucking clit, you dumbass! I’m a woman, not a man. For fuck’s sake.” Tanya strokes her feminine endowment up and down, exposing the bright pink head to its fullest extent. Indeed, her clit is an eye-popping six inches long, if you count the tip to the point where it appears to enter inside her body. Max’s modest erection is not quite 5.5 inches, a sore subject with him whenever the topic of “size” ever comes up in casual conversation. Fortunately for him, it rarely does.
“Believe it or not, I have to wear a cup around my pussy every time I go out in public so that it doesn’t attract too much unwanted attention,” she says. “It can be quite distracting, wouldn’t you say?” Max nods in agreement, which is the only thing he can do right now.
“You want to take a closer look?”
Max looks up at Tanya and stares at her ocean blue eyes. She does not seem to be joking. Obediently, he sticks his face between her legs. Tanya is fully erect, with small traces of moisture dripping down her slit. Max is impressed by the stature of her feminine endowment. Eventually, Tanya pushes Max’s head closer in and he takes the whole thing into his mouth. He sucks on her engorged piece of meat with furious curiosity. She moans and trembles as the initial rumbles of orgasm shake inside her.
“Fuck, Max! Oh, fuuuuuuuuuck……”
Tanya lies down on a nearby stretching mat and spreads her legs out as widely as she possibly can. Max’s lips have not come apart from her beautiful meat. He laps her ultrasensitive pink head with his tongue, relentlessly beating it back and forth. Tanya shakes in response. She’s close. Max also knows it. He pinches the sides of her labia and stretches it as far as it can go, further exposing her pink head to his tongue. Finally, she comes.
Trembling, squirming, and gasping for air, Tanya lifts her pelvis off the floor and lets out a small fart. Breathing heavy and enjoying her last few vaginal contractions, Tanya lays her head down on the mat. Max scoots closer to her and kisses her on the lips. She enjoys the taste of her own juices. Before she can say “thank you” to him, Tanya wraps her fingers around Max’s penis and gently strokes it up and down.
Max moans. Tanya turns on her side and kisses his cheek as she caresses him with more urgency. Sweat drips off his face. He closes his eyes so that he can indulge in the moment. He notices the hardness of her calluses against his sensitive shaft and loves it. Max is pleasantly surprised at how gentle she is, considering the power of her forearms. She may be bigger, stronger, and more accomplished than he is, but in this moment Max has never felt like more of a man than he is now. He feels in charge, even though he clearly knows she’s the one who is…
Max climaxes, spurting his hot semen all over Tanya’s six-pack abdomen in five potent squirts. She allows it to drip down her belly and onto the mat. Minutes later, Tanya and Max are lying in a pool of their own fluids – sweat, saliva, semen, and vaginal juices – all without having a care in the world. They’re a sticky mess…and that’s the way they like it to be.
Who gives a fuck if a security guard watches what they’re doing? Who cares if gossip spreads across the gym and soon everyone will know about their illicit nighttime coupling? Let those idiots say whatever they want. Tanya needed this. So did Max. And now they have each other, at least they do for this moment.
Who knows what tomorrow will bring? They don’t want to think about that right now. All that matters is the here and now.
Tanya strokes Max’s limp penis and brings it back to life. After a long period of silence, Max decides to speak.
“Ready for round two?”
Tanya leans over and kisses him deeply.
“Ever since we got done with round one!”
They laugh. They kiss again. This time, it’s Max who takes charge. Full of newfound confidence, he mounts her, looks at her pretty blue eyes, and begins to make love to her.
Rumor has it that after the gym closes, one customer in particular is allowed to remain behind and finish her workout.
Max heard this rumor from a front desk employee who can’t keep a secret to save his life. As a frequent member of East Heights Fitness Center, Max is privy to the latest gossip going on among its members and staff. But this latest piece of gossip is the juiciest because of who it involves.
Tanya is without question the most beautiful and angelic woman Max has ever laid eyes on. With an imposing 6 foot 4 inches frame, she is a competitive female bodybuilder who has won numerous competitions over the years. She is by far the most muscular woman he’s ever seen. In fact, she’s probably the most muscular human being he’s ever seen, and that includes all the men who work out at the gym.
She’s the total package: Beautiful, tall, enormously muscular, funny, intelligent, kind, hardworking, successful, famous, and undeniably sexy. She’s a mini celebrity in town and a much bigger celebrity within the pro bodybuilding community. Max has been going to this gym for three years now, but he knew about her legend before he signed his membership contract. Everyone knows who Tanya is and what she’s accomplished during her illustrious career.
He has even spoken to her a few times. She’s very personable and doesn’t mind chatting before or after her workouts, but never during. In fact, she gets very upset with you if you bother her during her lifting sessions. This is why she prefers to work out later in the evenings. There are fewer people around, better availability of equipment and not nearly as many distractions.
So when Gus, the chatty front desk guy, told Max that recently Tanya has requested that the gym stay open specifically for her, he figured it makes sense she would ask for this. Gus claims Tanya can stay as late as she wants just as long as she cleans up after herself and turns off all the lights and locks the door after she’s finished. The owner knows her well and Tanya holds enough clout to do whatever the hell she wants. Tanya considers the gym to be her work place, so she wants an optimal environment to get to work.
“She sure is something special, isn’t she?” Gus says to Max. It’s 10:30 p.m., which means the gym closes in an hour and a half. Max has just gotten to the gym and has yet to start his warmup cardio. He usually chats with Gus for a minute or two before heading upstairs to the treadmill area.
“No, your Fairy Godmother. Yes, of course Tanya! She’s fucking beautiful,” Gus says.
Max and Gus share a laugh. Today is Thursday (which is Max’s Saturday, which explains why he’s here at the gym so late in the evening), so according to her usual schedule she should be walking in any time now. Most of the crowd has left by now, but a few stragglers continue to lift late into the night in hopes of catching a glimpse of her. Most of the guys admit that they feel much more motivated to lift when Tanya’s around. They all want to impress her. Nobody wants to feel weak around her. If a rising tide lifts all ships, Tanya’s very presence inspires everyone around her to work that much harder.
“Without a doubt, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. Speaking of which…” Before Max could finish his sentence, she walks in. Strutting in wearing grey sweat pants, a burgundy red tank top and Beats By Dre headphones around her thick neck, Tanya’s celebrity status is palpable. All eyes; both male and female, young and old, those who are in shape and those who are completely out of shape; are fixated on her. Everyone’s undivided attention is drawn to her whenever she enters the room. Tonight is no exception. Max forgets to breathe. Gus freezes in place and ignores an incoming phone call. It can wait.
At 6’4”, she would be eye-popping even if she weren’t so muscular or beautiful. Tanya has striking emerald green eyes, long jet black hair, and dark umber brown skin that looks as smooth as velvet. Max couldn’t quite figure out what ethnicity she is, but regardless, she’s a perfect genetic mix. Sharp jaw line, legs that stretch out forever and enough muscle to put a roaring lion to shame, Tanya’s brawny physique is matched by few. Her perfect combination of muscularity, size, height, beauty and femininity is the reason why she’s so incredibly successful in all facets of life.
Except her love life. In one of the few conversations they’ve had together, Tanya once told Max she’s given up on dating men because they’ve all been jerks to her. Max insisted that not all guys are like that, but she’s put that behind her and insists she’s only interested in being with women right now (yes, she’s bisexual). Max made a vow after that to one day show her that there are good guys out there who will treat her with the respect and reverence she deserves.
Tanya waves to the two star-struck guys as she walks toward the women’s locker room. Max is surprised he doesn’t faint.
After snapping back to reality, Max grabs a sweat towel from the front desk, wishes Gus a good day, and proceeds to begin his workout.
Seventy minutes later, Max is finishing his evening with light cardio on an elliptical machine. He watches below as Tanya squats 350 pounds for an astonishing 15 repetitions. A small crowd gathers around her as she grunts her way to the end of her set. Cheers erupt all over when she finishes. Her gorgeous face covered in sweat, Tanya smiles and takes a bow to her audience. The people scatter as she takes a drink of water from her bottle and rests a moment before her next set.
Midnight approaches. Gus makes an announcement over the PA system reminding people that the gym closes in ten minutes. Max, feeling in an odd mood, decides he wants to see what exactly Tanya does when she works out alone. Recklessly, with an unexpected streak of lust and curiosity storming through him, Max sees a broom closet located near the dressing rooms and sneakily approaches it. The door opens. Max is aware that Gus and his crew don’t always run a tight ship, so he is not surprised that the door is unlocked. He closes it quickly and waits inside in total darkness.
“What the fuck am I doing?” Max whispers to himself. Seriously! What the fuck is he doing? Staying behind after everyone has left just so he can spy on Tanya’s lonely workout? What kind of a creep is he? Minutes pass as Max ponders these questions. He estimates that twenty minutes have gone by. Then thirty minutes. Finally, he hears this brief conversation:
“That’s about it, Tanya. Enjoy the rest of your workout. You know what to do from here,” Gus says.
“Thank you, darling. Good night!” Tanya replies.
Max hears footsteps and then total silence. The music has stopped playing over the PA. The clanks of weights hitting the floor have ceased. The humming of the treadmills can be heard no longer. He and Tanya are definitely the only ones left inside the gym. Boldly, Max opens the closet door and exits. The gym is significantly darker than usual. Only a portion of the lights are on, mostly near the weight room. He walks toward the light cautiously.
He peeks around the corner, and sure enough, he sees Tanya all alone. She has moved on from squats and is now engaging in leg presses. She’s lifting 1,080 pounds for 10 reps. Wow! Max gets down on his knees to hide himself better. For nearly 15 minutes, he watches Tanya blast her quads on the leg press machine while buckets of sweat pour from her body. Max would do anything to be able to taste her salty goodness.
After finishing her leg press set, Tanya goes to her gym bag, takes a long swig of water, and puts the bottle away. She takes the earbuds out of her ears and places her phone in her bag. Is she done with her workout? Is she going to head back to the locker room, which means Max is going to have to find a new hiding place? Is she planning to–
Before Max could finish his thought, Tanya reaches down and pulls down her shorts to the floor. She kicks them away to the side. Max’s jaw drops to the floor when he sees her tight, rounded butt in full form. Then she removes her workout shirt and tosses it in her bag. Wearing a black sports bra, her ripped back captivates Max’s attention.
What on Earth is she doing? Why is she stripping naked in the gym?
The bra comes off. She drops it to the floor. Max’s heart momentarily stops. A moment later, she is completely nude. Max has not moved an inch. Covered from head to toe with large ripped muscles, Tanya’s chiseled physique is both awe-inspiring and indescribable.
Max may not be able to move, but he can still attempt to process what he’s seeing right before his very eyes. Does she prefer to work out in the nude? Does it make her lifts easier to complete? Or is she overheated and needs to allow her skin to “breathe” now that no one is around? Or is she…
“Come on out, Max. I know you’re out there somewhere.”
Max’s heart has jumped upward near this throat. How the hell did she see him?
“It’s okay,” Tanya teases. “Come on out, I won’t bite!”
There’s a large elephant in the room that needs to be addressed.
No, it’s not Dumbo. Or Babar. Or any of the ones that carried historical figures like Hannibal or Alexander the Great into battle. We’re addressing a different kind of elephant, one that’s taking up entirely too much space but none of us are willing to acknowledge.
Sigh. As a female muscle fan, I’m not against talking about this subject, but it’s unavoidable. So here it goes.
There. I said it. Steroids. Steroids. Steroids. Steeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeroooooooooooooooids.
According to the world-famous online encyclopedia known as Wikipedia, steroids – or, in this case, anabolic steroids – are defined as:
“Anabolic steroids, technically known as anabolic-androgenic steroids (AAS), are drugs that are structurally related to the cyclic steroid rings system and have similar effects to testosterone in the body. They increase protein within cells, especially in skeletal muscles. Anabolic steroids also have androgenic and virilizing properties, including the development and maintenance of masculine characteristics such as the growth of the vocal cords, testicles (primary sexual characteristics) and body hair (secondary sexual characteristics).”
Got all that? I am not a scientist, so I don’t entirely understand the biological properties of anabolic steroids and what exactly they do to the human body. However, we basically all know what they do. They are drugs that help you develop muscle mass. They aren’t a magic pill that transforms you into Ronnie Coleman overnight, but they sure can help you get “big” if maximizing your size is your primary goal.
I will also admit that I am not an expert on the issue of drug use in the sport of professional bodybuilding. If you ask me questions about what policies the IFBB should change, how many pro bodybuilders (both male and female) use steroids, how to technically define “steroids,” or anything like that, I will shrug my shoulders and honestly tell you “I have no f***ing clue.”
I may not be that rude, but you get the point. I don’t have the time, patience, or inclination to diligently research this topic before writing this article. So I am no expert. Alright. Let’s move on.
None of us are naïve. We know many of our favorite bodybuilders and athletes “dope” in order to become and remain top elite competitors. When I look back upon the baseball legends I grew up watching during the 1990s and early 2000s, I now know many of them were “juicing” their way to 50+ home runs, 120+ RBIs and other statistics that earned them Hall of Fame consideration. Some of them are enshrined in Cooperstown, many of them are not – and may never will.
Does juicing still go on in pro sports? Of course. Without a doubt. Methods of testing have definitely improved, but no system is perfect. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. A few people are going to slip through the cracks here and there. Whatever. Just as long as we enjoy watching them play, does it really matter what substances they choose to put into their bodies?
Before I get too off track, let’s break down the topic of female bodybuilding and steroids in the most logical and honest way possible. Please, feel free to comment down below or send me an e-mail at ryantakahashi87 (at) yahoo (dot) com to provide your thoughts. Perhaps your perspective will differ from mine.
Whew. Okay, let’s dive into this deep swimming pool of mixed emotions head-first. Onward!
1. A lot of female bodybuilders take steroids, and that’s perfectly okay
It is a fact that many of our favorite FBBs take steroids to help them get big. It’s an undeniable fact. The reaction many people glean from this most likely sounds something like this:
See? She’s not that strong at all! The only reason why she’s bigger than most guys is because she juices, just like Lance Armstrong and Barry Bonds. I told you so! She’s not really that strong!!!
Fair point. Without the help of synthetic drugs, many FBBs would not be able to become bigger than a lot of men. But I think this criticism misses the larger point about why a lot of guys love female bodybuilders.
We love their beautiful bodies. We love looking at their hard work put on display. Steroids may enhance the fruits of your labor, but they do not replace your labor. No matter what drugs they take or how strategic they are in taking them, no FBB got to be that big without commitment, arduous hard work, dedication, smart planning and making enormous personal sacrifices. As mentioned before, steroids are not a magic pill that can transform Taylor Swift into Debi Laszewski with the flip of a switch.
Granted, lots of us who love FBBs admire them because they’ve achieved a level of muscle mass unmatched by guys who take the “natural” route. So I guess in that respect, we have to burst their bubble. Sorry. It’s not what you think it is.
But nevertheless, that’s not the point here. At the end of the day, we love muscular women because we think they’re tremendously beautiful. Regardless of how they got there, we appreciate the finished product with a degree of awe that’s unmatchable. In my opinion, it’s perfectly okay for a woman to take steroids if they will help her achieve her desired physique. Just as long as she’s safe and always takes her long-term health into consideration, I have no issue here. The elite bodybuilders have professional trainers and doctors advising them on which drugs to take, how many to take, when to take them, and how to determine when enough is enough. It becomes supremely dangerous when someone goes rogue and recklessly pops pills or injects themselves with God-knows-what without consulting an expert.
Don’t do that. It won’t end well.
I perfectly understand that a lot of huge muscular women take drugs. In fact, a few of the FBBs I’ve met in real life admit to taking drugs. But that doesn’t change my opinion of them one iota. They’re still strong gorgeous women who deserve immense praise for their hard work, steadfast belief in themselves and willingness to break social taboos in pursuit of their personal definition of “beautiful.”
As female bodybuilding fans, we’re not arbiters of truth and justice. We’re admirers of beauty. We love these women because they’re so incredibly beautiful. We know they would not be able to achieve that kind of muscularity without “help,” but what difference does that make? Just as we’re aware that many of our favorite celebrities undergo plastic surgery to look younger, slimmer or more beautiful, we love FBBs despite knowing their look may not be 100 percent “natural.”
2. Drugs is only an issue of ethics when we’re dealing with athletic competition
Overall, if a woman decides to use drugs to help her achieve an abnormal level of muscle mass, do we care if that helps her land photo gigs, video shoots and erotic session clients? No, we don’t. So at the end of the day, what difference does it make if our favorite female muscle celebrities (in our world, they’re totally celebrities!) are taking drugs to help them look a certain way? None whatsoever.
However, admittedly things change when we’re dealing with athletic competition. And not just bodybuilding – this includes basketball, tennis, MMA, softball, volleyball, sprinting, etc. No one wants a cheater to win the Gold Medal at the Olympics. But if that same person wants to earn a living becoming a muscle dominatrix to consenting adult clients, that doesn’t nearly matter as much.
So in reality, we only care about the ethics of doping when it comes to high stakes athletic competition. We all want a fair playing field. Whether we’re talking about HGH, spitting on baseballs or deflating footballs, no one wants to see a cheater win. It sucks. It makes you angry and lose faith in the integrity of the sport. Therefore, any professional league that wants to see itself exist in 20 years should vehemently crack down on illegal drug use to weed out the cheaters. It makes business sense.
But a female bodybuilder who uses her body to sell muscle worship appointments, video views and website memberships? She can do whatever the hell she wants with her body. It’s her body and her business. Let her take whatever she wants if she feels like it will help her earn a living. As female muscle fans, we don’t care. We love these women and their beautiful physiques. We shell out our hard earned dollars because we feel they’re worth it.
Know why? Because they totally are.
But when it comes to the business of professional (and high profile amateur) sports, where winners and losers are determined solely by head-to-head competition, we want fairness to be guaranteed in every conceivable way. It isn’t unethical to take drugs, unless you do so to earn an unfair advantage over someone who chooses not to. It’s as simple as that.
3. Repeated use of steroids do have side effects, but we’re totally fine with that
It’s no mystery the effects steroids can have on a woman’s body. Increased muscle mass and levels of testosterone can lead to a deepened voice, more body hair, shrunken breasts, more “masculine” facial features, balding, an enlarged clitoris (which, for the record, is not a penis), aggressive behavior, and other physical/emotional changes.
In fact, these side effects are what turn people off the most from female bodybuilders. Arguably, if female bodybuilders could maintain large muscle mass without having to sacrifice a single degree of traditional “femininity,” one could foresee a reality where FBBs would be way more popular in mainstream culture than they currently are. However, this is not the reality. So, society is stuck in this weird grey area of treating female bodybuilders as women who aren’t fully “women.” We know they are by definition, but there’s enough ambiguity going on to give us major pause.
It sucks for these women, but it is what it is. People have their prejudices. Changing them can be an almost unconquerable challenge.
But, alas, most female bodybuilding fans would argue the side effects inherent in steroid use are not that big of a deal. Or, more precisely, they’re not a deal breaker. Side effects are fine, just as long as they don’t cross certain boundaries.
This is perhaps one of the most common misconceptions about female muscle fetishism. Those of us who love muscular women don’t like all muscular women. Just because you love Italian food doesn’t mean you love every single Italian restaurant in existence. Truth be told, you probably despise more Italian restaurants than you love because of the fact that you’re such a snob. I can tell you from personal experience that there are a few prominent female bodybuilders whom I do not feel attracted to. While I can find a certain degree of beauty in almost all muscular women, overly masculine facial features and other “freaky” side effects totally turn me off. But that is usually the exception and not the rule.
Some people are disgusted by the masculinization effects of steroid use in muscular women. I get that. But the larger point is that female muscle fans are not unaware of that. We know that, accept it, and still find them beautiful despite their unconventional appearances.
4. Fantasy is almost always more appealing than reality
The truth is, the vast majority of guys who love female bodybuilders understand that many of them didn’t achieve high levels of muscularity “naturally.” We’re not naïve about how the world operates. We understand biological restrictions are almost impossible to break through. But this somewhat miss the point about a female bodybuilder’s appeal.
For a lot of us, we love female bodybuilders mostly because we love to fantasize about them. Who they are in real life is not as important as what exists in our imaginations. Of course, once we get to actually meet a few FBBs, we almost always end up liking them as people. But from a distance, fantasy is a powerful driving force in female muscle fandom.
Everyone’s fantasy is different. Worshipping her muscles. Treating her like a Goddess. Being her slave. Being punished for our naughty behavior. Finding out who the real “weaker sex” truly is. And so on. The fantasies may be different, but the general takeaway stays the same: reality isn’t that important.
Reality has its place, but not always. The vast majority of female muscle fans rarely get to personally meet (either in a public or private setting) their idols. Therefore, our fandom mostly consists of what’s in our imaginations. We love strong women for a variety of reasons. Whether there are elements of fantasy, BDSM, curiosity, sexual fetishism or something else entirely at play, who they really are, and how they got to be that big and strong, are secondary to us.
That isn’t to say that we disrespect who they are as people. On the contrary, most FBB fans have a tremendous amount of genuine respect for the women they idolize. I’d go as far as to say that we treat these women just the way modern day feminists want all women to be treated. So we aren’t indifferent toward who FBBs are as human beings. Rather, their drawing power is derived from the deep recesses of our imaginations.
So if we find out an FBB takes steroids, growth hormones and other supplements to achieve their superhuman muscularity, that isn’t an issue with us. We love the finished product. We love what their beautiful bodies do for our creative minds. The “spark” they provide us cannot be put into words, but rather images, thoughts and feelings that are almost impossible to articulate.
For many of us, the steroid issue isn’t an issue at all. We’re not ignorant about it. We’re not neglecting it. We just don’t care. People love to fantasize even though they know the foundation of their fantasies is built on a house of cards. It doesn’t matter. Reality has its place. So does fantasy. The lines shouldn’t always have to cross.
5. There will always be a little bit of denial going on
Admittedly, denial will always happen. Some people embrace the “ignorance is bliss” mantra. They know it’s happening but choose to either downplay or ignore it. I’m probably a bit in this category. I know many of my favorite FBBs take drugs. I know they might regret it in the future if (or when) the negative side effects come back to haunt them. I know it’s practically impossible for a woman to develop muscle mass that would make a male bodybuilder jealous without some “assistance.”
I get it. But I don’t always want to think about that. I love fantasizing about these strong beautiful women dominating the bullies who taunt them with sexist remarks. I love imagining what it would be like to make love to a gorgeous muscular woman without having to think about excess body hair or stinky odor that comes with taking steroids. I love thinking about all these things…knowing full well reality doesn’t always match up with fantasy.
When we live life through rose tinted glasses, we tend to idealize those we love. We hold them in higher regards than they deserve. We put them on a pedestal and worship the very ground they walk on. This leads, inevitably, to us overlooking their flaws. We justify their bad behavior. We pick-and-choose which parts of them to celebrate and which parts to ignore. In terms of muscular women, we revel in their strength without fully thinking about what it took for them to achieve that strength. We’re not stupid. We just don’t want to let facts get in the way of our fun.
Facts. Such an inconvenient cog in the engine, am I right? But alas, we know the deal. We know a woman cannot achieve that elite level of muscular development without “help.” We know freaky genetics, maniacal hard work, hardcore dieting and sheer willpower is not enough. We know natural biology cannot be altered overnight. Perhaps thousands of years from now women will evolve to become physically superior to men, but today is not that day. Whatever. Why spoil the fun?
6. What is the actual harm of using steroids?
This point is not meant to be scientific. I am perfectly aware that unwise steroid use can lead to cardiac problems, high blood pressure, liver issues and other negative health consequences. What I’m really trying to say is this:
What’s the big deal if woman uses steroids responsibly?
The answer is simple. It feels like cheating. In point #2, I discuss that steroids only really matter within the context of athletic competitions. That still rings true. But from a cultural perspective, using steroids to get big still feels like you’re “cheating the system.” Or, at the very least, cheating your natural biology.
Bodybuilding, whether you do it professionally or not, is the ultimate personalized sport. Victory or loss, however you define it, is purely determined by your own merit. Unlike team sports, a bad fumble or blown save by a teammate won’t cost you the game. You’re not even competing directly against anyone, such as in tennis or racquetball. The best comparison is golf, a sport in which you compete against others, but you’re mostly competing against yourself. But golf has elements such as weather and course conditions affecting the outcomes of games. Bodybuilding is a sport more based on preparation than game-day performance.
But more than that, a lot of us are amateur bodybuilders, whether we think of ourselves in those terms or not. Let’s face it. We don’t just go to the gym because we want to “stay healthy” or “shed a few pounds.” Some of us may think that way, but most of us workout because…well, we want to look good. We want to look good naked, as Kevin Spacey’s character in American Beauty states. He’s telling the truth. That’s 99 percent of the reason why we exert so much of our time and energy in the gym. We may not have any genuine aspirations to compete, but in our own little world, we’re all trying to develop biceps like Phil Heath.
This explains the backlash against steroid use in general, not just in the context of female bodybuilding. When we see someone walking around with bigger guns than us, we feel jealous. When we find out they had “help” building those huge arms, we feel a little better about ourselves knowing our inadequate gains can be explained by the fact we don’t “cheat.”
This simply explains why we get such a visceral gut reaction when we find out an FBB takes steroids. It feels like they’ve broken our trust. We feel betrayed that their impressive strength wasn’t achieved fairly. It makes us feel more secure about our own bodies knowing their superiority has an alternative explanation.
In conclusion, what is the actual harm of an FBB taking steroids responsibly? Well, not much. If it helps her advance her career, so be it. That’s none of our business. Is she betraying our trust? No, unless she explicitly lied about not taking drugs. Does that make her any less of a strong woman? Of course not. Steroids are not a magic pill that transforms you into a ripped comic book character with the snap of your fingers. Hard work still matters.
The “Steroid Issue” will always haunt bodybuilders, athletes and gym rats, both male and female. It’s unavoidable. In today’s world, it’s understandable why we’d all be suspicious. The proliferation of the underground drug market has expanded well beyond dark alleys and dimly lit parking lots. Online marketplaces, both on the so-called “surface web” and the nefarious-sounding “deep web,” make acquiring drugs as easy as it’s ever been.
But the flip side of the issue is this: As long as no one is getting hurt or gaining an unfair competitive advantage, what harm do steroids actually cause? Scientific issues aside, it’s mostly a blow to one’s personal sense of integrity.
Integrity. There we are. There’s the core of the problem. Integrity.
At the end of the day, we feel a bodybuilder’s integrity should be called into question if we discover they take steroids to help them get big. Personally, this knowledge does not make me change my opinion about any particular male or female bodybuilder. After all, building muscle is their primary goal. If they receive biomedical “assistance” along the way, so be it. I won’t judge them too harshly, especially when we live in an age where much worse crimes are being committed on a daily basis.
So there you have it. Undoubtedly, we will never settle this issue. Some will always feel uncomfortable by the presence of steroids in bodybuilding. Others will have no problem with it whatsoever. And there will be those who are either indifferent or undecided. Whatever. You can feel however you feel about it. Just know this: Everyone makes choices in their lives. These choices are made to help maximize how much they can get out of life. What jobs we work at, where we live, what foods we eat, who we choose to love, who we hang out with, what entertainment we partake in, etc. If a bodybuilder, male or female, believes taking drugs will help him or her maximize their own personal definition of “happiness” or “fulfillment,” I say we should let them. Of course, every choice has pros and cons. Taking steroids has drawbacks. It’s not a decision that comes risk-free. On the contrary, human growth hormones and the like can be very dangerous if they’re taken without proper medical consultation. This is why you should never trust the shady guy standing on a street corner or the anonymous vendor who sends you a cryptic message on Facebook.
Steroids are here to stay. Judge the people who take them however you want to. But keep this in mind: They take them for a reason. Do you fully understand that reason?
I may have written once or twice about the subject of female bodybuilders and my special attraction and fascination with them. I find them alluring, physically beautiful beyond words and intriguing on multiple levels.
But until recently, I’d never actually had a real encounter with a muscular woman. My only experiences with FBBs have been limited to web searches (Thank God for the Internet!) and what I see in the media. But that all changed two weeks ago.
Two weeks ago I was working out at the gym on a typical Saturday afternoon. I had just got done doing a grueling shoulder and back workout and had moved on to doing some stretching. The stretching mats are located next to a large room where classes are typically held; such as yoga, martial arts aerobics and dancing. On this particular day, there was a Zumba class in session with loud music blaring and rattling the whole building. Large windows showed a jam packed room full of sweaty people, most of them young attractive women, dancing their way to thinness and improved cardio vascular endurance.
During a brief water break, several ladies exited the classroom to take a drink from the water fountains. As a typical straight guy, I try to catch glimpses of all the cute girls wearing skin-tight clothing without looking like a creepy stalker. I hope I succeed on this level.
But one particular young lady caught my eye. She was short, probably no taller than 5’1” or 5’ flat. She had long brown hair that was tied in a ponytail. She was young, most likely between 25 and 30 years old. She wore tight shorts and a sports bra.
But what really made her stand out was her body. Holy cow! This woman was covered with lean, bulging muscles. It also helped that her outfit generously showed off her magnificent figure for all to see.
I don’t think she’s a professional bodybuilder, but she certainly looks like someone who takes her lifting seriously. What really struck me was the fact that I’d never seen her before. I’ve been going to this gym for more than a year and I’ve come to recognize all the “regulars.” You know who they are. I’m even on a first-name basis with some of my fellow gym rats.
But I’ve never seen her before! I’ve nicknamed her “Buff Girl” because that’s exactly who she is: really, really muscular. Not muscular like Alina Popa or Katka Kyptova, but she definitely holds her own compared to 99.999% of the women who work out at my gym regularly.
I was surprised at how quickly I noticed Buff Girl. She was in a large crowd of at least 80 to 120 other people, but my eyes immediately picked up on her amazing body. It’s more amazing considering she’s short. But nevertheless, my eyes instantly saw her large shoulders, rounded butt, thick legs and bulging biceps. And once my eyes were on her, they remained on her until the moment she ended her work out and headed back to the women’s locker room.
Forget stretching. All I could focus on was her incredible physique!
(As a side note, I don’t have a photo of her because I’m not THAT kind of guy. Besides, I never bring my phone with me when I work out. The music they play over the PA system is good enough for me.)
In my estimate, my eyes were on her for no more than ten minutes. Then she was gone. The Zumba class was nearing its end when I came to the stretching mats. At one point, we walked past each other when I went to the water fountain and she was going back to the classroom. I tried to check her out without staring like a hormonal teenager boy. All you readers out there should know exactly what I’m talking about. We’re all walked past Mister or Miss Dreamy on the streets and tried to feast our eyes on them without being too obvious.
Yikes! She was even more beautiful up close than from a distance. Sheesh!
Sigh. I’ll never forget my first ever up close and personal (even though I never actually SPOKE to her) encounter with a beautiful, muscular woman.
And what an experience it was.
Hopefully, sometime in the near future I’ll see her again. Maybe I’ll cleverly find a way to strike up a conversation with her. That sort of thing happens in gyms all the time. Mostly, I’m just curious to know how being a muscular woman affects how people treat her. I’d imagine she gets second and third looks all the time when in public. I would also imagine lots of creepy guys hit on her (and perhaps some ladies) and give her all sorts of unwanted attention. I definitely don’t want to be that type of guy.
So here’s to you, Buff Girl. I have no idea where you came from or where you live, but your hard work hasn’t gone unappreciated. The humble writer of this blog article unquestionably appreciates all the blood, sweat and tears you’ve put into crafting your physical canvas.
Sure enough, I was very sore the next day. Come Monday morning, I could barely get out of bed without being reminded of my aching pelvis.
Oh well. That’s a small price to pay for experiencing the greatest night of my life.
The greatest night of my life. Yes…I can actually say that. It truly was the greatest single night of my life. The morning afterward wasn’t bad either.
But alas, I have to go to work because that’s what responsible adults do. So here I am, it’s 10:26 a.m. and I’m stuck in the laundry room cleaning sweat towels nobody bothered to do anything about yesterday. This is not an unusual occurrence.
Ho hum. What to do? I have to wait a whole week till I can see Cindi again. Damn. That’s going to be hard. All I can think about is Cindi North and the carnal activities we shared on Saturday night. I bet if I told every single person here at Wellford Fitness Center I had sex with a female bodybuilder this past weekend, none of them would believe me.
Who cares? I know it’s true and that’s all that matters.
Michelle, the cute receptionist/personal trainer whom every guy here wants to bang, enters the laundry room carrying a whole new batch of dirty towels. Good God, how many are there? I can’t remember the last time I had to clean so many at once. Is there a sweat epidemic going on around here?
“Here you go. Sorry, Ryan.” Michelle sets the basket down on a table next to me.
“No problem. It’s my job. Are there more people than usual here today?”
“Yes, I think so. I had four clients show up already. That almost never happens.”
“Hm.” My monotonous response is borne out of the dread of having to smell more people’s drippings. Will this madness ever stop?
Michelle prepares to leave but stops before she gets through the door.
“Can I ask you a question?”
I turn around, surprised by this. Michelle almost NEVER wants to make casual conversation with me. Especially when we’re busy at work. Doesn’t she have another client to attend to? And why would she want to hang out around here? I’d think the stench alone would encourage her to run out of here as fast as she can.
“Sure, Michelle. What’s your question?”
“Are you dating that girl that I saw you with the other day?”
I’m taken aback by this comment. Who is she referring to? Cindi North? Did Michelle see me with Cindi North this past weekend? That’s impossible, unless Michelle happened to be in Everett at the same time I was. I suppose that’s possible, but it’s not likely…
“What girl are you talking about? Does she work out here?”
“Yes, she does. I saw you talking with this really pretty black girl at that coffee place down the road. Are you hooking up with her or something?”
“Oh! You mean Monifa. You’re right; I was having lunch with her last week. No, we’re not dating. We just met each other. Gee, you’re quite the stalker!”
Michelle takes a few steps toward me, assuring me she wasn’t being a creeper. Ah…this makes sense! Of course she wouldn’t have seen me with Cindi North. She easily could have seen me with Monifa. And, Monifa does in fact work out here regularly.
“Ha! I’m not stalking you. I just thought it was kind of cool. Do you know she’s one of my clients now? I’m helping her get ready for a bodybuilding competition.”
My head starts to spin as I hear this. Monifa is training to become a bodybuilder? Really? Does she have time to do that? I guess bodybuilding is sort of an art and she does consider herself to be an “artist.” She can live her life the way she wants to, I suppose.
“You are? That’s kind of cool. I had no idea she wants to become a bodybuilder.”
“She says it’s something she wants to try. Why not? Live a little, right?”
“Right. Live a little.”
I stare down at the floor. I sense Michelle is doing the same thing. This is probably the longest conversation we’ve ever had together. She doesn’t usually have this much to say to me. I guess it is rather juicy to see a client have lunch with a coworker outside of work.
“Ryan? Can I ask you another question?”
My eyes leave the floor. I look up at her. Michelle looks gorgeous today, her beach blonde hair waving carelessly below her shoulders. Her fit, toned body is openly on display in her tight black Wellford Fitness Center shirt and petite white shorts. Her breasts look scrumptious, as if they’re beckoning me to give them a firm squeeze. I know for a fact I’d be fired for sexual harassment if I ever considered doing that!
“Yeah, sure. What’s your other question?”
“Do you find me attractive?”
“Um…uh…I, er, I…”
“Answer me truthfully. Don’t worry. I won’t get offended by whatever you say.”
“Uh…yes! I do find you attractive. You’re one of the prettiest people I know. Does that answer your question?”
“Yes it does. Thanks.”
“Hm…why do you ask? That’s not exactly a typical normal question you ask a coworker, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, I do. I ask that because…this is going to sound weird, but…when I saw you and Monifa having lunch together that day…I, uh, felt a little…jealous.” Michelle is now the one staring down at the floor. Her feet shift side to side uncomfortably.
I think about this for a moment. Jealous? Why on earth would Michelle, a Perfect Blonde, a Perfect 10, be jealous seeing me having lunch with another woman? It’s not like Michelle and I ever dated before. We’re just coworkers! To top it off, this is without a doubt the longest conversation I’ve ever had with her in all the years we’ve worked together.
“Jealous? Um, why are you jealous seeing me with her?”
“I don’t know! I just felt a bit, you know, betrayed seeing you with her. I know…this shit makes no sense. I’m fucked up in the head or something, you know?”
“No, no, no…you’re not fucked up or anything. Maybe you feel, I don’t know…like you’re in competition with her. Is that it?”
“Yeah…that’s probably it. She’s gorgeous and she has a fucking amazing body. I look terrible compared to her.”
“Hey, don’t say that! You look great. Why would you think you look terrible? That’s ridiculous.”
“I’m old. I feel so old!” Tears start to form in her eyes. Oh great! Michelle’s having a midlife crisis at the tender age of 36. Cindi’s 48 and you never see her complain about her age. What’s the world coming to–
My mind turns blank. I look at Michelle but nothing registers in my mind. Did I just hear that correctly?
“You heard me. Fuck me. Right here, right now. Fuck me!”
“Um…I don’t know about this. Isn’t this a bit…sudden?”
“I don’t give a shit. I want you to fuck me, Ryan!”
Michelle turns around, pulls down her shorts and her panties and bends over, exposing her gorgeous round butt to me. Her vulva is glistening, wet and ready. Unlike Cindi, Michelle’s pink vaginal lips look soft and feminine, whereas the Muscle Goddess looks like a burlap sack down there (I know, that’s a crude analogy, but give me a break!). My penis hardens and stands at attention, awakening to this unexpected opportunity.
“I’m not so sure about this…what if Thomas sees us?”
“Who gives a shit about him? I want you to fuck me! Fuck me now!”
“Oh, uh, do you have a condom?”
“Screw that shit! I’m clean. Are you?”
“Then we don’t need one. What the fuck are you waiting for? I’ve asked you a million times to fuck me! What are you, scared?”
Scared? Hell no! I’m not scared! What gives her the right to call me scared?
“Fuck you! I’m not scared of anything!”
Anger running through my system, I unzip my pants, pull down my underwear, grip Michelle’s hips and shove my penis inside her, hard and reckless. This time, I’m going to take charge and fuck her like she’s never been fucked before!
Like two wild animals, Michelle remains bent over as I thrust into her from behind. My fingers dig into her flesh as I pound and pound, releasing any pent-up aggression and any doubt that I’m afraid to have sex with a woman in a public place. Wow! This is really something. A beautiful blonde just pulled down her pants and demands I shtup her on the spot.
What is this, the plot to a cheap porno?
As my penis continues to thrust in and out of her, Michelle’s heavy breathing gives way to a loud moan and fills the entire room. Not even the rumble of the washing machine cleaning the towels can completely muffle the sound of us fornicating in the laundry room.
A million thoughts run through my mind at once. Here I am having sex with a prototypical blonde bombshell who never spoke more than two sentences to me at a time. She’s also someone with a checkered past, given the less-than-stellar reputations of some of her previous boyfriends. I also realize she might be going through an early midlife crisis and this is her way of reclaiming her lost youth. Is she jealous that I preferred to socialize with a younger woman like Monifa instead of her? But she never gave any indication that she wants anything to do with me!
And she’s only 36! She’s not old. She looks great for her age. She looks like she can pass for 23 or 24…
These thoughts linger as my orgasm builds ferociously. I feel my climax approaching. My quick thrusts become slower and more measured as I try to penetrate her as deep as I can. I keep imagining Big Danny (her ex-husband) and his extremely huge penis thrusting into her tight little body. How am I doing? Can I compare to him? Is my little Asian penis any match for Danny’s gargantuan, monstrous endowment? Is she feeling anything?
Her loud moans stop and she lets out an uncontrolled scream, loud enough that I’m sure everyone outside this room can hear. But I don’t care about that as I sense my climax coming closer and closer…
“Hey! What the hell!!!”
Michelle stops moving and stands upright. Out of the corner of my eye I see Thomas Wellford, our boss and owner of this gym, standing in the doorway with a look of surprise and outrage on his face. The moment Michelle sees we’ve been caught she jerks forward, my penis suddenly leaving her vagina. This sudden jerk is the final act of stimulation I need to come…
“Aggghhhhh!” I groan, looking up with my eyes closed as I ejaculate all over the floor.
“Holy shit!” Michelle screams to herself, realizing our impromptu coitus session will get both of us in big trouble.
Thomas closes the door behind him and takes a few cautious steps toward us. My mind returning back to reality, I look down and see my semen sprawled across the floor. Did my boss just see me come? Oh FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
“This…is…unbelievable, you two. This is serious. What the hell are you doing?!!!!” Thomas yells at us. This is going to get ugly. Really ugly. Oh shit…
Michelle’s face is beet red. We’ve been caught literally with our pants down. This is definitely THE MOST AWKWARD MOMENT OF MY LIFE!
“I don’t believe this shit. Half the gym can hear you guys fucking. Are you both out of your minds? What the fuck is going on here? Don’t you know what professionalism means? Really? You two are fucking…in here? During work hours? What the HELLLLLL!!!!!!”
Thomas is REALLY pissed. Holy mother of God. This is bad.
At this moment, Thomas is steaming (I swear I can see smoke coming out of his ears), Michelle is crying and I’m befuddled beyond words.
And this entire time, my semen is awkwardly lying on the floor.
Fuck my life…
I’ll spare you the ugly details, but long story short…we both got fired.
Michelle was supposed to see a client but she never reported to the front desk, so Thomas personally searched all over the building for her. And when he found us, we were “in flagrante delicto,” going at it like two bunny rabbits during mating season.
We said nothing to each other as Michelle and I gloomily walked out of the fitness center with our heads hanging low. No words, no looks, nothing to acknowledge that we even know each other. There we were, no more than twenty minutes earlier screwing each other like wild dogs, pretending like we’re total strangers.
This is a sad day for both of us.
Fired. Just like that. Out of a job. Nothing can possibly make this painful awkwardness go away.
This is going to be the longest walk home EVER.
Ten minutes later, emotions still flooding through me, I had a thought. As we speak, some poor chap at the Wellford Fitness Center, probably either Robbie or Maria (two employees who regularly work there when I do), is on their knees scrubbing my semen off the floor.
I often wonder how many straight men, if they were forced to give an honest answer, would admit to being attracted to muscular women.
Mainstream society tends to frown upon women who’ve gained too much muscle. For example, we like our female athletes to remain feminine, beautiful and graceful even when they’re in the middle of hitting a tennis ball, shooting a free throw, skiing, sprinting at full speed or smacking a softball. Gymnasts, naturally, are supposed to be graceful, so this is an obvious exception.
Female athletes like Venus and Serena Williams, Hope Solo and Lolo Jones are right at the cusp of being “too muscular” while remaining “easy on the eyes.” As long as they keep winning Olympic medals and championship trophies, we’ll endure seeing their non-conformist figures on ESPN for now.
But this is not supposed to be a rant against sexism in mainstream American sports. This is about something else entirely.
Straight men (I can’t speak for lesbian women) are not often given a forum to discuss weird sexual fetishes in places other than the Internet. You don’t often hear two dudes talk about their love for feet at a crowded Starbucks on a lazy Sunday morning. Nor do you hear a bunch of football lovin’ good ol’ boys talk about their “thing” for overweight MILFs while watching the game at a bar. These are not topics we discuss in public.
So, I will attempt to dissect and explain to the best of my abilities my personal reasons for being sexually attracted to muscular women. Let’s see where this goes…
The Beginning of My Awakening
I understand “The Beginning of My Awakening” sounds ridiculously overdramatic, but bear with me.
I can’t pinpoint an exact time when I began to be attracted to muscled ladies, but I think it can be traced to this one time when I was a little boy (I was probably no more than 8-years-old), I was at a video store (for you young kids out there, once upon a time ago when we wanted to watch a movie we had to go to a video store like Blockbuster or Hollywood Video and rent a VHS cassette. This is practically ancient history) with my mom and I saw the cover for the movie “Red Sonja,” a cheesy 1985 B-action movie starring Brigitte Nielsen and Arnold Schwarzenegger.
I will admit, I’ve never seen this movie nor do I ever plan on seeing it. The 4.7 rating it received on IMDb is not exactly convincing me to go out and rent it.
But I distinctly remember, as an impressionable prepubescent little boy, being taken aback by the movie’s cover: It showed two warriors, one male and one female. The male is obviously strong and tough, which any male action hero should be. But seeing a female warrior also look intimidating and ready to kick butt opened my eyes to a whole other world.
Women can be tough, too.
As an 8-year-old boy raised on hyper-violent Saturday morning cartoons and action figures, this was without a doubt a paradigm-shifting realization.
Of course, as I got older I started to “notice” girls once puberty hit. At the tender age of 12, I encountered my second experience with a tough, nontraditional woman. My parents bought a copy of the Guinness Book of World Records for the year 1999 and inside were tons of colorful photos of people doing all sorts of weird and hardcore things.
One page stood out in particular, though: a full color photo of Cory Everson. In it, she looked startling. It was the first time I’d ever seen a woman with bulging muscles all over her body.
She looked freakish; as if she weren’t human. I didn’t want to say she looked gross, but my hormone-driven mind couldn’t process what I was seeing: a woman with muscles. In the years afterward, I would continuously turn back to this particular page to gaze upon this indescribably sight.
Later, when my family first got the Internet (we had dial-up. Remember that?), I discovered the joys of online porn. Like any teenage boy discovering the opposite sex (and the concept of “sex”), viewing pictures of naked women on a computer screen occupied many hours of my life and led me to also discover masturbation, an activity I still enjoy today.
However, it wasn’t until college that I truly became enamored with muscled women.
The Female Muscle Fetish Begins
As a freshman in college, I began to work out regularly. During high school I casually lifted weights at home, but the first time I ever stepped foot into a gym was visiting my university’s recreational center on campus. It was small and, looking back upon it, unremarkable; but it was a gym nevertheless.
I lifted weights probably around three times a week. As a beginning weightlifter, I used poor form and technique like any novice would. It even came to a point when people working out next to me would stop me during my work out and tell me how to do certain lifts the right way. Those were embarrassing moments.
This video changed my life, just like that cover of “Red Sonja” and that photo of Cory Everson. Though the video was amateurish and grainy, it showed a beautiful woman working out and showing off her gorgeous muscled arms. Sculpted and divine, Ms. Bickels opened my eyes to an Earth-shattering fact: muscular women can also be feminine and beautiful.
That hyper-muscular photo of Ms. Everson isn’t the only way to view female bodybuilders. They don’t all look “man-like.” They’re just typical women. The only difference is that they’re women who strive to be as strong as possible.
As expected, over time I visited YouTube and watched videos of countless other female bodybuilders such as Karen Zaremba, Maryse Manios, Deidre Pagnanelli, Lynn McCrossin, Monica Brant, Krissy Chin and others. I must have seen literally hundreds of videos during my freshman year of these well-defined ladies posing for photos, doing incredible lifts or being interviewed.
It wasn’t until after graduation when I moved back home that I discovered a whole other world: Hardcore porn.
The World of Smut
I feel like this is a progression. First, it was a cover of a b-movie. Next, it was a sports photo in a record book. Then it was a short online video of a woman exercising. Then it was a whole slew of YouTube videos of muscle ladies doing their thing.
Finally, we get to the next step in my personal muscle fetish evolution: porn.
The first hardcore porn video I ever saw was Lynn McCrossin and Yvette Bova, two gorgeous FBBs, pleasuring each other in a steam room. Before then, I’d never seen a woman’s genitalia up close and personal on a computer screen before. And not just any type of genitalia: These two women have very large feminine endowments, something you don’t see every day.
This epic discovery opened the doors to watching other kinds of videos: Female bodybuilders having sex with men, FBBs having sex with each other, FBBs masturbating, FBBs playing with sex toys, FBBs posing nude, etc. This was the first time I ever saw female bodybuilders as sexual beings. I definitely fantasized about them before, but I’d never actually seen them in action before until now.
Smut can be a funny thing. Once you see what people choose to do in their bedrooms, you can never look at the world the same way.
Watching porn (both hardcore and softcore) introduced me to other female bodybuilders like Francesca Petitjean, Denise Masino, Melissa Dettwiller, Lauren Powers, Gayle Moher, Yvette Bova, Victoria Dominguez, Amber DeLuca, Autumn Raby, Roxie Rain and plenty others. While I don’t want to categorize any of them as “pornographic actresses,” I discovered these women thanks to videos of them either being nude and/or engaging in sex acts.
Along the way, I also discovered other FBBs like Alina Popa, Katka Kyptova, Lisa Cross, Angela Salvagno, Karla Nelsen, Colette Nelson and others via Dailymotion, Google Images and Facebook pages.
Regarding FBBs and porn, I could write a whole post discussing this topic. But for now, I’ll just say this: If a woman (or man) makes an independent decision to pose for photos or shoot videos that are sexually explicit, who are we to judge? It’s their bodies. They can do whatever they want with it.
Fantasy vs. Reality
Unlike a lot of guys who are into muscle women, the sub-genre of erotica called “Female Muscle Growth” stories isn’t really my thing. These stories usually involve a guy meeting a dainty, weak girl who, either by magic or through some scientific potion, grows a freakish amount of muscle to become superhuman. For whatever reason, I’m only attracted to watching and looking at strong, muscled women doing real things; like pumping iron, posing for pictures or doing whatever they do in porn.
Personally, I’ve never met a professional (or amateur) female bodybuilder, so my only exposure to FBBs is through the glorious wonders of the Internet.
The closest I’ve ever been to a real FBB was back in college when, for some reason I could never quite figure out, I walked past a woman (she was older and clearly not a student) in our student union building with huge arms busting out of her short sleeve shirt. I didn’t get a clear look at her, but I could tell she didn’t just casually lift at the gym. I could tell she puts extra effort into her exercising.
Speaking of the gym, most of the women who go to my gym either do only cardio exercises or attend classes like Zumba, Pilates and yoga. Only a small handful of women lift with us guys. Of them, only two of these ladies have any discernible muscle definition. Too bad.
So…in other words, I’m attracted to the real thing, not a fantasy. I’m not turned on by the idea of a strong, muscular woman. I’m turned on by actual strong, muscular women. Nor do I have any alternative fantasies involving role playing or BDSM.
The idea of wrestling an FBB doesn’t appeal to me. Neither is being tied up and spanked by one. Nor do I want an FBB to wrap her legs around me in a headlock. Instead, I’d prefer to make love to a beautiful, strong athletic woman just as though she were any other kind of woman.
I guess this means I don’t necessarily fetishize female bodybuilders; I’m just attracted to them in a special way. They’re women who take great care of their bodies. They’re women who spend countless hours pumping iron at the gym and making lots of dietary and lifestyle sacrifices in order to get their bodies to look the way they want it to look. There’s a lot to admire about that.
Some women starve themselves to look “beautiful.” Others go under the knife to remove any perceived “blemishes.” Some hate themselves because when they look in the mirror all they can see are “imperfections.” My previous post about FBBs best summarizes why I’m personally attracted to a woman with muscle. The purpose of this post is to give you some context and perhaps a deeper explanation.
So…What’s the Big Deal Anyway?
Simply put, I’m attracted to female bodybuilders because they are, quite simply, beautiful. I hope others who share my attraction feel the same way. I hope you now understand that being attracted to a lovely muscled lady isn’t weird, strange or disgusting. There’s nothing incomprehensible about it.
A woman with muscles is still a woman. She’s not a woman trying to be a man. She’s a woman trying to become the best woman she can possibly be. That’s another great reason to be physically and emotionally attracted to her.
Perhaps, little by little, society can start accepting muscular woman as a normal thing instead of a freak of nature. I strongly believe when people are disgusted by a muscled woman, it’s because there’s some deep rooted sexism at play. Plenty of people in our society still expect women to be dainty, weak and ultra-feminine. Anyone who rebels against this is either a “gender traitor” or a monster.
Look at the photos of the FBBs I’ve put in this post. Are any of them disgusting to you? Do you find any of them “masculine,” “repulsive,” or “monstrous?” If you do, I think that reflects more on you than it does on me.
But please don’t misinterpret me. I’m not claiming to be some quasi-feminist activist. I’m not claiming to be “sexually progressive” in my attraction to FBBs. I’m not trying to destroy the foundations of gender roles or sexual politics by this post or through my blog. All I want to do is express my opinion that being attracted to a muscular woman isn’t all that strange.
In fact, it makes a lot of sense. Muscular women are healthy, curvy, dedicated, passionate and strong-willed. Who could possibly be turned off by that?
So the next time you encounter or see an image of a female bodybuilder, female athlete or a woman who takes her fitness hobbies very seriously, keep an open mind and try to appreciate a different side of life.
I look at my alarm clock and see it is 4:58 a.m. I turn it off before it decides to ring.
Shit. Garfield the cat is right. Mondays do suck.
My shift at Wellford Fitness Center starts at 6 a.m., which is when the gym opens to the public. That means I have to wake up at 5 a.m. to give myself enough time to eat breakfast and get some coffee in me.
I usually make my own coffee. Today is no exception. I only buy already-brewed coffee on Sunday mornings when I make my weekly trek across the street to D’Angelo’s Café. This is partly the reason why I didn’t order anything at the espresso bar when I first met Cindi. Why pay two dollars for coffee that I could make for myself at a much cheaper price?
After a hearty breakfast of Wheaties and a bagel with cream cheese, I chase down a cup of iced coffee (I’m too lazy to heat it up in the microwave) and head out the door.
Five minutes later I enter through the back door and put on my dark red Wellford Fitness Center t-shirt that’s sitting in my employee locker. Believe it or not, the company gives us four pairs of these shirts in order to prevent us from wearing the same shirt all week. I think this is a good policy. Gyms smell bad enough. We don’t want the foul stench of employees making things worse.
I usually feel a bit depressed on Monday mornings (who doesn’t?), but today I’m feeling especially down-trodden considering my week ahead. I have five whole days before I see the Goddess Cindi again. I wonder what time she gets up every morning to start her workout? Is she an early riser, or does she workout in the afternoons/evenings? I should ask her the next time I see her.
It is my turn today to man the front desk. I’m in charge of the front desk from 6 to 9 a.m. From 9 to noon I clean and do laundry (we provide workout towels for everyone).
As the clock approaches 6 a.m., I see our first customer of the day show up. And right on schedule. It’s Dale, a 40-something businessman who’s always here right when we open. Dale and his wife are both former college athletes who have raised two ridiculously athletic children. Their daughter is currently training for the Olympics as a gymnast and their older son is a high school track star. No big deal.
I unlock the front door at the stroke of 6 and let Dale in, who waits outside patiently like always.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning to you, Ryan.”
I scan his membership card and he strolls toward the locker rooms. Next I see Frances, an elderly 80-something woman who does water aerobics every morning. The class doesn’t start until 7, but she likes to be here early so she can read the newspaper before her workout.
“Hi Frances. How are the grandchildren?”
“They’re rude and they don’t listen,” she sheepishly says. I scan her membership card and wisely choose not to ask any more questions. She’s always in a pissy mood. But she seems to have a positive relationship with her grandchildren, so I’m a little taken aback that she thinks they’re rude and don’t listen.
Us whippersnappers are a real pain in the butt, aren’t we?
“Have a good workout,” I tell her as she leaves.
Frances doesn’t respond.
Somehow, my feelings aren’t hurt. My heart will go on.
Minutes later more people start to come in large groups. We’re talking people ranging from the very old to people my age looking to become as buff as possible. Try as they might, but they’ll never have anything on my Cindi. She’s buffer than anyone on the planet.
“My” Cindi? Am I claiming ownership over her? She should claim ownership over ME. She deserves that much.
As it approaches 7:30, the gym finally becomes lively with the noises of chit chat, treadmills running at full blast, the clank of 45-pound metal plates rubbing against each other and the usually grunts and groans of people getting a quality workout.
My mind starts to wander. What is Cindi doing right now? She’s definitely at the gym. She has to be. If she works out early on a Sunday morning, there’s no reason why she wouldn’t be at the gym earlier on a Monday morning.
“This sucks,” I tell myself out loud. It sucks that I have to wait five days before I can see her again. God, she’s like a drug. I’ve only met her once and I’m already at the stage where I can’t get her out of my mind.
Cindi North, you Beautiful Muscular Temptress. You’ve cast a spell on me. And I like it. A lot.
I giggle when I think about our first sexual encounter together. I totally prematurely ejaculated all over her face. I was humiliated at the time, but I can laugh at it now. It’s true when they say that time heals all wounds. But everything was totally worth it when she performed oral sex on me later. That felt divine. Absolutely divine. And I got to come on her eight-pack abdominal muscles. That was ridiculously hot.
I continue to daydream until I hear a woman’s voice call out to me.
“Excuse me, sir. Uh, excuse me?”
I immediately wake up from my mini-daydream.
“Uh, sorry. What is it? How may I help you?”
I look at the woman speaking to me and I almost stop breathing when I see her.
She’s a young black woman who looks to be anywhere between 25 and 30. She’s fairly tall, maybe between 5’10” and 6”. She’s wearing a bright pink sports bra and a matching pair of tight spandex shorts that leaves nothing to the imagination. She has very dark skin that looks as black as night and as smooth as silk. Her angular face looks very exotic and unbelievably beautiful. I’m not a world-renowned traveler, but there’s something in her look and in her voice that tells me she wasn’t born in this country. I don’t know. But she’s simply gorgeous.
“I’m new in town and I have a free one-week pass. Do I give this to you?” she asks politely.
Her voice does sound like it has a slight African accent to it. I struggle to look at her face once I take a peek at her large, plump, bountiful breasts. Unlike Cindi, this woman has breasts. And very enticing. I want to squeeze them right now. But that would get me fired.
“Yes, you can give that to me. Can I see it?”
She hands it to me and I see that it’s legit.
“Alright, this is good for exactly one week, so it expires next Monday. Let me scan it for you.” I scan it and give it back to her. I take a quick look at her midriff and see she has a modest four-pack of abs developing. After I scan her paper card I look at the computer and see her name is Monifa Okendu. That’s a name you don’t hear too often around here.
“Thank you,” she says.
“Alright, have you ever been here before, Monifa?”
“No. I just moved here yesterday morning.”
“Oh! Welcome into town. Where are you originally from?”
“Ethiopia. But I’ve lived in New York City for the past three years.”
“In that case, welcome to Seattle. Would you like someone to give you a tour of our facility? I can ask a staff person to show you around.”
“Thank you, but no thanks. I think I can find everything I need just fine.”
“Alright. The women’s locker room is on the opposite side of the men’s locker room to your left. You will have to provide your own locks, however. Did you bring your own today?”
“Good. It’s wise to do whatever you can to prevent against theft. We’re usually pretty good around here, but you never know. So, we offer workout towels for all our clients, including guests. Just drop them off in this box after you’re finished. Any other questions?”
“I don’t think so. Thank you very much.”
“Oh, I forgot to mention. Guests are allowed to attend all the classes we offer except for the advanced ones. Here’s a brochure explaining everything we offer here.”
I hand her a brochure and she puts it in her gym bag. Her toned arms look delicious.
“Thank you very much. You’ve been very helpful. What’s your name?”
“My name is Ryan. Enjoy your workout, Monifa.”
With that, Monifa turns around and walks toward the locker rooms. I take a look at her butt as she leaves. Holy mackerel! Lush, ample, perfectly rounded and taut, she nearly competes with Cindi’s impeccable derriere, but not quite. No one can compare to Goddess Cindi.
Well, that Monifa is quite a physical specimen! I hope she chooses to work out here long-term. That would make my mornings a lot easier to bear.
Just when I thought my morning got a little better, I look outside and see it has begun to rain. Hard. I mean, pouring down rain. Cats and dogs. Sheesh. Typical Seattle weather. Whenever a Monday seems to become somewhat tolerable, Mother Nature finds a way to slap you in the face and bring you back to reality.
The rest of my morning passes without a hitch. Nothing too spectacular. Later when I return to the front desk to pick up the box of dirty towels, I catch a peek of Monifa (whose bright pink and revealing outfit is extremely hard to miss) deadlifting what looks to be about 135 pounds, which is the metal bar plus a 45-pound plate on both sides. Not bad. It’s not quite the 500 pounds that Cindi can do, but that’s pretty darn impressive for a woman.
Wow, will Cindi ever leave my mind? Not for a long time, let me tell you.
As I walk into the laundry room I bump into Michelle, the ridiculously cute receptionist/personal trainer who works here.
“Hi Michelle. How many clients do you have today?”
“Only three. But they’re real clients, not the fake ones I’m usually stuck with.”
“You mean real athletes?”
“Yeah. One girl plays high school volleyball. Another girl wants to be a competitive figure model. And the other is a lady who’s determined to lose all her baby fat before Thanksgiving.”
“Before Thanksgiving? She better get on it. That’ll be here sooner than you think.”
“Well, she seems determined enough. See you around, sugar.”
Michelle, wearing a black Wellford Fitness Center sports bra and tight black shorts (not unlike what Monifa is wearing today), takes a swig from her coffee tumbler and goes into the workout area, leaving me alone holding a box of smelly towels. Dear God, these reek. Holy shit. If I don’t load these into the machine right away, I might just barf.
Oh, and by the way, Michelle usually calls every guy she knows “sugar,” so don’t get too excited on my behalf.
“That Monifa looks like she could become a competitive figure model,” I say to myself.
Loading the towels into a washing machine, I (for some really odd reason) start to think about Sam’s job offer he talked about yesterday. How would I like to be a drug dealer for the rich and wealthy? It would be easy money, these are people who don’t typically get involved in random street shootings and if I ever get caught, they could use their power and influence to get me off without any trouble. I mean, they’d do that, right?
And depending on what kind of drugs I’d be dealing, I might be able to meet more FBBs like Cindi North. Steroids and other human growth hormones are considered drugs, right?
But I’d never be able to meet another woman quite like Cindi. She’s a statuesque Goddess. But if women like her exist, there should be others like her. That makes sense. And I seriously don’t want to work here for the rest of my life. These smelly towels can always be washed by someone without a college degree.
I hope I’m not sounding too elitist.
But I digress. Sam and his buddies probably aren’t the type of people I want to associate myself with on a regular basis. I’d much rather hang out with Cindi and make love to her. Hell, who wouldn’t?
The thought of making love to a celestial muscle Goddess like Cindi is enough to carry me through the rest of the day.