A Female Bodybuilder Christmas Carol (part 3 of 3)

When you think of The Ghost of Christmas Future, think about Fern Assard.

Continued from part two

Scrooge’s heart drops like the DJ’s sick beat. Gail Moore? So she ended up marrying Eddie Moore, the retired bodybuilder and U.S. Marine whom Ebenezer once got into a bar fight with? It was in 2002. In Rio de Janeiro. They were both scouting a beautiful young Brazilian female bodybuilder (with the greatest ass in the whole fucking universe) with the intent of asking her to join their company.

At the time Scrooge was with the WCBF. Eddie, however, was a senior executive at the East Coast Bodybuilding Federation. They both wanted this young lady to become a member of their respective team. But she could only choose one. It’s taboo within the industry to be sponsored by multiple companies simultaneously. After several beers and shots of whiskey Ebenezer and Eddie got into a brutal fist fight that resulted in both men spending the night in jail, surrounded by drug dealers, pimps, and low-rent assassins.

But that’s neither here nor there. Scrooge’s eyes are glued to the dais. The DJ starts playing “I Like It” by Cardi B, a far cry from Dean Martin’s classy Christmas crooning. Soon, Gail walks on, dancing along to the music. She’s perfect. She’s older, but still as gorgeous as ever. She’s wearing a skimpy low-cut leather dress that generously shows off her curvy body. Gail isn’t as muscular as she used to be, but you can tell she still lifts regularly.

As Gail dances and glides across the stage, loud hollering fills the room. The crowd is enjoying every second of it. Even Bobbi and Tim. He may not be old enough to understand what is happening, but Tiny Tim knows a funky beat when he hears one. Bobbi sways back and forth with the biggest smile on her face. It never occurred to Scrooge until now that Gail could very well be one of Bobbi’s biggest heroes.

After leaping into the air and landing spread eagle with the grace of a ballerina, the audience cheers so wildly Scrooge wonders if the windows will break. Thankfully, they don’t. Gail stands up and bows as the music fades. The applause lasts a good three or four minutes. Ebenezer loses track.

“Unbelievable. She’s still in great condition,” Scrooge mutters to himself. The Ghost of Christmas Present nods in agreement.

“She is. She’s remarkable. And your instincts are correct. She is indeed married to Eddie Moore. They’re very happy together. She’s the proud mother of three children. All girls.” Scrooge turns toward the spirit in disbelief.

“Wow. Good for her. That’s…incredible. She deserves happiness.” Before he can start to weep, Scrooge sees a large crowd of people shake Gail’s hand, hug her, and mob her. They love her. And she loves them. She’s happy – smiling, laughing, celebrating. In all the years he’s known her, Ebenezer cannot remember a time when Gail looked this alive. She seems at peace. Powerful. Joyous. Happy. Ecstatic. Content. As if she’s found her purpose. This is very unusual, at least from Scrooge’s narrow perspective.

Christmas desserts.

Did she ever feel this way during their marriage? Ebenezer is starting to have his doubts. Perhaps she never felt happy when they were together. Maybe this is the first time she’s ever felt this happy in her life. Now. After their relationship deteriorated.

“What are you seeing, Ebenezer?” The Ghost of Christmas Present asks. Scrooge almost forgets she’s there, as he’s totally captivated by the scene unfolding around him. He turns to her with sadness in his eyes.

“I’m seeing Gail…happy. Really happy. She’s smiling. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her smile that much.” Then, Scrooge turns his gaze toward Bobbi Cratchit and Tiny Tim. They’ve moved away from the dessert bar. He is unable to spot them until he notices them approaching Gail.

“Hi Gail. Do you remember me? My name is Bobbi. This is my son, Tim,” Bobbi nervously asks Gail. “We met briefly at last year’s contest in Denver. You told me to never give up my dreams. To never look at an obstacle as being an obstacle, but instead as an opportunity to grow. I never forgot that. You’re…one of my heroes.”

Gail takes a moment to remember Bobbi’s face. She then extends her arms wide and hugs Bobbi so tightly Scrooge is surprised her head doesn’t pop off. “Of course I remember you! Aren’t you working for that horrible Ebenezer Scrooge right now? Let me warn you about him, my dear. He’s a cad. But I’m sure you know that already.”

Bobbi looks around the room before chuckling. She isn’t one to throw her own boss under the bus, but it seems as though nobody within earshot would mind if she did so. Ebenezer Scrooge isn’t considered a particularly sympathetic man in these parts.

“I sure do, yes,” Bobbi says. “In fact, he’s making me work on Christmas Eve. Can you believe that?” Gail nods her head “no,” knowing exactly what kind of man her ex-husband is, especially as far as the holidays are concerned. Tiny Tim emerges from behind her mother’s back to look up at Gail, whose performance knocked everybody off their feet.

“Is this your little guy? He’s getting so big! Soon you’ll be just as strong as your mommy,” Gail says. Tiny Tim smiles but does not say anything.

“He’s really shy around adults,” Bobbi warns. “Plus, he’s been fighting off a bad cough that’s been affecting him for the past few days. If it gets worse I might need to take him to see the doctor.” Bobbi squeezes her son out of concern for his wellbeing. Scrooge takes note of Tiny Tim’s condition.

This is the type of sexy low-cut dress Gail is wearing at the party.

“Oh, that’s too bad. I hope Ebenezer gives you some much needed time off to take care of him if that’s the case,” Gail says. “But then again, maybe not. Let me know and I’ll give him hell if he doesn’t, sweetheart.”

Tiny Tim coughs violently a few times. All look at him with concern. Even Scrooge. He wants to reach out and hug the little guy, but cannot because he is not actually there. Scrooge looks at The Ghost of Christmas Present. She glares back at him. “If Tiny Tim were to need urgent medical attention, you would be so kind as to give his mother some paid time off so that she can tend to his needs, right?” Scrooge nods, but genuinely wonders if he would have had he not witnessed this eventful scene.

Then, without warning, the room blackens. Yet again. The figures of Gail, Bobbi Cratchit, Tiny Tim, and the hundreds of souls around them fade away into total blackness. Scrooge is dazed. He never knew Bobbi was that fond of Gail. Nor did he know that Gail was that beloved within the bodybuilding community. To him, she was just a fading athlete whose popularity had come and gone. It never occurred to him that people – young and old, those who remember her heyday and those who were not even born yet – still adore her. That young women like Bobbi Cratchit, who was barely alive when Gail was at the height of her popularity, could look up to her for inspiration. She even said it herself. Gail is her hero.

Hero. Wow.

“Where are we going next, spirit?” The blackness persists, which is unusual. Normally they’d be at their next destination by now.

“My work here is done, Ebenezer. From here on out, I leave you with the next spirit.” The blackness dissipates, leaving Scrooge and The Ghost of Christmas Present in the middle of a dirty looking convenience store. Bags of potato chips, beef jerky, candy, cheap beer, rip-off brands of sunglasses, cigarettes, and scratch tickets line several shelves. The Ghost of Christmas Present is still with Scrooge, but she has a peculiar red glow surrounding her impeccable body.

“Who?”

“The Ghost of Christmas Future, or more specifically, The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come,” she explains. Her red glow shines brighter and brighter as their conversation goes on. “She will show you two versions of the future, I believe. And whether or not either of them comes to pass is entirely dependent upon you, Ebenezer.” Her glow becomes so brilliant Scrooge has to look away. Finally, she disappears just like the spirits and shadows before her. No one seems to be in the vicinity of the convenience store. There are no employees, customers, or people roaming around the streets. Scrooge looks around for any sign of life. Then, Scrooge notices smoke coming out of the bathroom. If there’s anything Scrooge hates more than gas station bathrooms, he is yet to find it. Tentatively, he approaches the source of the mysterious smoke.

Suddenly, the entire store is caked in thick gray smoke. But Ebenezer doesn’t cough or smell it. It’s like it’s not actually there. He hears the bathroom door creak open, but no footsteps emerge. Scrooge knows it’s the third spirit, yet for whatever reason he feels the most anxious for this one. The first was that of his dead business partner, Jacob Marley. The second was an apparition that looked just like Tanya Morganthall. The third resembled Elena Bourean. But what about this specter? What will she look like?

The gray smoke slowly but surely disperses. Standing in front of the bathroom is a robed figure. She is wearing a jet-black robe that covers her entire body. Unlike The Ghost of Christmas Past, this spirit can walk on the ground. It approaches Scrooge methodically, as if she’s self-aware of the macabre nature of her existence. Scrooge isn’t always a fan of excessive theatrics, but he’ll indulge this specter for the sake of personal growth and redemption.

“Are you the third spirit whose coming was foretold?” Scrooge asks with rote formality.

Silence. Then the spirit nods its head up and down. Ebenezer guesses – correctly, of course – that this denotes the answer is “yes.”

“Alright then. Are you silent, or just choose to be silent for dramatic effect?” That causes the spirit to laugh out loud.

“Great. You caught me!” The spirit lifts the hood from its head to reveal its true form. Like the previous two spirits, this one is female. But she isn’t someone Ebenezer recognizes. He looks closely at her face. She’s a bit plain looking, but not ugly by any stretch of the imagination. She can be “the girl next-door,” as if that wretched cliché needed any further usage. She takes a few more steps toward Ebenezer. “Greetings. I am the final spirit who will guide you through this eventful evening. I am The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, or The Ghost of Christmas Future. Did my predecessor give you the gist of what I plan to do with you?”

“Yeah, she said you’re going to show me two versions of the future. And I have the power to decide which will happen, for whatever reason,” he answers. “If you don’t mind me asking, spirit, but who are you in the real world? I don’t believe I recognize your face.”

A convenience store.

The Ghost of Christmas Future looks at a nearby can of creamed corn. It’s way past its expiration date, which makes her frown. “That’s because I am not born yet. So not only will I show you the future, I too am from the future. I will be born in the year 2023, which is, by my calculation, five years from now. Well, four and a half years from now if we want to be exact. But whatever,” she explains. “I’m the shadow of a young lady who aspires to become a female bodybuilder.” She rolls up her sleeve and reveals her swollen biceps. Scrooge marvels at her vascularity. He whistles in response. She politely smiles.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge,” she smiles. “However, whether or not I actually become a bodybuilder is very much in your hands. It’ll make sense a bit later. For now, we begin our tour. Look behind you. Mr. Scrooge.”

A bit dumbfounded, Scrooge slowly turns around to see what is behind him. What he observes makes him gasp. It’s Bobbi Cratchit! She’s an employee of this dreadful convenience store, judging from her cheesy-looking yellow and brown uniform. She’s standing at the cash register looking bored out of her mind. She even yawns, as if we needed further evidence of her boredom.

“Dear God, it’s Bobbi! Spirit, what year is it and why is this young lady working at this God-forsaken establishment?” Bobbi Cratchit gets so bored she looks at her phone and starts to play some mind-numbing game. Angry Birds, perhaps?

“She works here now. The year is 2020, so two Christmas Eves from now. Bobbi worked for you for a year and then moved on. But once you got rid of the Female Bodybuilding Division, she decided to quit bodybuilding altogether and find a new profession. So far, this has been it.” The Ghost of Christmas Future has put the hood back on, as if that’s even necessary. A bell rings, signaling a customer has entered the store. It’s an elderly man who’s wearing nothing but a military-style green overcoat. That looks a bit suspicious, Scrooge thinks to himself.

No shoes, no socks, no pants, no hat. And he looks like he needs a shave. And a shower. What the hell is he doing here–

“Good evening, sir. Can I help you?” Bobbi politely asks the disheveled man.

“Sure. Can you help me with…this!” The man opens his coat to reveal that he’s completely naked. He swings his floppy penis around in a circle several times, does a quick choreographed dance, and runs out of the store laughing to himself. “Merry Christmas, babe! I’ll be back! You just wait…!”

The hideous man’s voice thankfully trails off. Bobbi is standing at the cash register, stunned and speechless. She should have expected a man wearing a large coat and no other clothing would be a serial flasher, but how the fuck can you make that kind of instant assessment?

“What the fuck was that shit? That’s so fucking gross!” Bobbi exclaims. She quickly checks the computer to see if this asshole is on their “watch list.” They do have a few people in their database who they’ve caught on CCTV shoplifting or dealing drugs. But none of them fit this lunatic’s physical description. Gee, should she include the word “micropenis” in his character biography?

Scrooge is disgusted on her behalf. So is The Ghost of Christmas Future, even though she’s technically not supposed to comment on the action. As if matters couldn’t get worse, Bobbi looks outside and sees two high school kids getting into a fist fight. They’re screaming, cursing, and threatening each other. Just another day at the office.

“Fuck you, you little bitch! I’ll whoop your ass, you fucking cunt! You just watch me! Get the fuck away from my girl, you little piece of shit!” one unpleasant voice screeches.

“Oh yeah tough guy? You wouldn’t fucking dare come at me! I’ll beat your ass to death, you fucking bitch! You bitch! Come here, bitch!” an equally unpleasant voice responds.

The company’s policy is to only report a physical altercation if it appears other customers are in danger. So far, that doesn’t seem to be the case. Until…

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Bobbi screams at this sudden burst of noise and drops to the floor. Ebenezer’s heart jumps a few beats. The spirit seems unfazed. Dutifully, Bobbi finds the phone, dials 9-1-1, and stays on the line like she’s been trained to do.

“Holy fuck! What the fuck did you just do? Holy fucking shit!!!” a third voice yells out. Scrooge can’t see what’s going on outside, but it doesn’t take a genius to guess. The two kids sprint at full speed as far away as they possibly can. The third kid is probably lying in a pool of blood, bleeding to death. Bobbi mumbles something to the emergency operator. Scrooge and The Ghost of Christmas Future approach the window to see what the fuck just happened. Sure enough, there’s a 17-year-old boy lying on the ground. Blood is everywhere. There’s too much darkness and fog to see where he’s wounded, but it doesn’t look good. He isn’t breathing.

“Hello, police! There’s been a shooting at the Sunrise Gas Station on 58th Street! Shots fired. There’s someone who’s been hit by multiple bullets. Send help now!” Bobbi shouts into the phone. Scrooge turns toward her. He sees real fear in her eyes. She knows she’s not in physical danger, but it’s not every day that live bullets are flying in the air in her vicinity. That has a way of shaking you to your core.

Two minutes later, police and ambulance vehicles arrive onto the scene. An officer takes a statement from Miss Cratchit. Paramedics tend to the wounded young man. Ebenezer doesn’t read lips, but he can tell that they’re saying to each other that the boy is dead. Three bullets right to the chest will do that to you. Scrooge and the spirit are standing still in the corner of the convenience store – right next to the frozen burritos – and have not said a single word to each other. What is there to say during a tragic time like this?

By now, the manager of the Sunrise Gas Station has also arrived. He tries to comfort Bobbi, but he knows she’s shaken. It’s one thing to be disgusted at a flasher who ran in and out in the blink of an eye. It’s quite another thing to be traumatized by the sight of vicious homicidal violence. The manager decides to close the gas station for the evening. Bobbi packs up her belongings and walks out of the store. She tries to avoid looking at the scene of the crime, which is still streaked with blood.

Scrooge and The Ghost of Christmas Future quietly follow her to her car – as if they needed to be quiet. Nobody can see or hear them, after all. Bobbi is now talking on her cell phone.

“Hi, Timmy? It’s mommy. You might see on the news a story about a shooting that just happened at the place where mommy works. But don’t worry, little buddy,” she says, stifling tears. “Mommy is okay. I’m not hurt. Just a bit…surprised. That’s all. I’ll see you soon. My boss gave me the rest of the night off. Okay, I love you. Bye.”

Ebenezer looks back at the store. Sure enough, a camera crew has shown up. They’re from the Channel 7 Evening News. Looks like this is one tragic Christmas story that Seattleites everywhere will be hearing about shortly.

Bobbi gets in her car, starts the engine, and drives off into the distance. The police and medical responders are still on the scene. Apparently, there were other witnesses in proximity. An elderly black woman, her son, and a random jogger who happened to be passing by. The police collect statements from them too.

“Spirit,” Scrooge turns toward his host. “Is this the life poor Bobbi Cratchit has to live two years after I axe the FBB Division? Is that really what her fate is going to be?” The Ghost of Christmas Future nods her head. Scrooge sighs. “Well, shit. That fucking sucks. She’s a great girl. She deserves better.”

Then, it hits him. Like a bolt of lightning.

“Holy shit. She does deserve better. And I can play a part in making that happen!” Scrooge looks at the spirit. She nods her head again in agreement. “So that’s the lesson I must learn, spirit? I must keep the Female Bodybuilding Division around so that she can avoid living this pitiful life?”

“No, Ebenezer. That’s not the entirety of your lesson,” the specter begins. “There’s another side to it. Obviously, eliminating the FBB Division isn’t going to force every former competitor into dangerous jobs like this one, but that will be the fate for Miss Cratchit here, as well as her son Tim. He’s not so tiny anymore, you know.”

Ebenezer raises an eyebrow. He recalls that Tim was sick at Mr. Fezziwig’s party two years ago, but he chooses not to ask any follow up questions about that. He’s perfectly content going along for the ride with his spiritual host.

“Show me the other reality. When I don’t eliminate the FBB Division, please,” Scrooge requests.

“Of course.”

A black swirl engulfs them. The horrifying scene at the gas station goes away for good. Thank God for that! Soon, the vortex shimmers, rises upward, and finally disbands. Now, they find themselves in a completely different environment. A mansion. They’re just outside the front door. It takes Scrooge a while, but eventually he recognizes whose house this belongs to.

A gorgeous mansion.

“Oh my heavens! This is Jacob Marley’s old house! After he died, I believe his son Anthony inherited it. He’s the man who impregnated Bobbi. He’s Tim’s father!” Inside the house loud music, laughing, and other raucous shenanigans can be heard. The Ghost of Christmas Future walks past an empty beer keg, a used joint, and an empty box of condoms. Curious, Scrooge walks through the front door – without opening it, naturally – to see what all the commotion is about. The spirit follows behind inconspicuously.

Inside, the party is as wild as it sounds from the outside. Male and female bodybuilders, along with non-bodybuilders, are cooped up inside the Marley mansion – eating, drinking, smoking blunts, laughing, arguing, joking, and occasionally fighting. Nothing like some casual violence to make the holidays merrier. Scrooge wanders around the house looking for…something. He isn’t sure what he’s searching for, but for some unexplainable reason an unseen force is compelling him to be on the hunt.

At last, he finds what he’s looking for. In the main recreational room, a large crowd has gathered around a staging area. The atmosphere is similar to Mr. Fezziwig’s party a couple years earlier. Except the venue is much different. The size of the crowd is probably smaller, but Scrooge cannot say for sure. Ebenezer wades through the large mass of humanity – it’s easy for him to do that considering he’s witnessing shadows of events yet to come – and finally arrives near the front of the stage. And what he sees makes him stop dead in his tracks.

It’s Bobbi Cratchit.

But this time, she’s not working at that filthy gas station where nothing but depravity and violence festers. This time, she’s wearing a sexy Christmas-themed bikini. She’s huge. HUGE. Much larger than she currently is. Her body resembles that of a heavyweight bodybuilder, thick and muscular as hell. She’s posing on stage next to Rebecca Williams, a veteran female bodybuilder whom Ebenezer discovered at a rotten car dealership nearly two decades ago. She was a “fit” girl standing near the “muscle cars,” as if she could use her good looks to attract new customers. Ebenezer approached her and asked if she’s like to quit this dead-end job and come work for the WCBF as a sponsored athlete. She wholeheartedly agreed and quit on the spot. Good for her.

On this day, Rebecca and Bobbi are “competing” against each other on this makeshift stage in front of a cacophonous cheering section. The “loser” gets to take a shot of tequila. The “winner” gets to take two shots of tequila and advance to the next round. Bobbi looks pretty drunk right now. As does Rebecca. And the crowd, of course. Gail doesn’t appear to be anywhere in sight. However, Ebenezer Scrooge is struck by how radically different Bobbi appears to be, compared to how she was at that ugly convenience store.

“Let’s go Bobbi! Go get it, girl!” a random person shouts at the top of his lungs.

“We love you Bobbi! You’re a superstar in the making!!!” another random person screams. Enthusiastic hollering follows. Bobbi looks radiant. As she’s doing a double biceps pose, she looks happy. Alive. Empowered. Beautiful. Confident. Purposeful.

“Wow,” Scrooge mutters.

It is at that moment that Ebenezer finally “gets it.” It’s an epiphany. An awakening. A paradigm shift. Bodybuilding, for both men and women, isn’t about business. It’s not about money. It’s not even about fame. It’s about being the best person you can possibly be. It’s about fulfilling your dreams. Striving toward a goal. Building a family. Being a part of a community. Bobbi looks vivacious, while at the gas station she looked dead. Not dead on the outside (which, unfortunately, could end up happening if those bullets had been aimed at her instead of that poor kid), but dead on the inside. She didn’t have any purpose. Her dreams were squashed. But not by any natural means, but solely because of him. Ebenezer Scrooge. He dashed her dreams, not anybody else. He controls whether she – and countless other female athletes – has the platform to become what she wants to become.

Female bodybuilders don’t need a platform. But there’s also no reason to take that platform away from them. The FBB Division may not make money, but it doesn’t lose any money either. But at the end of the day, it’s not about either of those things. It’s about happiness. Fulfillment. Destiny. Dreams. Community. Self-love.

This outfit worn by Jana Linke-Sippl is what Bobbi Cratchit is wearing at the other party.

“Spirit, I finally get it!” Scrooge confesses. The Ghost of Christmas Future is now standing next to him. They are both watching Bobbi Cratchit look completely at home. She’s sparkling. She’s vibrant. He finally understands why both Gail and Bobbi – as well as countless other women – don’t trust or especially like him. It’s because he refuses to see the other side of the bodybuilding industry that isn’t about money.

That other side is…the human side.

“Yes you do, Ebenezer,” the spirit says. “You finally understand what you need to do. How you can make this all right. How to right your wrongs.”

Just as Ebenezer is about to respond to his spiritual guide, he finds himself floating straight up into the air. He cannot stop his upward momentum. It’s just him, flying high above the Seattle skyline. Scrooge is sobbing. His body enters the clouds. A bolt of lightning strikes across his face. He closes his eyes to avoid being blinded. When he re-opens his eyes, he’s now lying down in his bed. In his home. Just him. The grandfather clock says it is 9:00 a.m.

It’s Christmas morning.

As giddy as a schoolboy, Scrooge runs to his window and opens it. He smells the fresh air. Then, he spots a young child making a snowman across the street. Whiteness permeates the world. A fresh sheet of snow apparently fell during the night. The kid seems at peace, but Ebenezer cannot help himself. He must find out if it’s truly Christmas morning. If the spirits returned him to the right place and time.

“You! You there!” he shouted to the boy on the street. “What day is this?”

The boy gives Scrooge a puzzled look. “It’s Christmas, sir. Christmas morning.”

“Good! I haven’t missed it! I’ve been given another chance. I will honor the importance of female bodybuilding in the past, present, and future!” Scrooge proclaims. The boy looks confused, so he continues to make his snowman unabated. Ebenezer slams the window shut, scrambles around to get dressed in proper clothing, and runs downstairs to his lounge chair where his phone is still sitting. He forgot to charge it overnight, but thankfully it still has 38% battery power. Scrooge immediately dials Charlie’s number.

“Charlie! Wake up!” he gleefully shouts once Charlie answers it. “Merry Christmas to you and your lovely family! Hey, you don’t need to do anything right now, but I’m reversing my decision to get rid of the Female Bodybuilding Division. I want to keep it. Forever. Alright? Have a Merry Christmas. Bye, Charlie.” A perplexed Charlie is standing in his living room – surrounded by his wife, four kids, and three dogs – unable to process his boss’s unusually chipper mood. What gives?

Next, Scrooge leaves a voice message on the homeless shelter’s answering machine. He promises to double his donation to $3,000 for their annual fundraising dinner. He figures their staff will get it first thing tomorrow morning.

Winter outside the window.

“Alright, one more stone left unturned,” he proudly exclaims.

Not wanting to disturb her beautiful family on this special day, Scrooge texts a simple message to his brand new intern:

“Merry Christmas, Bobbi. Just so you know, I’ve had a change of heart. I’m keeping the FBB Division. Your dreams will not be shattered. Go and fulfill everything you hope to achieve in your life. Sorry for being a jerk. See you at the office tomorrow!”

At Bobbi Cratchit’s cramped apartment on the other side of town, a buzzing of her phone forces Tiny Tim’s mother to stop cooking Christmas breakfast and check it. After she reads her boss’s inexplicable text, she stands frozen, unable to speak or move. Her young son notices his mother’s unusual behavior and approaches her cautiously.

“What’s wrong, mommy?” Tim’s little voice inquires.

“Nothing, sweetie,” Bobbi begins. “I just received great news. News that makes mommy really happy.” Satisfied with this answer, Tim makes a bold proclamation that Bobbi swears she’s never heard her son say before:

“God bless us, everyone!”

A small tear rolls down her face. Bobbi looks up and says a silent prayer to the heavens. Before she resumes preparing their breakfast, she peers down at her handsome son and replies to his blessing.

“We are, son. We are.”

The End

Top 10 Items on Every Female Muscle Lover’s Christmas Wish List

All I want for Christmas is...Jana Linke-Sippl.
All I want for Christmas is…Jana Linke-Sippl.

It’s December. The days are getting shorter. The skies are becoming grayer. Precipitation is starting to fall harder and more often. Chilly weather is now the norm. Sunny days? Sorry, but see you next year.

But don’t fret. There is light at the end of the tunnel. Christmas is approaching!

As a proud Female Muscle Lover (“F**k My Life” isn’t the only phrase with the acronym “FML” that is in our popular vernacular), there are many things I wish were different about our society. Whether you live in the United States, Europe, Latin America, Asia, Africa, the Middle East, the Pacific or somewhere else, I’m going to guess the presence of muscular women isn’t very common wherever you are.

What a shame that is! If only more ladies would be encouraged to pick up a weight every once in a while and LIFT at the gym instead of doing endless hours of cardio.

That got me thinking. Since Christmas is fast approaching, I thought it would be appropriate to list the Top 10 Items on Every Female Muscle Lover’s Christmas Wish List. Even if you don’t celebrate Christmas, bear with me here. I’m sure these are wishes you’d love to have granted regardless of what time of the year it is.

Without further ado, let’s get this started:

Dear Santa,

My name is Ryan. You may not remember me, but I was definitely a “Good” boy growing up in the suburbs of Seattle, WA, USA. If I somehow got on your “Bad” list, I apologize and hope it won’t spill over into my adulthood.

I may be a grownup now, but I still have a list of items I want for Christmas. I understand you usually give out toys to all the good girls and boys, but my wish list is a little different. Though unorthodox, I sincerely believe I’m not alone in wanting these things. So if other people around the world share these same requests, you’re more likely to grant them, right?

Eh, whatever. I’ll let YOU decide how you want to divvy up the loot. Read carefully, because these items could very well change the course of human history if implemented correctly (no pressure!).

10. I want more women around the world to lift at the gym

If more women like Debi Laszewski lifted at the gym, would you ever miss a day?
If more women like Debi Laszewski lifted at the gym, would you ever miss a day?

If you’ve ever been to a gym, you probably know it’s nothing but a “Boy’s Club.” Men, young and old, usually are a monopoly in the weight room. Is this a bad thing? Not necessarily, but the situation could be improved.

Truth be told, if we more openly encouraged women to lift, this could come with many social benefits. Lifting improves your strength (obviously); a facet of our health that most of us concede is dominated by men. Females are the weaker sex? Yes, but that shouldn’t be an excuse not to lift.

Consider these other benefits. Lifting also helps speed up your metabolism, prevents injury (how many of us have strained our back because of either improper technique or having weak backs?), allows us to enjoy an easier life when we get older and improves our confidence.

How can it improve our confidence? Do you want to look in the mirror and think to yourself: “Damn, I look good!” If so, lift. Trust me, lifting won’t transform yourself into a bodybuilder. That requires dieting, taking supplements and creating a workout regimen unlike anything you’ve ever done before. But the difference between a “slim” look and a “toned” look can make all the difference in boosting your self-esteem.

9. I want “strong” to be the new “skinny”

Maryse Manios is strong and sexy. Enough said.
Maryse Manios is strong and sexy. Enough said.

Ever heard this catchphrase before? If not, don’t worry. The gist is that instead of pushing the idea that in order to be beautiful you have to be skinny, we should instead encourage the stronger, toned look as our preferred ideal.

If we (as a society) pushed the idea that “strong” is a preferable beauty ascetic to “skinny,” think of the benefits. We’d see fewer cases of eating disorders. Horribly unhealthy habits of starving yourself and experimenting with radical crash diets would dissipate. Judging people based on unrealistic standards would slowly become extinct.

But more important, people would be healthier. As mentioned before, building muscle keeps you stronger, burns unnecessary body fat, speeds up your metabolism and limits your chances of getting diabetes and suffering from heart disease.

See? “Strong” should be the new “skinny.” Being skinny doesn’t automatically mean you’re healthy. But being strong is a whole other story.

8. I want the marginalization of female bodybuilders to stop

Nikki Fuller deserves everyone's respect. MEOW.
Nikki Fuller deserves everyone’s respect. MEOW.

In case you haven’t heard, now is not the optimal time to be a female bodybuilder. The Arnold Classic (now known as The Arnold Sports Festival), arguably the most popular bodybuilding competition in the world, recently announced that starting in 2014 the Ms. International women’s international competition would be replaced by the “Arnold Classic 212 professional men’s bodybuilding division.”

Well then. It appears the “Powers That Be” are slowly but surely deciding that female bodybuilding isn’t worth continuing. Whether it’s a financial decision or one based on a trend of overall lack of interest in female bodybuilding, this is bad news for female muscle fans like me and many of you.

It’s hard to believe that female bodybuilding once held a significant place in pop culture. When it entered the mainstream in the 1970s and continued in the 80s and 90s, women like Rachel McLish and Cory Everson were legitimate celebrities. Not A-listers by any stretch of the imagination, but more famous than the female bodybuilders of today.

So my Christmas wish is simple. I want the marginalization of female bodybuilding to stop. NOW. I want it to become mainstream again. I want young FBBs like Shannon Courtney to be what Rachel and Cory were in the 70s and 80s. With more luck and with help from fans like you and I, this can happen.

We can make this a reality.

7. I want Iris Kyle to become more of a role model for young girls than Miley Cyrus

Miley Cyrus or Iris Kyle? There's no debate. Sorry, spawn of Billy Ray.
Miley Cyrus or Iris Kyle? There’s no debate. Sorry, spawn of Billy Ray.

Whenever the thought occurs to me that there are young kids out there who actually look up to people like Miley Cyrus and Kim Kardashian (and legitimately want to emulate them), it makes me want to bang my head against a wall.

I mean, seriously! REALLY? Come on! We can do better than that!!!

Yes, as a matter of fact, we can do better than that. We can have hardworking, accomplished women like Iris Kyle as role models instead. Kyle, who has won the Ms. Olympia 10 times and the Ms. International seven times, is currently the top ranked female bodybuilder in the world. She actually works hard for these accolades and didn’t depend on extensive plastic surgery, a famous father or an infamous sex tape to get her foot in the door.

While I highly doubt a lot of young girls will want to actually become bodybuilders when they reach adulthood, Iris Kyle is without a doubt a much better alternative than the jokers we have for “role models” today.

6. I want an army of gorgeous FBBs fighting alongside me during the imminent Zombie Apocalypse

In a battle for survival, who wouldn't want Denise Masino fighting by your side?
In a battle for survival, who wouldn’t want Denise Masino fighting by your side?

This is where I get into the territory of Fantasyland. It’s my Christmas wish list, so I can do whatever I want!

I’m not entirely sure why the concept of a Zombie Apocalypse is so popular right now, but it is what it is. If something like this were to ever happen (or something like it – such as a planet-wide extraterrestrial invasion, werewolves, vampires, velociraptors, Communists, rabid dogs, man-eating squirrels, etc.), how splendid would it be to have an army of badass female bodybuilders fighting alongside me?

In any fight for survival, one must endure a civilization reduced down to a Hobbesian State of Nature and battle through it by any means necessary. And you can succeed using only one guiding principle: Keep your friends close but your enemies closer.

And if you had a rag tag team of gorgeous, strong, hardcore FBBs as your friends, imagine how doomed your enemies would be in a dogfight. No zombie, Commie, or squirrel with a taste for human flesh would stand a chance against us.

Imagine us walking through a deserted wasteland armed to the teeth with knives, baseball bats, Samurai swords and throwing stars. We hunt our own food. We live off whatever barren resources are left. We maintain a “pack” mentality, perhaps even forming our own tribe. We might even be mankind’s only hope for defeating this treacherous enemy.

But think of it this way. If this anime-inspired fantasy doesn’t appeal to you, consider this: In a world without normal societal structures such as jobs, functioning electronic devices and hectic modern-day schedules, there probably wouldn’t be much to do during the day.

Not much to do? Hm. What could I and a whole gang of lovely, muscular women do to pass the time between our epic battles for survival?

Draw your own conclusions here.

5. I want a Matrix/Inception-style dream machine available where I can live out my female muscle fantasies and experience them as if they were real

Fanny Palou. Whoa.
Fanny Palou. Whoa.

This is a wish that goes well beyond female muscle. Who hasn’t had fantasies of spending a romantic, candle-lit evening with the man/woman of their dreams? Or on a less sexual level, hitting a walk-off homerun in the bottom of the 9th inning in Game 7 of the World Series? Or scoring the game-winning touchdown in the waning seconds of the Super Bowl? Or delivering your Oscar acceptance speech moments after hearing your name called for Best Actor/Actress?

We all have our dream moments. Unlike actually living out your fantasies, the convenience of this particular wish is that the dream doesn’t have to last long. It lasts only as long as you want it to. Like the science fiction world of The Matrix and Inception, you create your own realities within whatever boundaries and limitations you desire.

No consequences, no penalties whenever something goes wrong.

What sort of a fantasy scenario would I craft? I could come up with hundreds of thousands of setups to tell you the honest truth…

4. I want to go on a romantic date with Lisa Cross

If my first date with Lisa Cross ends up like this, what a night that would be!
If my first date with Lisa Cross ends up like this, what a night that would be!

Oh, Miss Cross. You are so beautiful. Strong, confident, sexy. You’ve led a very interesting life. You’ve overcome self-esteem issues, an eating disorder and other troubles to become one of the most recognized bodybuilders in the business today.

Not bad for a British girl who once weighed “six and a half stone” as a teenager (as an American, I have no bloody idea what this means). You went from avoiding meals to consuming 5,000 calories per day spread over 10 separate meals. I’d sure like to go out to dinner with you!

Which is why a romantic date with the resilient Miss Cross sounds so damn appealing. Of course I’m stereotyping, but I’m going to assume that The British Bombshell must be a mannered young lady who’s well-spoken and remarkably thought-provoking in conversation. The fact she’s beautiful as hell is a whole other story.

A candlelit dinner complete with soft sensual music and an evening on the town would definitely hit the spot. And whatever happens after that would be gravy on top.

Or would she be the one who’s on top?

3. I want Victoria Dominguez to be my best friend

I want Miss Vicky to be my BFF. NOW!!!
I want Miss Vicky to be my BFF. NOW!!!

Think about all the advantages you would have if the stunningly gorgeous Victoria Dominguez were your best friend. You could hang out together. She would be an excellent training buddy (I know I’d sure feel inspired to go to the gym every single day). She seems outgoing, personable, intelligent and unapologetically sexy.

Plus, if you ever get into a bar fight or some kind of tussle with unwelcomed company, who else would you want defending your back? Bring ‘em on! She can protect my turf any day, if you know what I’m saying!

But seriously. It would be beyond amazing to have this elegant FBB as your BFF (did you see what I did there?). She can coach you through your first date with Miss Cross and perhaps join the fun later in the evening. Too kinky for you? Then why are you reading this list?

If you had Miss Dominguez defending your honor any time someone foolishly disrespects you, I can guarantee you wouldn’t be openly dishonored too often after that. No sir. Once this exotic Spanish/Caribbean beauty puts you in your place, you wouldn’t dare leave it for any reason.

That’s the kind of person I want at my side at all times.

2. I want to be stranded on a deserted island with Alina Popa

Me and Alina Popa on a deserted island? Yes, please!
Me and Alina Popa on a deserted island? Yes, please!

Me. Her. A deserted island. White sandy beaches. Palm trees. Fresh tropical fruit. No soul within thousands of miles. Plenty of food and drink to last us a lifetime (what were you expecting, the female muscle version of “Castaway?”).

Yes, that would be the life. Not to mention all the spare time we would have. Lots of spare time. No electronic devices, no employment, no bosses, no obligations. Just me and her.

Alright. I think we all know where this is going!

Humor me here. What enthusiastic Female Muscle Fan wouldn’t want this dream scenario to come true? Granted, you might have a different gorgeous, sexy FBB as your choice island mate, but the overall concept stays the same.

Hm. Where can I sign up?

1. I want a beautiful muscle girlfriend all to myself

If my girlfriend were Dr. Dena Westerfield, I wouldn't ask for another thing for Christmas ever again.
If my girlfriend were Dr. Dena Westerfield, I wouldn’t ask for another thing for Christmas ever again.

Yes, this is a bit selfish, but can you really blame me? A beautiful muscle girlfriend would be awesome. Who wouldn’t want a young lady like Catherine Holland or Michelle Levesque as your better half? I know for a fact they’d be my better half.

VOICE INSIDE YOUR HEAD: But wouldn’t you feel emasculated being with her? I mean, she can probably lift more than you!

ME: Well, if that’s the case, then so be it. I can live with that. It’s not like going to the gym and working out should be a competition or anything. Everyone does their own thing to get in shape. If my lady friend can bench press more than me, great. If her deadlifts blow me out of the water, fine. If she can squat more than twice my bodyweight, more power to her. If she can easily arm-wrestle any man to immediate submission, c’est-la vie.

If your lover looks that damn good, to hell with what other people say. If she’s that confident to take charge of her life and sculpt her body to look the way she wants it to look, then by all means I want her by my side. Bring her on!

If I saw Kathy Connors sitting under my Christmas tree, watch out!
If I saw Kathy Connors sitting under my Christmas tree, watch out!

So there you have it, Santa. Deliver what you can. I understand it’s a bit unrealistic to expect all these things to appear underneath my tree come Christmas morning, but even one of these items would completely shatter my expectations of your power and influence.

I’ll even up the ante! If you can give me just a single item on this list, I’ll never ask for another thing again! That’s right. From here on out, no more wish lists for me. None. I’m through. Done. Finished! Do you see the long-term economic benefits of granting me what I want?

Alright. I’ll stop now. I’m sure you have plenty of work to do between now and Christmas Eve. Tell your elves I said “hi” and your reindeer that I’m a big fan of their work.

Have a Happy Muscular Christmas, everybody!

Sincerely,

Ryan T.

If I Don’t Already Like Female Bodybuilders, Should I?

I love me some Marina Lopez.
I love me some Marina Lopez.

There are a lot of people out there who love female muscle.

A lot.

Whether you consider your cup of tea to be women bodybuilders, female athletes, fitness and figure competitors, lady personal trainers or muscular porn actresses, the existence of society’s affinity toward female muscle is undeniable. Granted, it’s not a huge portion of society, but there is little doubt that many folks around the world share this particular attraction.

The reasons why a man (or woman) would like female bodybuilders are numerous. After all, they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, n’est-ce pas?

But a far more interesting question to discuss is as follows: If I don’t already like female bodybuilders, should I?

In other words, if you don’t consider women like Marina Lopez, Jana Linke-Sippl or Emery Miller as sexy as a Victoria’s Secret supermodel, should you? Do you have any obligation whatsoever to at least consider the possibility that a woman with muscles can be beautiful – not grotesque, disgusting or repulsive? Or are you justified in making your conclusion and never reconsidering your position?

I am of the opinion that whatever (or whomever) you find attractive is your opinion and yours alone. You have every right to find a particular person beautiful and the person standing next to them not as beautiful. But I also believe you should never limit yourself. You should never shut out any possibility without sampling what it could be like first. That’s true for many things in life.

The British Bombshell Lisa Cross.
The British Bombshell Lisa Cross.

While I challenge everyone who finds female muscle hideous to strongly reconsider their opinion, I also don’t want to guilt trip anybody to move to “our side.” I could make a socio-feminist argument in support of female bodybuilding. I could get defensive. I could get mean and nasty. But that would be counter-productive. No one ever won an argument by shouting, right?

One of my favorite Facebook pages is Women Who are Big, Thick, Dense and Muscular are Hott and Sexy Heaven. Don’t let the extravagant and hyperbolic page name turn you away. While I still haven’t figured out why “Hott” is spelled with two t’s, I can forgive them because they post every single day really awesome photos of female bodybuilders. It’s always the first page I check every morning. I highly recommend you “like” their page if you’re an active Facebook user.

Just make sure you don’t post too many mean spirited comments. You’ll almost always receive negative feedback, mostly from the page’s administrator (whoever that is). Though I think they tend to get a little too defensive toward undesirable comments, trying to keep the conversation positive is a noble goal.

So if you’re ever feeling like people are negatively judging you for your love of female muscle, countering that with a judgmental attitude of your own doesn’t do anyone any good. Fighting fire with fire isn’t always a prudent strategy. As difficult as it can be, sometimes you have to take mean, sexist comments in stride and counter it with grace, humility and intellectual integrity.

Angela Salvagno's sexiness is off the charts.
Angela Salvagno’s sexiness is off the charts.

I suppose the answer to my proposed question is “no.” You don’t have to like female bodybuilders if you don’t already. You have no requirement to do so. In your life’s Bucket List, looking at an image of an FBB and thinking to yourself, “Gee, she looks great!” shouldn’t have to be on it.

However, this point of contention does come with a caveat. You do have to respect those who do and not try to embarrass them about it.

And, don’t assume that people who love female muscle are weird, deranged, psychopathic, psychologically damaged, bizarre, sociopathic or any other insulting label.

Here’s an example. Some people think guys (and gals) like us are somehow unhealthy. Some get the impression that we need help, that our attraction can be dangerous, that we’re crossing over into the perilous territory of “obsession.”

Don't you wish you had abs like Cindy Landolt?
Don’t you wish you had abs like Cindy Landolt?

Personally, my attraction to female bodybuilders isn’t even close to being an obsession. So never assume that it is. Obsessions can be unhealthy. Obsessions can lead to squandering money, damaging relationships, destroying your work and family life and consuming everything that is good about you. Like the issue of substance abuse, your obsession can take on a life of its own and create a monster that can be really tough to slay. But, and I want to make this a point of emphasis, this is often the stereotype associated to people who like female muscle.

We’re addicts. We need help. It will eventually consume our lives.

While any mild attraction can morph into something terrible, I don’t believe liking female muscle is any unhealthier than being into BDSM. Lots of people are into that sort of thing. You probably know dozens of people; family members, neighbors, friends, coworkers, the cute lady who makes your coffee every morning at Starbucks; who are turned on by bondage, discipline, sado-masochism, etc. You just don’t know it.

And if it’s someone close to you, you probably would rather be kept in the dark!

So, even if you did find out somehow, would that change your opinion of them? Would you choose to move out of your neighborhood when you find out the nice couple living across the street from you likes to spank each other occasionally? If so, I’d advise you never peek into your neighbor’s bedrooms at night to find out (not that you should for any other reason!).

Is Alina Popa the most beautiful woman in the world? Yes. Yes, she is.
Is Alina Popa the most beautiful woman in the world? Yes. Yes, she is.

I suppose this blog post is aimed at two audiences: Those who like female muscle and feel defensive about it and those who do not and think that people who do are “strange.” Unfamiliarity, strained egos and the unwillingness to tune out antagonistic chatter can cause this animosity between us. We shouldn’t let this happen, of course.

So if you don’t already like female bodybuilders and female muscle, you don’t have to. There! I just answered the $1 million question. Likewise, if someone does prefer ladies with meat on their bones, just acknowledge that everyone is entitled to their own tastes and move on with your life.

I try to write articles that can create a dialogue. Thus far, I’m blessed to have a strong readership who reads all the material I post on here. Thank you so much! Without readers, a blog is meaningless.

I’m also aware that lots of people share my articles on social media sites like Facebook and Twitter. Once again, thank you for spreading my words across the large galaxy that is the Internet. I never imagined when I first started this blog that I would be as “popular” as I am now (so to speak).

A lot of folks find my blog randomly through search engines. I believe this is proof that there are plenty of people out there who are just as curious about having a female muscle fetish as I am. Some of you have an incomprehensible admiration for female muscle and can’t explain why. Others of you know someone who shares this attraction and are baffled as to why they feel this way.

I need Ludmila Kolesnikova to protect me in battle. Seriously.
I need Ludmila Kolesnikova to protect me in battle. Seriously.

We come from dissimilar paths in life and from all corners of the world. But we all share one thing in common, regardless of which side of the fence we’re on: We’re all captivated, albeit in different ways, by a woman with muscles. They entice us. They provoke us. They stir thoughts and emotions within us that nothing else can. It’s unexplainable. It’s irrational. It’s undeniable.

Why is Alina Pope one of the most beautiful women in the world? Why does she grab my attention in a manner a Playboy playmate can’t match? I could write a whole blog post about Miss Popa alone if I want to. Seriously. I might actually do that.

But to attempt to articulate my love for Alina Popa would bring up a mountain load of follow up questions to the skeptical eye. Why do you like a woman who looks like that? Why don’t you like smaller women instead? Do you actually think the veins in her arms are sexy? Did your mother excessively punish you when you were a child?

Perhaps we could hold a Socratic dialogue and really get to the root of why men like me like ladies like her. We could do this over a couple of beers and plenty of chips and salsa. We might actually learn something about each other.

I’m game. Are you?

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

Please note: None of the FBBs featured in this blog post is the one I set up the session with. It just never hurts to post photos of strong, gorgeous women.
Please note: None of the FBBs featured in this blog post is the one I set up the session with. It just never hurts to post photos of strong, gorgeous women.

Anyone who has a female muscle fetish can understand how frustrating it can be.

We love women with muscles, but women with a lot of muscles aren’t exactly common.

Yes. This is very true. How often do you see a lady with the muscular frame of Sheila Bleck walk down the street, shop at your grocery store, patronize your favorite coffee joint or stroll through your local park? Unless you work with professional bodybuilders and athletes for a living, the answer is probably not (and if you do happen to associate with female bodybuilders on a daily basis, we really need to exchange jobs!).

So guys (and gals) who love female muscle are more often than not stuck in the aggravating situation of being in love with a body type that’s more accessible through a Google search than hitting the bars at happy hour. Imagine being into blondes in a world where all you see are brunettes. Talk about agonizing!

But…for those of us who like muscular women and would love nothing more than to meet one, there’s a way to do it. It can be pricy, but if you do your homework it can be a worthwhile experience.

As you can probably imagine, being a professional bodybuilder isn’t exactly a very lucrative profession. It’s an expensive lifestyle (food, supplements, personal trainers, gym memberships, equipment, etc.) and doesn’t bring in much money. Only the top competitors win enough money to call it a career and endorsing commercial products isn’t always an viable option.

If you could get paid to be beautiful, Kristy Hawkins would be a billionaire by now.
If you could get paid to be beautiful, Kristy Hawkins would be a billionaire by now.

So, many bodybuilders (I would guess mostly female) offer “sessions” to bodybuilding fans across the world. These “sessions” often involve “muscle worship,” an activity where clients feel, caress and touch the muscles of a bodybuilder for a fee. You don’t literally worship this person, but it comes awfully close.

Some FBBs offer wrestling (competitive and semi-competitive), sensual massages, grappling, scissor squeezing, posing, lifting, role playing and BDSM services in addition to muscle worship. They often travel around the country (and world) and visit major cities where enough fans are interested in paying for their services. Muscle worship sessions mostly take place in hotel rooms, but sometimes they can occur in private homes or studios if the FBB feels comfortable doing that.

I’ve known about this sort of thing for years but never thought about doing it until recently. Firstly, it’s pricy. Some sessions can cost up to $800 or as low as $400 for an hour. That’s quite a bit of money for someone who’s not exactly rolling in the dough. Secondly, muscle worship sessions (especially the sensual kinds) come dangerously close to prostitution, which I’m not inherently against, but it does come with its own social stigma.

I have nothing against prostitution per se, and I’ll admit my perspective on this matter has changed over the years, but I’ve always felt like I’m better than that. Pay someone for sex? Even if actual sex isn’t involved (and in most cases of muscle worship, full-service sex isn’t involved), this still sounds like something a desperate loser would resort to because they can’t get this anywhere else.

But on the other hand, this is different. Female bodybuilders aren’t exactly common. If feeling the body of a muscular woman is a kink of mine, and this kink isn’t easy to fulfill, what’s the harm of paying money for it? It’s not every day when an opportunity like this comes around.

Also, please don’t misunderstand me. I’m not being judgmental toward FBBs or male bodybuilders who offer sessions. I’m not equating what they do to prostitution, nor should we stigmatize those who do work in the sex industry. My hesitancy toward paying for a muscle worship session has more to do with my personal biases than my opinion about the concept of sex work. I’ve come to realize that everyone has the right to make a living by whatever means they see necessary as long as they don’t harm anyone else or themselves. This includes female bodybuilders.

So, I decided to pursue setting up a muscle worship session after careful deliberation. I decided first to do some casual online research to see what’s out there. After a lengthy Google search, I discovered the website wb270, which is essentially the Craigslist of those seeking female muscle worship sessions. I looked at the state of Washington to find out who is either local or traveling to my region.

An absolutely stunning photo of Kris Murrell.
An absolutely stunning photo of Kris Murrell.

At first, I e-mailed a local FBB, but heard no response from her. I figured maybe she wasn’t doing that sort of thing anymore and that her contact information was left erroneously on wb270’s website. I checked back a few weeks later and discovered a particular FBB would be travelling to Seattle at the end of May.

Before I continue, I’ve decided to leave the identity of this FBB a secret because of a few reasons. I’ll explain later. For now, let’s call her GFBB (Gorgeous Female Bodybuilder).

I e-mailed GFBB and asked her how much she charges for an hour long session and if indeed she’s travelling to Seattle. She didn’t respond for the longest time, which made me assume she too wasn’t interested in my inquiry. I then began to think if somehow I came across as either too creepy, or passive, or inexperienced, or something else that’s making me appear less than trustworthy. Those thoughts crept into my mind until about a week later…

She responded!

I was so excited I felt jittery all over. GFBB isn’t just beautiful and strong, but she’s a celebrity as well. Anyone who follows the world of female bodybuilding has no doubt heard of this woman. She’s a superstar of the sport and very well known to fans all over the world. When she finally responded to my e-mail, I felt star-struck and in awe that she would actually communicate with me!

We exchanged a few e-mails back and forth, discussing her travelling schedule and such. She tells me that she’s tentatively confirmed to be in Seattle on May 23, but that she needs at least three confirmed appointments before making concrete plans. This makes sense. Why book a flight to Seattle when you have no assurance you’ll land any clients?

Feast your eyes on Jana Linke-Sippl, a woman with thighs of steel (which is putting it mildly).
Feast your eyes on Jana Linke-Sippl, a woman with thighs of steel (which is putting it mildly).

After learning about this, I asked GFBB what services she offers. She says she’s pretty open from anything ranging from semi-competitive wrestling, to grappling, to sensual muscle worship and other stuff in between. I told her muscle worship was my thing and that I wasn’t too keen about wrestling. I’m not really into that, to be honest. But touching this woman’s muscles? Yes, please!

She told me about her prices and says she offers two kinds of sessions: bikini and nude. Well, shucks! I can see her completely naked? Hell yes!

Naturally, a nude session costs more, but it was a price I was willing to pay. This sort of thing doesn’t happen to me all the time, so I better take advantage of it while I can.

We settled on this arrangement: One hour of nude muscle worship. She even says she’s willing to give a hand job at the end. Eureka!

This is why I’m choosing to keep the identity of GFBB a secret. Because this comes very close to prostitution, and there’s the possibility she could get into legal trouble if word leaks out, I’ve decided not to reveal who she is. Odds are I could mention her identity and no harm will come her way, but I don’t want to risk that. Also, she has family and friends who might not want to hear that she offers hand jobs to random guys who pay her. I mean, talk about embarrassing! In this age of the Internet, information can spread quicker than an STD at a college dormitory, so I’d sleep better at night knowing her willingness to give her customers a “happy ending” is kept off the Web. I try to be respectful to everyone’s reputation and personal comfort.

If more women around me looked like Emery Miller, I'd be a happy man.
If more women around me looked like Emery Miller, I’d be a happy man.

So…we made our deal and I wired her some money as a deposit. After asking for some cash up front, at first I was afraid she might be scamming me, but I took a risk and trusted that she truly was who she says she is and not some flimflam man trying to con my libido-fueled idiotic ass out of easy cash.

After paying her the deposit, I played the waiting game and crossed my fingers that at least two more chaps around the Seattle area would contact her and set up appointments. She says she’ll return the deposit if she can’t make the trip. While I appreciate this, I hoped like hell it wouldn’t have to come to that.

A few weeks passed and I finally heard the good news: She has three confirmed appointments, meaning we’re on for May 23. Oh happy day! Yahoo!!!

Indeed, I felt like dancing in the streets after hearing GFBB was definitely coming to my area. My heart pounded as I proceeded to think about what sort of things I’d like to do with her. Muscle worship? Caressing her body? Touching her hardened biceps? Leaving a trail of kisses down her taut back? Rubbing her powerful thighs? Receiving a hand job from her? Holy cow! All of this would be possible now.

Anyone who isn't into female muscle should take a look at Ocean Bloom and prepare to have their perspective changed permanently.
Anyone who isn’t into female muscle should take a look at Ocean Bloom and prepare to have their perspective changed permanently.

Whew. I’ve just booked my first muscle worship session ever. Wow. Is this really happening? Am I actually going to go through with this? Am I dreaming?

I sure hope I’m not dreaming. I pray that this is real.

Well, whether I like it or not, this is real. Shit is getting real. Very real. I’m a few weeks away from meeting a famous, gorgeous female bodybuilder in the flesh. I’m going to worship her flesh and touch her body. And she’s going to touch my body. And give me pleasure in ways I’ve never experienced before with a woman (see a previous blog post for further context). Hot damn.

I’ve just crossed a threshold. For the past several years, I’ve just been a female bodybuilding fan who’s admired strong women from a distance. I’ve had very limited up close and personal experiences with a muscular woman, so this will be unprecedented. Never in my life have I ever done something like this before. Who knows, I might never do something like this again.

But all I could do was wait. She said she’ll give me further information about which hotel she’ll be staying at a few days before our session. So all I can do is wait.

Waiting. Damn. I might not like having to count down the days on my calendar like a kid anticipating Christmas morning, but what else can I do? This is just like Christmas to me, except a lot more erotic.

So every day I looked at my calendar. Twenty days and counting. Nineteen days and counting. Eighteen days and counting. Seventeen days and counting…

Let the countdown begin.

Continued in Muscle Worship, Female Bodybuilders and the Greatest 75 Minutes of My Life (Part Two)

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Eve's Temptations

Erotica & opinion on all to do with sex amd kink

Bill Dobbins Photo

The Creative World of "The Body Photographer"

Simple living...with kids

Helping great parents raise terrific kids

Erotic Escapades

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

Fearless Ophelia

Speaking Out on the Unspeakable