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

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

“Fuck me, Max.”

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

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

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

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

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

How correct she was!

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

“You can’t be serious,” Max pleads.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What’s the harm?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, ma’am.”

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

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

“God, Max! Mmmmm….”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did that just happen?” Max asks.

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

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

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

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

Max thinks for a moment.

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

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

Muscle Goddesses in action.
Muscle Goddesses in action.

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Educating Jonathan – Part Three

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay. Thanks!”

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

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

Finally, Samantha breaks the awkward silence.

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

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

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

A woman in bondage.
A woman in bondage.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A rock hard muscular body.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jonathan blinks. He nods.

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

Playtime has begun.

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

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

A black whip.
A black whip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Samantha obliges the Mistress immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you had enough, little white bitch?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jonathan,” Mistress Nguvu says.

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

“Yes, Mistress?”

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

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

Educating Jonathan – Part Two

A woman's bottom. A lovely sight, indeed.
A woman’s bottom. A lovely sight, indeed.

Jonathan loves the way she tastes. Subtle hints of expensive wine mixed with irresistible feminine prowess make for a concoction he cannot get enough of.

“God, make love to me, Jonathan. I need it,” she pleads with him. Samantha rolls on her back and spreads her legs wide, welcoming him to her. Her eyes never leaves his eyes.

His breathing becomes heavy. It’s apparent she’s kept her body in great shape. Long sleek legs, rounded butt, a flat tummy and curvy hips made her an aesthetic treat. Her small, slightly sagging breasts do not distract from her otherwise flawless beauty. Jonathan plans on enjoying every inch of her.

He takes her right nipple into his mouth. She gasps. He sucks hard, caressing his tongue over the sensitive tip. It stands up straight, hardened by Jonathan’s warm wet touch. He wraps his arms around her waist and embraces her tightly. He has no intention of letting her go.

Samantha looks up and closes her eyes, focusing all her attention on the pleasure her new lover is selflessly giving her. By now Jonathan has moved on to her other nipple, lapping it with his tongue languorously. She is thankful for this moment. She is thankful for him.

Her expression of her thanks inspires her to take matters into her own hands. She takes Jonathan’s erect penis into her hand and slowly strokes it up and down. He lets out a gentle moan that only she can hear. She strokes him harder. His mouth releases from her nipple and he kisses her.

“Do you want to end this before it starts?” he teases.

“Why? Are you really that close?” she teases back, fondling his scrotum with her fingertips.

Jonathan looks into her eyes and is captivated by her deep blue irises. Like a calming ocean, her eyes seem like they jump out of her body. Her fingers release from his manhood and they hold hands.

“I like you, Samantha. You’re so damn beautiful. Your skin is so soft. Your eyes are so…”

He pauses. She blushes.

“So what?” she asks.

“…so hypnotizing. It’s like you’re casting a spell on me.” He smiles wryly.

“Hypnotizing? I cast a spell on you? I like that. Are you like my own personal voodoo doll?” She extends a finger and outlines his jaw. Jonathan takes that finger into his mouth and sucks on it suggestively. In response, she groans and moans as if he were giving her an orgasm through her finger. Jonathan laughs, freeing her from his lips.

“You’re silly. Such a silly woman.”

She pauses. This time, he blushes.

“A silly woman? I’m a silly doctor. And don’t you forget it!” Samantha playfully nibbles on his shoulder.

Still not believing his good fortune, Jonathan takes a moment to reflect on this moment. How did he get so lucky to be here, engaging in fun foreplay with a gorgeous and intelligent woman like Dr. Sammy? It’s evident she needs this. It’s obvious she’s craving the touch of a man. She’s desperate to be desired.

And Jonathan is just the man to desire her.

“Enough. I want to make love to you,” he declares.

“Then…” she begins, kissing him on the cheek. “…let’s.”

As he reaches for a condom stuffed in his wallet, Samantha urgently grabs his hand.

“No. We don’t need it.” She looks at him earnestly, a sweet innocence glowing from her.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m a woman of a certain age. We don’t need it. Come here, you!” Just like that, she straddles him and tosses Jonathan onto his back. Samantha reaches over and turns off the bedside lamp. The room darkens, but the moody glow remains. Outside, the full moon beams a bright stream of light into the bedroom. The rain continues to patter against the windows. He can still see her beautiful face.

Gorgeous downtown Seattle during the evening.
Gorgeous downtown Seattle during the evening.

“I love how trusting you are,” he says.

“Shut up.”

Samantha opens her legs and nudges them against his thighs. She lets out a deep breath. He does the same. They stare into each other’s eyes, realizing this perfect moment will never be this perfect again. They could never replicate the feelings they share at this time, when they are seconds away from joining their bodies in the most intimate way possible.

Jonathan nods. She interprets that as her cue.

It takes a few attempts, but eventually she lowers herself onto Jonathan’s manhood at the proper angle and successfully pushes his penis inside her. A primal moan escapes from them both, a shared moan that can only happen when two lovers are tuned into the moment. Samantha experiments with a few up and down thrusts as she rides him like a cowgirl. Jonathan reaches up and cups her breasts. Insecure about her small size and sagging shape, she tries to forget about her body and enjoy the moment. She’s not young, but she’s still got enough appeal as far as her current lover is concerned.

A groan leaves his throat as her motions grow in their intensity. He still cannot believe she doesn’t want him to wear protection. Is she that trusting of him? Jonathan didn’t think pregnancy would be an issue, but she hardly knows him. How could she possibly know what history he has with other women?

These thoughts exit his mind as they continue to make love. Samantha leans forward and kisses him passionately. She turned off the light partially because of her own insecurity, but also because making love in the dark – lit only by the moonlight – is so damn romantic. At heart, she’s a hopeless romantic. She hopes he is too.

“You feel so good, Samantha…so good.” Jonathan struggles to breathe between her incessant kisses and experiencing the pleasure she’s giving him.

“Thank you.” As she continues to ride him, she focuses on her own pleasure. He isn’t as big as her husband, but Jonathan feels…so right inside her. As if he was always meant to be inside her. As if this 5 and a half inch Asian penis was always meant to please her. In all her research about men’s penises, the conclusion she’s universally found was that a woman’s ability to achieve orgasm during penile-vaginal sex has less to do with the size of the man’s endowment and more about her state of mind. Right now, her state of mind couldn’t be better.

Their breathing gets louder. Samantha feels her orgasm reaching its peak. Jonathan’s hands are still feeling her breasts. Her small size doesn’t bother him. What right does he have to criticize the size of a person’s body part?

Her focus dissolves. His world blurs out of view. She is about to come. He is about to come. They both know the other is close.

“I love you, Jonathan.”

“I love you, Samantha.”

Such foolish declarations of love are enough to send both lovers over the edge. Samantha’s orgasm consumes her entire body from head to toe. The pulsating pleasure reverberates out from her vagina and throughout the entire room. Her muscles contract rhythmically, creating music from within her body. Jonathan also comes, carelessly emptying himself into her. He closes his eyes and indulges in the sensations his body is giving him. Samantha collapses on top of him and they kiss. Jonathan grabs her butt and pinches her right cheek. She gasps at this sudden action. She responds by tickling his scrotum as the last waves of his ejaculation subsides.

They remain still for what seems like an eternity. Neither speaks. Both breathe loudly. Samantha never wants this moment to end. Jonathan wonders how many more moments like this they will share together.

A beautiful white overcoat Dr. Sammy would have worn.
A beautiful white overcoat Dr. Sammy would have worn.

“That was fun,” Samantha whispers.

Jonathan is left speechless. She prefers it that way.

Several moments later Samantha gets up from the bed and walks to the bathroom. Jonathan can hear her pee. Still dazed from their lovemaking, he turns the bedside lamp back on and looks at the condom jammed in his wallet. He smiles, knowing this little piece of latex wouldn’t be used tonight.

The toilet flushes and minutes later Samantha returns to the bed. She lies down on her stomach and spreads her legs wide. Jonathan is amused that she has the nerve to take up all the room. He playfully pushes her legs off to the side.

“In the heat of the moment, we say some pretty imprudent things,” she observes.

“Are you referring to when we said we loved each other?”

“Yes. I don’t know what came over me. And I have no idea what came over you. Were you just being polite?”

“Polite? More like agreeable. I never want to ruin a good moment. And that was a great moment between the two of us.” Jonathan’s penis returns back to a smaller size. He strokes her naked back, hoping the act of caressing her beautiful body would bring him back in the mood. But for now, he’s perfectly content to massage her skin.

Moments pass. Neither lover has a single care in the world.

“Can I ask you a question, Jonathan?”

“Go ahead.” Jonathan looks at her beautiful face, memorizing every inch of her.

“What if I told you your penis was the greatest penis I’ve ever made love to?”

Wait…what?

Time stops. The Earth ceases to spin on its axis. Hell freezes over.

“Uh, what?” His concentration breaks. Jonathan sits up on the bed. A deep sigh escapes from her. Basking in the sensual glow of her two most recent climaxes, Samantha doesn’t know if what she’s talking about makes any sense. Jonathan doesn’t care. He likes what he’s hearing.

“What I mean is complicated. It’s not what you think,” she says. Jonathan strokes her back as she rolls over on her side. Her breathing calms. She doesn’t look at him but instead fixes her gaze outside the north-facing window.

Bondage. A preview of things to come?
Bondage. A preview of things to come?

“I’ve always admired Asian men. I find them fascinating. I think young men like you are fascinating. I’d love to follow you around for one day and find out everything about you. Do you ever feel oppressed in your everyday life?”

“Oppressed? Gosh, I don’t think so. People have always treated me well.”

Her focus remains on whatever is outside that window. She may be looking outside, but her mind is somewhere else.

“I’m glad to hear that. I really am.” Samantha turns over on her back and peers at her lover.

Jonathan cuddles closer to her and strokes her breasts, teasing her nipples. He leans over and they kiss. She reaches down and fondles his much-discussed penis. Initial feelings of arousal return, but he still needs time to recover from their previous coupling.

“Are you asking whether people make fun of my…penis?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what I was getting at. Do people do that?”

“Some do. I’ve been hearing jokes about it since middle school. But what does that have to do with…?” He stops toying with her nipples and kisses her shoulders. Not really wanting to have this discussion right now, Jonathan is doing what he can to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“Oh. Well, I’m glad I was able to do this. I’m glad you were willing to invite me to your apartment tonight. I owe you.” Though she’s not making much sense, Jonathan politely remains silent and listens to her speak.

“This is going to sound weird. I know. But please bear with me for a moment. Have you ever heard of the concept of white guilt?”

“Yes. It’s when…white people feel bad about the crimes their ancestors committed against racial minorities in the past. Right?”

“Right, but it’s a little more complicated than that. But here’s the thing,” she sits up and leans against the bed’s headboard. “I too feel guilty. I feel guilty that our society desexualizes Asian men. I feel terrible that boys like you had to grow up hearing all those awful jokes. It makes me sad to think that the dominant white culture has to emasculate you like that for no apparent reason. Do you follow me?”

Hm. Jonathan certainly did not expect a sociology lesson to break out post-coitus. But he will continue to listen to her soliloquy.

“Yes, I follow you. Go on.”

“So this is my way of apologizing to you and other Asian men out there. I chose to come here for many reasons. You’re smart, handsome, well-spoken, studious and courteous. Not too many college-age men are like that to someone who’s willing to fuck them with no strings attached. But there’s another reason at play here. I feel…empowered to make love to you. It’s empowering to know that I’m giving you an opportunity not too many of your Asian brethren are granted. I feel like I’m making right a past injustice by allowing you to come inside me and give me your seed. Your seed liberates me.”

By now Jonathan is a little creeped out. What the hell is this lady talking about? “White Guilt” inspired her to come here and have sex with him? What the fuck?

“Listen, Samantha. This is a pretty strange thing to talk about. I mean, what we’re doing here has nothing to do with society, culture, history or anything like that. We’re just, you know, hooking up. That’s it, am I right?”

“Yes, you’re right to an extent. But there’s more at stake here. By making love to you, by allowing you inside my body, I’m redeeming myself. I’m turning racism on its ugly head and fucking it away. Like magic, you know?”

No, honestly Jonathan has no clue what the hell she’s talking about. Really, what is she trying to–

Samantha spontaneously leaps out from the bed and speed walks toward the front door. When she arrived at his apartment she came with a white overcoat and a black bag. She grabs the mysterious black bag and returns to bed. She sits down and unzips it. Jonathan tries to peer inside while appearing calm and indifferent at the same time.

This is what the mysterious black bag looks like. Intriguing, isn't it?
This is what the mysterious black bag looks like. Intriguing, isn’t it?

“So, Jonathan, I want to redeem myself further. I want to erase the racist crimes of the past committed by my white ancestors. Slavery, the genocide of the Native Americans, pogroms against the Jews, the capitalist exploitation of colored children in the developing world, the Japanese Internment, everything. I want to make right with the Universe. And you’re going to help me out with this, my love.” It appears she’s finally found what she’s looking for inside the bag. By now, Jonathan is officially creeped out. This lady has clearly gone psycho! She’s off her rocker. She’s gone off the deep end of the pool. She’s…

“Take this, Jonathan.”

Jonathan snaps out of his daze and turns to look at her. Samantha, with an eerie look in her eye, is holding a long black leather whip, handcuffs and rope. She hands the items to him. He has absolutely no idea how to react.

“I want you to punish me, Jonathan.”

Just like that, Dr. Sammy stands up and gets down on all fours on the floor. She sticks her butt up in the air facing his direction. Jonathan is utterly shocked and frozen. He cannot move, think or even come close to comprehending what’s going on.

“Punish me. Hard.”

Strong is Sexy, Brawn is Beautiful, Muscles are Magnificent: The Inevitable Paradigm Shift of a Female Muscle Lover

Don't like strong women? I dare you to look at Juliana Malacarne and feel the same way afterward.
Don’t like strong women? I dare you to look at Juliana Malacarne and feel the same way afterward.

There’s something about loving female muscle that brings out the, er, peculiar in us.

“Peculiar” in the sense that our thoughts, behaviors, fantasies and desires are controlled by this one quirk – a quirk most of us discovered at a very specific place and time. The love of female muscle didn’t happen at birth. Nor did it necessarily take a long time to “get used to.” No, it hit us like a lightning bolt…or a semi-truck…or a freight train ramming us at full speed.

Our attraction to female bodybuilders, fitness models, athletes and ordinary women who take their weightlifting seriously can be traced back to a very particular incident that one will never forget.

Perhaps it was a bodybuilding show you saw on TV. Maybe it was a single magazine photo of a gorgeous FBB you saw sitting on a bookstore shelf. It could have been a video of a brawny lady pumping her muscles in a grainy cell-phone quality YouTube video. Or maybe it was an up close and personal encounter with a strong woman you saw at your gym.

Whatever it was, whoever you are and whatever the circumstances were, you know what I’m talking about. Once you “discovered” the world of female muscle, there was no going back. You were hooked. Forever.

And there’s no way you’d ever wish to “unsee” what was previously seen. No way. Nope. My eyes are wide open. No need to go back!

But returning to my original point, many of you should know what I’m talking about when I say this newfound attraction brings out the “peculiar” in us. In addition to opening our eyes to new forms of female beauty, we also change the way we look at many previously held beliefs. We experience a term we often heard in high school philosophy class:

A paradigm shift.

What do I mean by this? Of course, I only speak for myself. But I can tell you that once I discovered female muscle, I noticed significant changes in my life that I never realized until I spent one sleepless night thinking about it. My attitudes changed. The way I looked at women changed. The way I conducted my own life somewhat changed. There were changes that I hadn’t noticed before.

A meme I think we can all agree with. Lisa Cross would approve, I'm sure.
A meme I think we can all agree with. Lisa Cross would approve, I’m sure.

You know what? These were good changes. Positive changes. Becoming a female muscle lover didn’t just open my eyes to a whole new world of feminine beauty. It opened my heart to wanting to become a better person. I wanted to improve myself and relate more harmoniously with people.

Think what I’m talking about is strange? Here are a few thoughts to consider:

1. Our view of traditional gender roles and stereotypes get completely shattered

Women are the weaker sex? Women shouldn’t lift at the gym like a man? Women are unwilling to put in the effort to develop really strong muscles? A woman with muscles can’t possibly look sexy?

Wrong! All wrong!

Without going off on some sort of gender equality-fueled rant, suffice to say our perspective on traditional gender roles get smashed into a million pieces after discovering the world of female muscle. Before I developed my keen interest in strong women, it never occurred to me that a woman should try to have large muscles like a man. I never doubted the possibility that a woman could look like that, but it never crossed my mind that someone should ever attain to look that way.

But since my “awakening,” things are different. Now I seek out women who look like “that.” Now I’m very much aware that women are not genetically handicapped when it comes to developing impressive biceps or six-pack abs. Now whenever I think about the ideal beautiful woman, a skinny twig doesn’t automatically come to mind.

Megan Abshire might want to change her name to Megan Bicepshire.
Megan Abshire might want to change her name to Megan Bicepshire.

In short, what we once thought were unlady-like has now become very sexy and feminine. Honestly, I could watch an hour of porn featuring two skinny people having obviously staged sex and get bored fast. But, I could watch a quick two minute video of Victoria Dominguez pumping her muscles at the gym wearing sweat pants and large headphones on her head and I have the sudden urge to, um, you know.

Gym footage is my porn. It’s better than porn. It’s more than porn. It’s art.

That’s probably an exaggeration, but bear with me. I’m on a roll here.

One other aspect of appreciating a woman with muscles is the diminishment of sexist attitudes. The more you see another person as a peer instead of the “other,” the more you will respect them. I’m sure many of you who discovered your attraction to strong women no longer felt like they were the “weaker sex” or they had to conform to specific gender roles. Instead, you probably started to wish more ladies lifted instead of killing themselves at the cardio machines.

Misogyny is rooted in the belief that women are inferior to men (or at the very least they belong in separate categories, which inevitably leads to “separate but equal” attitudes that tend to become anything but equal). Generations of marginalization has created this mindset in lots of people, men and women alike. But someone who appreciates a muscular woman for who she is will scrap that outdated way of thinking and embrace something even more radical: true equality.

This could also partially explain why a lot of men are repulsed by female muscle. It’s not because they’re actually disgusted by what they see, rather they can’t wrap their minds around the fact that they don’t have a monopoly on muscularity. Your mother, sisters and female co-workers could be just as buff as you. And that scares a lot of guys. They don’t want to become the weaker sex. They don’t want to lose their power society has granted them for centuries. Therefore, they react negatively any time a woman chooses to break down these barriers and take charge of her life.

2. Your standards of beauty change

Think ultra-skinny is beautiful? Nope!

Waking up to the realities of female muscle will also completely alter your standards of beauty. No longer will bony supermodels cut it. You will want meat on her bones. And not “meat” in the sense of a healthy amount of body fat to give off a curvy look. Nope. While there’s nothing wrong with that particular aesthetic, you’ll start to desire women who have actual meat on their bodies.

Meat. Muscles. Brawn. Bulk. Mass. Strength. Power. Authority.

You know. That sort of thing.

Ever since I discovered my personal Incomprehensible Admiration for female muscle, images of supermodels strutting down the runway didn’t excite me as much as it did back when I was in junior high school. Once upon a time ago someone like Elle Macpherson would make me drool uncontrollably. Today, I might turn my head if she walked right past me. Maybe.

But what if Lora Ottenad, a middle-aged muscle woman, were to walk past me? I’d stop dead in my tracks, drop my jaw to the ground and probably pass out cold for a week.

And if she were to give me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation? Yeah, I’d probably die. Happy.

The Goddess from Trinidad, Kashma Maharaj.
The Goddess from Trinidad, Kashma Maharaj.

What once seemed ugly now is beautiful. What you chose to avert your eyes from becomes something from which you can’t look away. What you wanted to avoid became something you couldn’t get enough of. What you originally thought was “beautiful” now becomes “meh.” In other words, I still find women like Cindy Crawford (another 90s supermodel reference) and Katy Perry (she’s more contemporary) beautiful, but someone like Cindy Landolt is…well, more beautiful.

That might be a more accurate way of putting it. “Traditional” standards of beauty don’t necessarily go away. You just start to add more tools to your toolbox. Yes, Adriana Lima is one of the most gorgeous women on the planet, but Catherine Holland is a nice runner up. There’s no shame in being second place, wouldn’t you say?

3. You feel more inspired to improve yourself

A lot of athletes use their role models to inspire them. How many of today’s basketball stars have Michael Jordan posters hanging in their lockers even though they’re grown men and no longer 12-year-old boys? How many aspiring bodybuilders watch old YouTube clips of Arnold Schwarzenegger, Ronnie Coleman or Jay Cutler (the bodybuilder, not the Chicago Bears quarterback) before heading to the gym?

Inspiration can go a long way. It helps you emotionally jump any mental hurdles that come your way. Mind over matter, you say? This is a prime example.

On a more personal level, I’ve discovered since my fascination with female muscle began, I’ve become more interested in improving my own health and wellness.

My thinking goes, If Deidre Pagnanelli, a 40-something mother, could look like that, why can’t I? Of course I’m a dude, but still! If she can develop sexy curves like that, as a man I need to step up my game if I want to look good to the opposite sex.

Some people are inspired by their peers. I find that I’m inspired by the very people I want to impress. I’ll be honest. I don’t work out to impress other guys. I don’t care what other dudes think. I work out to get a physique that hopefully impresses the ladies! This is why I try to get to the gym at least 3-4 times per week and hit as many different muscle groups as possible. I want that lovely lady I have my eye on to have her eye on me!

The bold and the beautiful: Julie Bourassa is both.
The bold and the beautiful: Julie Bourassa is both.

If Joe Musclehead thinks my definition is improving, that means nothing to me. But if Sally Fitness Queen thinks I look good…well shucks. That’s fine with me!

This is what happens when you get sucked into the world of female muscle. It inspires you to hop on the bandwagon and get going yourself. What’s the harm in that?

4. What once was disgusting now becomes attractive

Related to a previous point, another major perspective shift inevitable in becoming a fan of female muscle is the phenomena of what was once disgusting becoming attractive.

Did you think big muscles were gross on a woman? Did you gag seeing a lady with veins protruding from her arms? Not a fan of broad shoulders on a traditionally feminine form?

But we’ve discussed this in detail previously. Let’s talk about something entirely different. Let’s talk about fetish and kink culture.

Fetish activities you once found disgusting, weird, bizarre or repulsive start to actually turn you on. If the thought of a strong, authoritative woman tying you up to a bed and “torturing” you didn’t arouse you before, the thought might have just become more appealing now that you know FBBs like Kathy Connors and Victoria Dominguez offer these services.

BDSM activities sounded like a trashy idea hyped up in “50 Shades of Gray,” but if Lisa Cross offered to spank me for being bad, I might give it a shot. Why the hell not?

This also is relevant in regards to personal fantasy. You might not go as far as pay a professional dominatrix to put a chain around your penis and pour hot candle wax on your chest, but at the very least certain daydreams will sound appealing to you that didn’t before.

What would it be like to have a strong woman wrap her legs around my throat? What would it be like to arm wrestle a female bodybuilder? How cool would it be for Yvette Bova to wear a strap-on and stick it in my, uh, you-know-where?

Sound disgusting? If you had asked me this 15 years ago, I would’ve said “yes.” Ask me that today…and I’ll think about it. I might not go along with it, but I’ll think about it. There’s no such thing as the Thought Police, right?

Roxanne Edwards could kick your ass.
Roxanne Edwards could kick your ass.

5. You feel the urge to change the world

My attraction to female muscle didn’t make me passive. It made me pro-active. I started this blog. I became very bold and booked not one, not two, but three muscle worship sessions with three real (and very gorgeous) female bodybuilders. I’ve had conversations with complete strangers from different countries about topics we would never discuss with our friends and family.

But that’s just the beginning. Anyone who shares this obsession knows what I’m talking about. Our love for female muscle isn’t just a casual attraction. It consumes us. It motivates us. It lights a fire inside us.

It inspires us not just to change ourselves (as I discuss in point #3), but to change the entire world. Our shattered gender stereotypes, standards of beauty and tolerance for “different” kinds of people inspire us to want to make a positive impact in the universe. We want to inspire people to get healthier. We want unhealthy standards of beauty to melt like the snows of yesteryear. We want girls to grow up with self-confidence instead of doubt and insecurities.

The eyes of Lindsay Mulinazzi could stop time.
The eyes of Lindsay Mulinazzi could stop time.

Our love for female muscle isn’t selfish. It’s altruistic. It’s philanthropic. We want every woman on planet Earth to feel good about her body. We want all men in the world to not be intimidated by a strong woman, but instead embrace her as an equal instead of a threat.

Realistically, female bodybuilders will never be in a position in popular culture to make a significant impact. Fans of female bodybuilders will also never be able to influence our collective psyche. But we want to. We want to see more of Ronda Rousey on TV and less of Miley. We want “strong” to be the new “skinny.” Will this happen overnight? No, but little by little we can make this a reality.

If any of these thoughts seem “peculiar” to you, I completely understand. They are peculiar. There truly is something about loving female muscle that does strange things to us. If love makes you crazy, then consider us all batshit crazy to the max. Our minds have been awoken. Our eyes are no longer shut. Our hearts are wide open, ready to embrace a love many of you still think is “gross.”

Strong women aren’t gross. Strong women are beautiful gifts from God. Strong women will make this world a better place for all of us. No matter your gender, sexual orientation, nationality, religion, race, color, creed, political beliefs or physical ability, we can all learn from welcoming a new aesthetic into our lives. An aesthetic that isn’t repulsive, but one that’s beautiful beyond description.

Your heart has so much capacity to love. Love to your fullest. And when you think you can’t possibly love any more, love some more. And more, and more, and more.

Let the paradigm shift begin!

A Word of Caution: The Dangers of Crossing the Line in Your Female Muscle Fandom

Gracyanne Barbosa is divine.
Gracyanne Barbosa is divine.

Usually I try to keep the tone of my essays light, informative and humorous.

The purpose of writing articles like Top 10 Misconceptions About Having a Female Muscle Fetish, The Strangeness of Having a Female Muscle Fetish and Female Muscle and Masculine Insecurity was to articulate the inner feelings of many men (and women) out there who adore strong women. I want to inform, provoke thought and inspire discussions among people from all backgrounds who are curious about this topic.

However, I feel obligated to discuss something else that needs to be said. There are, unfortunately, some dangers attached to this special sexual attraction that I’ve come to embrace. So I’ve decided to provide a word of caution to all you female muscle fans out there.

But before I do this, I need to preface this discussion with these thoughts:

Anything in life, when taken to extremes, can be dangerous. Any interest, hobby or activity has the potential to become harmful when taken too far. A prime example is drinking alcohol. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying a glass of red wine or a beer every once in a while. But if you drink too much and too often, you set yourself up for health issues that we should all be familiar with by now.

Alcoholism. Liver damage. Automobile accidents caused by drunk driving. Strained relationships. Personal injury. Vomiting and other kinds of sicknesses.

You understand. I’m sure you know exactly what I’m talking about. And this list is by no means exhaustive.

Drinking is one example of a fairly harmless activity that – when taken too far – can have very negative repercussions that can hurt both you and the people around you (including those you love and hold dear). Nobody wants this to happen. But unfortunately it does all too often.

Believe it or not, a healthy activity like exercise can also be dangerous when taken to extremes. Excessive exercise can actually damage your muscles and joints instead of strengthening them. Exhaustion could cause kidney and heart problems. Injury, soreness, dehydration and increased chances of accidents can all result from excessive exercise. So, even a supposedly healthy activity like working out can be detrimental to your health if you’re not careful.

The lovely Gina Ostarly.
The lovely Gina Ostarly.

The same goes for being a fan of female muscle. I’ve written extensively about why I believe it’s healthy, wonderful and socially beneficial to love and support strong women. Female bodybuilders, athletes, competitors and everyday women looking to improve themselves through weight training should be encouraged for their willingness to advance themselves personally, not discouraged and ridiculed.

That being said, there are some dangers inherent in taking this fandom too far.

Like any hidden obsession, excess can be financially draining. Spending too much money on female muscle-related porn, sessions (wrestling, fantasy, muscle worship, BDSM, role playing, etc.) and entertainment media can cost you a lot of money if you’re not prudent in how you spend. We know all about so-called “shopaholics” who can’t stop using their credit card. They end up buying tons of worthless junk while draining their bank account at the same time. The Internet makes all this unnecessary spending way easier.

You can also violate the trust of a loved one. A man who secretly spends his money on sessions with female bodybuilders might be doing this without his wife or girlfriend’s approval. What happens if she ever finds out? Will she feel like he “cheated” on her? Will she ever look at him the same way? Will she ever be able to trust him with anything again (including raising children, paying the bills on time and/or providing for the family)?

Understandably, these things will come into question if one is not open about their fascination with female muscle and how it affects others. It should also be said that there is a fine line between “fascination” and “obsession.” An obsession is an uncontrollable urge to consume or engage in an activity in a manner that possesses you. It consumes your time, energy and thoughts. An obsession (combined with other psychological problems) leads people like John Hinckley to attempt to assassinate the President of the United States of America for mindboggling reasons.

Of course, this is an extreme example. Most unhealthy obsessions with female muscle won’t direct you to attempt to murder a sitting head of state. Most of the damage, if any, will be done relationally, financially and socially.

A fascination, on the other hand, is when one appreciates something from a safe distance and knows when to back off when a particular line is crossed. You keep your wits about you at all times.

Tanji Johnson, a local gal from Renton, WA and the winner of the Fitness International title at the Arnold Sports Festival in 2013.
Tanji Johnson, a local gal from Renton, WA and the winner of the Fitness International title at the Arnold Sports Festival in 2013.

I do not believe it is unhealthy to be attracted to muscular women. Not at all. I think it’s a perfectly healthy aspect to one’s sexuality that should be expressed, not suppressed. But it can become unhealthy in a heartbeat if certain urges aren’t placed within reasonable parameters.

I’ll use me as an example. I once got very close to having this attraction negatively affect me. Let me explain:

Last year I engaged in three separate muscle worship sessions. Toward the end of October I had an opportunity to engage in a fourth. I exchanged a few e-mails and text messages with this particular female bodybuilder who was planning to travel to Seattle. She told me her rates – which I felt were a little higher than I was able to pay.

I’m not a very rich person, so paying for sessions is a very big deal to me. I don’t have $350-$400 at my disposal for one hour’s worth of entertainment. I’m not a multi-millionaire. So I made a wise decision and decided not to go ahead and schedule anything with her. She understood my position. I knew I didn’t have the financial resources to go through this. So I let my better judgment win out at the end. I felt proud of myself for demonstrating such fiscal discipline.

But don’t misunderstand me. I was very close to going through with it. I seriously contemplated emptying money from my savings account to pay for it. But I knew this would hurt me in the long term. I saw myself nearly go down a path I told myself I would try to avoid at all costs.

Blonde beauty Megan Avalon.
Blonde beauty Megan Avalon.

I say this not because I want to shame anyone who gives in to their temptations and ends up making foolish decisions in the process. No, rather I want to show you that I once went dangerously close to the “dark side” and spent money I couldn’t afford to spend. But I resisted and learned a valuable lesson from it. I’m not preaching some holier-than-thou message to condemn anyone who doesn’t let rationality win out. I want to let you know that I’m not a perfect person. I’m not infallible. I make mistakes.

I was just fortunate to not make a mistake in that specific instance. But unfortunately, not everyone is that lucky.

So whether your obsession hurts you financially, relationally or socially, always keep in mind the important things in life: Friends, family, your health, spirituality (if you’re into that sort of thing) and being a good person. Never let your desires control you. Think before you act. Love other people; don’t lust after them as if they were merely sex objects. Never objectify people. Treat them as that: people.

Female bodybuilders aren’t toys. They’re not sex objects you can treat like dirt just because you pay them money to deliver services for you. Remember the Golden Rule. We all learned that at some point in our childhood, right?

We’re all people trying to make our way through this crazy and confusing universe. No one will ever get it right 100% of the time. We all make mistakes. We all let our worst judgment get the better of us. We all act irrationally at times. This is part of being human.

If you think you need help, seek help. Talk to a professional counselor or someone who’s willing to listen, empathize and support you. Don’t bottle up your anger. Don’t take your insecurities out on other people. When in doubt, at the very least talk to someone. If they love you, they’ll understand and won’t judge you for it. And if they do judge you, are they really someone you want to be close with in the first place?

Love is about trust. When people violate that trust, we get hurt. When we violate that trust in others, they get hurt. It’s a vicious cycle. It tears apart families. It creates holes in people’s lives. This is true of everything, female muscle fandom notwithstanding. Please, communicate with your loved ones if you sense you’re going down a dark path. There is a point of return – just make sure you can identify the problem early and take a proactive approach to stopping it dead in its tracks.

I will say this once again, a million times if I have to. There’s nothing wrong with being physically attracted to muscular ladies. There’s nothing wrong with admiring strong women. There’s nothing wrong with expressing your desires and living out your fantasies if all parties are consenting. Consent and transparency are virtues.

What are your thoughts on this matter? Feel free to e-mail me at ryantakahashi87 (at) yahoo (dot) com or write your comments below for everyone to see. I’ll share some of your feedback if I feel it is valuable to our discussion and you want a wider audience to read it.

Thank you!

Starting a Dialogue, Creating a Better World: An Open Letter from Ryan Takahashi

I never heard of Holland Canter before a young reader e-mailed me and mentioned her.
I never heard of Holland Canter before a young reader e-mailed me and mentioned her.

Dear readers,

When I first started this blog back in the spring of 2012, I did it because I had a fire lit inside me.

This fire was fueled by strong muscular women and my newly discovered attraction to them. This fire was unquenchable. A whole ocean of rushing water could not put out this flame.

Anyone who has discovered the world of female muscle knows what I’m talking about. What once seemed foreign is now more desired than whatever you previously considered “normal.” You’ll never look at a professional female athlete the same way. You’ll never look at a male athlete the same way either.

Any look a man can achieve a woman could achieve as well!” you’d enthusiastically say.

When I first launched this blog, the purpose was to give myself a place to publicly feature my fiction writing. It all started with “The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi” series. Since then I’ve written numerous articles and essays all about my personal attraction to female muscle. I’ve also been fortunate to have gathered an international readership that crosses multiple language and cultural barriers. For this I am eternally humbled.

Now my purpose has slightly changed. I’m no longer running this blog for personal reasons. I want to run it for more altruistic and educational reasons. I want to start a dialogue. I want to contribute to a larger conversation about sexuality, gender relations, sexism, pop culture and society. I want my writing to inform people. I want to comfort those who feel “weird” that they like muscular women. I want to inspire women who are insecure about their bodies that it’s okay to lift at the gym (and that it’s perfectly healthy to do so!). I want to teach people who think strong women are “gross” that they aren’t. They’re beautiful in ways you could never imagine.

I want people to open their minds, and ultimately…their hearts.

I want to start a dialogue. A rational, productive dialogue. No screaming matches. No hurling insults. No calling people hurtful names. No shouting, belittling or making condescending remarks. I want none of that. I want people to intelligently talk about these issues and discuss how we can all become better people.

Monica Brant was one of my first ever female muscle crushes. Wonder why?
Monica Brant was one of my first ever female muscle crushes. Wonder why?

I realize this is a pretty lofty goal. I understand that finding muscular women attractive isn’t the only sexual kink that needs to be de-stigmatized. I know we need to have a lot more discussions about a wider range of topics in order to truly make this world a better place. I’m not naïve to those facts.

But nevertheless, I want this blog to be a place where people can come together and share their stories, experiences, ideas, secrets and anecdotes in a safe, nonjudgmental environment. After all, that’s the beauty of the Internet. You can be completely anonymous. No one will ever know who you are unless you tell them.

“Ryan Takahashi” isn’t my real name. I don’t even live in Seattle. I live just outside of Seattle. But I am Japanese-American and a male under 30 years old. All this you can be assured of, I promise you.

I also can promise you that I respect privacy. No real names will be published here unless you want it mentioned. I’m also very open-minded and will not judge you for expressing your voice.

So this is an open invitation to start a dialogue with me. I’ve already received a number of e-mails from people all over the world who have come to me asking questions and wanting answers. I will admit I do not have all the answers. I’m not God. I’m just one person trying to make my way through this crazy universe. My perspective is no more valid than yours.

Think all Asian women are small and petite? Rebekah Kresila should change your mind about that.
Think all Asian women are small and petite? Rebekah Kresila should change your mind about that.

All I’ve done is put into words the feelings, desires and thoughts many of us share together. Someone has already dubbed me a “spokesman” for female muscle fans. Thank you for thinking of me in this way!

So, feel free to send me e-mails or write comments in any of the articles you read here. My e-mail address is ryantakahashi87 (at) yahoo (dot) com. (FYI – I write it out in this format to avoid Spam messages from unwanted sources)

Ask me anything. Vent to me. Give me suggestions on topics you want discussed on this blog. Feel free to disagree with me. Don’t feel like the conversation has to end with my words. If you want to be a guest writer, send whatever you’ve written and I’ll definitely consider publishing it on here. Fiction, non-fiction, random thoughts, incoherent ramblings, it doesn’t matter. Send me anything.

I don’t want to be the only voice on this forum.

We all have a voice. We all have ideas. Everyone has a story to share. Please, share it with me. I want to talk with you. I can guarantee others do as well.

Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read my writings. I am truly humbled by all of you. Without you, I wouldn’t be doing this.

Peace be with you always.

Sincerely,

Ryan

I leave you with an image of Brenda Smith flexing her amazing biceps.
I leave you with an image of Brenda Smith flexing her amazing biceps.

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?

Incomprehensible Admiration: The Internal Thoughts of a Female Muscle Lover

I dare you to look away at Victoria Dominguez. Bet you can't!
I dare you to look away at Victoria Dominguez. Bet you can’t!

I consider myself to be a rational, level-headed guy. I don’t jump to conclusions, I don’t make knee jerk reactionary decisions and I don’t dive head first into new, uncharted waters.

So what’s coming over me lately?

And by “lately,” I’m referring to the past year. And the past month. But mostly, I’m referring to my whole perspective on sexuality, women and female bodybuilders ever since I discovered I have a female muscle fetish.

Anyone who’s read this blog and other like-minded ones know what we’re talking about. It’s strange being in love with muscular women. It’s weird. It’s socially taboo. It’s discouraged to talk about this openly around polite company. Yet, as any of you who love strong women can speak to, it’s something that can’t leave our minds.

It’s as though we think about muscular women 24/7. It’s an attraction that grapples you and never lets you go.

Of course, we don’t actually think about female bodybuilders every second of our lives. This is hyperbole to make a point. The point is this: Having a female muscle fetish makes us so irrational!

Jay Fuchs rocks my world.
Jay Fuchs rocks my world.

Let’s use me as an example. In the past year, I’ve started a blog, created a fictional narrative around a fantasy version of myself (The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi series), written a series of anecdotal articles about female muscle fetishism that’s been read by people around the globe, arranged and participated in a muscle worship session with a genuine female bodybuilder and even become more comfortable with my own body (despite lingering insecurities).

Nothing about this is rational. Nothing about this makes sense. Nothing about this is characteristic of me. I’m doing things I’d never dreamed of doing. Contacting a complete stranger and paying her to “play” with me in a hotel room? Yikes! Who would have thought?

None of this is something I would have done four years ago. Or three years ago. Hell, even two years ago. This is all completely new to me. All of it. I’ve written for blogs before, but none as personal or as deep as this one.

You have to admit this dynamic photo of Amanda Latona steals your breath away.
You have to admit this dynamic photo of Amanda Latona steals your breath away.

I’ve developed what I call an “Incomprehensible Admiration” for female bodybuilders. It’s like a lightning bolt that hit me from the sky. It’s like a fire that burns deep within my soul. It’s like a voice inside my head, pulling and pushing me in all directions till I find myself somewhere I’ve never been before. It’s a lot like that.

Ironically, I’m sure none of this makes sense. I’m sure you’re asking yourself: Golly, Ryan. What point are you trying to make here? To be truthful, I have no clue. Seriously. I have no clue. I love writing about female muscle, thinking about female muscle, looking at photos of muscular women and fantasizing about making love to a muscular woman. None of this is rational. None of this is scientific. None of this can be explained coherently.

None of it. Seriously. None. Of. It.

In the past, I’ve expressed theories on why I have a female muscle fetish. I’ve explained why guys like me love women that society tends to view as “disgusting,” “gross” and “unfeminine.” I’ve explained common misconceptions about men who like FBBs as well as admitting how strange it is. I’ve acknowledged all this, yet there’s still more I want to write about. I can’t stop thinking about my love for female muscle. This is not a “phase” that will go away anytime soon.

Tatianna Butler definitely spends a lot of time at the gym to get this amazing physique.
Tatianna Butler definitely spends a lot of time at the gym to get this amazing physique.

Internally, this is nearly impossible to explain clearly and succinctly. So I won’t even try. I’m just rambling at this point, so who cares if I continue to not make sense? I highly doubt any of you will judge me too harshly!

Let me put it this way: They say love makes you do stupid things. We all remember back to our first crush. That boy or girl you couldn’t keep your eyes off of and couldn’t stop thinking about. Remember him or her? I most certainly do.

Remember how odd this made you feel? Remember how dysfunctional you became whenever you were around this person? How you could hardly breathe, think, behave or move? Do you recall your heart melting whenever you were around this person – how you yearned to get as close to this person as possible, yet became distraught whenever you did?

Sure brings back memories, doesn’t it?

I love me some Annie Rivieccio.
I love me some Annie Rivieccio.

In a very offbeat way, having a female muscle fetish is a lot like the experience we all had surrounding our first crush. We all remember our first time encountering a woman with muscles in the same manner we all remember the exact moment we decided that particular boy or girl wasn’t just special, but Special with a capital “S.”

There are a lot of bloggers, Facebook pages and average folks out there who share my love for female muscle. I know for a fact I’m not alone. But what strikes me most about my fellow female muscle lovers is how they share not just my affinity for FBBs, but my deep passion and wild infatuation for them. This “Incomprehensible Admiration” makes us melt inside. When we see a video of Lisa Cross pumping her gorgeous biceps, we get a tingling feeling inside our souls that doesn’t allow us to blink for even a split second. Nothing else matters except for what Miss Cross is doing in this particular video.

Remember watching the Olympics last year and you saw those female track and field athletes sporting those six-pack abs? Could you look away from your television screen? I doubt you did!

This photo of Emery Miller is perfect in ways I cannot even begin to describe.
This photo of Emery Miller is perfect in ways I cannot even begin to describe.

A very fine blog, Female Muscle Slave, clearly has contributors who share this Incomprehensible Admiration. FMS posts new content almost every day, a feat I cannot even come close to achieving. I think it’s safe to say that this internal fire burns inside them too. That fire that cannot die once it’s been lit. Once you get hooked on strong ladies, it’s nearly impossible to turn back.

It’s like eating potato chips. Bet you can’t eat just one! So you came across a photo of Deidre Pagnanelli on Google Images? Bet you can’t look at just one!

This level of attraction is hard to compare to anything else. I see beautiful women every day in my life. While I certainly turn my head to catch a glimpse if one does cross my path, this doesn’t compare to the reaction I had when I encountered my first ever female bodybuilder in the flesh a while back. She (I have no idea what her name is) made my heart stop. The sight of her strong, gorgeous body literally stole my breath. I couldn’t look away.

If Gillian Kovack were on television, I'd never stop looking till my eyes hurt.
If Gillian Kovack were on television, I’d never stop looking till my eyes hurt.

Normally, staring at someone is considered rude. Guys try to look at a beautiful woman as discreetly as possible. This is when sunglasses come in handy! But looking at this young woman made me abandon whatever social politeness I normally try to observe. I could not, even if a gun were pointed at my head, look away. No matter how hard I tried, seeing a muscular woman up close and personal made me act completely irrationally. I became like a pubescent 12-year-old boy looking at porn for the first time. Once this new world is opened to you, nothing will ever be the same again.

Hence, this is why I compare the attraction toward female muscle to your first crush (or latest crush). Additionally, it’s also like a young boy seeing his first photo of a naked woman. You act foolishly. You can’t look away. And your perspective about female beauty is changed for good.

Wow! Women can look like this? I thought beautiful women had to be skinny to be attractive.

Nope. Not even close. Alina Popa is more beautiful than any Victoria’s Secret catalog model could ever dream to be. Her natural beauty, combined with her impressive strength and muscular definition, makes her a woman unlike any other woman on planet Earth. Then again, I could say this about almost any gorgeous FBB. Miss Popa just happens to be one of my personal favorites.

I just outlined for you some of the thoughts that rumble through the mind of a female muscle lover. We treat the first time we noticed our love for female muscle as if it were an historic event. Like remembering where you were during the Moon Landing (which, by the way, I’m too young to actually remember), the circumstances when you were first “awoken” to the world of female muscle is also an event that will live on in infamy.

One more photo of the British Bombshell Lisa Cross never hurt anybody.
One more photo of the British Bombshell Lisa Cross never hurt anybody.

I’m sure many of you also have this internal fire burning deep within your soul. I know lots of you share my Incomprehensible Admiration. This admiration makes us do incomprehensible things. But we don’t try to fight it. Instead, we give in to it joyfully and unashamedly.

I mean, who spends his hard-earned money on setting up a “muscle worship” session with a travelling female bodybuilder? THAT’S SO WEIRD! Especially when this person isn’t terribly rich either. Disposable income is tight for me, yet I found some reasonable justification for spending more than a week’s wages on 75 glorious minutes in a hotel room with a woman I’ve never been previously acquainted with. Do I regret anything in retrospect? Hell no!

Still, how do you rationalize something like that? To answer this question, I think it has to do with the adage that we’re all familiar with: Love makes you crazy.

It’s so true. Every word of it. Love indeed makes you crazy.

Our love for female muscle is no different.

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