All the King’s Queens – Chapter 7: Carnal Delights

The walk up the stairs took almost no time at all. The guest bedrooms and the cabaret room are on the second floor. Dylan’s entire bedroom occupies the third floor, while a fourth-floor attic can be found on the northeast corner of the building. Lawrence uses it to store miscellaneous items like souvenirs, Dylan’s childhood memorabilia, artwork he no longer finds valuable, and mismatched old furniture that became obsolete when they refurnished the house shortly before Dylan’s fall from grace. But the third floor is the only place where Dylan and Melanie were planning to be for the next few hours.

Dylan’s bedroom is actually several rooms. There’s a main room where his bed is located. There’s a spacious shower and bathroom, and a separate room for taking baths. It’s basically a large jacuzzi, but a bath is a bath no matter how you take it. This is where he goes to physically unwind from a long, difficult day. Then he has another room where he stores all of his clothes. The life of a billionaire means needing several dress suits, a few tuxedos, and lots of ties, loafers, shirts, belts, socks, and hats. Lawrence figures his boss’s wardrobe is worth more than the property value of most middle-class suburban families. He’s probably not wrong about that.

Melanie and Dylan enter the bedroom, turn on the lights, and kiss once more. This time, it’s a kiss that’s in private. No one watching them. No one teasing them. Just them in this room, alone together. When their lips come apart, Melanie notices that Dylan is trembling.

“I’ve missed you,” Dylan confesses. Tears well up in his eyes.

“I know. I miss you too. Badly.”

“I…I love you.”

Melanie gazes at Dylan with her captivating green eyes. She doesn’t respond or react to Dylan’s unexpected confession of love. During their entire friendship, she’s made it clear that she’s not ever getting married again. Too many husbands. Too many fights. Too many messy divorces. Too much trauma that her kids have had to endure. Never again, she vowed to herself many years ago. That chapter has closed. For good. Dylan knows this. He’d much rather marry a girl more in his age range (Melanie is about 15 years older than him) but that hasn’t been in his cards…yet. Becoming a social pariah certainly hasn’t helped him settle down and start a family. But he’s always felt a special bond with Melanie, even if the love they share isn’t romantic or meant to become too intimate. Perhaps that’s why they choose to live so far away from each other. They fear what could happen if they got too close.

“Come here. Let’s make love.” Melanie wipes Dylan’s tears away and kisses him again, this time softly. Still wearing her pink bikini and heels, she walks over to the bathroom to remove any makeup she may still have on. She tried to remove most of it before the show started, but some residue may still be caked on somewhere. Dylan goes over to the fireplace and turns it on. It’s not a real fireplace with real wood, but it does the job. There’s no shame in having an electric one, especially if it sets the mood. He turns off the lights, opens the white silk curtains, and peers out into the fading sunset. It should be completely dark in about 10 minutes, he estimates.

Dylan has floor-to-ceiling wall windows that stretch across almost half of the entire room. Each panel is about four feet wide and 14 feet tall. A long drape of silk curtains stretches across the windows. All one has to do is manually pull them to the side to reveal the outside world. On the south-facing side there’s a small balcony overlooking Lake Washington. It’s a sight worthy of a king, or someone rich enough to pretend to be a king. Dylan is certainly rich enough, though he rarely ever feels like royalty.

After removing a few smudges of foundation from her chin, Melanie returns to the main bedroom area. Dylan swiftly comes to her. She reaches out and takes his hands. They’re as warm as the inside of the fireplace. Instead of kissing again, Melanie removes the charcoal gray blazer Dylan is wearing, plops it on the floor, and unbuttons the rest of his white dress shirt. At the same time, Dylan leans over to unfasten her bikini top. He struggles to reach his arms around her broad torso, an amusing challenge she immediately recognizes. She kindly removes the top for him, revealing her full, plump breasts. Her implants aren’t nearly as eye-popping as Peggy’s, but they’re noticeable to anyone with the inclination to look. Her tiny pink nipples stand at attention. Dylan thumbs them in circles as Melanie unfastens his belt, drops his slacks to the floor. She feels the bulge in his underwear. For all his wealth, Dylan still insists on wearing cheap Calvin Klein black underwear. He could wear something much fancier, but that assumes that he cares about such things. He does not.

Melanie lets out a quiet moan as Dylan caresses her sensitive nipples. Monique may have larger nipples (which some guys are really turned on by) but Melanie has bigger muscles, so she’ll accept that as a victory of sorts. Dylan pushes his underwear down toward his ankles, removes his socks, and kicks them aside. He is completely naked.

Still, her eyes do not leave his eyes.

Next, Melanie places her thumbs inside her bikini bottom and slides them down her tree trunk legs. Dylan watches in amazement as he gazes upon her erect clitoris. Unlike Peggy and Monique, Melanie chooses to keep some of her pubic hair intact. She lets a classy thin strip of hair run down her pelvis, which is more than the other two ladies can say they still have. Peggy waxes almost monthly and Monique shaves weekly. Melanie finds all this too bothersome. Plus, she likes to remind herself that she’s a fully grown adult, not a small child. That’s the life of being a woman in the western hemisphere.

If Peggy is famous for her ability to ejaculate far distances, Melanie is equally famous for her enormous clitoris. Before settling down into wifehood and motherhood, Melanie made a few pornographic videos when she was in her late 20s to pay the bills. This is when her famous endowment put her on the map. She may not have been able to appear in Terminator 2, but her gigantic clit found its way in adult video stores across America. All the porn she made exists either on VHS or in grainy Internet videos, so it’s been a while since the world got to regard her jaw-dropping piece of female meat. That is another chapter of her life that she prefers to never reopen. That’s done. She’s never doing that sort of thing again. If someone wants to see her naked, they’ll have to earn it the old fashioned way. Like Dylan.

Dylan obediently gets down on his knees and licks Melanie’s clit. Measuring at almost three inches in length (it’s a tad shy of three inches, a fact that disappoints her immensely), it’s been mistaken by uneducated fools as being a penis. It’s not. She’s not a man or a woman with male genitalia. No, she’s a woman, a pure woman whose femininity should go unquestioned. Melanie loves the way Dylan treats her. He has soft hands that feel like pure silk when they touch her coarse skin. And Dylan is always attentive to her needs, taking his time to physically explore her body. Standing at 5’ 10” tall and weighing 215 pounds, there’s a lot of her body to explore. Dylan intends to enjoy every square inch of her. And she intends to be enjoyed.

Melanie backs up a few feet, wanting to find the bed. She does. Dylan scoots forward to meet her. She leans back onto the bed, cherishing the feel of the cool sheets against her naked skin. After spending twenty minutes under hot stage lights, this is a nice contrasting experience. Dylan proceeds to crawl next to her, his eyes laser focused on his lover’s face. Melanie isn’t a pretty woman, but she’s not ugly either. Her eyes are kind and her smile captivating, two facets of her that make Melanie attractive enough. For a variety of reasons, you won’t find her on the cover of fashion magazines. But Dylan loves the way she looks, from head to toe. She has never really cared about her skincare regimen since she dedicates most of her time to her weightlifting regimen. So once wrinkles and lines started forming across her face, she wasn’t surprised or particularly concerned with it. She prefers to let her biceps do the talking. And she has no desire to be 25 again. Those days are over. Those days were boring. She loves who she is right now.

“God, I never tire of your skin touching my body,” she confesses.

Dylan leans over and trails a line of kisses along her breasts, stomach, and pubic area. Hearing her compliment him like that is a genuine turn-on, especially since he rarely ever hears benevolent words said about him these days.

“And I never tire of touching your body, my dear. You’re unbelievable. So gorgeous.” After running his fingers across her chiseled abdomen, he returns to massaging her engorged clitoris with his tongue. He loves pleasing her orally. It’s especially enjoyable because her enormous size makes it easy to do so. Once his soft lips caress her sensitive clit head, her gentle moans transition to audible groans. Lapping the tip with his entire tongue, Melanie lifts her pelvis up high in the air, an indication that she’s both enjoying the stimulation and ready to climax. Nothing pleases Dylan more than knowing Melanie is being pleased. He truly loves her. He may not love her like a husband loves his wife, but he loves her deeply regardless of what kind of love it is. Giving pleasure is the ultimate act of love, a mantra Dylan takes to heart. That’s why he takes great care to ensure his guests eat the best food, drink the best wine, and enjoy each other’s company as much as possible. Pleasure takes many forms, as Dylan knows full well.

“Ohhh, that’s it, yes, right there…”

Dylan grips her hips with both hands to stabilize her body as much as he can. It’s a difficult task to maintain oral contact with her sensitive parts when she’s squirming around like a restless kitten. One final lift of her hips, and Dylan knows she’s just seconds away from a satisfying climax.

When it hits, Dylan knows it immediately and stops pleasing her. He loves watching her experience an orgasm. It’s almost as delightful as experiencing one. Melanie writhes around in the bed uncontrollably as waves of orgasm pulse through her body’s core. The Ms. Athena Championship, the most prestigious female bodybuilding competition in the world, is in two months. Which means Melanie is approaching the best shape of her life. It also means she’s exhausted – both mentally and physically – all the time, which leaves little room for her sex drive to be addressed. This weekend, however, was going to be a special time where she could relax, kick her feet up, and not think about her strict diet or the endless hours she needs to spend at the gym. So while this may not be the greatest orgasm she’s ever experienced, it’s certainly the best she’s had in a long while.

“Oh baby, that was fantastic. I loved it. Thank you, sweetie.” Dylan lifts her face up to kiss it. She can taste her own juices on his lips. For whatever odd reason, she actually enjoys the way she tastes and doesn’t mind Dylan sharing some of it with her. When their lips come apart, Melanie sits up so she can remove her shoes. She purchased them in Venice several years ago, so she makes certain they’re properly removed and placed neatly next to the bed. Wanting to return the favor, Melanie suddenly grabs Dylan’s face and kisses him again deeply, making sure her tongue explores the inside of his mouth. He welcomes her penetration. She reaches down and strokes Dylan’s penis, which (miraculously) had gotten soft between now and when she first started to undress him. Slowly but surely it returns to being as hard as a rock.

At 53 years old, Melanie has had her fair share of lovers. She has three children (all adults ages 23, 21, and 18) with two different husbands (she’s had four husbands total). She’s also experienced extensively with synthetic steroids – which are still a (somewhat) taboo subject within the bodybuilding community – to help her grow her massive musculature. Melanie got really seriously into steroids after her third child was born. A few doctors warned her that this could essentially end her child birthing days. She was completely fine with that. Now that she’s a few years past 50, she knows pregnancy is no longer an issue for her. STDs still are, but she trusts that Dylan is clean. He is. So whenever they make love, they never use protection because there’s no danger involved. There’s no reason to. It makes their lovemaking more natural. And also more trusting.

By now the sun has completely set. It’s pitch-black outside. The only light in the room comes from the small fireplace fifty feet away. Still, it radiates enough illumination so that the two lovers can see each other clearly, but still leave enough mystery to the imagination. The romantic atmosphere couldn’t be more perfect, both of Dylan and Melanie observe together.

Melanie would never admit this aloud, but Dylan isn’t the most skilled lover she’s ever been with. He’s perfectly fine, but no one can ever match up to her third husband. That man was special in the sack, even though his money troubles and overall flakiness derailed their lengthy marriage. He, like Dylan, took his sweet time with her. He treated her like a Queen. Dylan also treats Melanie like a Queen, but Robert was incredibly intuitive in the bedroom. Dylan has required a bit of “coaching” throughout the years. By now, Mr. Tanaka knows what she likes, what she doesn’t like, and how to please her.

After gently placing her head against the pillow, Melanie lies on her back as Dylan trails more kisses onto her leathery skin. Melanie’s skin is as rough as Dylan’s is soft. Age, steroids, and muscle mass will do that to you. He doesn’t mind, though. She closes her eyes as his lips touch her most intimate areas. He can tell from the moisture developing between her massive legs that she’s ready. At last, after he can no longer take it, Dylan pushes his penis inside her wet entrance, little by little, until he’s fully inside her. They both gasp at the same time, as if their bodies were synced to react similarly together. Peggy may be the “size queen” of the group, but Melanie isn’t. She enjoys it whenever a man is inside her. Especially if she truly loves that man.

The heat emanating from their bodies could power a furnace. Between kisses, Dylan cannot help but groan as his manhood slides in and out of her. Like most Asian men living in America, he’s a little insecure about his size. Melanie has reassured him many times over the years that he’s perfectly normal. He believes her, but decades of teasing from cruel classmates can be hard to deprogram. Dylan has heard his fair share of racist taunts, as well as assumptions that can never seem to die off. His 5-inch penis certainly isn’t the largest in the world, but it’s not the smallest either. He’s just glad that he can say he’s a solid five inches without lying.

Stroke after stroke, thrust after thrust, Dylan’s breathing intensifies as he makes love to her. When their tongues connect, they can both taste tonight’s dinner on each other’s breath. Melanie smiles at him while she watches her lover build toward a dramatic orgasm. They don’t speak, instead choosing to allow the rhythm of his strokes to do the talking.

Dylan doesn’t want to confess the last time he ever made love to a woman. Has it been a full year? Maybe longer. Melanie senses it’s been a while for him. All she wishes is that he gets what he needs. She intuitively knows he needs this badly. She moans when his pecs slide against her taut nipples.

Finally, Dylan feels his climax impending. Heat, sweat, energy, and strong feelings of love, lust, anxiety, and insecurity all come to a boiling point the exact moment he spurts deep inside her. It goes on seemingly forever. Melanie just lays there, enjoying this moment on Dylan’s behalf. Their eyes connect. She smiles at him. He struggles to catch his breath. Sweat is dripping down his face. When he collapses on top of her, she wraps her strong arms around his toned body and squeezes him as tight as she can without hurting him. She could never hurt him. And she never will.

After ten minutes of pure silence, Dylan withdraws from her. He turns to his side and caresses her thick legs. Melanie playfully pinches his small sticky penis, licking whatever semen residue is left off her fingers. They choose to continue to not speak. The only sound that can be heard is the siren of an ambulance blaring in the distance.

The two lovers stare into each other’s eyes. They don’t talk, but the looks they share speak volumes.

***

Lawrence loosens the knot of his necktie once he believes no one will see him for the rest of the evening. It’s nearing 9:00 p.m. All seems to be in order. His boss and the three guests he’s entertaining are apparently upstairs, participating in some sort of hedonistic fun. He doesn’t know for sure and, if he’s being honest, he doesn’t particularly care. He’s not one for eavesdropping or gathering gossip-worthy material. Who would he share it with?

Right now he’s in the living room, gathering empty glasses of margaritas that have been sitting there for a few hours. Normally, Lawrence tries to keep every room in Mr. Tanaka’s house as tidy as possible, but he (rightfully so) anticipated the evening’s festivities could take unexpected turns. So he chooses to clean up after it appears everything has calmed down.

“Don’t mind me. I have a lot of cleaning left to do,” Henry says, poking his head through the door. Lawrence turns around to see Henry, still dressed in his chef’s uniform, smiling right at Dylan Tanaka’s faithful butler. Mr. Jameson is loading the dishwasher full of dirty plates, wine glasses, silverware, and a few pans. Lawrence resists the urge to ask him about the unusual way Miss Cole greeted him earlier this evening. Chances are, he won’t ever bring it up. Lawrence isn’t one for creating unnecessary confrontations.

“Excellent. I have a feeling Mr. Tanaka won’t be needing our services until the late morning. I will see you until then. Have a good night.” Henry nods to Lawrence. After loading the dishwasher, he pours a small cup of detergent into the slot, closes it, and turns on the machine for a “normal” cleaning cycle. Henry can barely hear Lawrence exit through the backdoor as the dishwasher begins to rumble. He looks up at the clock, waits for a whole minute to pass, and then scurries over to a nearby bathroom to change clothes. It’s doubtful that Dylan would be able to “entertain” all three ladies at once, so hopefully his faithful chef will score the chance to get in on the action. Mr. Tanaka is not known for being a greedy man, despite his immense financial wealth.

Outside, Lawrence trudges toward the staff parking garage. There are only four slots available, which is usually fine because it’s rare for more than three staff to be at the house at any given moment. Lawrence and Henry are regular employees, with Joey the landscaper showing up a few times a month and others less often than that. Mr. Tanaka will sometimes meet with his personal bookkeeper, a few professional arborists (all those exotic trees, many of which are not native to North America, won’t take care of themselves), a wealth consultant, a barber, and occasionally, his “personal trainer” who happens to be a competitive bodybuilder in her own right. The few guests who come over to use Mr. Tanaka’s home gym show up either via Uber or Lawrence escorting them onto the property. As Lawrence unlocks his car door and gets in, he reflects upon the mostly solitary existence his boss has to endure. Is it possible for him to have a more active social life? Can’t he find a part-time consulting gig somewhere? Certainly someone, somewhere would be willing to hire him. They don’t have to make a public spectacle out of it, of course. All of this loneliness can’t be good for his mental health, Lawrence worries.

“He’s allowed to enjoy a few pleasures in life,” Lawrence says aloud to just himself. “After all, what else would make life worth living?” Dylan’s butler ponders this thought – and many others – as he drives off into the night. He decides to stop off at a local grocery store and pick up a few items before heading home. As far as he’s concerned, the rest of his evening will be nice and quiet. What disturbances could possibly come his way?

Back in the house, it takes a grand total of five minutes for Henry to change out of his work clothes and into something more comfortable. He exits the bathroom wearing slick Gucci blue jeans (being Dylan Tanaka’s employee has its perks), a long-sleeve dark purple shirt, black shoes, and a modest gold chain across his neck. Henry keeps himself in decent shape, despite an insufferable potbelly that can’t ever seem to go away. No matter how much dieting and exercising he does, he can’t ever figure out how to eliminate the bothersome belly fat that doesn’t want to burn off. Mr. Tanaka seems to know how to stay slim – although Henry figures it has to be because of his Asian genes. That’s scientifically backed, right?

Yeah, probably not.

After taking one final look at the kitchen, Henry decides it’s in acceptable shape. The dishwasher is humming, the countertops are sparkling clean, the fresh fruits and vegetables are already precut for breakfast tomorrow, the coffee grounds are locked and loaded in the coffeemaker, and the dining room has been properly cleared and preset for the morning. He turns off the lights, takes a deep breath, rustles his hair slightly, and walks upstairs toward the guest bedrooms. The house boasts excellent acoustical design, meaning neither Lawrence nor Henry could hear the festivities happening upstairs in the cabaret room. Dylan’s top-notch chef hopes his boss will kindly allow him to join in on the fun.

Before he can get halfway up the long staircase, Henry sees Peggy Cole, still wearing her over-the-top Vegas showgirl costume, leaning casually against the top railing. Their eyes connect. Peggy has the largest grin on her face. Henry feels his heart almost leap out of his chest – as if their earlier encounter had instilled a Pavlovian response inside his brain.

“Oh, hello there baby,” Peggy flirts.

“Damn, girl! That’s one hell of a costume you’re wearing. How the fuck did you fit that feather hat inside your luggage?” Henry cautiously takes a few steps further up; almost as if he’s afraid Peggy’s feather outfit will magically form into a literal bird and attack him. His favorite porn star walks to him, twirls around, and laughs.

“Gee, I sucked you off a few hours ago and this is how you greet me afterwards?” Peggy unhooks her sparkly bra and throws it at Henry, freeing her enormous breasts. Miraculously, Henry catches it in mid-air. He sniffs at it, noticing Peggy’s distinguishable scent. It may not smell like fancy perfume, but as far as Henry is concerned, it might as well be. “Go figure. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, shouldn’t I?”

“Oh darling, you know I appreciate you and everything you do,” Henry says, trying to simultaneously walk up the stairs and feast his eyes on her bare breasts. “Especially what you did for me before dinner. Woohoo, that was quite an unexpected treat.” Once they stand face to face, Peggy wraps her strong arms around him, gives him the tightest squeeze she possibly could, and plants a wet kiss on his lips. The unmistakable taste of Altoids permeates his breath, which Peggy finds both charming and dorky. Henry figures if he were lucky enough to get intimate with his favorite porn star, he’d better practice good hygiene in the process.

“Shall we take this party somewhere else? Such as my bedroom? It’s not far from here. Just a few feet that way.” She points down the hall to the room where her luggage happens to be stored. All of Dylan’s guest bedrooms are spacious, well-furnished, clean, inviting, and as luxurious as any Las Vegas hotel suite. Every bedroom comes with its own bathroom and shower, plenty of closet space, dressers and drawers, a bed (obviously), and – most remarkably – a small kitchenette. It’s not quite a self-contained living unit, but it comes damn close. One probably wouldn’t want to live with just a tiny refrigerator (no freezer) and an oven with only two stovetop burners, but for a quick weekend getaway trip it’s about as close to living in someone’s studio apartment as one can get.

It takes no more than eight seconds for Peggy and Henry to hop, skip, and jump to their private bedroom. Unlike Dylan and Melanie’s intimate gathering one floor up, these two are in no mood for taking things slow. On the contrary, the moment the door slams shut the two of them are already ripping off each other’s clothes. Henry amuses himself with the thought of the uselessness of changing out of his chef’s outfit and into these “street clothes.” He supposes he couldn’t guarantee that this would happen – and that he shouldn’t have expected it to – but the thought of getting dressed just to get naked a few minutes later was something that he found funny.

Little did either of them know that at the other end of the hallway, Monique was watching them converse, kiss, and sprint away from spying eyes. Miss St. Martin is still wearing nothing but white lacy panties. She’s determined they are beyond the point of the evening where walking around the house naked (or near naked) would be discouraged. She probably could have entered the house naked and eaten dinner naked too if she wanted to be especially adventurous. It’s not like Dylan would mind. Or any of the other guests. Oh well. Maybe next time she can be so bold.

“Have fun, you two.”

Realizing she’s the only one without a partner – Lawrence is a nice man, but definitely not her type – Monique turns around and heads back to the cabaret room. She intends to take full advantage of the stocked bar Dylan mentioned. She thinks she’ll make herself an Old Fashioned, assuming there’s ice available. She couldn’t see why there wouldn’t be.

“Everyone’s getting some except for me…” Monique points out to herself. “The night’s still young, though.” Her boyfriend might object if she did anything unfaithful. Their relationship is already on rocky footing. However, he’s 3,000 miles away. And she suspects he’s strayed a few times here and there himself. That, if Monique is being honest with herself, is a reality she’ll have to deal with sooner rather than later. For tonight, “later” would have to suffice. She’ll cross that dreadful bridge when she gets to it.

Now it’s on to that Old Fashioned.

***

“Okay, gentlemen. Get packed. It’s time to go. Now. You have ten minutes to get ready. Get on it.” Stephen doesn’t raise his voice because he doesn’t need to. After a few hours of nervously fiddling around with their weapons, equipment, and photographs of Dylan Tanaka’s property, the whole group is on edge. They don’t need to shout when it’s not necessary. The time is to get serious, get prepared, and get ready for tonight’s little score.

“Yes, boss.” Roddy is the only one who verbally expresses Stephen’s command. Everyone else has scattered throughout the house, not in a mood to make small talk. Xander goes to the bathroom to pee one final time. Cortez waits outside the bathroom, wanting to do the same thing. Stephen has had his coat on all afternoon, which got irksome because of the hot, humid weather of Central Washington. But this was his chosen outfit for the evening, mostly because he could conceal his firearm inside it. A careful man who takes great pride in thinking through every possible detail, Stephen wanted to get accustomed to wearing the coat and holster so that when they arrived at Dylan’s home he wouldn’t feel awkward or too uncomfortable. He’s been “in the zone” since he woke up this morning. There’s no use getting out of character now. Not when so much is on the line.

“I’m ready,” Thomas says. Out of all of his men, Thomas is the one who has to transport the most equipment. A professional safecracker for several years – he’s lost track of how many – Thomas fashioned a suitcase and duffle bag to specifically carry his thievery gear. He learned from his mentor, a man who’s currently serving a fifteen-year federal prison sentence for stealing important documents from a local FBI office in Houston, Texas, that a professional safecracker should never just stuff their equipment into any old large bag and hope nothing breaks or wears down over time. Like a guitar case that’s shaped like a guitar to minimize damage to the instrument as it gets carried around, a safecracker’s instruments should also be transported in a case that’s specifically tailored to contain said instruments. It’s this level of ingenuity and diligence that attracted Stephen to Thomas in the first place.

“Ready, boss,” Xander acknowledges. Stephen sees Cortez right behind him. Roddy, the driver of the SUV, is warming up the car. The two hired guns go to their respective vehicle. Stephen locks up the safehouse, doubting anyone would dare break in. How ironic would it be if a house being used by thieves were itself broken into by other thieves? The thought made a mostly serious Stephen Callahan smirk to himself. Besides, there are advantages to choosing a place that’s almost in the middle of nowhere. Who would think to break into a place like this?

Once Thomas slams the trunk shut, he tosses the keys to Stephen, who then unlocks the doors of the Buick and gets in the driver’s seat. In the backseat is Stephen’s backpack, sitting inconspicuously beside a few candy wrappers and empty containers of takeout Chinese food. Despite his best efforts to maintain proper appearances, serving time in prison changed Stephen’s outlook on life. Never in a million years before prison would he ever tolerate allowing garbage to accumulate inside his car. But three years in a federal prison cell really changes your personal habits. You no longer care about cleanliness when the filthy stain of being a convicted criminal forever mars your once sterling reputation. That’s just one way that prison changed him.

“Are you ready?” Stephen shouts to the occupants of the SUV. All three men nod their heads. Roddy gives him the thumbs up. “Excellent. Let’s get moving.”

Thirteen minutes later a black Buick and white SUV are traveling 65 miles per hour down the I-90 freeway towards Seattle. The speed limit is 70 mph for cars and 65 for trucks, but Stephen doesn’t want to take any chances. Very few police patrol cars are around these parts. However, Stephen is at this moment as paranoid as one can be. And for good reason. He and the other vehicle are going fast enough to get to Seattle at midnight or so, but not too fast that they attract the attention of Johnny Law. That would be a major disruption to their evening plans. Both vehicles remain in the slow right lane during the entire commute.

Stephen and Thomas don’t say a word to each other during the long drive to Seattle. Neither men have any idea if Roddy, Xander, and Cortez are conversing in their car. Probably not. These men are all studious professionals. No need to waste energy on frivolous activities like making small talk or listening to the radio.

Now’s the time to get to work. This job is straightforward and should be fairly easy.

What could possibly go wrong?

***

Dylan doesn’t think he fell asleep, but he does know he closed his eyes and looked up at the alarm clock sitting on a bedside table and saw that 45 minutes have passed. It seems like only five minutes have passed, so maybe he actually napped for a solid 40 or so. Gosh, he’s such a stereotypical guy. Falling asleep right after sex? Yeesh.

He rolls over in the bed to snuggle with Melanie. To his disappointment, she’s not in bed with him. This prompts Dylan to sit up and investigate. A moment later, he sees the balcony screen door is slightly ajar. That must be where she is, he guesses. He then stands up, stretches his arms high above his head, yawns, and walks toward the source of a gentle warm summer evening wind sweeping into his bedroom.

Before he can go outside, Dylan stops dead in his tracks.

Wow.

Sure enough, Melanie is outside, as he suspected. It’s the sight of her that makes him freeze. Right before his very eyes, almost like an image out of a dream, is Melanie Wright standing naked on his balcony. She’s overlooking the lovely view of Lake Washington, deep in thought. But it’s the image of her that jumps out at him. She’s standing tall and proud, yet relaxed and serene. The way the bright moonlight illuminates her naked body is more picturesque than what any artist could ever conceive. None of the greatest painters could ever render an image this quixotic. They wouldn’t believe such an image could actually exist. But it does.

She’s tall. Authoritative. Powerful. Curvy. Feminine. Erotic. Mesmerizing. Captivating. She’s every word you can think of without needing to consult a thesaurus. The moonlight’s glow highlights every mound of muscle on her formidable body. Every curve, every muscle fiber, every heavy repetition at the gym is on full display right in front of him. He feels blessed to be able to witness it. Her body seems to be radiating, a gentle outer aura outlining her perfect silhouette. Her round butt. Her thick hamstrings. Her bulging calves. Her meaty triceps. The layers and layers of muscle mounds on her back. She’s a living poem. A sculpture conceived by a brilliant artist made of flesh and blood. She looks like an angel, not a human. To call her a human would be an insult to who she’s worked so hard to become. Dylan cannot breathe because the only thing he can do is marvel at her. It’s the only thing he wants to do.

In reality, Melanie Wright is deep in thought. She’s pondering her future. To be truthful, she figures she only has three to four years left of being a top-level elite competitive bodybuilder. Most of her new competitors are girls in their 30s and 40s. She’s 53, which isn’t old by the standards of her unique profession, but she can feel her age in her body. All these years of lifting heavy weights, taking steroids, eating large amounts of food, and traveling the world have taken its toll. She used to feel a sense of pride when she woke up every morning feeling sore from the previous day’s workout. But now, that soreness has transitioned into pain. Real, deeply felt pain. Her entire body hurts. All the time. No amount of painkillers will make it fully go away. It’s a reality she has to deal with every single waking moment of her life. It’s the new normal.

She started to notice it when she got into her mid-40s. She denied it at first, but after a while she could no longer ignore the fact that she’s getting older. And that means your body can’t recover like it used to. When she was in her 30s, she felt invincible. She felt like a true goddess. She believed she could do this forever, that she had no limits, that nothing could keep her down. Giving birth to children was a challenge. Raising them was another. But alas, Melanie Wright is not invincible. Deep inside her soul, when you strip away her muscles, she’s as vulnerable as any other fragile human being. Maybe that’s why she feels a keen connection with Dylan. He’s fragile too. And he does his best to maintain a strong façade. But even he has his moments of weakness. Hell, she witnessed it just a few moments ago when he tearfully confessed his love for her. Melanie still has not figured out how she’ll deal with that. How can she maintain her friendship with him without breaking his heart? She has no idea how to do that…and dreads having to eventually confront it. Like every problem that she’s ever faced in her life, there’s no way to delay the inevitable.

“What are you thinking about, dear?” Dylan asks. Melanie turns around to see him, standing behind her with innocent puppy dog eyes. He hugs her, then kisses her on the back of her neck.

“I was thinking about my future. About how long I can remain a bodybuilder,” she confesses. Dylan kisses her neck again. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

“I understand. I get it. Have you made any decision yet?” Melanie shakes her head, not wanting to look at Dylan in the eyes. She may start to tear up herself if she did. Instead, she gazes at Lake Washington’s tranquil waters, admiring its remarkable stillness.

“Sort of. I think I have three, maybe four years left. You know, of being elite. I can still compete after that, but it would have to be in a lower category. Sheesh. When I turn 60, that’s when I’ll really start to evaluate my life. That sounds like a good round number. But I don’t know. My body aches. All the fucking time. Even now. My lower back hurts. My wrists hurt. My neck hurts. My knees hurt. My ankles hurt. My shoulders definitely always hurt. God, I hurt everywhere.” Melanie remains strong, refusing to break down in front of Dylan. She knows she can be vulnerable around him, but now is not the time for that. Now is the time for her to be as strong as possible around him. “Pain is a regular part of my life. It’s unavoidable. It’s unstoppable. Every time I squat or deadlift or do lunges, I feel like my bones are literally crunching. I’m crumbling.”

The only thing Dylan can do is listen. He rubs her shoulders now that he’s aware that they’re hurting her. He kisses her delts, hoping this wouldn’t cause her any additional pain. She seems at peace right now.

“So, I may quit earlier. I don’t know. I really don’t. Not now. I don’t want to think about that right now. And not just about quitting. I have other worries. Like surgery. I know I’ll need double knee surgery eventually. God, what an awful thing to have to think about.”

“You do whatever is right for you. I want you to be happy. You’ve accomplished so much. You can retire tonight and no one would look down upon you. Least of all me. You’ve done things that millions of people could only dream of. You will always have my respect, for all eternity,” he says. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, with or without your muscles.”

This final compliment makes Melanie turn around to face Dylan. She traces a callused finger across his jawline. She can feel his stubble. Melanie knows she’ll burst out into tears if she didn’t do something to take her mind off of what’s nagging at her. So, she leans over, kisses Dylan, and picks him up. Dylan gasps when his bare feet lift off from the balcony floor. Melanie carries her lover back to bed. Soon, she plops Dylan onto the soft sheets and mounts him. The first time they made love, he was on top. Now, she’ll be on top.

Melanie wastes no time. She reaches down to stroke Dylan’s soft penis. It only takes a few caresses to get it hard. Then, she raises her massive body above him and slowly lowers herself onto his erect manhood. Once he is fully inside her, Melanie moves up and down as languorously as she possibly can. She’s lucky her leg muscles are strong enough to support her weight and maintain her balance. Dylan reaches out to stimulate her clit. This adds to her pleasure. Lightly pinching her hard feminine endowment with two fingers, he is committed to making sure she comes as many times as she desires this weekend.

Dylan leans his head against the pillow after the initial waves of orgasm rush through him. God, she feels so wet, so hot, so ready for him. Melanie feels the heat rising from their bodies. She’s convinced there’s more heat coming from the two bodies intertwined on this bed than there is in the fireplace that’s still roaring away. Melanie closes her eyes, trying to soak up every moment of this experience. She’s not sure how many more like this she’ll have with Dylan, so she better make it count.

“Oh God…” Dylan cries out. He’s not there yet, but he’s damn close.

Melanie also feels the built-up tension of her own climax looming. She didn’t come the first time they made love, so she’s committed to orgasming this time around. Dylan seems close, and she’s not far behind. It helps that he’s also stimulating her clit at the same time. Their delicate dance takes them higher and higher, until neither of them can hold back much longer. She tightens her vagina around him, hoping this final move pushes them both over the edge. He keenly notices her hotness surround him, beckoning him, breaking the boundaries between them.

“Ahhhhh!” Melanie gasps.

Miraculously, Dylan and Melanie climax together. This has never happened before. Dylan empties himself inside her, pulsating until his spasms come to a joyful end. Melanie’s vaginal muscles contract around him, adding to his sensations. She grabs Dylan’s wrist and pulls it away from her oversensitive clit, not wanting more stimulation at this moment. It would be too much for her. They stay like this for several minutes, Melanie truly wanting this moment to last forever. While standing on the balcony, she also came to the conclusion (and wisely chose not to say this to him out loud) that she’ll eventually need to break off their relationship. Not now, but soon. Meaning this could very well be the last time they ever make love. Ever.

So she wants to make it count.

The truth is that Dylan has gotten too close to her. In her heart, she knows that she also profoundly loves him. She doesn’t want to be hurt again and rush into another foolish marriage. Dylan genuinely touched her heart. That scares her. Frightens her. This is why she must break it off now until it becomes too painful for the both of them. And more pain isn’t something she needs in her life.

At last, Melanie collapses on top of Dylan. She doesn’t crush him but comes pretty damn close. Dylan doesn’t mind 215 pounds of woman being on top of him. There are worse ways to go. He looks over at the fireplace, impressed by how beautiful the flickering light of the flames fills the entire room with a pitch-perfect orange glow. Dylan never understood all the hype around fireplaces until this very moment. They do add to the romance, as he’s just joyfully discovered. He has no doubt that he and Melanie look like they belong on the cover of a romance novel.

“Now I really need to take a nap,” he confesses. Melanie reaches down to tickle his scrotum. She licks his right nipple, which sends shivers down his spine. “Well, that certainly will help keep me awake. Thanks for that.”

“I am to please.” Melanie moves on to lapping his other nipple. Eventually she stops fondling his scrotum and shifts toward rubbing his tired shoulders. It’s as though she wants to massage all of his emotional baggage away as if he were both symbolically and literally carrying heavy burdens on his shoulders. “You’d be a terrible host if you just passed out while your two other guests are wide awake, since they’re both hundreds or thousands of miles away from home. Besides, it’s not even 10:30. The night is still young.”

Dylan sits up, kisses her once more, and returns the favor by lightly pinching her nipples. She seems to enjoy it, closing her eyes to better drink in the sensations. “You’re right. I would be a terrible host to fall asleep before we got to even open the bottles of champagne. I’m pretty sure we have a few bottles chilling in the refrigerator. Henry and Lawrence should both be gone by now, so we don’t have to worry about our, uh, modesty, so to speak.” Dylan stands up and walks to the bathroom. It’s a surprise that it’s taken him this long to have to pee. Melanie stretches her arms out before getting up to close the balcony screen door. It’s not cold out, but that doesn’t stop Melanie from being concerned about wasps or flies (or worse, spiders!) getting inside the house. She doesn’t live here, of course, but she still feels a slight bit of responsibility to ensure Dylan’s home doesn’t get as unkempt as a yuppie bachelor pad.

As Dylan exits the bathroom – still naked – Melanie finally starts to wonder what Peggy and Monique are up to. Drinking scotch? Watching television? Staring at their phones playing Temple Run? One could only wonder…

***

“YAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSS! FUCK YEAHHHHHH!!!”

Peggy screams at the top of her lungs as Henry relentlessly pounds into her. No more than seven minutes earlier, Peggy and Henry were ripping each other’s clothes off inside the privacy of her guest bedroom. Now, their clothing (Henry could have sworn he heard something rip) is strewn lazily across the floor. It’s a good thing Lawrence vacuums the carpet at every chance he gets.

Just as Monique is hanging out by herself in the cabaret room making a cocktail, Peggy could not stop making out with this tall handsome black man who happens to be both a great chef and a loyal customer. Once they were both completely naked, Peggy raced to her purse to take out a condom wrapper. It was a normal type of condom, not an “Extra Large” packet that she figured a man like Henry would need. She gave Mr. Jameson’s penis a few sensual strokes with her hand, which was all it needed to fully wake up. Peggy then ripped the foil with her teeth, took out the oily piece of rubber latex, and rolled it onto his erect manhood. His claim that he’s a solid 7.5 inches seems accurate to her. Most guys lie about that sort of thing – especially the guys with whom she talks to during her webcam shows – but Henry isn’t a lying type. Besides, what’s the point of lying when you don’t really need to?

After sheathing him, Henry stuffed his face inside her plump breasts. He’s a “boob guy” and is not afraid to admit it out loud. Eventually, they found themselves on top of the bed. Laying down on her back, Peggy spread her legs wide open, inviting Henry inside. He did not hesitate to go in for the kill. After several minutes of pounding into her with no finesse or absolutely no inclination to take things slowly, he can feel his orgasm impending. Peggy also senses her vaginal muscles tighten in anticipation of a toe-curling climax. Sure enough, they both find the release they are looking for after Henry pounds into her one final time.

“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUUUUUUUUUUUCK YAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!”

Henry and Peggy, like the other couple who were simultaneously making love one floor up, climax together. Henry curses like a drunken sailor as his orgasm drains all the energy from his body. It’s been a long day of running errands, prepping, cooking, cleaning, and waiting for his boss’s three distinguished guests to arrive. He needed some sort of release to burn off all the pent-up tension that was residing inside his body. Doing the dirty with his favorite porn star is exactly what the doctor ordered.

“God damn, baby. That was the best fuck I’ve had in a long, long while,” Peggy says slightly out of breath. While Henry was doing most of the work, she took it upon herself to provide the vocal soundtrack to their mating ritual. Well, they were using protection. That doesn’t mean they weren’t engaged in a mating ritual of sorts. “Good job, baby darling. I really needed that. Mama really, really, really needed that.”

“Really? I’m sure you get plenty of dick whenever you want it. But I appreciate the kind words.” Henry rolls over on his back, sweat dripping off his face. Peggy playfully slaps Henry on the chest to scold him for the implications of what he just said.

“Hold on, are you calling me a whore?” Peggy heartily laughs, clearly not offended. “You’re right. I do get plenty of dick. All the time. But I’m talking about good dick. Good, hard, thick, ruthless dick like yours. I don’t get that all the time. Most of what I get is pretty forgettable. But not you. I’m going to fantasize about this for a long time.” Henry has never heard his penis be described as “ruthless” before, so he’ll accept the compliment. He stands up to go clean up in the bathroom. Peggy watches with amazement at how quickly a man’s penis can go from being as hard as a rock to as soft as a pair of socks the moment after he ejaculates. She also cannot fathom why it takes guys 30 minutes (some older guys need upwards of an hour!) to get hard again. Why can’t men be more like women, who can keep going and going and going until they get tired of orgasming? What’s the deal here? Well, that’s why God invented vibrators, she supposes. They keep pleasing her until the batteries run out of juice.

After disposing of the condom, peeing, and washing his hands with plenty of soap and hot water (even after having sex, Henry still washes his hands like a professional chef who just handled a whole bucket full of raw chicken), Henry returns to the bedroom, only to find Peggy lighting a joint. She doesn’t smoke marijuana all too often, but it’s perfectly legal both in Nevada and Washington State (she purchased it at a pot shop close to Treasure Island in Vegas) so she might as well get high when she’s allowed to. She also has a small amount of cocaine hidden inside an empty tube of lipstick. The TSA agents never catch her with it if she puts the tube inside a small makeup purse. She doesn’t think she’ll snort it tonight (Dylan isn’t known to be an avid drug user since alcohol and muscular women are his vices of choice). However, one can never accurately predict the future.

“Want a hit?” Peggy offers. Henry nods his head, takes the joint from her, and inhales. “I’m lucky it’s legal where I live. It’s legal here too. But not everywhere. So I got to use my supply when I can. I’m constantly flying across the country, so I have to be careful.” Almost like a magical elixir, Peggy feels calmer than before. She could just be exhausted from traveling and getting pounded by Henry’s huge cock. But chances are the cannabis is doing what it’s supposed to be doing.

“I hadn’t thought about that. I don’t travel too much, so I don’t think about it. Plus, I don’t smoke that much. Mostly when I’m hanging out with my homeboys.” Henry returns the joint to Peggy. She takes one more hit before extinguishing the flame on an ashtray and putting it back in her purse. After letting the CBD do its thing, she gets up, closes the window (she doesn’t want the smell of pot to linger inside Dylan’s gorgeous mansion), kisses Henry on the cheek, and places her hands on both of his butt cheeks.

“Let’s go see what Monique is up to. I don’t want her to feel lonely.”

“That’s a good idea. Let’s go.” It is at this moment that Henry realizes he still doesn’t have his boss’s permission to be here this late, especially to hang out with his party guests. Mr. Tanaka is a pretty chill dude, so he can’t imagine he’d be upset at him. Still, it’s considered taboo inside the world of personal chefs to fraternize with your client’s friends without their permission. Henry knows a few chefs who got fired because of that. Let’s hope he isn’t breaking any rules so he doesn’t suffer a similar fate.

Several moments later Henry and Peggy walk into the cabaret room, still as naked as the day they were born. Monique is sitting alone at the bar, sipping on an Old Fashioned made of sugar, bitters, and Macallan 15; while checking her phone for unanswered text messages. There are a few to respond to, but she feels a bit too drunk to answer them properly. She turns around when she hears the doors open.

“Yoo hoo, Monique baby, are you here? We have another special guest with us. You remember the tall beautiful black man who cooked our dinner tonight…” Monique pokes her head around the corner to catch Peggy’s attention. She is surprised to see both Peggy and Henry are still stark naked, not even having the decency to put on a bathrobe or anything. And to think Monique at one point felt weird just wearing panties! She stands up to greet Miss Cole and Dylan’s talented chef. “Ah, there you are! Ooohhh, I see you’ve helped yourself to a drink. Goddamn, I could use one myself. Henry baby, are you an expert mixologist in addition to being a fucking great cook?”

Before he can speak, Henry awkwardly looks at Monique, noticing that she’s practically naked, while he’s fully naked. It seems strange at first, but Henry doubts anyone was under the impression that Dylan’s dinner party wouldn’t include casual nudity at some point. He’s not running a bed and breakfast for Benedictine monks, for crying out loud. Henry and Monique exchange smiles, which appears to be enough to break any embarrassing tension that may exist. Peggy, not surprisingly, dashes toward the bar to fix herself a simple rum and Coke. She opens the freezer to find a tray full of ice cubes ready for her to steal from.

“Good evening, Miss St. Martin. I see the fun has already started around here!” Henry jokes. Monique giggles at Henry’s attempt to put her at ease with humor. It works.

“Oh, it has. It sure has. We just gave Dylan a fun little show an hour ago, or whenever it was. It was delightful. You should have been there, Henry darling.” Monique returns to sipping her drink, trying her hardest not to look down at his enormous penis. Henry considers fixing himself something – an Old Fashioned sure does sound delicious right about now – but decides against it. Maybe later.

“I have no doubt it was amazing, and, uh, very entertaining. But I had chores to do downstairs. Those dirty dishes ain’t gonna clean themselves, if you know what I mean.” The Olympic athlete raises her eyebrows to communicate agreement. By then, Peggy returns from behind the bar and sits down on a bright red sofa. Unconcerned for her nakedness, Henry makes a mental note that he should tell Lawrence later this week to scrub the surfaces of every couch, chair, and barstool in this room. That would benefit everybody. Especially future guests. He’ll decline to provide an explanation, though Lawrence should have no problem figuring out why.

“You deserve a break, and um, a little fun,” Peggy says while sipping her drink. It is stronger than she had anticipated. This is a good thing. “Speaking of which, where’s Dylan and Melanie? Are they doing what I think they’re doing upstairs? Naughty, naughty!”

“Ha, it’s not like you’re so innocent yourself,” Henry reminds her. “You know what? I could use a drink. It’s been a long day at the office, if you catch my drift.” As Henry saunters over to the bar, all three of them hear the doors swing wide open again. This time, Dylan and Melanie walk through, hand-in-hand like old lovers, also completely naked. They also didn’t seem to think putting on something would be necessary. Dylan stops dead in his tracks when he sees his faithful chef approaching the bar, apparently ready to make himself a cocktail.

“Good evening to you all, thank you for letting Melanie and I enjoy some private time together,” Dylan begins. “Well, well, well. Henry! I’m glad to see you. Pleasantly surprised. I thought you had gone home by now. Who will feed your cat?”

“Oh, I think he’ll be just fine. Good evening, Mr. Tanaka.” Henry and Dylan also share an awkward moment of silence together. Both men have endlessly discussed their mutual love for female bodybuilders, however this love has only come in the form of casual conversations around the kitchen. They’ve never done any “intimate” activities with Dylan’s guests together, so this is certainly breaking new ground (for both of them). Sensing his chef is probably feeling more awkward than him, Dylan thinks it would be a good idea to verbalize his approval of him being in their presence.

“Good evening, Henry. I’m so happy you can join us! If you’d like, I’d love for you to stay with us for as long as you want to. You can definitely spend the night in one of the guest rooms if you don’t feel up to driving home. After all, you’re supposed to be back here in less than 12 hours, so you might as well stay.” Henry appears to be genuinely reassured by his boss’s kind invitation. This brings a smile to everyone’s faces. “I think we have a few bottles of champagne in the fridge if anyone is interested in popping a couple of corks of some bubbly.”

“Thanks, Dylan. Thank you for inviting me to stay,” Henry grins at Peggy. She puckers her lips to give him the “kissy, kissy” motion. Dylan, still holding hands with Melanie, could not help but look down quickly at Henry’s prodigious endowment. Dylan had no idea what Henry looked like down there. He didn’t want to stereotype, naturally (especially when enough people casually stereotype men like him), but one can be excused to just assume certain things are true whether they are or not. When men happen to be naked around each other – gym locker rooms are a prime example – subtly glancing down at another guy’s junk to see what it looks like is a common pastime. There’s (usually) nothing overtly sexual about it. It’s just casual research to see what other dudes are packing down there and how you compare to them. That’s it. Dylan cannot help but do the same in this scenario. He’s unsure if Henry is doing the same. In fact, he’d prefer that Henry not do the same.

“Damn, I feel a bit overdressed for the occasion,” Monique observes. “It’s like I stepped into a motherfucking nudist colony, or something!”

“I don’t know girl. Everybody here is naked…except for you!” Peggy scolds Monique. Feeling a combination of peer pressure and reckless abandon, Monique accepts Miss Cole’s challenge and strips off her white panties. The four others cheer her on. She tosses her underwear carelessly to the side, not giving a rat’s ass where it lands.

“Now girl, we’re really at a motherfucking nudist colony!” she announces. This elicits even more cheering from her compatriots.

“Between these walls of my humble abode, we might as well be in a nudist colony,” Dylan says while opening the refrigerator to take out a couple bottles of chilled champagne. As he requested, it’s a Bollinger Special Cuvée, just like his fictional hero, James Bond, would drink. After popping the corks and fishing around the cupboard for five tall champagne glasses, Dylan gleefully pours everyone a generous amount of bubbly. The image of five naked people, three of them muscular women, crowding around a home bar drinking overly expensive champagne must be quite an amusing sight for someone not familiar with the circumstances. Dylan decides to propose a toast.

“To friendship, great company, a better future, and finding your inner light,” Dylan declares as he lifts his glass above his head. The four others mimic their host. “We may not yet know the source of that light. That is for all of us to discover for ourselves. But rest assured. It’s there. Somewhere. We are all unique souls traversing through this rock in outer space toward an unknown destiny. May it be a good one. I think I speak for all of us when I say that we’re all fortunate to have been able to cross paths with each other. Deeply, profoundly fortunate. Cheers.”

“Cheers!” everyone repeats. Dylan and his four guests drink from their frothy glasses.

“Motherfucker, that’s some good ass shit!” Peggy proclaims. “Dylan honey, you know how to live life to the fullest. Yessssssir!”

Melanie wanders off to the A/V booth to turn on some music. Apparently, the jazz mix they started playing earlier for their performance had expired long ago. Dylan thought the music would play on a continuous loop, which apparently is not the case. She quickly searches through a playlist of Top 100 hits, selects a few artists, and begins playing it for all to hear.

“Oooooohhh baby girl! I love me some Missy Elliott! Get it!” Monique puts her glass down on a nearby table and starts to dance all by herself. Henry decides to join in on the fun. Melanie sashays toward Dylan, grabs his hand, twirls him around as if they were at a midwestern dance hall, and sways with him to the beat. Their chests join together, Melanie noticing Dylan’s heartbeat rapidly picking up the pace. They lock eyes, kiss, and continue to rock side-to-side to the song’s beat as Peggy joins the other two in creating a makeshift dance club right here in the cabaret room. Dylan feels Melanie’s firm glutes, which is enough to make his heartbeat quicken its tempo even more. How could it not? He wouldn’t be surprised if he got another erection right here in front of everyone. That wouldn’t be out of place for how the evening has gone so far.

If he were to get hard again, he and Melanie would certainly know how to deal with that particular situation. For now, he’s content to just enjoy the music and dance along with his four friends.

Little did anyone in this room know that this would be the highlight of their evening. The festivities would soon come to a crashing halt. Not yet, but soon enough. Unbeknownst to any of the five naked partiers in attendance was the fact that as they were dancing the night away, five armed thieves were caravanning over Interstate 90 at 65 mph with Dylan’s home as their intended destination.

Porn for the Whole Family

Debbie Bramwell showing off her best assets.

Since we are now living in the era of COVID-19 stay-at-home quarantine orders, families are spending more time together than they were before. Well, maybe since the Great Depression, which wiped out the global economy, drained our resources, and was followed by World War II.

So what are families up to these days? Watching lots of Netflix and Disney+, no doubt. The Marvel Cinematic Universe movies are pretty harmless. So is Star Wars. And that Michael Jordan documentary everyone’s been talking about. Or seeing what the latest trends on YouTube, Snapchat, or TikTok happen to be. Or playing too much Fortnite. If you have no idea what those things are, don’t feel bad for feeling old. We all get there eventually.

One thing I can guarantee not too many families are doing is sitting around the computer and watching videos of female bodybuilders.

Yeah, that’s probably not a trend that’s going to catch on, unlike baking your own bread, sewing your own facemasks, or learning dance moves you saw on Instagram. We may not call it by this name, but watching porn isn’t exactly a family-friendly activity.

However, as odd as this may sound, not all porn is explicit, dirty, or socially unacceptable.

Some porn is PG-13 clean. Fun for the whole family.

Huh?

Fans of female bodybuilders know full well two strange and not-so-contradictory things:

      1. Our taste in muscular women is unusual
      2. The way we enjoy muscular women isn’t too kinky

On the first point, it is true that female muscle fetishism isn’t too common. Or more specifically, it’s not an interest that many of us are open to admitting. It’s impossible to say how many people are “into” FBBs in any serious manner, so let’s not try to guess. But it’s probably safe to say it’s a relatively smaller number in relation to the total human population on Earth.

Lindsay Mulinazzi should have been a supermodel.

On the second point, it should be noted that not all FBB fans are built the same. Some people are really into the kinky stuff, such as femdom roleplaying, domination, submission, sadomasochism, and other such activities. Others, on the other hand, simply enjoy the look, feel, and personalities of muscular women. We love watching them flex their enormous biceps rather than fantasize about them pouring hot candle wax on our balls as they give us a blow job while hanging us upside down. There’s nothing wrong with the latter, but it’s inaccurate to say that this represents the whole herd.

FBB fans may be into some kinky stuff, but normally it’s within fairly mainstream boundaries. We want to do things with an FBB that isn’t radically different from what we would normally do with a non-muscular professional dominatrix.

Or, FBB fans love muscular women for perfectly, uh, “vanilla” reasons (for lack of a better term). We love their strength (both physical and emotional), their curves, their ripped muscles, their personalities, and their unique display of femininity. We love them in ways that aren’t particularly unusual or strange once you think about it. It may seem odd at first, but it gets less odd the more you empathize with our passions.

Case in point: Watch this really quick video of Debbie Bramwell. It’s very simple in its setup but unbelievably erotic.

Have you finished watching it yet? Good. Let’s proceed.

This format is common for many FBB videos you’ll encounter on the Internet: A female bodybuilder posing in a hotel room. Usually in very little clothing. Usually with either no music or some pop song from the 1980’s that you’ve already forgotten about. It’s simple, easy, budget-friendly, and devilishly effective.

Maggie Watson at the gym while showing off why she goes to the gym.

All you need is a female bodybuilder, sexy lingerie or swimsuit, a camera, and a private space to record your video. It doesn’t have to be a hotel room. It could be someone’s living room, bedroom, backyard, or public beach. But there’s no need for elaborate set pieces, BDSM paraphernalia, or CGI visual effects. You don’t need special effects to make these ladies super muscular. They’ve accomplished that on their own!

Getting back to this video, this is Debbie at her finest. This is, in the humble opinion of this writer, one of the most erotic videos you’ll ever find on the web. Is it the #1 sexiest video I’ve ever seen? Eh, no. But it’s certainly up there!

In it, Debbie is sitting on a hotel bed wearing white lace lingerie. She’s showing off her muscles for the camera, putting special emphasis on her immaculate arms. Her veiny biceps are a delightful sight to behold. Her dark tanned skin perfectly showcases every curve, vein, and muscle fiber. This is why lighter-skinned bodybuilders need to spray tan their bodies before appearing on a competition stage. Darker skin allows you to see their definition better. Debbie demonstrates here why that’s the case, as if that argument needs to be made. After you catch your breath and wait for your heart rate to return back to normal, you’ll notice a few noteworthy observations:

      1. The video is simple
      2. The video is highly erotic
      3. The video doesn’t contain any graphic nudity or sexual content
      4. The video is on YouTube, not Pornhub

The outfit Debbie is wearing is quite sexy, but it’s not out-of-the-ordinary. Other than her extraordinary large muscles, you could just as likely see this in a magazine ad, shopping mall, fashion catalog, promoted Facebook post, or TV commercial. In other words, the concept of this video isn’t out of the mainstream, even though the specific subject is. We see images of beautiful women in their underwear all the time, unless you live under a rock or on an Amish plantation. The only thing that’s unusual about this video is that the woman in question happens to have large muscles. Other than that, it’s pretty basic. Very vanilla.

But the response it generates from us is – without question – worthy of discussion. I can’t speak for anyone but myself, so I’ll do just that. This video is really, really, really sexy. I mean, unspeakably sexy. Indescribably sexy. Incomprehensibly sexy. Debbie isn’t my favorite FBB of all time (she’s not even in my top 10), but in this short video that’s not even a minute and a half, she quickly reminds me why I fell in love with female bodybuilders in the first place. They made me feel things that very few other things could. I am reminded of back when I was 12 years old and I was first introduced to women like Pamela Anderson, Carmen Electra, Rena Mero (WWF’s Sable, for you kids who didn’t grow up in the 1990’s), Famke Janssen, and Monica Bellucci. As an adolescent boy, these women made my spine tingle, my vision turn hazy, and my, uh, private parts increase in blood flow. As I grew older, I figured those days would eventually fade away, as I become more desensitized to seeing beautiful women.

When you were a kid, do you remember walking past a store like this and wondering why mommy and daddy tried to distract you with promises of buying ice cream?

But then I discovered female bodybuilders at the tender age of 18. So 6 years after turning 12, I started to experience those same pubescent shenanigans all over again. Even today, re-watching this video of Miss Bramwell conjures up those same emotional responses. And I’m in my early 30s!

More so than any other video, I have such an uncontrollable urge to reach into my computer screen and rip off Debbie’s white lacey top. I want to see ALL OF HER. I can’t help it. It MUST happen. It’s a crime for her to wear that small piece of underwear. To cover up her beautiful body with such a meager piece of fabric. The same goes for her panties. WHY MUST SHE COVER UP THOSE PARTS OF HER? If she’s willing to show off 90% of her body, why can’t I see the other 10% of it? The fact she’d tease me like that seems almost cruel. I hope I’m not the only one who feels this way.

Then, eventually the rational part of my brain returns and talks some sense into me. Debbie is under no obligation to give me everything I want. From what I can tell, she keeps things really clean. She doesn’t do full nudity or participate in graphic sexual activities on camera. She keeps things PG-13 (or 12A for my readers in the United Kingdom). This is about as “explicit” as she gets. Yet, that is enough. The adult in me understands that not everyone is comfortable showing off everything. Everyone has their limits. And that is their prerogative.

The same could be said for Cindy Landolt, Theresa Ivancik, or Minna Pajulahti. They do not want to show us everything. Yet, they show us enough. And we should be grateful for that.

Need further examples? Sure you do!

Take a look at this two-minute video featuring Lindsay Mulinazzi. Or this gem from Alina Popa. What do all these videos have in common? You guessed it: They’re both unbelievably sexy and remarkably unexplicit.

Oh Cindy Landolt. How gorgeous are you?

Debbie, Lindsay, and Alina are dreams come true. They make us feel things in our souls that very few other things can. They make our hearts race a little faster and our breathing quicken. They make us want to relieve our built-up tension in, well, intimate ways that require privacy and maybe a little cleanup work afterward. These videos are highly erotic. They elicit physical and emotional responses out of us that more mainstream hardcore porn cannot replicate. This is, by definition, softcore porn. These women are dressed in ways that are perfectly acceptable at any public beach or water park. Open up the pages of Sports Illustrated or Vogue magazine and you’ll see women dressed exactly as they are. No need to purchase a contraband issue of Playboy or Hustler and hide it underneath your mattress. No need to open a private web browser and search through Pornhub. Nah, just do a simple search on YouTube and you can find all three of these gloriously simple videos.

And therein lies the contradiction at play here. When we think of the word “pornographic,” we usually think about hardcore elements like penetrative sex, kinky roleplaying, and graphic nudity. We think about Denise Masino’s 15-minute long videos where the camera lingers up-close near her vagina, giving us a free gynecological exam. We think about Yvette Bova’s 30-minute long videos where she gang bangs multiple guys one after another. We think about Brandi Mae Akers leaving nothing to the imagination. Normally, this is how our society defines “porn.” Explicit. Raunchy. Graphic. Socially unacceptable. Taboo. Forbidden. Guilt-ridden.

But technically speaking, this isn’t always true. “Porn” is defined on Wikipedia as “the portrayal of sexual subject matter for the exclusive purpose of sexual arousal.” That’s it. Any media that stimulates sexual arousal. It doesn’t have to be explicit, though it often is. It can be as hardcore as anything you’ll find on Pornhub or Xhamster, or as nongraphic as anything you’ll find on YouTube. Does graphic nudity occasionally slip through YouTube’s filters and community guidelines? Sure. But you know what I mean.

This is what I mean by FBB porn being appropriate for the whole family. It’s not literally true, but technically true. You may not gather the whole family around the dinner table and watch videos of Debbie Bramwell flexing her biceps for the camera, but you wouldn’t hesitate to take your family out to a shopping mall (back when such institutions were open, of course) and occasionally stroll by a Victoria’s Secret store. Those wall-to-wall advertisements that stretch from the ceiling to the floor are just as explicit as what you’ll see in the three videos I’ve shared. Yet, we don’t necessarily consider those corporate promotional displays as being pornographic.

Moar Alina Popa content, plz.

But in a way, they are. Which, by extension, also means modest videos of FBBs strutting around in their underwear are also pornographic.

However, it’s not just the surface-level content of those videos that make them so erotically charged. It’s the reaction they get from us. Debbie Bramwell isn’t my favorite FBB of all time, but in the moment as I’m watching her flex for the camera in white lace underwear, she might as well be a Muscle Goddess Sent From Heaven. Because she sure seems like one! But this illustrates the fascinating dynamic at play. It’s the ultimate irony. I could watch an hour-long video of generic skinny ladies in their early 20s have group sex with a bunch of generic faceless dudes and get bored really fast. We see boobs bouncing up and down. We see pussies being pounded into submission. We see semen get blasted in their faces. We see lots of explicit stuff that’s without question NSFW. But it’s all so boring. And basic. And uncreative. And sleep-inducing.

Yet, I can watch that video of Debbie (if you do the math, you basically get about 60 seconds worth of Debbie content) with my eyes glued to the screen and hope I don’t suffer cardiac arrest when it’s all over. I’m captivated. My imagination goes into overdrive. I feel the sudden urge to relieve my tension in the privacy of my apartment. The same goes for Lindsay content. And Alina content. And when I scroll through Cindy Landolt’s Instagram pages.

On the surface, it’s appropriate for the whole family. But for a certain number of us, it sends our hormones into thermonuclear warfare. The 90% of her body that Debbie is willing to show off is 10,000 times more erotic than the 100% your typical nameless pornographic actress will display ad nauseam. Maybe 10,000 is an underestimation.

We are frustrated that Debbie won’t show off her goods. We are itching to reach through our computer screens, tear off her underwear, and toss it into the garbage can where it belongs. We crave to see Debbie in her full glory. Yet, we don’t need to. Debbie has generously shown us everything we need to see. We are not entitled to more. We should be thankful for the content we already have at our fingertips.

Thus, this is the perplexing predicament we find ourselves in. What really sets us off is, oddly enough, the benign. What really turns us on are women who possess a physique that only the 1% of the 1% of the 1% can say they’ve attained. Debbie, Lindsay, and Alina are in rare company. They are unicorns. They are the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Because of this, it doesn’t take much for them to make us go mad. We become crazy, deranged, and uncontrollably irrational at the simplest things.

A beautiful woman in her underwear.

A beautiful woman in a bikini.

A beautiful woman working out at the gym.

A beautiful woman walking down the street.

It’s all so uncomplicated. Yet so majestic. The whole family can see things like it on an everyday basis, but not everyone will appreciate it as much. Not everyone agrees that female bodybuilders are gorgeous creatures who deserve respect. Not everyone is in that camp.

But we are. And that’s a beautiful thing.

The Perfectly Normal Female Bodybuilder

There’s nothing normal about Margie Martin.

Fans of female bodybuilders often describe them in the most robust and hyperbolic terms: Angels. Goddesses. Queens. Alpha females. Dominant. Powerful. Stronger sex. And so on.

While this reaction is completely understandable, it obfuscates a larger truth that, at first, may seem like an insult but is anything but: Female bodybuilders are normal people.

Wait, what?

Yes, this is true. The strong muscular ladies we love are just like you and I. Just like Hollywood celebrities who occasionally suffer through bad hair days, messy divorces, professional setbacks, and cabin fever from being quarantined indoors (although it must be nice to live in a luxurious mansion during these difficult times), at the end of the day they’re just like us. Sort of. The same is true for female bodybuilders, even if it doesn’t always seem like it.

Female bodybuilders carry an almost mythical social status to their fans. We describe them in divine ethereal terms because they do seem nearly God-like. Or sent by the gods. Or a physical manifestation of God. Or a literal god. We treat them – even though we theoretically know they’re simply human beings who’ve achieved something marvelous – like deities because bombastic terms are the only terms that seem appropriate. It feels insulting to frame them as being beautiful women with big muscles. Our descriptions of them must go the extra mile because not only do they deserve it (and they do), to not do so would seem like a gross mischaracterization.

Yet, as much overhyped praise we may shower upon them, it is valuable to remember that FBBs are simply normal human beings who are no different than the rest of us. This is important not just for ethical reasons (there is no excuse for abusing or harassing a female bodybuilder you have a celebrity crush on) but for practical reasons as well. Female bodybuilders were not born that way. They did not purchase their muscles from a grocery store or online boutique. They earned their muscles through hard work, sacrifice, grinding away day after day, and making life choices that most of us would reject in a heartbeat.

Most of us could live like a bodybuilder for a couple of weeks. But very few of us could last for several years. Or decades.

Aleesha Young didn’t get to be this way by sitting on the couch eating Oreos.

This is why for me, I do not find female muscle growth fiction (FMG) very appealing. I understand why certain people love that sort of content – both as consumers and creators – but that’s not my jam. This is no disrespect to anyone who does love FMG art, just an expression of a personal opinion. I’m not into FMG because part of the reason why I love FBBs is specifically because of the hard work and sacrifices they must endure in order to achieve their coveted physiques. The lifestyle of a professional (or dedicated amateur) bodybuilder isn’t easy. One does not become that massive by accident, happenstance, or through shortcuts (no, steroids does not automatically make you that large). It requires focus, determination, intentionality, and making difficult decisions that could have lasting repercussions.

One of the reasons I love female bodybuilders is because they “earn their beauty.” Some FBBs – and I will respectfully withhold naming any names – are not born with natural traditional beauty. But don’t worry! They more than make up for it by transforming their bodies into the statuesque figures of muscle goddesses. A woman (or man, for that matter) who isn’t blessed with genetic beauty can become an Irresistible Muscle Queen through hard work, blood, sweat, tears, and the belief that human limitations are subjective. They “earn their beauty” in the same way we earn a paycheck at work. Nobody not named Andrew Yang wants to give us money for doing nothing, so we must earn it. Likewise, female bodybuilders earn the adoration of fans like us because they too have earned it.

FBBs are perfectly normal because that is how they started out in life. “Normal” is the default, not an insult. We are all normal to a certain extent. Whether or not we transcend that normalcy is entirely dependent upon what choices we make in life. It should be obvious that every female bodybuilder has made a series of choices that make them abnormal in the eyes of society. And for the record, “abnormal” isn’t an insult, but rather a descriptor.

I love FBBs not because they are more than human, but because they are perfectly human. They are not goddesses or angels. They are regular flesh-and-blood human beings who live by the same laws of physics, science, and biology as the rest of us. They haven’t “cheated” science through divine means. Synthetic steroids and human growth hormones may seem like cheating from a competitive perspective, but it’s still science. Like I said before, steroids are not a magic potion. They’re not an elixir conjured up by a coven of witches hiding in a mountainous cave. To believe that is to misunderstand what steroids actually are.

A gorgeous shot of the beautiful Theresa Ivancik.

Setting aside the steroid debate for a moment, FBBs are especially beautiful because they have chosen a path that is scientifically feasible, but emotionally and physically difficult. It’s not a mystery how Rene Campbell became as massive as she is. We all know how she did it. In fact, thanks to social media many bodybuilders (both male and female) are remarkably transparent about their daily routine, diet, training regimen, and supplementation choices. The instruction manual has been laid out for us. But not everyone is willing to roll up their sleeves and assemble the Ikea kitchen cabinet themselves.

And unlike climbing a mountain, planting a flag, and taking a selfie to prove that you did it, once you become super muscular, you must continue to work hard day-in and day-out to maintain your physique. Rene’s muscles will shrink if she stops lifting, eating right, and supplementing regularly. So in order for her to remain in top shape, she must continuously live the bodybuilder lifestyle as long as she wants to look the way she looks. But once you’ve climbed the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro, you can brag about that accomplishment for the rest of your life. Nothing can take that away from you. It’s yours forever.

But a muscular physique does not last forever. It would be like climbing a mountain that never ends. Or hiking up a trail conceived by M.C. Escher – just when you think you’ve reached the top, you realize you’re still at the bottom. Which means the only way you can go is forward without risking falling backward.

Maybe this is why I always preferred the Indiana Jones, Die Hard, and Mission: Impossible movies over anything Marvel has produced over the past several years. There’s something fun about seeing a “normal” person (in Hollywood terms, I’m using that word loosely) rise up to the circumstances and defeat the forces of evil using nothing but his sheer willpower, intelligence, cunning, improvisational skills, and luck. Watching superheroes like Wonder Woman, Superman, The Incredible Hulk, and Thor smash bad guys into a pulp is fun enough, but it gets dull after the first five minutes. There’s something about having a superpower that makes the action less exciting.

Tina Nguyen rocking the yellow dress.

Likewise, female bodybuilders don’t have superpowers. They weren’t given large muscle mass by some magic spell, scientific experiment, or divine intervention. On the contrary, nobody gave it to them. They had to earn it. Bit by bit. Day by day. Little by little.

“The Perfectly Normal Female Bodybuilder” is, in fact, the highest compliment I can give someone. It acknowledges reality and expresses how impressive the existence of an FBB really is – and why we all must respect their accomplishments. She is not a freak. She is not a genetic outlier. She is not special. Rather, she is perfectly normal…and has chosen to become abnormal through readily available means and methods.

This should be a valuable reminder why we must be especially thankful to female bodybuilders (as if we really needed another reason!). We are not entitled to their existence. We do not deserve them. We do not have them because we asked nicely. FBBs exist because they choose to exist. You or I had nothing to do with it. FBBs look the way they look because they want to look that way. The rest of us are along for the ride. We are a passive audience, not an active participant. Without us, FBBs could still exist. To believe otherwise is to demonstrate a horrid lack of humility.

We should be thankful for FBBs because they have the option to “undo” their accomplishments and deprive us of their beautiful bodies. When a muscular woman decides to “retire” and give up the lifestyle, it’s understandable why many of us greet this news with the feelings of melancholy. It feels tragic because it feels like a death. Her muscles will, over time, slowly “die” and disintegrate into nothingness. The human being still lives on, but her muscles have retreated into the afterlife. However, we should also be thankful for the fact that there are hundreds of more women who will gladly take her place. So the supply chain isn’t broken. But that doesn’t mean we can’t “mourn” every loss when it comes to us.

Just as FBBs can return to “normal” after a year or two of not training and eating a high protein diet, “normal” women can become as statuesque as Cindy Landolt or Aleesha Young if they put their minds to it and do what it takes to achieve that look. “Normal” is a two-way street. Whether you’re leaning into the FBB lifestyle or taking a step back, nothing about you changes. You’re still the same mortal human being you were either way. Your outer shell can morph in a variety of ways. This doesn’t affect your inner self.

Yaxeni Oriquen-Garcia looks to be feeling lucky tonight.

But if we’re being honest for a moment, that’s really what this is all about. Who you are – or can become – on the inside. What really defines us is who we are as people, not how we look or appear. Muscles come and go. Your body is just one part of your identity (albeit an important part, no doubt). The other part – arguably the most important part – is how you treat people, your surroundings, and your legacy.

Inner growth. Emotional growth. Intellectual growth. Developing into a better human being who can make a real impact in people’s lives. Isn’t that the essence of living on planet Earth for the short finite amount of time we have here? Shouldn’t we all strive to leave our planet in better shape than when we arrived on it? To say during our lifetime that we truly made a difference? Not all of us have an epic legacy that future generations will remember. Some of us will be remembered by millions, others will be remembered by a few hundred. But every one of us can control what we do in the here and now.

Nobody said it would be easy. Life throws curveballs at us all the damn time. We may occasionally swing and miss, but at least we’ll go down swinging. Female bodybuilders are teaching us this lesson: you cannot hit a homerun without swinging your bat. Staying still will achieve nothing. But this choice isn’t just reserved for an elite few. Rather, this is a choice any one of us can make.

Any one of us. No matter how “normal” you think you are.

COVID-19 and the Socially Distant Female Bodybuilder

Who wouldn’t want to be quarantined with Cindy Phillips?

As of this writing, the world is given the unexpected and ultimately thankless task of having to deal with the outbreak of COVID-19, a particularly nasty strain of the coronavirus that originated in Wuhan, China. We do not yet know how long this international crisis will last or what the ultimate cost will be in terms of human life, economic health, and social structures. What we do know is that lawmakers are issuing orders for citizens to practice “Social Distancing,” which basically means staying at least six feet away from people and living life as a government-imposed hermit.

COVID-19 knows no national borders, does not respect cultural norms, and can spread like wildfire if it’s not properly contained. This is why these drastic measures – which also include shutting down certain businesses, laying off employees who work at those businesses, and encouraging those who can still work to work remotely – are deemed necessary by our elected (and non-elected, depending on where you live) leaders.

Quite bothersome, this inconsiderate variation of the coronavirus happens to be!

“Social distancing” is quite the academic term for staying at home and binge-watching Netflix all day (even if you’re supposed to be “working” away from the office). Yet, this has become a commonly used colloquial expression that will no doubt show up on the list of “Word of the Year” when 2020 is all said and done. Assuming we all make it that far, of course. Oof.

For fans of female bodybuilders, these trying times add an additional level of turmoil. Due to travel restrictions, muscle worship and fantasy wrestling sessions are on hold indefinitely. Female bodybuilders and wrestlers aren’t able to travel from city to city…and many would-be customers aren’t allowed to leave the house unless they’re healthcare workers, heading to the grocery store, or going for a jog around the neighborhood. Like the restaurant business and other service industries, the Female Muscle Economy is going to experience a major financial recession in the coming weeks. Clearly, this is a no-win situation for everyone involved.

Yet, one cannot help but notice a striking similarity between feeling distant from co-workers, family members, and neighbors and actually being geographically distant from female bodybuilders. Unless you live in Southern California, parts of Brazil, or are lucky enough to happen to know a few FBBs personally, most of us are (unfortunately) not within close proximity to the muscular ladies we adore. We’re “socially distant” from them by default, not by choice. This is considerably frustrating for those of us who love muscular women, since our tastes for the finer things in life are not easily satiated.

Do female bodybuilders and fantasy wrestlers travel across the country to meet up with clients? Well, yes (in normal times, obviously). If you live in a big enough city, can you purchase a ticket to a bodybuilding competition? Once again, yes, this is an option. So our access to muscular women isn’t nonexistent, but they aren’t nearly as common as, say, the cute girl you meet at the bar drinking alone (or at least you think she’s alone). From what we can tell, there isn’t a designated watering hole where FBBs frequent in mass quantities. So the interactions you do have with a small number of FBBs will be few and far between by default.

It would be hard to stay indoors if Linda Steele did photoshoots like this everyday.

This brings into focus the observation that female muscle fandom can be so frustrating at times because of how distant we are from our beloved ladies. Female bodybuilding is not mainstream. Female bodybuilders are not mainstream. They aren’t celebrities in the traditional sense of the word. Perhaps they are within the microscopic world that we inhabit together (including the readers of this very blog), but not outside of it. Our frustration isn’t major, but it’s ever present.

FBBs can feel like a rainbow-colored unicorn at times. Or buried treasure on a deserted island. Or a supernova. Or galaxies outside the Milky Way. Or Bigfoot. They don’t feel real in a practical sense. We know intellectually that muscular women exist in this world, but we have to proactively go searching for them in order to observe them. Theoretical quantum physics tells us that multiple parallel universes may exist. But no human being has been able to witness one outside of our own. That doesn’t mean the multiverse doesn’t exist, of course. It just means we haven’t been able to see it with our own eyes. Likewise, we know female bodybuilders exist because we have the Internet, old muscle magazines collecting dust in our attics, and Instagram feeds to scroll through. But can we simply walk our dog through a public park and casually see a few FBBs jogging alongside us? No. No, we cannot.

The Socially Distant Female Bodybuilder is the default in our lives. They are beautiful creatures who might as well exist in mythology. We should be reading about them in medieval literature classes or watching them in National Geographic documentaries. Before COVID-19 started disrupting our lives, you could easily go to the grocery store, gym, or nightclub and see lots of young women who look just as beautiful as Ariana Grande or Taylor Swift. Heck, I’m pretty sure I went to high school with at least a dozen girls who looked like Billie Eilish. So because of that, mainstream celebrities don’t feel as “mythological” because we can observe in our everyday lives people who (for the most part) resemble them. Their “normal” counterparts are a dime a dozen.

But muscular women like Amber Deluca or Theresa Ivancik? Yeah, they are not a dime a dozen. One does not simply (walk into Mordor?) go to a trendy sports bar and see a world-class female bodybuilder hanging out with her buddies eating chicken wings and nursing a beer while watching to see if her March Madness (may you R.I.P. in 2020) bracket gets busted. And if you do happen to stumble across that sort of scene, good for you. But that is not the norm for the majority of us. And because this is not normal, it’s easy to think of FBBs as being closer to unicorns than a celebrity sighting in Malibu.

Here’s a personal anecdote: I haven’t met with too many loyal readers in real life, but one time I did several years ago. He’s from a different country but was in town to visit relatives. He emailed me a few weeks before and asked if I wanted to grab coffee with him. I enthusiastically agreed. It’s not too often that you can have a candid discussion about female muscle fandom with someone who truly “gets” where you’re coming from! After work I drove 30 minutes to where his in-laws live. We met at a Starbucks located in a strip mall and talked for more than an hour. We discussed our mutual love for muscular women, our experiences participating in muscle worship sessions, and who some of our favorite ladies are. What a refreshing experience!

Nothing like getting your fix of Maggie Watson.

However, there was one thing he said that has always stuck in my mind. He said the first time he ever met an FBB for a session was a jarring experience. Yeah, I thought to myself, it is! He said he felt slightly disappointed that she wasn’t super tall. I thought that was a strange observation. Most women aren’t super tall. On average, women tend to be shorter than men. She was big in every other way, he tells me, but not nearly as tall as he was expecting. Huh? You actually think all female bodybuilders are tall? If you flip through old magazines or scroll through Wikipedia pages of prominent female competitors, most of them are between 5 to 6 feet tall, the majority of them on the lower end of that spectrum. Most FBBs aren’t as tall as NBA players because most women in general aren’t as tall as NBA players. FBBs weren’t born that way. They began life just like everybody else. So why would they be naturally taller?

Then it hit me why he would think that way. His whole life he’s cultivated in his mind a fantasy image of what an FBB looks like. In their photos, they look larger than life. A clever photographer or camera operator can make a short person seem huge if they’re shot from an upward angle. Especially if the FBB is the only person in frame. A short person is only short if he or she is short in comparison to the other people they’re around. The same goes for a tall person. Short and tall are all relative.

But my friend here, who up to this point had never actually met a female bodybuilder up-close in real life, thought all FBBs were tall because that’s what his fantasy of FBBs told him. To him – and to all of us – FBBs are larger than life. In every way imaginable. But in reality, they aren’t quite so big as we think they are. Don’t get me wrong! FBBs are really big ladies. But they aren’t gargantuan. They aren’t monsters. They’re human beings. They’re just as tall (or short) as most women you meet in everyday life. They just have a lot more meat on their bones. They’re bulkier, but not like the Incredible Hulk. They’re not cartoon characters. They’re still human beings.

Wendy Fortino slaying in that dress.

Your typical FBB isn’t 6’ 5” and weighs 300 pounds. They’re probably more like 5’ 4” and 175 pounds. Does this disappoint you? Whether it does or doesn’t, that’s the truth.

This is true of every walk of life, but the more socially distant we are from certain kinds of people the more likely we are to develop cartoonish perceptions of them. This is especially true in the scumbag world of politics. Even a woman like Nataliya Kuznetsova, who comes the closest to being a “cartoon character come to life,” is rare among her fellow female bodybuilders. She’s in the 1 percent of the 1 percent of the 1 percent. In a past article, I dubbed her as the “Ultimate Real Human Photoshop Illusion.” This is still true.

Most FBBs will look more like Cindy Phillips or Brandi Mae Akers. If they wore sweatpants and an overcoat, you’d never guess that these ladies are bodybuilders. Nataliya, on the other hand, is so damn bulky that no matter what she does she’ll always stick out like a sore thumb. But that’s her brand. Her raison d’être is to defy scientific limitations. She strives to break our expectations of what is or isn’t possible. So my friend – and many of you also – expected the typical FBB to look like Nataliya…when not even Nataliya can look like Nataliya forever (I have my doubts about how healthy that lifestyle is over a long period of time).

Nataliya Kuznetsova isn’t typical, which is why we must treasure her more.

These warped perceptions are a product of being socially distant from FBBs. It didn’t take a global pandemic to make this obvious. But this is the price we pay for indulging in a niche fetish. It is not readily available. It is a rare opportunity for us to satisfy our urges. Getting our “fix” of female muscle comes at a hefty price tag. But when we do get the chance to live out our fantasies IRL, it’s a treasured experience that we’ll never forget.

I have no idea when the COVID-19 crisis will come to an end. Hopefully very soon. And with a limited number of fatalities. But there’s no doubt that this has caused major rifts in our society that will take months – maybe years – to recover from. For now, it’s an inconvenience bordering on a major catastrophe if global markets become too volatile. The world economy will take a hit, a reality that applies to much more than the Female Muscle Industrial Complex. But when this is all over, it seems prudent that this will force us to wake up to the fact that a civilized society is one that is resilient, adaptable, and rational. We will get through this if we make the right decisions, stand up for our principles, and do our part (no matter how small it may seem) to stop the spread of this disease. Or any future disease.

Like female bodybuilders, we must be tough, persistent, strategic, headstrong, and arrogant in believing we can overcome this. While FBBs may be socially distant from us, their attitude towards life is something every single one of us can replicate. We don’t need to be in close physical proximity to them to learn the lessons they’ve taught us. Even if it’s from a distance.

FBB Video Review #1: Denise Masino and the Leopard Dress

A new recurring feature I’m going to introduce in 2020 is FBB Video Reviews, in which I break down a sexy video featuring a female bodybuilder (or two, or three, or four) doing her thing. The videos could be ones that I personally love or they could come from reader suggestions.

Have a suggestion of one I should review? Email me at ryantakahashi87 (at) yahoo (dot) com. Or you can let me know in the comments below. Whichever you prefer.

For our maiden voyage, let’s dive into one featuring the incomparable Denise Masino. It should be no secret that Denise is my favorite female bodybuilder of all time. She’s amazing beyond words. One can never succinctly describe why she’s so incredible to behold. But she is nevertheless. Denise is sexy, smart, savvy, affable, and delivers exactly what her fans crave. That’s a lethal combination that not too many of her peers can match. A few do, but they’re few and far between.

This particular video looks to have been produced by Denise Masino herself. In today’s world, that seems to be the best bet when you want to create content that fits your own preferred style and tone. You can see more content like this if you become a subscriber on her website.

Watch Video

0:00 – Right off the bat, we see Denise wearing a sexy leopard skin dress that generously shows off her strong arms, thick meaty legs, and curvy feminine figure. She appears to be on the porch of someone’s house (her home or someone else’s residence? Who knows…) in broad daylight. Whether a neighbor was able to sneak a peek at the filming of this video is unknown. If a lucky bastard was able to crouch behind a kitchen window and watch the action unfold, more power to him!

The residence appears to be by a lake, so maybe an alligator was able to witness it all.

0:21 – The lighting isn’t ideal, which probably means the camera’s auto exposure adjustment feature wasn’t working yet. But we are distracted by Denise waving to us. It’s a miracle we haven’t died from cardiac arrest yet.

0:26 – Oh good. The camera’s exposure finally kicks in. We can now see Denise in her full glory!

0:32 – The camera moves down toward the floor and we can clearly see she isn’t wearing any panties. Yowza! It’s difficult to make out what her bits look like, but we’ll eventually find out.

One side note about the music. Yes, the music in porn is much maligned and often parodied. But in this case, it works on a thematic level. The music is upbeat, positive, and not necessarily sexually charged. It communicates openness, fun, and a casual spirit of joy. This video is also filmed outdoors in broad daylight. Not in a dark dungeon or BDSM-themed room. There are no dramatic lighting choices or distracting music. It blends into the background. Denise wants us to relax and enjoy the moment. She allows her body to take centerstage. That’s the only thing that we need to focus on. And it’s safe to say that we definitely are!

1:06 – Denise flexes her arms for us, reminding her audience that she’s a bodybuilder, not just a sexy lady who’s currently performing in an erotic video. The vein popping out of her arm is hard to not notice. When she flexes her left bicep, we instantly know that Denise is a genuinely strong woman – both literally and figuratively. The way she makes her bicep dance up and down is both tantalizing and hypnotic.

2:00 – I’m not into feet, but anyone who happens to be are in for a real treat. Lots of guys are really turned on by this sort of thing, but not me. But hey, I don’t judge. Whatever you’re into is cool with me! I’m in no position to judge someone on their personal fetish.

2:34 – Though I’m not into feet, I am into legs. Holy mackerel! Those heels bring out her calves, hamstrings, and quads like nothing else. I don’t know if she could crush a watermelon between her thighs, but I’d sure like to one day find out.

3:07 – We start to see a bit more of what Denise possesses between her gorgeous legs. Things are still covered up with her dress, but she’s definitely not shy about letting us know that her feminine bits are just as intriguing as the rest of her. She’s got big muscles, but she’s also got alluring stuff where the sun doesn’t traditionally shine. Perhaps soon the sun will in fact shine down there…

3:10 – Our first close-up of Denise’s nether regions. I can sense my heart attack building up inside my nervous system. It’s only a matter of time before my next-door neighbor needs to call an ambulance on my behalf. Maybe the paramedics and I can watch this video together.

4:14 – I’m not sure how comfortable that pose is, but we’re sure enjoying the view! That’s the life of a supermodel, though. You’re constantly forced to contort your body in all sorts of disjointed positions for the sake of getting that perfect sexy shot. We’re all thankful for it, even though it’s probably a pain in the ass to maintain. For that level of commitment, we are eternally grateful.

4:24 – Her top finally comes off, revealing her full breasts and perky nipples. If you need further mental reinforcement that Denise is in fact a feminine woman – and that muscular development does not turn a woman into a man or into a masculine lady – this should be it. Need more persuasion that big muscles on a woman can be incredibly sensual?

4:43 – Our first prominent shot at Denise’s labia. If you aren’t familiar with Miss Masino’s past work, this image may come as a shock to you. If you are already familiar with her, this is the moment we’ve all been waiting for. It’s her calling hard. Her prized possession. Her most famous asset. It’s the part of her that makes us return to her again and again. You will see why a little later.

5:17 – The way she’s stroking it almost looks like she’s preparing it for action. She isn’t masturbating yet. This is almost like “pre-masturbation,” or priming the pump. She’s warming up. She’s casually tossing the football back and forth to her receivers right before kick-off, loosening up her arm in anticipation of the Big Game. But her sport is much different than football, baseball, or basketball. MUCH different!

5:45 – Finally, she’s completely naked! Took her long enough. I was worried there for a while. Totally concerned.

Not really. But whatever. You get my drift.

5:51 – This is our first shot of her entire nude body. This is her. This is Denise. She’s not hiding anything. Her position implies that she’s consciously on full display. Like a priceless marble statue at The Louvre, Miss Masino wants the whole world to see her for who she is. She’s not holding back anymore. No more modesty. This is where Denise announces to the world that she’s a work of art in flesh form. She’s an artist and her own body is her canvas. The dumbbells at the gym are her paintbrush. Her food, supplements, protein shakes, and workout regimen are her paint. She’s a modern-day Michelangelo and this small backyard porch is the Sistine Chapel.

Metaphorically speaking, of course.

6:04 – I love how carelessly and unceremoniously her leopard skin dress is strewn on the floor. It’s like an inconvenience, an afterthought, a minor annoyance. It’s like a large drape covering up the Venus de Milo. It’s a useless piece of fabric that’s preventing us from seeing Denise for who she really is. Or, it’s an oppressive cloth that acts as a proverbial set of handcuffs that holds back Denise’s true nature. Her body deserves to be seen. It’s divine. It defies description. To cover it up is to deny her body its very purpose. To cover it up is akin to burning a book or pouring an expensive bottle of wine down the drain. It’s a terrible waste and demonstrates a blatant disregard for why it exists. Yeah, this is probably a bit too hyperbolic, but Denise Masino has the unique ability to draw that type of attitude out of me.

6:19 – Oh, how pink it is! Now I can discuss this in further detail. Denise’s most famous asset – one that is arguably her moneymaker – is her genitalia. Yes, that sounds odd to say aloud. But it’s 100% true. Her bright pink vagina, thick dark brown labia, and shockingly enormous clitoris are what endear her to her legion of fans. Her prominent genitalia are important for many reasons, but this is chief among them: It proves that women are autonomous sexual beings who are just as entitled to enjoy their bodies as men are.

Denise demonstrates that women are not merely men who lack a penis. They have their own set of genitalia that are unique to them and serve a specific function. The fact that Denise’s bits are larger and more pronounced exemplifies this point. She’s fully capable of experiencing sexual pleasure all by herself, with or without a man (or woman, or whomever). Her vagina isn’t merely an organ that serves the purpose of accepting a man’s penis during intercourse. Her vagina – and the rest of her genitals – can also serve the purpose of providing her pleasure. Reproduction is one purpose. Pleasure is another purpose. Both are legitimate and should be respected. Her large genitalia make this point better than any academic paper could.

7:01 – Denise is inviting us to take a closer look. Don’t mind if we do!

She spreads her labia wide, letting us see the inside of her vagina. If you don’t feel like an amateur OB-GYN, you should by now. Her motioning us to take a closer look is exactly that. An invitation to take a closer look. As opposed to an invitation to enter her sexually through intercourse. I’ve noted before that Denise is unique in that she rarely ever does videos with other men. In fact, I cannot recall ever seeing one like that. Most of her self-produced videos show her just by herself doing solo activities. Occasionally, she’ll have a scene partner or two. But 99.9% of the time, her scene partner(s) are other women. Usually female bodybuilders like her.

Her reluctance (or refusal) to do scenes with men is a personal choice that also works on a strategic level. Because no other men are present on screen with her, we can vicariously insert ourselves into the scene. We can be her imaginary lover. Our fantasy isn’t spoiled by the image of another guy (or multiple guys) doing the deed with her. Rather, we can fantasize in peace knowing we can easily put ourselves in that position without some random dude bro ruining it for us.

So when she motions us to come closer, she’s either telling us to literally take a closer look at her intimate parts or she’s inviting us to fantasize what it would be like to be intimately with her. Either way, it works.

7:38 – This is when things get really, really exciting (as if it hasn’t already). Denise is poking at her erect clit. The size is both eye-popping and shocking. How can a woman get that big? Is it from years of taking steroids? Human growth hormones? Lifting weights? Or was she born this way? I do not claim to know the answer to these questions, but I can guess that drugs played a significant role here. Whatever. The one thing we know for sure is that it isn’t a penis. Denise Masino is a woman. Period, end of story. She isn’t a man. She isn’t trans. Her gender isn’t ambiguous in any way. That large endowment located between her legs is a very large clitoris, not a tiny penis. Even if you are giving her the benefit of the doubt, one cannot help but notice that the shape of her clit resembles the head of a penis. After all, the penis and clitoris are biologically analogous, so that’s not an inaccurate perception. But nevertheless, we know what she has. It ain’t masculine. It’s undeniably feminine.

8:00 – The tip of her clit looks to be the same size as her index finger. Quite impressive!

8:10 – It’s worth noting that Denise doesn’t normally choose to shave or “tide up” her pubic hair. She allows it to remain as is. Lots of porn performers – male and female – shave their pubic hair so that their genitals can be better seen. It also looks cleaner and sexier. But Denise is different. She wants her thick bushy pubic hair to be part of her. She’s telling her audience that she’s not a little girl. She’s not a traditional porn actress. She’s a fully-grown woman. And fully-grown women have pubic hair down there.

Her act of defiance of remaining “bushy” conveys that Denise is an adult who caters to other adults. She’s not interested in immature man-babies coming her way. She wants adult men and women who will enjoy her for who she is to ride the Denise Train. I don’t know about you, but I got my first-class ticket in hand!

8:14 – This is the moment Denise starts stroking her engorged clit with her thumb and index finger. Remarkably, Denise is able to jerk off like a man. Granted, she’s using two fingers instead of her entire hand, but that’s beside the point. How many biologically feminine women can jerk off like Denise is doing here? “Very few” is the answer.

But let’s be clear about one thing: This isn’t Denise “acting like a man.” No, this is a case of Denise acting like a woman while doing an activity that we traditionally associated with men. Women can “jerk off” too if they have the right sized equipment. Clearly, Denise has that at her disposal.

9:24 – Denise continues to stroke her clit. Is she actually bringing herself to orgasm? Eh, maybe. Maybe not. I’d guess she’s truly enjoying it, but not that much. But I could be wrong. Nobody is under the impression that porn accurately portrays real life. It’s about fantasy more than reality. Whether or not Denise is experiencing actual orgasms is secondary to how we feel watching her stroke that beautiful clit up and down. We feel a tremendous amount of eroticism. And that’s the whole point. She’s completing her objectives like a pro.

9:50 – For the first time, we hear Denise speak! She instructs us to “Jerk with me. Jerk it…jerk it.” Denise is usually more vocal in her videos, so this is a rare instance when she remains fairly silent. Some people prefer to cut the unnecessary chatter in porn videos (mostly because the “dialogue” written for such scenes is unbearably awful), but Denise is a different cat. She’s smart, funny, engaging, personable, and likable. You root for her. So you don’t mind if she talks directly to you. It’s like she’s your best friend. A very sexy best friend, that is.

10:18 – More glorious orgasms. Keep ‘em coming! Yes, pun intended.

10:31 – Denise keeps things low key. She doesn’t scream bloody murder when she climaxes or writhes around violently like a demon-possessed child in The Exorcist. Her breathing quickens and she’ll moan at a low volume. Nothing over-the-top. That’s classic Denise. She’s sexy, but she doesn’t “impose” her sexiness on you. She lets her natural self speak for itself. And that’s enough. Subtlety is an art she’s perfected.

10:49 – Once again, we are reminded at how well-endowed she is. Oof!

10:57 – I wonder how she tastes? Probably like fine wine. Unfortunately, I’ll never find out. But I can dream, can I?

11:08 – After a few nice orgasms, Denise decompresses by slowly strokes her labia. She’s satisfied, satiated, and situated finely to take a long nap. After all, she deserves it! As enthralled as we’ve been, we need to let off some steam too. I wonder how…

***

So that’s that. My first FBB Video Review in the bag! I’m unsure if I’ll go quite into so much observational detail moving forward. But anything is possible.

Once again, please email me or let me know below if you have suggestions of other videos I should break down moment-by-moment. This video was a bit longer than most at 11:21. But that doesn’t mean I can’t review others that are of similar length. They just have to be compelling enough.

I hope you had just as much fun as I did. Happy New Year!

Isabelle Turell: Partying Like a Female Muscle Rock Star

Isabelle Turell can party with me anytime.

Some female bodybuilders are accused of “not being feminine enough.” Other female bodybuilders are accused of “being a little too feminine.” It’s impossible to please everybody, so there’s no need to try, right?

Right. But people have their preferences – and they are perfectly entitled to their preferences, the consequences be damned. We all can name our “favorite” female bodybuilder without thinking about it, though some of us may need to include 4 or 5 just to be on the safe side. While the Holy Grail FBB – someone who exhibits a flawless mixture of muscularity, beauty, femininity, and attitude – may not actually exist, one lady in particular comes to mind as someone who’s really darn close.

Isabelle Turell.

Isabelle is a rare woman whose impressive muscle mass doesn’t distract from the rest of her qualities. She’s stunningly gorgeous, curvy, oozes with sexiness, and can make you drop dead in your tracks if you ever saw her. She also has a nerdy side to her that she isn’t shy about sharing with the world. We are blessed to have her around.

She is a multifaceted woman who offers more than you’d think…but at the same time not as much as you’d like. She isn’t complicated, but she isn’t easy to understand. You want her to be a certain way but she won’t go there, yet she delivers exactly what she needs to deliver without disappointing anyone.

More on this later.

Isabelle Turell was born on October 22, 1979 in Tampa, Florida. She currently resides in Terre Haute, Indiana. She’s been an IFBB Pro Bodybuilder since 2008. Her actual bodybuilding career began in 2000 when she competed at the Orlando Classic, demonstrating that “turning pro” isn’t a task to be taken lightly. Her competition history is impressive, having competed at the NPC USA Championship, Ms. International, Wings of Strength, Arnold Classic, Tampa Pro, Omaha Pro, Atlantic City Women’s Pro, Rising Phoenix Arizona Pro, Lenda Murray Classic Pro, and many other regional tournaments. She isn’t just another typical competitor. She’s a serious heavyweight who deserves respect within the industry.

Is she considered “elite?” Eh, not quite. But she’s a prominent figure in the IFBB world and has accomplished things many of us – male or female – cannot even dream of doing. When she isn’t competing, Isabelle provides fitness consulting services and additional information/content if you become a paying member of her website. In this respect, Isabelle earns her living in the same way hundreds of other FBBs earn their living. It goes with the territory.

Isabelle is one of the most multi-faceted female bodybuilders around. One moment she could be wearing a BDSM-themed leather mask and looking to fulfill every single one of your femdom bondage fantasies. The next moment she’s cosplaying as The Hulk or Ghost Rider. She’s part dominatrix, part nerd, part sex kitten, and part world-class athlete with intrigue, class, and mysteriousness sprinkled in throughout.

There’s something about Isabelle that appeals to everyone. She has Amber Deluca’s Powerful Female Muscle Dominatrix vibe but can also pull off Denise Masino’s Fun and Sometimes Nerdy Lady Bodybuilder personality. She appeals to the hardcore fetishists who fantasize about being controlled, dominated, and humiliated by a strong sexy woman; while at the same time her chiseled physique compares favorably to Alina Popa.

She’s fun for the whole family. Assuming your family is into this sort of thing.

Her personality is guarded, so you don’t feel like you know her intimately like you do Denise. Miss Masino could be your best friend or drinking buddy. Isabelle is that cool chick you met at a party once and still exchange an occasional dirty text message with. Miss Turell is certainly sexy but she doesn’t overtly flaunt it like her peers. She lets the little bit of her that she chooses to make public speak for itself. Whether this is intentional or not, Isabelle leaves you wanting more while delivering exactly what she needs to deliver.

The one thing Isabelle won’t deliver to her fans is hardcore porn. That’s not in her repertoire. She’s more than happy being sexy, but she’ll flaunt her sexiness with limitations. These limitations aren’t tragic, however. They’re her choice and we must respect that. But then again, it’s not completely necessary that she go that far in order to satisfy our desires to see her in her full glory.

Isabelle is in her “full glory” when we feel empowered to insert her into our dirtiest fantasies. One of the most intriguing parts of female muscle fandom is that female bodybuilders are able to activate our imaginations in unexplainable ways. We cannot help but think about all sorts of scenarios, circumstances, and erotic fantasies whenever we encounter an image of a beautiful woman with big muscles. Isabelle is no exception.

Isabelle cosplaying as Jessica Rabbit.

When we see a selfie of Isabelle’s smiling face that unashamedly shows off her prodigious cleavage, we cannot help but think about what it would be like to get a handful of her enormous breasts and caress them with tender care. Then our minds turn toward thinking of her with a whip in hand, a long strap-on dildo attached to her crotch, and a leather BDSM mask that accentuates her gorgeous brown eyes. Or, we imagine her as our personal trainer. She pushes us harder and beyond our limits, and generously rewards our killer workout with further, uh, strenuous cardiovascular activities in the gym hot tub.

Or, we see a photo of Isabelle in a bikini and instantly place ourselves on that particular beach with her. Every muscle fiber is on clear display. Not a single soul is in sight. The sun is starting to set, which adds to the urgency of the moment. You kiss her deeply as the waves crash against the shore. Then, Isabelle quickly discards her bikini and stands before you in her Birthday Suit. She looks tantalizing. She invites you to disrobe. You do. Then, you make magic on the beach and end up with sand in every crevice of your body. Then, you make more magic. And more. And more. Finally, totally spent, you walk hand-in-hand with her across the beach as the bright moonlight illuminates the romantic scene.

Or, you look at a fun cosplay pic of Isabelle dressed up as the She-Hulk. Her skin is a brilliant green. You can see every curve of her muscular figure. You imagine what it would be like to be a scientist conducting an “experiment” on her. By day, Isabelle is a shy intern who can barely lift a box of copy paper. But when she gets really angry, she transforms into the She-Hulk! Now, she can bust through a drywall just by throwing her fist through it. And she can lift a car and toss it a hundred feet away without breaking a sweat. You know you shouldn’t make her angry too often, but what the heck? It couldn’t hurt too much! And if it does, so be it.

Or, you scroll through Isabelle’s Instagram page and see her wearing an elegant black cocktail dress. She looks classy and ravishing at the same time. You take her out to dinner at the finest restaurant in the city. All eyes are on her. Nobody can ignore her. It’s not every day that you see a gorgeous sexy woman with bulging muscles strut around like she owns the place. In a way, she does own the place. She owns every environment she finds herself in, to be exact. You enjoy a lovely date night with her, chuckling to yourself as the waitstaff struggles to keep their composure (and focus) as they serve you your meal. It’s quite a sight to behold!

These fantasies – and hundreds more like them – are typical of many fans of female bodybuilders. We aren’t just attracted to women with big muscles. We’re intoxicated by the alluring fantasies they conjure up in our minds. Isabelle Turell, more than any other FBB in the world, elicits this exact reaction in us. She can play any part we give her. That’s the key to understanding her appeal. She can be the sexy wife, domineering mistress, nerdy girlfriend, hardcore personal trainer, elite athlete, world-class celebrity, Divine Muscle Goddess, supermodel, inspirational gym rat, or quirky friend. She can effortlessly play all those roles. Perhaps multiple roles at once, if your imagination is that wild.

She can be anything you want her to be. And that’s why we cannot get enough of her. And that’s why she doesn’t have to be (or do) anything else than what she already is. We don’t need her to be like Yvette Bova, Kathy Connors, or Brandi Mae Akers and produce the kinkiest porn on the Internet. We don’t need her to go outside of her comfort zone or do anything she doesn’t feel like doing. She can just be herself and our minds will do the rest. She gives us enough. And that is enough. No more is required of her.

Isabelle is a fun gal who loves her life and enjoys brightening up the spirits of her fans. She certainly has loyal devotees who breathlessly await her next Instagram post. Will it be one of her pretty face? One that shows off her cleavage? One where we see her flex her enormous biceps? Or a video where she poses for us as if we were the only human being on planet Earth? Which will it be?

Her IG name is fitrockstar. This is fitting. Like most classic rock stars (which seem to be in short supply these days), Isabelle is the life of the party. Her extravagant life is just as interesting as what she does for a living. We aren’t just fascinated by “Isabelle Turell the Professional Bodybuilder.” We’re addicted to “Isabelle Turell the Unstoppable Muscle Goddess.” She cannot be stopped. She cannot be contained. She’s living her best life and we’re simply going along for the ride. We don’t know where we’re going, but that’s none of our concern. We’re just happy to be onboard the Isabelle Train.

Is she taking us to a crowded gymnasium? A bodybuilding competition stage? A bondage dungeon? A sweaty weight room? A secluded beach? A cozy cottage? A luxurious penthouse suite? A fancy 5-star restaurant? A photography studio where all eyes are on her?

We can go to all of those places. Whenever we want to. Because when we think about Isabelle, we can easily place ourselves in any situation. And we’ll feel right at home with her.

Whew! Need more evidence why we love her so damn much? Didn’t think so.

Oh Isabelle. Lovely Isabelle. A sweet princess. A devilish queen. An omnipotent goddess. No matter what she chooses to do next, we’ll be there. Hungry. Wanting more. But not needing more. Because she’s enough. She’s always enough.

Jennifer Kennedy: The Defiant One

Don’t disrespect The Muscle Foxx!

Jennifer Kennedy is the female bodybuilder your Mom and Dad warned you about. The one who would confirm all your deeply held suspicions about the female bodybuilding industry and its competitors. The one who would be the living embodiment of all your fears about muscular women, steroids, gender roles, sexual orientation, identity, and sexual attraction. The one who gives you nightmares, but the fun kind of nightmares that you (sort of) enjoy.

Jenni is not for everyone. I once described Yvette Bova as someone who’s not everyone’s cup of tea. If that’s the case, then Jenni is a sour beverage that even a person crawling through a desert dying of thirst would politely refuse to drink. Miss Kennedy isn’t as polarizing as Miss Bova because Jenni isn’t very prolific in making career choices that might endear her to a small yet dedicated cohort of female muscle fans. More on that later. In fact, Jenni isn’t polarizing at all. There pretty much exists one singular opinion about her that doesn’t appear to be changing any time soon:

Thanks, but no thanks.

Ouch. If that sounds mean, it’s because it is. My personal opinion of her is not that, of course. I really like Jenni. Seriously. I do! She’s unapologetically sexy, doesn’t care what her critics think, and lives her life the way she wants to. How can you hate on that?

All of that being said, let’s address a few delicate caveats:

First, it’s no mystery why Jenni doesn’t appeal to even hardcore supporters of female bodybuilding. She isn’t blessed with the same natural beauty as Cindy Landolt or Jessica Williams. She has a “harder edged” face that will inevitably be blamed on years of using synthetic steroids. Her voice is lower than Barry White’s. She’s feminine-presenting, but any uneducated dolt still has a modicum of justification to question her gender identity.

These caveats don’t mean people have a legitimate reason to insult her. Far from it. Jenni deserves our respect. It’s true that you don’t have to like every female bodybuilder on planet Earth, but that doesn’t give you license to hurl slurs at them either. Jenni isn’t here for that crap. Neither am I.

So don’t call her a “tranny” or any other such derogatory label. Just don’t.

There are two types of FBBs I admire: Female bodybuilders who are naturally beautiful and completely shatter negative stereotypes about muscular women; and female bodybuilders who are not blessed with natural beauty but still confidently strut around as if they do – and don’t care what the so-called “haters” think. The first category is pretty obvious. Who doesn’t enjoy looking upon a gorgeous lady with big curvy muscles? But the latter is where you tend to lose a lot of people, even people who are normally on your side in these debates.

SONY DSC

Miss Kennedy obviously belongs in the second category. She’s defiant. She’s unabashed. She’s proud of who she is. Does she have deeply held insecurities about herself? Probably, yeah. Who doesn’t? But all in all, I’d bet my life’s savings (all $183 of it) that she’s comfortable in her own skin. Like Yvette, Maryse Manios, Roxanne Edwards, and Kathy Connors, Jenni realizes her fanbase is going to be much smaller than her peers. Heck, FBBs have a fairly narrow group of fans to begin with. These aforementioned ladies control an even smaller slice of that small slice. Yours truly may be one of the few people out there who are willing to toot their horns (interpret that as you will!).

However, unlike Yvette and Kathy, Jenni does a limited amount of porn. She’s done some, but not nearly as much as she could be. Kathy has established herself as being an Alpha Female who will dominate you and punish you if you’ve been naughty. Yvette presents herself as a sex-crazed muscle-bound hedonist who enjoys life to the fullest. In other words, they compensate for their lack of natural beauty by taking on public personas that people can easily latch onto (it should be noted that these personas don’t necessarily reflect who these women are in real life. They’re merely how they present themselves to the public). Jenni, to my knowledge, hasn’t really done that to the extent of these other ladies, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t done anything. Simply put, Jenni carries herself as a sultry seductive temptress who will lure you into her trap – and once she’s gotten ahold of you…you don’t want her to let go.

Jennifer Kennedy was born on June 25, 1976 in Michigan. She’s a personal trainer and webcam performer. After competing in gymnastics and track, she got hooked on weightlifting and hasn’t looked back since. She’s been participating in contests going back to at least 2011 (NPC National Championships). Most recently (as of this writing) she participated in the 2019 IFBB Omaha Pro. The Internet is a bit sparse when it comes to listing how she placed at these – and other – contests, so that’s too bad. Overall, it’s fair to say that Jennifer is a respectable competitor, but not elite. She belongs on stage with the best of the best, but she isn’t “the best” quite yet.

Perhaps one day she’ll get there! But for the time being, we’ll have to appreciate her for who she is, not who she’ll one day become.

It’s accurate to describe Jenni as “The Defiant One” This isn’t because she defies stereotypes or breaks down barriers. Rather, it’s because she adheres to stereotypes and doesn’t care if that bothers you. Women like Minna Pajulahti and Wendy Fortino shatter the preconceived notion that muscular women can’t also be beautiful, feminine, and desirable. Jenni isn’t going to do that at all, but that’s not why she’s defiant. She’s defiant because she fits every idiot’s preconceived notions about FBBs and wears them on her sleeve as a badge of honor.

“You’re right,” she may say. “I am not traditionally beautiful. I do have a masculine-looking face. My voice isn’t lyrical. Most guys don’t find me attractive. But, I guarantee you if you were to spend 5 minutes alone with me in my bedroom, you’ll be begging for more in no time!”

She’s the Green Eggs and Ham of female bodybuilders. Sam-I-Am thought he hated green eggs and ham because of how it looked. He stubbornly refused to try it because he had already made up his mind. Or he thought he had already made up his mind. But once he tried a single bite, his eyes were opened to the truth. As it turns out, he actually loves green eggs and ham. Sam-I-Am learned a valuable lesson that day: Don’t knock it unless you’ve tried it.

Also, don’t judge a book by its cover. So that’s two lessons in one day.

At first glance, you aren’t going to like Jenni. You’ll find her repulsive, disgusting, ugly, and hideous. But I can guarantee you that if you just give her a chance, she can change your mind. She can soften your hardened heart. You may end up liking her. Or loving her. Or being completely obsessed with her. Or at the very least, you’ll gain a newfound sense of respect for her. Either way, that’s an improvement.

Jenni isn’t monstrous. But to a closed-minded fool, she might as well be the next kaiju Godzilla battles against amidst the wreckage of a metropolitan city. But to someone with empathy, she’s a cool lady you shouldn’t underestimate.

Not liking Jenni doesn’t make you a misogynist or a Female-Bodybuilding-Fan-in-Name-Only (FBFINO?). Hating her, on the other hand, probably does.

You can not like her. But to be so quick to dismiss her? Yeah, lighten up buddy.

In a strange way, there’s something oddly courageous about Jenni. Something admirable. She performs for webcams. How can you do that unless you have confidence that there are people out there who would pay money to watch you? Obviously there are. Otherwise she wouldn’t be doing it. This proves that – even if the number is fairly small – Jenni has her fair share of fans. Maybe not as much as Denise Masino or Lindsay Mulinazzi, but enough to justify a modest income for her.

Jenni’s defiance is a key reason why that small slice of the FBB Appreciation Society (not a real thing, but play along with me here), which is already a small slice of the general population, loves her so much. It’s hard to say how many “dedicated” followers Jenni has, but it’s probably much larger than you think. Or to put it a different way, it’s not as small as you think. Regardless, Jenni has tapped into a niche that can properly be defined as a sub-niche within a niche:

The Scary-But-In-A-Hot-Kind-Of-Way Female Bodybuilder.

She embodies nearly every single negative stereotype you can think of when it comes to female bodybuilders. She also doesn’t appear to be very interested in remedying those negative perceptions in any way. This is because Jenni has perfected the art of turning a negative into a positive. Instead of trying to “fix” what’s wrong with her (and for the record, there’s absolutely nothing “wrong” with her in the first place) she embraces who she is and uses her already existing assets to her advantage. Her deep voice gives her a commanding presence. Her roughness strikes fear into your heart. Her muscles allow her to dominate you. Her unique appearance requires you to pay attention to her. Her “scariness” whips you into shape. Her peculiar mash-up of masculine and feminine qualities make her memorable. Her sexiness makes her, well, sexy.

None of those qualities are a detriment to her success. Could she be more successful if she were more, uh, “accessible” to a broader audience? Perhaps, yes. But how many conventionally beautiful muscle goddesses can you name off the top of your head? Probably dozens upon dozens, if not hundreds. But how many Muscle Queens of the Macabre Variety can you think of who make you both frightened and strangely aroused at the same time? How many of them make you feel nauseated…yet you admit you cannot look away no matter how hard you try?

We all know who can make us feel that way.

SONY DSC

Jenni is a lot like a schlocky horror movie. The horrific violence you see on the screen makes you sick to your stomach. You get queasy watching hapless teenagers get decapitated, disemboweled, dismembered, burned to a crisp, skinned alive, eaten alive, tortured, stabbed, drowned, sliced in half with a chainsaw, gutted with a fishing hook, smashed with a hammer, ripped from limb to limb with a machete, punctured with an arrow, beaten with a baseball bat, or shot in the genitals. But instead of running out of the movie theater screaming like a madman, you stay in your seat and watch the dreadfulness unfold right before your very eyes. It’s entertainment. Sick and twisted entertainment, but that’s what it is nevertheless. It’s simultaneously appalling and fun.

And you know what? There’s a small part of you that actually enjoys watching these things happen to these innocent people. You want to enjoy immoral pre-marital sex? Well, the price you pay is having your innards pulled out of your stomach shortly after your orgasm. For some desperate people, that might be a worthwhile tradeoff.

In a convoluted kind of way, Jennifer Kennedy is sort of like that. Sort of. She’s entertaining. She’s enthralling. She’s captivating. She’s intriguing. You want to see what she does next, even if your instincts tell you to turn it off and scrub your eyeballs with Clorox. You need to know who this woman is and what she’s all about. She’s enticing. Almost too enticing. You may feel a bit guilty when she starts to grow on you, but hey, what’s the harm in that?

Who cares? Nobody is going to judge you. Even if someone does, just ignore them and proceed living your life. After all, being fond of Jenni can be intoxicating. In a naughty sort of way, it almost makes you feel – oh, what’s that word again?

Oh yeah. Defiant.

5 More Types of Female Muscle Porn that We Cannot Resist

I promised at the end of this post that I might follow it up with additional suggestions of types of female muscle-themed porn that we need right now. Alas, I did not disappoint. Unlike a lot of my fiction stories that I begin and – ahem – don’t always finish, I try not to do that with my nonfiction essays.

Naturally, all of you are welcomed to provide your thoughts in the comments below or to send me a private email message at ryantakahashi87 (at) yahoo (dot) com. I’m always up for starting a conversation with a fellow female muscle lover!

So I’ve been doing some further pondering and came up with 5 more types of female muscle porn that we cannot resist – nor do we want to resist. I’m including things I personally enjoy (obviously), but also threw in a few that I’m not really into, but I know for a fact many of you are into. It’s always courteous to be conscientious of your audience.

Denise Masino and Amber DeLuca enjoying each other’s company.
  1. A full hour muscle worship session between two FBBs

We all know about the gloriousness of muscle worship sessions. It’s the opportunity to be able to intimately touch the hard muscles of a real-life female bodybuilder for an hour or two. It’s the closest you can possibly get to meeting and experiencing an FBB’s unique allure. So nothing more about this needs to be explained.

However, how hot would it be to watch two female bodybuilders worshipping each other?

Wow. Uh, wow. That would be something else.

Imagine watching two gorgeous ripped beauties in a room together. No cheesy music. No distracting pop up ads. Just two strong ladies alone in this room. They’re naked. Or maybe they’re clothed but end up getting naked as the video goes along. No, on second thought, let’s just cut to the chase and have them nude from the very beginning.

One of the ladies goes first. For the sake of this fantasy, let’s say the video features Alina Popa and Cindy Landolt. Would the world implode into trillions of pieces if these two celestial beings were in the same room together? Well, yes, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take. The Large Hadron Collider possesses less potential to lead to planetary extinction than this fateful meeting. And as lucky viewers, we’d all die happy regardless.

So, Cindy goes first. She takes her sweet time exploring Alina’s chiseled muscles. Her biceps, her shoulders, her chest, her quads, her abdomen, her calves…her everything. The room is quiet, but not silent. There’s no need to fill the atmosphere with unnecessary noise. Cindy is wide-eyed, witnessing up-close a physique that she aspires to attain. And like any schoolyard bully likes to remind his victims, it takes one to know one. Cindy understands how impressive Alina’s body is because she herself must work countless hours and make immeasurable sacrifices in order to sculpt her body to look a certain way. She doesn’t take Alina’s body for granted. She knows too well how difficult it is to look the way she looks.

Soon, it’s Alina’s turn to worship Cindy. Like before, Alina takes her time in the most deliberate fashion possible. She compliments her younger peer’s raw beauty and gorgeous curves, but gently reminds her that she has a long way to go before she achieves her own level of muscularity. Alina doesn’t say this in a meanspirited way, but rather in an encouraging way. Cindy nods her head in agreement and smiles at the sight of Miss Popa feeling up her calves.

It takes one to know one, indeed.

Angela Salvagno showing off one of her favorite toys.
  1. A group of FBBs playing with their favorite toys

Toys aren’t just for kids. Adults play with them too! FBBs are no different. When they aren’t slamming weights around, there are plenty of other types of tools they can be using during their spare time.

Similar to the previous suggestion of a group of FBBs having a clitoris comparison session, this fun excursion would include a similar lineup of female muscle all stars (Denise Masino, Angela Salvagno, Brandi Mae Akers, Colette Guimond, Amber DeLuca, and Autumn Raby appeared in that particular fantasy scenario) participating in a fun group activity. This time, they’d be experimenting with different sex toys. Maybe one at a time, or perhaps all together.

The toys should be varied: Dildos, vibrators, beads, clit pumps, strap-ons, massagers, and so on. It would be neat if each FBB shared their personal favorite toy and explained to the group – like a college professor lecturing her students – why they like it. And demonstrate for everyone why they enjoy it so much, naturally.

It would be a pleasurefest even more audacious than the previous one. Orgasms after orgasms. Lots of moaning. Loads of screaming. Many satisfied smiling faces afterward. And guess what? You may even learn a thing or two. Not to mention feel inspired to discreetly shop on Amazon for a brand new gift for yourself. Who says education can’t also be fun?

Yvette Bova showing Victoria Dominguez who’s boss.
  1. A muscle-bound dominatrix making men (and women) tremble before her

Oh boy. This should be a doozy. While I am not into BDSM activities, many of you are so I shouldn’t ignore your preferences.

Imagine being chained up by your feet and hands. You’re in a standing position, but you’re only able to stand because the chains dictate that you stand. Without them, you’d be lying on the floor passed out. Your knees are weak. Buckling. Your breathing is steady, but troubled. Sweat is dripping off your face. You’re naked. Vulnerable. Frightened. Exposed. And, admittedly, a little excited for what’s about to transpire. You might be blindfolded. Or perhaps your sight is perfectly unobstructed. Either way, the room is dark so it doesn’t really matter. Suddenly, a loud metallic door opens. You hear the clanking of high heels against the cold cement floor. You might have heard a mouse scurry across the room. The clanking gets louder and louder. It’s ominous. You struggle to see who it is, but you know whoever it is, pain and suffering is certainly going to happen to you soon. Then, the mysterious figure makes herself seen. She stands underneath the only functioning lightbulb in the vicinity. You regard her. And you cannot believe what’s standing right in front of you.

She’s gorgeous. Absolutely stunningly gorgeous. A bit older than you were expecting, but still ravenously beautiful. Her face is partially covered up by her long locks of jet black hair. You look down to see the rest of her. And what your eyes experience is nothing like you’ve ever witnessed before.

She’s muscular.

Really, really, really muscular.

Broad shoulders. Bulging biceps. A massive torso. Barrel chest. Round butt. Legs as thick as tree trunks. Calves that are larger than most guys’ thighs. And breasts that are prominent enough to accentuate her femininity. You’ve never seen in person a woman this big. This strong. This intimidating. This muscular.

Her outfit is equally intriguing. A black corset that generously shows off her cleavage (her pecs are so well defined it looks like she has multiple levels of cleavage, if that makes any sense), crotchless crimson red panties that exposes her engorged clitoris, fishnet stockings, red leather gloves, and knee high black boots. She approaches you carrying a whip and handcuffs hanging around a belt with the largest gold buckle you’ve ever seen.

And you’ve just noticed that beside you is a table. Sitting on this table are candles, a lighter, a large blue feather, clothespins, needles, a ball gag, cock ring, rope, padlock, and a strap-on with a 9-inch black dildo attached to it.

She smiles at you. You smile back. You’re trembling with fear. But a part of you likes it. How strange is that? Then, after a long moment of complete silence, she starts to go to work.

Who wouldn’t want to be the lucky guy who gets to spend a whole evening with strong ladies like the competitors at Wings of Strength?
  1. One lucky guy and several FBBs to play with

Similar to a reality show where a “normal” person is asked by a camera crew to participate in some crazy adventure, this video would start with an FBB dressed professionally approaching a random guy on the street. It could be on the sidewalk of a busy intersection. Or it could be along a public park in the middle of a suburban neighborhood. Regardless, she strikes up a conversation with this man and promises him a night he’ll never forget.

Of course, he agrees to this evening of unexpected shenanigans. And then she takes him into a car – or unmarked black van, just for the sake of appearances – and drives away to an unknown location. Let’s say they arrive at a nice beachside house or luxurious resort. Once there, our host strips naked and reveals her body. Our male protagonist is shocked by what he sees: his mysterious new friend is jacked from head to toe! And not just totally ripped, but beautiful as a supermodel and alluring as a Greek Siren.

He cannot resist her. Who could?

She slowly approaches him. Sweat is dripping down his brow. She kisses him, stealing his breath away. It’s a miracle he doesn’t die of a heart attack right then and there. Then, the evening’s frivolous activities commences. What could possible transpire over the next few hours? Just use your imagination…

Ask Emery Miller anything. I dare you!
  1. An in-depth, nothing-is-off-limits sit-down interview with a sexy FBB

To be fair, Aziani Iron has already done this several times. But it never hurts for more videos like these to be produced.

The concept is simple. An unseen interviewer (it could be male or female, but it would be really cool if the interviewer is a fellow FBB) speaks to a beautiful female bodybuilder for a long in-depth interview. Sounds boring, right? I mean, who thinks of a Frost/Nixon style interview as a genre of porn, right? Well, it can be…if it’s done the right way.

No question is off limits. Our beloved FBB can be asked anything – questions about her personal life, training regimen, personal records, sex life, sexual preferences, sexual abilities, opinions on just about anything, funny or intriguing stories, and so on. She can be wearing a sexy dress or perhaps nothing. But her answers should be as revealing as her outfit. A few sample questions include:

  • What does your weekly training schedule look like?
  • What are your favorite lifts?
  • What is your favorite body part? Least favorite body part?
  • If you had a million dollars to spend on anything you’d like, what would you spend it on?
  • Please describe a typical day in your life.
  • What would you change about the bodybuilding industry if you had the power to do so?
  • Are you attracted to men, women, both, or is your answer more complicated?
  • What qualities attract you to a person?
  • Favorite sex positions?
  • Do you have any unusual sexual abilities? (e.g. squirting, multiple orgasms, anal orgasms, ability to insert large objects inside vagina, etc.)
  • How big is your clitoris?
  • Does size matter? Why or why not?
  • Biggest penis you’ve ever fucked? Smallest penis you’ve ever fucked? And what was the difference in terms of your experience?
  • Do you have any insecurities?
  • Do you have any strange fetishes?
  • Weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you in the bedroom?
  • Without naming names, who is great in bed? Who is terrible?
  • What celebrity would you like to have sex with?
  • If you ruled the world, what is one major thing you’d change?

Who wouldn’t want to hear Denise Masino, Brandi Mae Akers, Amber DeLuca, Yvette Bova, or any of your favorite FBBs answer these questions? Just let me know by raising your…

…hand? Oh, yes. Hand. Ha.

Am I missing any questions? Or any other porn scenarios? Let me know in the comments below.

Who Wants To Be a Female Bodybuilder?

Who wouldn’t want to become Larissa Reis for a single day?

Over the years I’ve received quite a few emails from readers sharing their own female bodybuilder-related fantasies. After all, I have not been shy about sharing my own from time to time. Most of them are pretty standard – a wish list of FBBs they would like to get intimate with, for example – but occasionally some of them will stick in my mind.

One in particular that I find fascinating is the fantasy of actually becoming a female bodybuilder, perhaps for only a day or two.

For those of us who love female bodybuilders, we mostly fantasize about being with them and doing certain activities with them. Wrestling, muscle worship, BDSM activities, making love, dating, romancing, courting, and so on. Some are pretty mundane…and others are more kinky. But nothing too out of the ordinary, assuming your horizons are as conventionally wide as the general population’s. Yet, how many of you have thought about – through magic or some other supernatural means – literally becoming a real-life female bodybuilder?

Personally, I have not thought about this too extensively. But I will admit that it has crossed my mind on occasion. It would be rather fun to become an FBB, even for a single day. In the spirit of “going with the flow,” let’s think this through:

Imagine you go to bed one night feeling a bit down in the dumps. Life is boring. Life hasn’t always gone your way. Your job stinks. Your love life is a hot mess. Your dumpy apartment is getting even dumpier…and your landlord just announced your monthly rent is about to go up. You feel like your life has passed you over. All the good luck went to someone else. You’re just stuck with the leftovers. And not the good kind of leftovers you get from after Thanksgiving. You’re left with the bland deli sandwiches and tasteless store-bought cookies that cost more to make than it does to purchase. You go to bed that night wishing, even if it’s temporary, that you could wake up and experience something new.

Something exciting. Something out-of-the-ordinary. Something fun.

Something really, really, really fun.

So, you brush your teeth, take a quick shower, and crawl into bed feeling crummy but strangely hopeful. Unexpectedly hopeful, to be exact. You don’t know why, you just do. Maybe it’s because of the sexy video you just watched of Larissa Reis lying in the sand of some far away beach. Or the other video of Ginger Martin flexing her biceps for the camera. And the final video of Brandi Mae Akers jerking off some lucky sap who doesn’t comprehend quite how lucky he is. You love female bodybuilders (you’ve loved them since you were 9 years old after randomly seeing a picture of Cory Everson on the cover of some fitness magazine at the grocery store) and secretly hope you’ll get to dream about them sometime during the night. Dreams seem so real when you’re in the middle of them, don’t they?

Magic!

Right. Off to bed!

Maybe you do dream about something pleasant, or maybe you don’t. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is when you finally wake up the next morning. At first, nothing seems strange or out of the ordinary. The alarm clock doesn’t go off. You glance over at the time and see that your clock has stopped. But not in a mechanical failure sort of way. Rather, it’s stopped because time itself has stopped. You don’t need to go to work because things like schedules, deadlines, and obligations have temporarily ceased to matter. Oh, how liberating this feeling is!

But then, you notice something quite odd. You’re naked. You don’t recall going to bed naked, but alas, there you are in the nude. You stretch your body and notice how bulky your arms suddenly have become. Gosh, did all that going to the gym and busting my tail finally pay off? How awesome would that be? Finally, I’ve done something right!

But that’s not it. No, not at all. You lift, but not that much. This is something else entirely.

Finally, you sit up in bed and lift the covers off your body. And what you see both frightens and excites you.

You’ve become another person!

And not just any other person, but a woman. You’ve changed genders! And…uh, your level of muscularity. Hm, this is odd indeed! You leap out of bed and run to the bathroom to look in the mirror. And what you see in the mirror’s reflection confirms what you think has just transpired. You’re a whole new person! A female bodybuilder, to be precise.

A lovely, beautiful female bodybuilder. You’re covered from head to toe with large, bulging muscles. You’re totally ripped. Your arms are the size of cantaloupes. Your back is as wide as a door frame. Your thighs are as thick as tree trunks. Your glutes are as firm as a bowling ball. Your penis…

Hold on. You no longer have a penis! You have something much smaller, something that sort of resembles a dick but clearly isn’t…

Holy shit.

Wow!!!

It’s a clitoris. An enormous one! That largest in the world, in fact. Oh shit. Holy fucking shit, this is incredible! How can you possibly explain what has just happened? You can’t, which adds to the mystery and intrigue. But you cannot even attempt to wrap your mind around that now. Who knows how long this blessing will last? Ten minutes? An hour? A whole day? A week? A year? Um, forever? Probably not, but who wants to risk wasting a single second?

If you were to magically become an FBB, would you touch yourself in bed like Hunter Morgan?

What you do after this is totally up to you, my dear reader. I can probably make an accurate guess about how you’d spend your time as an FBB incarnate. You’d probably touch yourself. All over. You’d masturbate. You’d flex in the mirror. You’d go out in public and see how random people react to you. You’d dress in scantily clad fashion. Or maybe you’d dress in nothing at all! That would really get people staring at you. I think I’d try that first. Go out for a casual stroll wearing nothing but my Birthday Suit, showcasing my strong muscles for all to see, whether they want to or not. That would be fun. And a valuable opportunity to conduct a “social experiment.”

Ah yes, all in the name of “science.”

So, what would you do if you could magically transform yourself into a real-life female bodybuilder? If you knew it would wear off in 24 hours (Cinderella-style), what would you do? Who would you meet? What activities would you try out? The possibilities are endless. Email me at ryantakahashi87 (at) yahoo (dot) com or share your thoughts in the comment section below.

I might publish the most interesting responses. Or not. We’ll see.

Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Exploit Me: The Exploitative Nature of Female Bodybuilders

Exploitation - Denise Masino
Denise Masino exploits every single one of my deepest and darkest fantasies.

Sometimes, all we want is to be exploited.

Not “exploited” in a materially oppressive sense, but exploited in a sensory/emotional/aesthetic sense.

Beginning in the 1960s – although film historians would argue it actually began earlier – a new genre of moviemaking emerged in our pop culture: exploitation films.

Exploitation films took different forms, but the basic purpose was the same: allow viewers to vicariously experience outrageous, hideous, graphic, taboo, or socially unacceptable content in cinematic form. The genre could be horror, action, science fiction, comedy, erotica, or satire. Regardless, you watched those movies – and still do – not for the storytelling, artistry, or critical accolades. You watched them because they made you feel naughty and you secretly loved feeling naughty.

Or, they made you feel emotions that you rarely get to feel in real life: Fear, dread, sexual arousal, disgust, giddiness, catharsis, and so on. Whether we love slasher horror flicks, softcore porn with gratuitous nudity, or ultraviolent action movies that generously bends the rules of physics, these movies are short on plot and character development but rich in shock value.

Popular titles include The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Pink Flamingos, Shaft, Foxy Brown, Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!, Cannibal Holocaust, I Spit on Your Grave, Beyond the Valley of the Dolls, Isla: She Wolf of the SS, and many other titles too numerous (or distasteful) to mention. Note that not all of these movies are alike. Some are splatter horror movies that intend to make you sick to your stomach while others are sexually titillating flicks meant to “get a rise out of you”…if you get my meaning.

There are also a few mainstream films that have won critical acclaim and Oscars that could be included in this list. The Exorcist and A Clockwork Orange immediately come to mind.

Exploitation entertainment is the direct descendent of pulp novels known as “penny dreadfuls” that emerged in the United Kingdom in the 19th century. Ghastly and forbidden stories were passed around inconspicuously to curious people desperate for that tingling sensation that comes from being naughty. They exploited our dark and dirty imaginations in ways few “mainstream” literature could. Their cheapness made it all the better. You can’t feel too guilty about sinning when it only cost you a single penny to sin!

Exploitation - Beyond the Valley of the Dolls

All of this is setup for a comparison that may seem strange at first but makes complete sense when you think more about it. In a previous post about Yvette Bova, I likened her to an exploitation film. Her brashness, uncompromising style, unapologetic attitude toward her body and sexuality, and enthusiasm for participating in hardcore porn make her peerless in the world of female bodybuilding. Many FBBs will do porn. But few will do it with as much gusto as her. She doesn’t hold back. She goes all in.

If Nataliya Kuznetsova is the “Human Photoshop Illusion,” then Yvette Bova is the “Human Exploitation Film.” She does it all. Yvette indulges our fantasies in the dirtiest ways possible. It can be gross at times, but we cannot look away. And once one of her nasty videos come to an end…we do not hesitate to wait for the next one to autoplay.

But I’ve spent enough time examining Miss Bova. Let’s talk about female bodybuilders in general. In a strange way, female bodybuilders as a whole are exploitative in nature. Even to those who aren’t “into” female bodybuilders but are still fascinated by them nevertheless. Think of the laundry list of thoughts and feelings FBBs can elicit out of us:

  • Arousal
  • Disgust
  • Confusion
  • Intrigue
  • Lust
  • Horror
  • Surprise
  • Curiosity
  • Perplexity
  • Cognitive dissonance
  • Obsession
  • Excitement
  • Nervousness
  • Insecurity
  • Embarrassment
  • Humiliation
  • Defensiveness
  • Hopefulness
  • Inspiration
  • Giddiness
  • Absentmindedness
  • Envy
  • Motivation
  • Coarseness
  • Passion

Whew. Female bodybuilders provoke strong emotional reactions out of people, regardless of how you actually feel about them. FBB fans and haters alike cannot help feel strong feelings when they see images of muscular women in action. However, this discussion really centers around the thoughts and emotions that are more positive in nature.

Generally speaking, there are very few “casual” female bodybuilder fans. Most FBB lovers are fanatical in their devotion to their beloved ladies. We get that same tingly feeling rushing up our spines every single time we scroll through our favorite FBB’s Instagram feed. We ceaselessly search for new photos and videos to satisfy our appetites. We need our “daily fix” of muscular women as if we were junkies. These behaviors certainly fit the definition of fanatical.

Exploitation - The Texas Chainsaw Massacre

However, for many of us this is not enough. Sometimes, we need something more. Something stronger. Something more extreme. Something that will satiate our darkest fantasies. Something way more exploitative than we’d normally experience.

It’s one thing to see yet another photo of Cindy Landolt strutting around in sexy lingerie. It’s quite another to watch Brandi Mae Akers give two guys a hand job at the same time before both of them spurt all over her face. The former arouses us. The latter makes us feel dirty. Heck, it may not even turn us on in a traditional sense. Instead, our experience of watching Brandi Mae act filthy for the camera is pure entertainment. Not porn, but entertainment. Porn only exists to sexually arouse us. Entertainment exists to amuse our senses.

Cindy is art. Brandi Mae is smut. This isn’t a criticism, but rather an observation. Miss Akers isn’t trying to appeal to our classy high-brow sensibilities. She’s only interested in making our blood boil to the point that we really need some “alone time” by ourselves to, uh, relieve the pressure. There’s nothing inherently wrong with smut if that’s what one wants to achieve. There’s also nothing wrong with watching a Peter Jackson film festival that features both The Lord of the Rings and Bad Taste. Two completely different movies. The same director. It boggles the mind.

But even the non-smutty FBBs who prefer to keep it modest are still able to elicit strong reactions out of us. Women like Karen Zaremba, Deidre Pagnanelli, Monica Brant, and Shawn Tan have kept things fairly clean over the years. They may do some nudity – or none at all – in photoshoots that are intentionally sexy, but they try to maintain an air of classiness all throughout. Whether an FBB chooses to keep it clean or forego any façade of decency, one cannot deny the enthralling allure these ladies emanate.

That intoxicating allure can only be satiated by having our thoughts, emotions, and fantasies exploited. So, what is it about female bodybuilders in particular that cause us to react this way?

Exploitation - Foxy Brown

The biggest reason is that female bodybuilders, just by being who they are, are so taboo. They don’t even have to try to be taboo. That’s just who they naturally are. A woman with big muscles goes contrary to everything to think we know about men, women, gender roles, biology, culture, and history. Yet, there is a (regrettably) small number of women in this world who dare to break that mold.

Female bodybuilders challenge our perceptions of what women can achieve. If we think they’re always the “weaker sex,” Alina Popa is ready to take you to school. If you think women with muscles look gross, Shannon Courtney will gladly shift your paradigm so fast it’ll register on the Richter scale. For straight men, FBBs challenge our masculinity. They stab a dagger right into our fragile sense of superiority. They prove we are not destined to be the dominant sex and that hard work (and laziness) matter more than genetics. These assaults on our undeserved sense of supremacy can either make us feel insecure or angry. Or both. Regardless, these are strong emotions. And strangely enough, strong emotions have an odd way of turning us on.

Taking our masculine identities out of the equation, FBBs just seem like they’re bigger than life. And not just in a literal sense. Their strength, power, magnetism, personalities, and physical abilities seem superhuman. As if FBBs aren’t actually real – they’re really comic book characters manufactured in a Hollywood studio. But alas, FBBs are very real. And very beautiful. And mind-blowing. Once again, these are strong emotional responses.

As I wrote in a previous blog article about The Scarcity Principle, the fact FBBs are a rare breed also adds to their appeal. In short, we tend to value commodities that are in short supply more than ones that are in abundance. We look forward to holidays like Halloween and Thanksgiving precisely because they only happen once a year. If every day were Halloween, dressing up in silly costumes and eating candy would lose its appeal. The fact we have to wait an entire year makes the heart grow fonder, as the old saying goes. Likewise, female bodybuilders are not a dime a dozen. It is extremely unusual to see a woman with big muscles under any circumstances. But when you do, you intuitively gain a deep appreciation for the experience because you know it’ll be a while until you get to experience it again.

Exploitation - Brandi Mae Akers
Brandi Mae Akers is pure smut. And that’s a compliment, not an insult.

The taboo nature of FBBs combined with basic human psychology explain why muscular women are able to exploit our senses like they do. In a world where sexuality has become so commercialized and manufactured that it’s become boring, we deep down inside crave something more raw, audacious, electrifying, and challenging. Female bodybuilders check off every single one of those boxes.

Scroll back up to that long list of emotions that FBBs are able to elicit out of us. Can you say the same for yet another photospread of a nameless and ultimately forgettable plastic surgery-enhanced Instagram model? Maybe a few of them, but certainly not most of them.

This is because female bodybuilders are not just “beautiful” in the traditional sense of that word. Many are definitely beautiful in a conventional manner, but their appeal goes well beyond that. FBBs are not for the simpleminded or faint of heart. They assault our senses and challenge our preconceived beliefs. One cannot simply look upon an FBB flexing her muscles and say “meh.” A million thoughts will start to race through your mind. You’ll get a jolt of energy that reinvigorates your soul. Certain deeply held fantasies will suddenly pop into your head that you never consciously knew you wanted to experience. You’ll want to scream from the rooftops your newfound love for muscular women for all to hear. You don’t care who knows it or what they think of you afterward.

These reactions are common for many people who love FBBs. Not everyone will feel the same way all the time, but that doesn’t have to be the case. A common theme emerges that we cannot ignore: In an increasingly dull and formulaic world, we secretly crave something that will reawaken our senses and make us feel uniquely alive.

Exploited, even.