Monica Martin – The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi

10 Favorite Personality Types of Female Bodybuilders (That May or May Not Actually Be Real)

It’s an old joke that everyone should know by now: When you refer to a woman as having a “great personality,” we all know what that means.

She’s not a looker – but she’d make a great, uh, friend. Or acquaintance. Or someone you wouldn’t mind sharing a long elevator ride with…assuming she doesn’t smell bad or anything.

This euphemism is not just a joke; it’s also an insult. A backhanded compliment, as it were. Lots of us have a great personality. We’re pleasant, fun to talk with, and maybe even a little engaging. But in the Looks Department? Um, let’s not go there! It’ll be better for all of us.

But for those of us who love female bodybuilders, personality does in fact matter. Maybe not a great deal, but it’s especially significant when we’re dealing with our female muscle fantasies. We love FBBs for obvious reasons: Their beauty, muscularity, curves, strength, power, confidence, sexual appeal, enigmatic nature, bravery, perseverance, and so on. There’s no need to rehash this. However, one cannot deny that FBBs can enhance their appeal by striving toward (the more pessimistic of us may say “pandering”) embodying certain personas that we enjoy.

What personas are we referring to? Let’s list a few:

The Badass
The Angel
The Muscle Girl Next-Door
The Porn Star
The Savvy Business Woman
The Elegant Temptress
The Dignified Muscle Matriarch
The Carefree Youth
The Dirty Old Muscle Granny
The Fun-Loving Free Spirit

There are probably others, but let’s settle for these for now. Many of our favorite female bodybuilders could fall into one of these categories. Some belong in multiple categories. And the prodigious of them could attempt to try all of them at some point in their careers. Let us look at these in further detail.

The Badass

Simply put, The Badass is the tough-as-nails chick who can easily kick your ass if you give her a reason to do so. She wears leather jackets, rides motorcycles, and chugs beers faster than a college freshman looking to get laid – in photoshoots, that is. Maybe not in real life.

She wants you to know that she’s dangerous. She isn’t always angry, but you don’t want to see her when she is. No way, José! Like Bruce Banner becoming The Hulk, she can easily pick you up by the throat and choke slam you to the ground. Just don’t give her a reason to do that. Or have a Snickers bar handy just in case.

The Badass, like most of these personas, exists mostly in our imagination and not in real life. You might see your favorite FBB post a photo on her Instagram of her splitting wood with a chainsaw or impaling a zombie (presumably, not a real one!) with a baseball bat, but odds are she really spends her free time baking sweet potatoes and mixing protein shakes in the kitchen. But oh well. Fantasy Land is always much more fun than the Real World, right?

The Angel

The polar opposite of The Badass is The Angel. She’s sweet, innocent, kind, and thoughtful. She posts photos not just of her lifting weights at the gym, but also inspiring quotes, candid shots of her adorable puppy dog, and recipes for gluten-free raspberry bagels (yuck!). She’s wholesome in the sense that she rarely posts anything too provocative, but it’s not beneath her to share the occasional bikini pic if it’s summertime.

She’s very pretty and feminine, perhaps a little too feminine for some of our tastes. You suspect she’s trying not to fall into the stereotype of the masculine-looking female bodybuilder, so she compensates by acting more “girly” than you (or even she) are comfortable with. The Angel never ruffles any feathers and rarely gets into arguments with online trolls. She’s confident in who she is but doesn’t want to make it too obvious. After all, nobody likes a show-off.

Unlike The Badass, The Angel’s personality never feels forced. It appears to be natural. It’s who she really is. We may not like it from a fantasy point-of-view, but if that’s who she actually is, we’ll celebrate her regardless.

The Muscle Girl Next-Door

This type of FBB can be either a Badass or an Angel. Or neither. Or a combination of both. No matter what, she’s not as glamourous as the Angel nor as dramatic as The Badass. She’s pretty, but not as gorgeous as a supermodel. She’s more “cute” than “drop-dead gorgeous.” In other words, she looks like she could be your next-door neighbor. Hence, the reason why her nickname is…

The Muscle Girl-Next-Door doesn’t necessarily look super muscular at casual glance. Maybe it’s because she likes to wear hoodies and gym sweatpants. Or because she’s more “fit” and not as muscular as a competitive bodybuilder. But no matter what, she captures your attention every time you go outside to take out the trash or fetch your mail. She’s pleasant when you strike up the occasional conversation with her, but that’s about as far as it goes. You know you have no chance with her. Yet, you feel compelled to continue to dream…

The Porn Star

This is where it gets really…uh, exciting. The Porn Star is definitely different than The Angel, but isn’t necessarily The Badass or The Muscle Girl Next-Door. She could be, but what she really is – and this cannot be argued with – is an exhibitionist to the extreme.

Lots of FBBs, fitness models, and wannabe fitness models (just scroll through the #fitgirl hashtag on Instagram) are perfectly willing to show off their bodies to the public. For that, we are eternally grateful! But most – not all – have certain limitations of what they are willing to expose. Some don’t mind nudity. Others are more willing, especially if it’s behind a subscription firewall, to do a little more than that.

The Porn Star isn’t always an actual porn star in the traditional sense. They aren’t always famous or well-known to porn enthusiasts (which, for the record, none of us are willing to ever admit to being…), but their work is widely seen by the people who are most likely to appreciate it. The Porn Star can go solo or she can be with a partner – or multiple partners if she so chooses. She can simply take off her clothes and masturbate quietly for the camera. Or she can allow six or seven guys to gang bang her until semen is coming out of her ears (don’t try to picture that in your mind). Or anywhere in between.

The Porn Star has no inhibitions. She is an exhibitionist to the extreme. She has a fantastic body and a dynamic sexuality that cannot be constrained. The world deserves to see her in her full glory. After all, depriving society of her “goods” would be a crime against humanity. And if she is able to entice countless guys and gals to “get off” from watching her art, so be it. That’s what art is for, right? To stimulate the imagination?

We’ll leave it at that.

The Savvy Business Woman

We love muscular women who know how to make a buck. Often times, we’re the ones who are opening our wallets to subsidize their lifestyles. The Savvy Business Woman knows how to use the right hashtags to promote her line of gym swag. She never passes up on an opportunity to plug her favorite brand of protein powder or energy bars. She understands all of these personalities better than anyone. And not only does she understand them, she knows how to profit off of them too.

She looks just as comfortable wearing a tailored suit as she is wearing a bikini. Maybe she wears both in the same day. But more than that, she knows damn well that it’s a business first and a passion second. Yeah, plenty of FBBs say they love weightlifting and competing because they find it “empowering” or “fulfilling,” but the Savvy Business Woman deep down inside believes there are limitations to such thinking. You also have to know how to earn a living from your passions.

The Savvy Business Woman is also a Life Coach, Personal Trainer, Motivational Speaker, Zen Master, and Boss Lady. She embraces entrepreneurship and all its rewards (and downsides). She’ll do porn if she thinks there’s a market for it. Or she’ll dress up as Wonder Woman at cosplay conventions if she thinks that’ll give her better opportunities to hand out more business cards. Whatever works best is what she’ll do. There’s a lot to admire about that attitude.

The Elegant Temptress

While the Porn Star can be seen as crude and dirty and The Savvy Business Woman as being “too corporate” and boring, The Elegant Temptress expertly mixes sexiness with class. She’ll show off her muscular body, but only if you’ve earned the right to see it. She’ll seduce you, but only after you wine and dine her to her heart’s delight. It’s tough sledding trying to please The Elegant Temptress, however the payoff is undoubtedly worth it at the end.

The Elegant Temptress thinks The Angel and The Badass are too simplistic. Why can’t you be a little bit of both? You can dabble in playing The Porn Star at times, but using that identity too often can cheapen who you are and what you stand for. The Elegant Temptress likes to wear fancy dresses and drink expensive cocktails at high class parties. She looks down upon you if you don’t fully appreciate the divine beauty of a gorgeous muscular woman. She’s measured in her speech, dignified in her appearance, and deliberate in her behavior. Naturally, she has a reputation to maintain. In many regards, her reputation is what keeps her going.

The Elegant Temptress views The Muscle Girl Next-Door as a bumpkin. Although, technically speaking she’s also a girl “next door” of sorts – if you happen to live in the Saint-Germain-des-Prés neighborhood of Paris. Most of us don’t, so that’s out of the question. But we love her because she makes us feel like royalty. The Elegant Temptress is someone you bring with you to the Academy Awards, not the homecoming football game. She didn’t need a Fairy Godmother to turn her into the belle of the ball. She is the Fairy Godmother – and the belle of the ball – simultaneously.

This personality appeals to the gentleman in us. We want to be seduced, not taken around a back alley and given a quick blow job. We want to passionately make love to her, not bang her outside a trashy dive bar at 3 o’clock in the morning. We want to dine with her at the fanciest restaurants in the world, not order a takeout pizza and watch reruns of Seinfeld on the couch. She’s worth much more. And we wouldn’t have it any other way.

The Dignified Muscle Matriarch

Like fine wine, some muscular women get better with age. The Dignified Muscle Matriarch fits that bill perfectly. Unlike the trashy world of porn that labels such women as MILFs, The Dignified Muscle Matriarch cares deeply about her spotless reputation. She and The Elegant Temptress would be best friends. Perhaps the Dignified Muscle Matriarch once was The Elegant Temptress at an earlier point of her life, but she’s now graduated into a more maternal role.

She’ll care for you, sing to you before you fall asleep, and make you breakfast in the morning after an exhausting night of lovemaking. Odds are, she hasn’t competed in professional bodybuilding in years, but her past accomplishments speak volumes. Her trophies are already on the shelves. She doesn’t need to “prove” anything anymore. Perhaps her son or daughter now competes and she’s just a “backstage mom” who’ll root for her kids and laugh and cry alongside them when appropriate.

Unfortunately, she may not be nearly as muscular as she once was, but that’s perfectly okay. She’s allowed Father Time to put lines on her beautiful face and crinkles around her gorgeous eyes, but that doesn’t take anything away from her. She’s still as pretty as she was when she was 20 years old. But now she’s wiser, more experienced, and has weathered every storm imaginable. You definitely want somebody like that on your side when the going gets tough.

The Carefree Youth

Twenty or thirty years ago, The Dignified Muscle Matriarch was The Carefree Youth. She travels to exotic locations, lounges around on the beach sipping margaritas, and dances at clubs until the sun rises the next morning. She’s prone to making mistakes that will later transform her into The Elegant Temptress and perhaps later still into The Dignified Muscle Matriarch. She can essentially take on any of the previously mentioned personalities if she wants to. The only stipulation is that she doesn’t give a damn what you think.

Why wouldn’t she give a damn? Because she’s carefree, that’s why! She hasn’t yet turned 30, isn’t married, doesn’t have kids, and can spend all her disposable cash on cute outfits and trendy gym clothes. The boys will flirt with her and she’ll happily flirt back. If something comes out of it, great. If not, then that’s also great. That’s how The Carefree Youth views the world.

She loves to have fun. She loves to go to the gym and lift with the fellas. The world is her oyster and she has her entire life before her. Why settle down and find a husband? Why think about becoming a mother when that’ll get in the way of clubbing, travelling, and modeling? You only live once, so why not live it up while you still can? Your youth won’t stay with you forever. Eventually, adult responsibilities will have to be addressed. Your biological clock will start to tick. But until that time comes, there’s only one pithy mantra she dares to live by:

YOLO!

The Dirty Old Muscle Granny

Ugh. Not a personal favorite for many of you, but this personality does appeal to some. There isn’t much to say about this other than she’s the polar opposite of The Dignified Muscle Matriarch. She has no dignity in the traditional sense of the word. She has her limitations (maybe…), however what’s more important to her is being as perverted as possible while legally being allowed to get away with it.

She may have been The Angel in her younger days…and wants to desperately make up for lost time. So she’ll gang bang multiple men at the same time. She’ll allow a guy half her age to come on her face and smear his semen all over her skin if that’s what’ll entice him to visit her sketchy apartment. She hates social rules that say that women older than 40 are somehow irrelevant. But unlike some of the previously mentioned personas, she doesn’t just defy those rules; she smashes it with a sledgehammer. She’s not a feminist, although she certainly benefits from the societal gains earned by her more politically-conscious peers.

Well, that’s all that needs to be said about this. Now I need to go take a long shower…

The Fun-Loving Free Spirit

This one is a bit tricky because it’s so close to The Carefree Youth. But here’s a key difference: The Fun-Loving Free Spirit has a good heart and wants to help others. The Carefree Youth only wants to enjoy her life in the moment, while The Fun-Loving Free Spirit is much more altruistic.

The world is a better place when everybody has the opportunity to be happy. She wants to provide those opportunities for as many people as possible. She loves inspirational quotes and memes, but also appreciates a well-written book on meditation, philosophy, or spirituality. Being a bodybuilder is what makes her happy. It’s liberating because it’s so unexpected. Our culture tells her that women “shouldn’t look like that,” so she interprets that as a personal challenge to look exactly like that just to spite our cultural forbearers. But she does it with a smile, not with scorn. She rebels not for negative reasons, but for positive ones. She wants to be who she wants to be and refuses to settle for following the herd. That’s her way of dissenting and living life to the fullest.

This should tell you what she dislikes the most: Conformity.

Yuck! It feels so icky to be average.

Did I miss any major personalities? Were there any ones that particularly stuck out to you? Please let me know if you have any bright ideas in the comments below or by contacting me at ryantakahashi87 (at) yahoo (dot) com.

Queen Hippolyta – Prized Possession (part one)

Queen Hippolyta is a mixture of Monica Martin... — Queen Hippolyta is a mixture of Monica Martin…

As night fell, so did the rain. As thunder boomed across the black sky, so did the merciless pounding of war drums. Akiyama marched, hands tied behind his back and a blindfold wrapped around his eyes, toward the Forbidden Palace.

The Forbidden Palace rests in the heart of the Amazonian Empire. Akiyama is going to see Queen Hippolyta, the despotic tyrant who rules over the Amazons. The reality of being so far into enemy territory, where many of his friends and ancestors have perished, is enough to make Akiyama sick to his stomach.

Throughout his entire life, Akiyama has ingrained into his psyche the belief that the Amazons are his tribe’s mortal enemy. A courageous young Samurai warrior representing the powerful Nakatomi clan, Akiyama was captured in battle just hours ago and immediately was ordered to pay Queen Hippolyta a visit.

Akiyama couldn’t see the rain, but he could feel it. Like an ocean falling from the sky, he could not be sure whether his village would be flooded by morning or if they would avoid the worst. He thought about his father, his mother and his four brothers. He thought about his clan. He thought about his own life. Would Queen Hippolyta brutally execute him as a demonstration of her cruelty? Would his capture deter General Ijiri from launching another sneak attack against the Amazonian occupiers?

General Ijiri, a very wise man, loves Akiyama like his own son. He cannot imagine what the powerful military leader is thinking right now, knowing Akiyama is being escorted to his inevitable death.

The two guards accompanying Akiyama take him up a long flight of stairs. Finally they reach indoors, as Akiyama feels the rain stop. He hears whispers coming from all directions. He hates the Amazons, but respects them. Their brute strength, strategic cunning and relentless spirit should be admired by anyone. He also fears them, especially their ruthless Queen.

He hears two large chamber doors open. One of the guards kicks him in the back, forcing him to fall forward. The doors close with a loud thud. He hears a voice; a low, gravelly voice that reverberates with unquestioned authority. One of her bodyguards comes toward him and rips off the blindfold. Akiyama blinks several times to adjust his eyes to the light’s dull yellow glow. Finally, he looks up, still on his knees, and regards the all-powerful Queen who has ordered for his presence.

Standing at an impressive 6’ 5”, Queen Hippolyta wears a regal velvet green backless dress that shows off her enormously strong muscles. Statuesque and carrying the confidence of ten thousand brave warriors, Queen Hippolyta’s golden bronze skin, long black hair, piercing green eyes and strikingly gorgeous face perfectly complement her large muscular frame. With biceps the size of coconuts, a chest as broad as a bear, legs as thick as tree trunks and abs that not even her protective breast plate could hide, Akiyama now understands why she could move mountains and men at will. Who in their right mind would possibly want to defy her?

“Prisoner, stand up and come towards me,” she commands. Her authoritative voice seemingly causes the ground to shake.

Akiyama struggles to stand, as he is still in a tremendous amount of pain from the evening’s battle. A large cut bleeds across his muscular chest. He may not have the muscle mass or remarkable strength of the Queen, but he can hold his own. Akiyama eventually comes to his feet and takes several paces toward the throne, which sits at the center of the palatial chamber.

“What is your name, prisoner?”

Akiyama looks around and notices at least two dozen muscular female bodyguards standing at attention around the chamber. Wearing metallic body armor and holding six-foot long spears, Akiyama knew his chances of escape were nonexistent. He decides he could not put up a fight and accepts his fate.

...and the flawless Alina Popa. — …and the flawless Alina Popa.

“My name is Akiyama, samurai warrior of the Nakatomi clan,” he proudly announces. Queen Hippolyta steps forward and circles him, inspecting Akiyama’s appearance. Several inches shorter than her, Akiyama’s athletic body and handsome appearance pleases the Queen immensely. She unexpectedly feels a tinge of attraction toward the young samurai. He may be a representative of her mortal enemy, but her undeniable lust for this young man supersedes whatever hatred she feels for his tribe.

“You are an impressive youth. I am not surprised that you have fought my armies many times and did not die,” Hippolyta observes. She extends her right index finger and feels Akiyama’s wound. He is taken aback by the remarkable strength she demonstrates with just that simple motion. Feelings of lust also immediately erupt within his soul. “What shall I do with you, prisoner?”

Akiyama remains silent. Queen Hippolyta faces him directly. Her eyes darken.

“Answer me, boy. In what manner should I treat you, my captured prize?”

The young warrior looks around the room. He notices disdainful smiles coming from her array of lethal bodyguards. His heart races faster than it ever has before.

“Do what you will. I will accept whatever punishment you lay on me. It will be an honor to die for my tribe. I am prepared to endure your worst.”

Her eyebrow rises slightly. She locks eyes with her prisoner, stares at him intently and bellows with laughter. The rest of the chamber remains eerily quiet.

“Very brave of you. I was expecting a different answer. Something more in the realm of begging for mercy or offering to become a spy for my army. But not this.”

“I am glad I can please you,” he says with scorn. Queen Hippolyta stops laughing and grabs his throat. Akiyama feels the air cutting off from him. He drops to one knee, looking up at his enemy with fear in his eyes.

“You do not speak unless I give you permission to speak, is that clear?” she commands. All Akiyama could muster is a weak nod of his head. Seemingly pleased with that reaction, she drops him to the ground and walks back toward her throne. Akiyama coughs and gasps for air. The Queen snaps her fingers and two bodyguards approach the wounded prisoner and grab him by both arms. They hoist him up to his feet and drag him toward their leader.

“You will discover that my temper can be volatile at times, fair youth. I try to be as gentle as I can, but I cannot let weakness enter into my mind. The moment I relent on my brutality is the moment my Empire will begin to crumble. I will not let that happen,” she says. “You will soon learn why the Amazonian High Council chose to put me in charge. You will also learn why I had them all put to death so that my power could be omnipotent.”

Rumors of Queen Hippolyta murdering all eighteen members of the Amazonian High Council, which had ruled the Amazonian Empire for a thousand generations, circulated around the Kingdom. Nobody in the Nakatomi clan believed it fully, except for the Emperor, whose sister once sat on the Council. It was partially out of anger of his sister being killed that he ordered for the Samurai Army to rise up against the Amazons and form an insurgency.

The Queen motions to the bodyguards to take Akiyama away. They pick him up and elevate him off the floor.

“Take him away,” she orders. Akiyama and the two bodyguards start to move toward the front chamber doors.

“Stop! Not that way.”

The guards halt and turn around toward their Queen. Drops of sweat roll off Akiyama’s handsome face. He struggles to breathe.

“Take him to my bed chamber.” An audible collective gasp arises from the room. Obediently, the two guards change directions and head toward a back exit facing north. The Queen holds up her left hand to silence the room. As Akiyama and the two guards exit, he steals a quick glance her way and instantly makes eye contact with her. He sees in her eyes a wicked combination of anger, craftiness, deviousness and irrepressible lust. She smiles as the stone doors close behind him.

Walking down a narrow and vast corridor, Akiyama is taken deeper and deeper into the heart of the Forbidden Palace. They pass by an outdoor training area, which is still busy despite the persisting rain. Akiyama sees hundreds of Amazon warriors lifting heavy rocks, pushing large boulders, practicing combat with bamboo sticks, pulling ropes with stones attached to them and running laps around the square. He is stunned to see so many gorgeous muscular women of all shapes, sizes and ages diligently training to become elite warriors. He’s fought many of them before, so he knows how formidable these women can be in the heat of battle.

Jeannie Paparone is demonstrating what a typical Amazon warrior would look like. No doubt, very deadly.

They turn direction and walk up a small grassy hill. Once they reach the top, Akiyama sees a small castle overlooking a lake. A beautiful garden surrounds the castle from all sides, featuring flowers he’d never seen before, as well as marble statues of ancient Amazon Queens from centuries past. All of them as muscular and intimidating as Hippolyta, he can see that she’s descended from a long line of legendary warriors. But none of them compare to Hippolyta’s impressive accomplishments, as right now nearly seventy percent of the Kingdom is under Amazonian control, which far exceeds the forty percent achieved by Hippolyta’s great–great–great grandmother many moons ago.

One of the guards takes out a key and unlocks the front door. They motion for Akiyama to go inside.

“Go in. We will close the door behind you,” one of the guards tells him.

Looking up at a majestic stone spire that reaches up to the Heavens, Akiyama is enjoying the icy rain drops falling on his face.

“Get in, prisoner,” the other guard orders. “Do as you’re told.”

Akiyama takes the hint and steps inside. The doors close behind him. The two guards take out broadswords from their belts and stand at attention by the door. Inside the castle, rich tapestries and polished furniture adorn the entryway. On the walls are paintings celebrating the victories of past wars. Akiyama feels disgusted when he sees a portrait of the Nakatomi Emperor’s head being held up by Hippolyta’s great grandmother. This story is taught to every young boy growing up in his clan. It is with a sense of righteous vengeance that Nakatomi Samurai warriors live every single day of their lives.

Moments pass. The rain continues its downpour. A flash of lightning sweeps across the skies. Akiyama finds a mirror hanging on the living room wall and inspects his wound. The cut has clotted, but the pain still persists. He sees his disheveled appearance and says a short prayer to himself, wishing the gods above will grant him good fortune in this time of peril.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a procession of female guards marching in a straight line toward the front entrance. A looming sense of dread suddenly fills Akiyama’s heart. He knows she’s coming for him. There’s absolutely no chance of escape. Whatever happens will happen. Akiyama will accept his fate no matter what transpires in these next moments.

An elegant flight of stairs in an old European castle.

The front door opens. It’s Queen Hippolyta, dressed in a scarlet red night robe and an elegant violet gemstone necklace hanging between her bountiful breasts. She closes the door. Her imposing frame struggles to fit through the small entrance. Akiyama can only stand still, completely frozen in time.

“So, boy. What is your name?”

“Akiyama.”

The Queen approaches him. Even from a distance, Akiyama can feel the intense heat rising from her powerful body. Her scent. Her presence. Her authority. Her muscles. All of it petrifies Akiyama with both fear and awe. He does not know how this will end, but he knows she has different intentions than whatever she implied earlier in the throne room.

“I am pleased that my army brought you to me. I did not expect my captured prisoner would be so…pleasing to the eye. Congratulations, Akiyama,” she says, wiping a drop of rainwater from her immaculate face. Akiyama’s breathing becomes more serene. He does not presently sense the degree of danger that he had felt before.

“Am I allowed to speak?”

She gives him a curt laugh. The Queen walks toward a sturdy oak table and pours herself a glass of wine. She takes a sip and turns to face him, leaning her daunting body against the wall, right next to a painting of two Amazon warriors cutting off the penis of a captured enemy soldier.

“When we are alone in my castle, you are free to speak whenever you feel the urge to do so. When we are in front of my fighters, you must obey the proper protocol. From now on, you must address me as ‘my Queen.’ It’s how we must do things around here. Do you understand?” Akiyama nods his head. Queen Hippolyta appears to accept this response.

“Good. Then go with me to my bed chamber. Now.”

As she turns toward a staircase running along the center of the foyer, Akiyama boldly chooses to exercise his right to freely speak.

“What do you intend to do with me, my Queen?” She stops and finishes the rest of her wine. She sets the empty glass on a nearby bookshelf.

“I intend to enjoy your presence for as long as I wish. You will eventually meet your unavoidable demise, but before that happens, I must get what I want from your short time left on this Earth.” An ominous rumble of thunder rolls across the night sky. The castle, lit by candlelight, casts a spooky orange glow that makes Queen Hippolyta seem almost otherworldly in her appearance.

“I understand. You are the Queen, and I am your prisoner. Do with me what you will, my Queen.”

Queen Hippolyta, filled with untamed desire, sweeps toward her young prisoner and picks him up with her strong arms. Akiyama temporarily forgets his fear as he feels her bulging biceps press against his body. She kisses him on the lips and bites down on his tongue. He tastes blood as she removes her mouth from his. She feels no remorse whatsoever.

“I intend to, young boy.”

Holding him tightly, the Queen takes her prized possession with her and walks up the stairs toward her bed chamber.

To be continued.

Halloween is Every Day for Female Bodybuilders

Dena Westerfield wants to suck your blood!

Every October 31 we celebrate a very odd holiday. People of all ages dress up in costumes, artistically carve up pumpkins, attend spooky themed parties and/or wander around their neighborhoods begging strangers to hand out candy.

No candy? No problem! Unless, of course, you don’t mind your house getting egged, toilet papered or surrounded by flaming piles of dog feces.

The concept of Halloween, according to experts in folklore, dates back to Celtic “pagan” traditions of welcoming in the harvest season. Halloween also might be rooted in Festival of the Dead-type traditions where people honor their dead relatives and usher them into the Afterlife. In the United States, a Catholic-inspired Cajun tradition began in the early days of North America to spend a nocturnal Mass at graveyards to bless the souls of the deceased.

Getting a creepy vibe already?

But today, let’s face it. Halloween is all about having a socially acceptable reason to dress up in silly costumes, watch scary movies and eat too much sugary candy. Plus, Halloween sort of officially kicks off the “holiday season” which includes Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s.

Some costumes range from the innocent to more “adult.” Some people will go as doctors, firefighters, kittens or Spider-Man; while other will choose the more family-friendly route and become a stripper, dominatrix or slutty nurse.

Whatever. Your choice of costume is your choice alone, as long as the company you work for doesn’t have any strict policies against publicly embarrassing yourself.

Now this is one Halloween party I'd like to attend! Here we have Annie Rivieccio, Aleesha Young and Alina Popa. — Now this is one Halloween party I’d like to attend! Here we have Annie Rivieccio, Aleesha Young and Alina Popa.

We dress up because it’s fun to pretend to be something we’re not, even if only temporarily. As kids, we wanted to be Superman and Wonder Woman. So if we dress up like them, isn’t that close enough to living out our dreams?

Perhaps, but there’s another reason why we dress up: to celebrate Halloween’s macabre roots. Zombies, vampires, serial killers, ghosts, goblins, ghouls, monsters and politicians are all par for the course. Who doesn’t like to channel their inner Jason Voorhees or reenact a scene from Night of the Living Dead? Whatever is most frightening is often the most fun.

These two reasons might explain why, as absurd as this may sound, for a female bodybuilder every day is Halloween. Every day is their chance to “dress up” and become something different. To become something superhuman, unworldly and strange. Many fans of female bodybuilders may not consider the presence of a muscular woman to be “ghoulish,” but unfortunately some people out there do. So let’s celebrate Halloween this year by paying tribute to the ladies we love 365 days a year.

Her body is her costume

Every single time an FBB goes to the gym to train, isn’t she essentially creating the “costume” that she’ll wear every single day of her life? Except in this case, her costume is her own body. It doesn’t consist of hats, tights or capes; but instead muscles, veins and sharp angular curves.

It takes a lot of work to achieve the physique of a Katka Kpytova or Alina Popa. Strict dieting, strenuous weightlifting, supplements, drugs, mental toughness, hardcore dedication and sacrifices are necessary to reach that level of muscularity. Not too many people in this world are that dedicated to their craft. But those who are should be very proud of their work.

When a woman builds bulk on her body, she’s making a decision to sculpt a better version of herself. She’s changing her identity. She’s breaking the mold of convention and embracing the nontraditional. Whether she intends to compete or not is irrelevant. The desire to gain maximum muscularity is a statement unto itself. It says “I’m reinventing myself, whether you like it or not.”

The concept of reinventing one’s self through the lifestyle of bodybuilding is fascinating. If our “traditional” idea of femininity includes slender arms, lush curves and a small frame, a female bodybuilder tosses all of that out the window. Her rebooted identity defies these norms while at the same time creating new ones. “Feminine” doesn’t have to be a euphemism for “weak.” It can mean so much more.

Her muscles are what define this new identity. Because muscles are not typically associated with femininity, women like Debi Laszewski are not seen as traditional women even though their womanhood hasn’t changed one iota. Deep down inside, Debi has always been Debi. Even before she took up bodybuilding, Debi was Debi. Now that she’s a world class athlete, she’s still Debi.

You don't want to get on Maribel Barnes's bad side! — You don’t want to get on Maribel Barnes’s bad side!

Think of it this way: the mere presence of muscles on a woman’s body doesn’t change anything about her. Whether someone changes their appearance for the better or for the worst, who they are intrinsically doesn’t change. Yes, an FBB may gain more confidence during her training, but her inherent identity hasn’t been altered by a single degree. Everyone has an identity. Your body’s appearance is just one facet of that.

In this respect, a female bodybuilder’s muscles act as her “costume” or “uniform.” To put it another way, a football player becomes a football player once they put on their pads, helmet, shoes and protective gear. When it’s not game time and they’re dressed in “street clothes” out in everyday life, they’re no longer a football player. They’re just like you and I. Sometimes, the uniform makes all the difference.

Likewise, an FBB’s muscles acts as her professional uniform. It informs us about who she is and what she does. But that’s not all that there is to her. She’s so much more than her appearance. Her thoughts, feelings, beliefs, actions, relationships, opinions, interests and everything else encompasses her entire identity. Her body is just the uniform she wears as a result of her chosen profession.

Like other self-revealing occupational uniforms (a construction worker’s hat, a doctor’s smock, a radio DJ’s headset, etc.), a female bodybuilder’s muscular body is an instantly identifiable clue as to what she does for a living. It’s her way of announcing to the world what she’s passionate about. It’s an outward expression of self-identification. Her muscles are her costume. Her muscles are her uniform. Her muscles are not her entire identity, but it’s a very important part of it.

Her body as a grotesque costume

It’s maddening. It’s ridiculous. It’s blatantly sexist and stupid. But this train of thought still exists: Muscular women are gross. They’re disgusting. They’re not real women. They’re women who are trying to become men. They’re revolting to look at. They shouldn’t look like that. Blah, blah, blah.

While the previous point talks about a female bodybuilder’s muscles being her living costume, this point discusses her muscles as other people perceive them. Unfortunately, not everyone perceives them in a positive light.

For many people, an FBB’s muscles make her a monster. It makes her a freak. It changes her identity, but not in a good way. It’s scary, frightening, disturbing, repulsive and lots of other synonyms that would tear a thesaurus in half. Her Halloween costume resembles that of a horror movie villain rather than an elite athlete. These perceptions explain why more women don’t lift weights at the gym and are afraid to pick up a dumbbell heavier than 8 pounds.

I've never seen the film "Blood + Kisses" starring Denise Masino, but I'm sure she's very sexy in it! — I’ve never seen the film “Blood + Kisses” starring Denise Masino, but I’m sure she’s very sexy in it!

Thus, another reason why every day is Halloween for female bodybuilders is because for many folks out there, an FBB is a walking and breathing humanistic monstrosity of distorted femininity. Her Halloween costume is her “man-like” muscles that obviously make her so unattractive. Whether her motivation for gaining muscle mass has anything to do with a deliberate attempt at reorganizing her gender identity has nothing to do with this perception. For far too many people, a muscular woman is nothing more than a woman pretending to be a man (or to put it another way, she’s “unnatural” for looking like that).

Or, wanting to become a man. Short of undergoing gender reconstruction surgery, adding muscle bulk to her body is the next best option. This opinion is far from being the most popular reason why women decide to pursue bodybuilding. Most do it for the sport. Others do it for self-empowerment. For many, it might be a “hobby,” but one that they take a bit more seriously than knitting or collecting postage stamps.

For the men and women out there who are genuinely sickened by muscular women…well, that’s life. There’s very little that will change overnight. They might view her like a sci-fi creature from a mad scientist’s laboratory, but the rest of us know better. It’s only a matter of time when women like Lisa Cross are celebrated as much as mainstream female celebrities like Jennifer Lawrence.

If Tina Chandler wanted to arrest me...yeah, I'd let her. — If Tina Chandler wanted to arrest me…yeah, I’d let her.

Trick or treat?

Just so we don’t end this discussion on a sour note, imagine this scenario playing out in your actual life:

You’re going out trick-or-treating. Let’s say you’re an adult, but you live in a neighborhood where it’s socially acceptable for grownups to knock on doors and ask for candy. It’s getting late, so you know it’s about time to start wrapping up this confection excursion. You have one house left to visit. It’s nearing 9 p.m. (your self-imposed bedtime is 9:30 for whatever boring reason) and your bag of candy is still not completely full.

You knock on the door of a strange brick house standing on the top of a steep hill. It’s covered with moss, ivy, chipped paint and cobwebs. You’re alone. Your heart races but you’re still insisting on gathering as much sweet loot as possible. You approach the house cautiously. You knock once. No answer. You knock twice. Still no answer. You knock thrice. Once again, there is no answer. You wait a beat. Then two beats. Then three. Several more beats pass by, then you finally give up and start to walk back to the main street. Then, out of nowhere, you hear the door open. It creeks loudly. You turn around. And you see who answers the door.

It’s not one, nor two, nor three, but seven gorgeous female bodybuilders having some sort of a spooky soiree. They’re all in costume, ranging from Elvira to a cannibalistic Nazi zombie stripper to a trial lawyer. Seven tall, thick, highly muscular women with the most beautiful faces you’ve ever seen. They seem intrigued by you. They look you up and down at your wimpy frame and even wimpier costume. A glow-in-the-dark cartoon skeleton? Seriously? That’s the best you could do?

The host FBB speaks first.

“Are you here to trick-or-treat?” she asks. Her low, gravelly voice seems to shake the foundations of the Earth.

“Uh, yes. That’s why I’m here ma’am,” you answer timidly.

The seven start to laugh. You might have heard laughter from several other female bodybuilders inside the house that you can’t see. The leader raises a hand to hush everyone up. Everyone becomes silent. But their gaze is still exclusively on you.

“Good,” she begins. “Then you should come on in. We’ve got a very big treat for you.”

The seven FBBs move to the side of the door, inviting you indoors. You can clearly see that the house is infested with beautiful muscular women, all of them more muscular and more beautiful than the rest. There must be several dozens of them in there. Their costumes are very sexy. Everyone is scorching hot beyond description. You’re speechless.

But you go inside nevertheless. The door closes behind you. The party commences.

Happy Halloween!

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

Muscle beauty Flavia Crisos. As you know, none of the women featured in this post is GFBB. Her identity will always remain a secret.

The moment I realize I had forgotten to take a picture of her, I quickly shoot GFBB a text asking her if she’d be willing to send me a photo of herself.

Thoughts started to flood through my mind: Is this a creepy request? Would she be afraid I’d post this on Facebook or somewhere else and people would see it? Is she protective over her image and would refuse? Would she interpret this request as me bothering her (and perhaps becoming obsessed with her)? Will she think I’m being creepy?

Time passes. I hear nothing from her for a long time. Maybe she’s going to sleep. Maybe she’s ignoring me. Maybe I crossed a line by sending her this text…

Finally, GFBB responds. She says she fell asleep before I texted her. Ah ha! This is her exact message:

Sorry fell asleep . I will send u a pic and its not creepy But that’s because it’s u asking

Whew! That solves that mystery. I knew we developed a positively rapport. I guess all my fretting was all for naught.

So off to bed I went. I brushed my teeth, took a shower, checked my email one more time and finally crashed into a peaceful slumber. Ah, bliss. My life resumed as normal afterward. I went to work the next day. That evening, GFBB sends me a text at 8:19 p.m. PST with the photo I had requested. It appears to have been taken at a hotel room (perhaps by one of her clients). It wasn’t the highest quality picture, but since receiving it I’ve treasured it as it were a precious family heirloom.

If I’m bored and have nothing else to do (usually when I’m at the train station waiting to get home from work), I’ll occasionally get out my phone and look at her photo. Then all the memories of our 75 minutes together would start flooding back.

Sentimental value, perhaps? Yeah, without a doubt!

All joking aside, life went on as it always did. I enjoyed a restful weekend. And come Monday, it was back to the normal grind. No more female bodybuilders, muscle worship sessions or playful text conversations with strong beautiful women for me for a while. I had my fun. Now it was time to see what came next.

Life can be full of unexpected adventures, n’est-ce pas?

***

So now I take you to the present day. At the time of this blog post’s publication, it is May 23, 2014. My fateful session (or is it “appointment?”) with GFBB was on May 23, 2013. Exactly one year ago today.

Wow. One year ago when I had my session with GFBB. While it does feel like a year ago, it’s funny how certain specific moments – even the trivial ones – are as sharp in my memory as ever before.

The first time I looked at her. When we sat down to chat. When the session finally started. When I got to kiss her. When she sent me the text with her photo attached to it.

I can remember the exact spot where I was when I opened that text. It’s funny how innocuous details like that stay with you forever after everything else more “important” passes on. Perhaps this is our brain’s way of telling us what’s really important in our lives.

Have I changed at all as a person as a result of this amazing muscle worship session with an equally amazing lady? The truth is, not really. I have changed a bit, but perhaps not as dramatically as I’d like to think. It is true that I’ve become bolder in pursuing adventures and opportunities that benefit me. It is true that I’ve had muscle worship sessions with three other FBBs (while I’ve enjoyed all of them, GFBB still holds a special place in my heart). It is true that my eyes have been opened to a whole other world I never knew before.

But, at the end of the day, I’m still the same person I was the moment before I knocked on her hotel door 365 days ago. In the past year, I’ve never returned to the parking lot of the hotel we met at; even though it’s a mere five minutes away from my apartment. There’s something special about your “first time” that you want to remain special. It wouldn’t feel right to return back there, even for sentimental purposes.

Speaking of sentimentality, that’s probably how I’ll always remember the 75 greatest minutes of my life. Was it truly the greatest hour and fifteen minutes of my time here on Earth? Eh, who knows…but that’s not the point. My feelings, thoughts and unorthodox “friendship” I developed with GFBB will always be a sweet dream that I’ll recount for many years moving forward. That’s valuable unto itself.

I’m still a fairly shy person. I still haven’t had much luck when it comes to women and romance. I’m still looking for full-time employment, although I’m reasonably getting by just fine working at two part-time jobs.

Who wouldn't want to touch the muscles of Monica Martin? — Who wouldn’t want to touch the muscles of Monica Martin?

I’m still Ryan Takahashi. That part hasn’t changed. I’m still me.

But, I’m not the same person I was leading up to 7 p.m. on 5/23/2013. Yes, I realize I’m contradicting myself, but bear with me for a moment. I may still be myself, but something tangibly is different. My muscle worship session with GFBB was, to be honest, one of the first times I’d ever done anything really selfish in my whole life. I paid $360 on something that was purely for me…and nobody else.

It was selfish. It was hedonistic. It was a “treat” I gave myself as a reward for being…well, me.

I deserve the opportunity to express my sexuality, aren’t I? I’m allowed to touch the beautiful muscles of a strong, gorgeous woman if we both consent to the circumstances? Of course!

Later on I will write a blog post exclusively about the concept of muscle worship itself, so I will delve further into this particular social phenomenon at a later date. But for this Epilogue, all I can say is this:

I love female muscle. I love strong women. And I can honestly say that reality definitely matches up with fantasy when it comes to experiencing female muscle up close and personal.

GFBB is a great lady. We briefly exchanged emails months later when she randomly discovered my blog and asked me about it (“Guilty as charged!”). But that’s the extent of our post-session communication. We’ve never spoken again. She hasn’t come back to Seattle since. I don’t know if I’ll ever get a chance to see her again.

If I do, great. If I don’t, well, that’s the way things are. No one ever knows how life will sort itself out. Perhaps our paths will cross again. Or perhaps not. But regardless, I’ll always have my memories. Sweet, sweet memories:

The giddiness of emailing with her.

The nervousness I felt during the week leading up to my session.

The anticipation of waiting in the parking lot.

The deep breath I took before I knocked on her door.

My heart stopping when I first laid eyes on her.

The pleasantness of chatting with her and getting to know her.

The awkwardness of getting started with the session.

The sensual pleasure I experienced during those 75 minutes.

The elation I felt immediately after our session came to a close.

The romanticized maudlin feelings I feel whenever I look at that grainy cell phone picture of her.

All of it. I love reflecting on all of it. I don’t think any future muscle worship session will ever come close to surpassing what I experienced one year ago today. That’s not a negative reflection on all the other FBB out there. No, instead it’s a reflection on my magical “first time” and how that experience can never be replicated. Nor should it ever be replicated. The fact it’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience makes it that much sweeter.

If I had to summarize the whole experience in one single word, it would be this:

Damn.