There are a lot of people out there who love female muscle.
A lot.
Whether you consider your cup of tea to be women bodybuilders, female athletes, fitness and figure competitors, lady personal trainers or muscular porn actresses, the existence of society’s affinity toward female muscle is undeniable. Granted, it’s not a huge portion of society, but there is little doubt that many folks around the world share this particular attraction.
The reasons why a man (or woman) would like female bodybuilders are numerous. After all, they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, n’est-ce pas?
But a far more interesting question to discuss is as follows: If I don’t already like female bodybuilders, should I?
In other words, if you don’t consider women like Marina Lopez, Jana Linke-Sippl or Emery Miller as sexy as a Victoria’s Secret supermodel, should you? Do you have any obligation whatsoever to at least consider the possibility that a woman with muscles can be beautiful – not grotesque, disgusting or repulsive? Or are you justified in making your conclusion and never reconsidering your position?
I am of the opinion that whatever (or whomever) you find attractive is your opinion and yours alone. You have every right to find a particular person beautiful and the person standing next to them not as beautiful. But I also believe you should never limit yourself. You should never shut out any possibility without sampling what it could be like first. That’s true for many things in life.
The British Bombshell Lisa Cross.
While I challenge everyone who finds female muscle hideous to strongly reconsider their opinion, I also don’t want to guilt trip anybody to move to “our side.” I could make a socio-feminist argument in support of female bodybuilding. I could get defensive. I could get mean and nasty. But that would be counter-productive. No one ever won an argument by shouting, right?
One of my favorite Facebook pages is Women Who are Big, Thick, Dense and Muscular are Hott and Sexy Heaven. Don’t let the extravagant and hyperbolic page name turn you away. While I still haven’t figured out why “Hott” is spelled with two t’s, I can forgive them because they post every single day really awesome photos of female bodybuilders. It’s always the first page I check every morning. I highly recommend you “like” their page if you’re an active Facebook user.
Just make sure you don’t post too many mean spirited comments. You’ll almost always receive negative feedback, mostly from the page’s administrator (whoever that is). Though I think they tend to get a little too defensive toward undesirable comments, trying to keep the conversation positive is a noble goal.
So if you’re ever feeling like people are negatively judging you for your love of female muscle, countering that with a judgmental attitude of your own doesn’t do anyone any good. Fighting fire with fire isn’t always a prudent strategy. As difficult as it can be, sometimes you have to take mean, sexist comments in stride and counter it with grace, humility and intellectual integrity.
Angela Salvagno’s sexiness is off the charts.
I suppose the answer to my proposed question is “no.” You don’t have to like female bodybuilders if you don’t already. You have no requirement to do so. In your life’s Bucket List, looking at an image of an FBB and thinking to yourself, “Gee, she looks great!” shouldn’t have to be on it.
However, this point of contention does come with a caveat. You do have to respect those who do and not try to embarrass them about it.
And, don’t assume that people who love female muscle are weird, deranged, psychopathic, psychologically damaged, bizarre, sociopathic or any other insulting label.
Here’s an example. Some people think guys (and gals) like us are somehow unhealthy. Some get the impression that we need help, that our attraction can be dangerous, that we’re crossing over into the perilous territory of “obsession.”
Don’t you wish you had abs like Cindy Landolt?
Personally, my attraction to female bodybuilders isn’t even close to being an obsession. So never assume that it is. Obsessions can be unhealthy. Obsessions can lead to squandering money, damaging relationships, destroying your work and family life and consuming everything that is good about you. Like the issue of substance abuse, your obsession can take on a life of its own and create a monster that can be really tough to slay. But, and I want to make this a point of emphasis, this is often the stereotype associated to people who like female muscle.
We’re addicts. We need help. It will eventually consume our lives.
While any mild attraction can morph into something terrible, I don’t believe liking female muscle is any unhealthier than being into BDSM. Lots of people are into that sort of thing. You probably know dozens of people; family members, neighbors, friends, coworkers, the cute lady who makes your coffee every morning at Starbucks; who are turned on by bondage, discipline, sado-masochism, etc. You just don’t know it.
And if it’s someone close to you, you probably would rather be kept in the dark!
So, even if you did find out somehow, would that change your opinion of them? Would you choose to move out of your neighborhood when you find out the nice couple living across the street from you likes to spank each other occasionally? If so, I’d advise you never peek into your neighbor’s bedrooms at night to find out (not that you should for any other reason!).
Is Alina Popa the most beautiful woman in the world? Yes. Yes, she is.
I suppose this blog post is aimed at two audiences: Those who like female muscle and feel defensive about it and those who do not and think that people who do are “strange.” Unfamiliarity, strained egos and the unwillingness to tune out antagonistic chatter can cause this animosity between us. We shouldn’t let this happen, of course.
So if you don’t already like female bodybuilders and female muscle, you don’t have to. There! I just answered the $1 million question. Likewise, if someone does prefer ladies with meat on their bones, just acknowledge that everyone is entitled to their own tastes and move on with your life.
I try to write articles that can create a dialogue. Thus far, I’m blessed to have a strong readership who reads all the material I post on here. Thank you so much! Without readers, a blog is meaningless.
I’m also aware that lots of people share my articles on social media sites like Facebook and Twitter. Once again, thank you for spreading my words across the large galaxy that is the Internet. I never imagined when I first started this blog that I would be as “popular” as I am now (so to speak).
A lot of folks find my blog randomly through search engines. I believe this is proof that there are plenty of people out there who are just as curious about having a female muscle fetish as I am. Some of you have an incomprehensible admiration for female muscle and can’t explain why. Others of you know someone who shares this attraction and are baffled as to why they feel this way.
I need Ludmila Kolesnikova to protect me in battle. Seriously.
We come from dissimilar paths in life and from all corners of the world. But we all share one thing in common, regardless of which side of the fence we’re on: We’re all captivated, albeit in different ways, by a woman with muscles. They entice us. They provoke us. They stir thoughts and emotions within us that nothing else can. It’s unexplainable. It’s irrational. It’s undeniable.
Why is Alina Pope one of the most beautiful women in the world? Why does she grab my attention in a manner a Playboy playmate can’t match? I could write a whole blog post about Miss Popa alone if I want to. Seriously. I might actually do that.
But to attempt to articulate my love for Alina Popa would bring up a mountain load of follow up questions to the skeptical eye. Why do you like a woman who looks like that? Why don’t you like smaller women instead? Do you actually think the veins in her arms are sexy? Did your mother excessively punish you when you were a child?
Perhaps we could hold a Socratic dialogue and really get to the root of why men like me like ladies like her. We could do this over a couple of beers and plenty of chips and salsa. We might actually learn something about each other.
When you think of Black Beauty, think about Desiree Ellis.
Max’s next dream took him to a familiar place: his own life.
Rainfall. Dusk. The time is 5:37 p.m. It is Friday, a day Max always cherishes.
After a rough week at work, Max knew he had to blow off some steam at the gym. TGIF, right? Max frequently worked out at the gym 3 to 4 days per week, doing a variety of exercises ranging from weight lifting to yoga to Pilates to swimming. Today he just needed to lift till his muscles gave out. It was one of those days.
6:40 p.m.
Max just completes nearly an hour and a half of blasting his chest and back muscles. Drenched in sweat, breathing hard as if he’d just run a marathon; he decides it’s time to stretch and end his workout with light cardio. As he was heading to the treadmill area, a heart-stopping sight caught him dead in his tracks.
Walking out of a now completed Zumba class was a striking black woman. Tall (perhaps 6’1”, maybe taller), muscular, athletic and as gorgeous as a supermodel, this woman exudes sexual power out of every pore of her impeccable body. Max is certain he’d never seen her here before, but at this moment, encountering this Beautiful Goddess destroyed any certainty he had of anything.
Imagine seeing a lady like Tatianna Butler in your gym. Talk about distracting.
Wearing tight pink workout shorts and a revealing pink sports bra to match, this fetching woman is a perfect specimen of female beauty. She is the quintessential Black Beauty, the Immortal African Queen. Her dark black skin looks silky smooth and as soft as a blanket. Her hard muscles are sharp and well-defined. She is as strong as an ox. Every inch of her is perfect.
And Max was determined to find out more about her.
Black Beauty proceeds to walk toward the weight room. Wait, really? She’s not going back to the locker room? She actually plans to lift with the rest of the guys?
Hell yes, she is!
Black Beauty demonstrates that she isn’t just strong “for a woman;” she shows everyone she’s STRONG, plain and simple. Deadlifts. Squats. Lunges. Leg presses. Massive weight. Heavy reps. Sweat dripping off her delectable body. Today is definitely her leg day.
All the guys stop and stare at her. But does she get offended with this new-found attention? Nope. She loves the attention. She adores being looked at. She treasures every guy who can’t help but stare at her glorious figure. She wants this. She desires this.
She deserves this.
Every guy wants her. But Max knows he would be the one who would end up with her before the night is out. He doesn’t know how. He just knows this is how things will happen.
So…time to make a move!
It started with casual flirting. Max passes by Black Beauty and lets out a hushed wolf whistle. Black Beauty smiles back and returns the whistle as Max pumps out ten reps of heavy military shoulder press. Today isn’t a shoulders day, but any excuse to get close to her makes that fact irrelevant.
Then he strikes up a casual conversation with her. He asks her why he’s never seen her here before. She answers that she just moved into town. Their conversation goes deeper. They learn things about each other; where they grew up, what schools they attended, where they live, what they do for a living (as it turns out, she’s an amateur bodybuilder and a professional erotic model) and what hobbies they share. They learn a lot in a brief amount of time.
Her name is Afrika. See her power. See her strength. Admire her.
Minutes pass. Then an hour. Then an hour and a half. Forget working out. Max and Black Beauty aren’t just flirting – they’re connecting at a deep level. All the men in the weight room are jealous of Max. Many leave after conceding that Black Beauty is Max’s for the taking. They know what will happen between these two. So why bother sticking around and hoping they’ll get their shot?
For Max and Black Beauty, this is no longer casual flirting. This is foreplay. This is a mating dance; albeit one that involves dumbbells, barbells and lots of 45-pound plates of weight. Consummating this dance isn’t a possibility; it’s a guarantee.
Eventually Max and Black Beauty ease off their conversation and resume their workouts. Having already completed his initial workout, Max is now doing overtime. His muscles may collapse on him. But he doesn’t care one bit. This opportunity to get to know Black Beauty is one that he cannot pass up.
Max says he’s leaving and is heading home. Black Beauty, clearly enamored by him, offers to exchange phone numbers. They do. Max texts to Black Beauty his name and phone number. She smiles and resumes her grueling workout. Max leaves the weight room as if he’d just conquered the world.
After taking a quick shower and brushing his teeth, Max buys a protein shake at the juice bar. He looks around for Black Beauty. She’s still at the weight room, squatting what looks to be 315 pounds. Holy smokes. Look at that power. Look at her impeccable form. Look at her massive thighs, growing stronger and stronger with every punishing repetition. The way she strenuously pushes her leg muscles beyond what they can handle turns Max on in ways he’s never been turned on before.
Max senses his manhood waking up. Who cares if anyone notices?
An hour later, Max is at home watching a rerun of some football game he couldn’t care less about. Out of the blue, his phone buzzes. He checks it out and sees this simple message:
I wanna fuck you. So fucking bad. My place or yours?
Do you really have to guess who this is? Didn’t think so.
Ultimately, Max decides to come over to her house. Black Beauty texts him her address and fifteen minutes later he’s pulling up his car onto her driveway. He kills the engine. She lives in a quaint stone house in a quiet residential neighborhood a few miles away from his apartment. Though he wouldn’t consider her a next-door-neighbor, he’d drive any distance to be with this Black Muscle Goddess.
Zoe Saldana’s beauty is enough to make my heart stop.
He rings her doorbell. He waits. Seconds pass which seem like days. Eventually, the door opens. Black Beauty is standing before him.
Holy shit.
Dressed in nothing but a lily white negligee, silky purple lingerie and bright red stiletto heels, Black Beauty was a divine object of flawless beauty. Her revealing outfit shows off every bulging muscle on her unbelievable body. Her pumped legs, which Max was surprised was still able to stand considering the intensity of her earlier workout, nearly gave him a heart attack. Her wide, massive thighs squeeze together, unable to separate apart on their own. This thickness sends a chill down Max’s spine.
She invites him in. He enters her home. It is artistically decorated – littered with Greek nude statues, post-modern erotic paintings, photographs of muscular men and women in a variety of sensual poses and bookshelves full of academic textbooks.
She explains that she’s a student of art history, erotic art and human sexuality. Max isn’t surprised one bit. Their conversation at the gym was much deeper than any normal weight room banter. Black Beauty isn’t just a strong, beautiful woman. She’s also deeply passionate, intelligent and artistically-minded.
Not a bad combination.
Black Beauty offers him something to drink. Max takes the offer. They enter her dining room and sip fine wine by romantic candlelight for the next two hours. Their topics of conversation run the gamut; politics, art, sex, race, society, bodybuilding, culture, sports, history, family and culinary experiences. Their mutual fondness grows exponentially with each passing moment. Both Max and Black Beauty sense this isn’t going to be just a quick affair. Both know this has potential to be something more…profound.
It is nearing midnight. One empty bottle of wine later, Max and Black Beauty are both fairly loosened up. Not drunk. No, both are very clear-minded. Probably because they only have one thing on their mind:
Making love.
Yes, not fucking. Not screwing. Not banging one another. No…making love. Max and Black Beauty are about to make love as if they’d known each other for decades. This isn’t purely physical. This is something else entirely. This is real. Very real. Very tangible.
All hail Iris Kyle, a legend in her own right.
Finally, after hours of keeping a respectable physical distance, Black Beauty leans in and kisses Max passionately. She tastes him, possessing him with her mouth. Her tongue explores him, marking its territory. Max couldn’t breathe. But he didn’t mind. He’s been waiting for this moment a long time.
Max and Black Beauty finish their kiss and lock eyes. It’s time to start this dance. This erotic dance that will, inevitably, last all night and into the early morning. Hell, it’ll probably last into all day tomorrow as well. But tomorrow can wait. All that matters is the here and now.
Black Beauty stands up from the dining room table and walks over to him. Max loves the sight of her tight butt jiggling with every step. They share a second kiss, this time less fervent than the last, but nevertheless equally endearing. Max gets up and embraces her securely, feeling every mound of muscle on her taut back. She squeezes back and nearly knocks the wind out of him. Wow! She’s powerful! Her enormous arms wrap around his torso with a force that could sever him in half.
She releases. He struggles to catch his breath. Before he makes an attempt to, she grabs his hand and leads him into the living room.
All the lights are out. A fire is burning in the fireplace, giving off a dreamy glowing aura. A large fleece blanket and two pillows are neatly laid on the floor. She’s planned this out, meticulous detail by meticulous detail. God, what a woman!
Black Beauty stops, turns around and lifts Max’s shirt over his head. She kneels down and unbuckles his belt. Max reaches down and rubs her strong, broad shoulders. Black Beauty kisses his abdominal muscles, savoring every inch. Max plans to savor every inch of her, too.
Victoria Dominguez on a beach. Heaven on Earth, no?
She finally strips him and instructs him to sit down on the blanket. Max obliges. Black Beauty takes a few steps back and starts an erotic dance that captivates him. His manhood stands at attention. She removes her negligee and drops it to the floor. It pools around her ankles. She slowly removes her bra tosses it recklessly across the room. It disappears into the darkness.
Her large, plump breasts beckon him, but she pulls away to tease him. She kicks off her stilettos and places them behind her. All that’s left are her panties.
After another languorous erotic dance, inspired by ballet and rhythm stepping, Black Beauty at last removes the one last piece of clothing from her magnificent body. She steps back and poses, proudly demonstrating her muscularity. The light from the fire accentuates every fine curve, every muscle, every inch of her hard work at the gym.
Black Beauty bends over and kisses Max again. She lightly strokes his penis in an effort to arouse him. But the truth is he’s been aroused for hours now. But he appreciates the kind gesture.
She rolls on top of him and kisses his neck, chest and shoulders. Max returns the favor and strokes her long silky black hair. Black Beauty pulls him up and they share a long, wet kiss. Max reaches down and inserts a finger inside her vagina. She lets out a moan, expressing her approval. She’s completely wet, moist and ready for him. He knows what comes next.
Coming apart from their kiss, Black Beauty lies down on her back and spreads her thick legs in a spreadeagle formation. Max caresses her calves and takes his time to admire them. But she is impatient. She wants him to enter her. She wants him to please her.
Max, not wanting to disappoint, positions his penis at the entrance of her vagina and rubs the tip against her swollen clitoris. Black Beauty moans again loudly, not holding back. Now is not the time to hold back anything.
Halle Berry is one of my favorites from my youth. God, what a beauty!
In one single movement, Max pushes himself into her until he can’t possibly get any deeper. Jolts of electricity scream through their bodies. Max bends over and kisses Black Beauty ardently, savoring her with an earnest that he’s never experienced before. She wraps her long strong legs around him and thrusts herself into him, forcing both lovers to moan out loud in unapologetic pleasure.
Max whispers something into Black Beauty’s ear. Only they know what is said, no one else. As he drives himself deeper and deeper into her, he forgets where he is for a moment. Her house? Paradise? It makes no difference.
Black Beauty clutches her lover’s body tightly against her ample chest, her bulky muscles temporarily knocking the wind out of him. They kiss with a force that neither could replicate with another person again. Wet, sloppy and untamed, these lovers are holding nothing back. They don’t have time to waste. It’s only this moment, this place and their animalistic lust for each other that matter. Why worry about tomorrow?
The lovers experience the initial sensations of orgasm. But this lovemaking session isn’t about the orgasm. No. It’s about one thing only: Love.
She rolls over and takes over on top. He enthusiastically indulges in her whim. Riding him like a cowgirl riding her prized stallion, she locks her fingers around his and playfully dances up and down his manhood. He whimpers, knowing this is a moment he will never forget. She falls on top of him, spreads her legs wide and prepares for one final thrust that will send both lovers over the edge.
She whispers something into his ear. Like before, no one in the world will ever know what she tells him.
Black Beauty lifts her perfectly rounded butt in the air, takes a deep breath, kisses Max one last time and gives him one last final thrust. Their lips never come apart.
Max and Black Beauty come at the same time. Their lips finally separate. They let out a wild scream which will surely shake the Earth’s foundation.
Her vaginal muscles contract uncontrollably. His penis pulses with authority, emptying himself into her. He wants to give her all he’s got. He wants this moment to be special.
She collapses on top of him. They breathe heavily. Sweat drips off their bodies. Their hearts pound together to the same beat. The shadows created by the fire’s light produce a picturesque image of erotic perfection. Two people. One body. Pure love.
They continue to whisper sweet words into each other’s ears. The poetry shared between them could fill a thousand volumes of classical literature.
Outside, the rain begins to fall. It gets louder and louder with each passing moment. There is now a peace between the two lovers. The gentle sounds of water cascading off the roof add to the sexual ambiance.
Finally, she lifts herself off of him. His penis has softened by now. She toys with it playfully, smiling down at him. He returns the favor and lightly strokes her beautiful labia. He sits up and kisses her breasts, lapping her tongue across her sensitive nipples. She closes her eyes, looks up to the Heavens and sighs with satisfaction. This moment cannot be any more perfect, she tells herself.
Romantic fireplace and wine.
The night is still young. The fire’s celestial glow endures. The fire burning within them is far from being satiated. Their shared love will never die.
The two lovers cuddle underneath the blanket and share stories about their childhoods. There’s something poignant about the simplicity of life and the desire to share it that comes out after the act of lovemaking. They talk for what seems like an eternity. The rain continues to pour. Nurturing the earth, the light tapping of water against the windows makes both Black Beauty and Max a little nostalgic for the mutual pleasure they experienced moments before.
What should they do? How can they make this flawless night last forever?
Max has an idea.
He pulls back the blanket, kisses her again, hugs her firmly and tells her what’s on his mind. She nods.
I’d like to think that one day it’ll become more acceptable to being attracted to muscular women. After all, I do sense a somewhat significant backlash against the “skinny is beautiful” aesthetic that we’ve all grown accustomed to seeing.
I’m also willing to bet the recent debate about healthcare will also spur some further dialogue about the health of our country and what it means to be healthy. Is starving yourself in order to achieve that rail thin look good for your body? The answer, of course, is a resounding NO.
Maybe someday we’ll actually see more muscular women in everyday society once we get past the irrational concept that women can’t lift weights in the gym like guys do. Face it: You all know what I’m talking about. Which demographic almost always dominates the weight room at your gym? Men. This isn’t even up for debate.
So, once we see more ladies pump iron in the weight room, perhaps this will lead more and more straight guys (and non-straight guys, to be fair) to openly admit that a women with muscle isn’t gross, but beautiful. Is it so strange to finally admit something that was once “taboo” the moment it becomes mainstream? I would hope not.
But seeing muscular women walk down the streets in droves is far from a reality and probably will never become commonplace (though one does hope and pray!) in my lifetime. Nevertheless, let’s delve into ten common misconceptions about having a female muscle fetish that we should clear up in anticipation of a complete social paradigm shift in how we define “sexy.”
I’d go to the gym more often if women like Ericca Kern were hanging around the weight room.
1. Straight men who are attracted to muscular women are secretly gay.
There’s this belief out there that straight men who love a female with brawn is somehow living a lie. He’s not really straight, but instead a fabulously gay man ready to burst out of the closet with two chiseled female bodybuilders sitting on his shoulders.
If my understanding of sexuality is correct, gay men are attracted to OTHER MEN, not women. I’m heterosexual and have no desire to be intimate with a guy. I do, however, have many fantasies about being intimate with women like Gayle Moher, Tazzie Colomb, Ericca Kern and Angela Salvagno. I’m attracted to these women (and scores of others) because they’re beautiful women; regardless if their beauty is or is not commonly accepted among the general population.
That’s correct. They’re WOMEN who are BEAUTIFUL by standards that happen to be outside of the norm. My personal standards for female beauty are my own. I’m not saying you should agree with me, but you should accept this fixation of mine and move on with your life.
Sound good?
Great!
I could write a whole essay describing the beauty of Denise Masino. I just might…
2. Having a female muscle fetish also means you’re into BDSM.
BDSM, for those of you who don’t know what this means, is an acronym for Bondage, Discipline (it could also be Domination) and Sadomasochism. In short, this means chains, whips, being tied up, tying up someone else, spanking, role playing, domination, submission, safe words, leather outfits, consensual pain, pleasure though pain, pleasure through risqué social relationships, pleasure through power, pleasure through the lack of power, paddles, rope, orgasm control, dungeons, anal plugs, kinky toys, blindfolds and a whole host of other elements.
You get the idea, right? Think “50 Shades of Grey,” if you’ve ever heard of that before.
Hell, at this point who hasn’t?
While many female bodybuilders often engage in BDSM activities outside of their bodybuilding careers (being a professional bodybuilder, unfortunately, isn’t a very lucrative business), there is no direct link between being having a female muscle fetish and being into the D/s subculture.
Please don’t get me wrong: I’m not judging those who are into that sort of thing. In fact, I believe that whatever you’re into is your own business and no one else’s. What happens between consenting adults in the privacy of their own homes is not for us to judge. So…I am not saying all of this because I want to distance myself from DBSM culture.
Rather, you can be attracted to an FBB and not want her to tie you up, spank you with a paddle and call you dirty names while she makes you do her bidding. Your lust for her can be very “vanilla,” just as if you had a crush on the girl next door.
Except this girl happens to have steel thighs, bulging biceps, wide pecs and rock hard abs!
But this all brings me to my next point…
Would I want Tina Lockwood’s massive thighs around my neck? No, but don’t knock it unless you’ve tried it, right?
3. A guy with a female muscle fetish wants a female bodybuilder to physically dominate him.
Nor is this a true statement. Speaking from my personal life, all my fantasies about being with a beautiful female bodybuilder has nothing to do with her physically dominating me.
I would love nothing more than to make love to a woman like Lisa Cross. She doesn’t have to wrestle me, sit on me, grapple me, pick me up, or pin me to the ground till I beg her to let me breathe. A simple evening with her involving candle light, a bottle of wine, fresh fruit and silky white bed sheets will suffice.
Seriously. That would be awesome.
While many guys who love female muscle are also into D/s role playing, I want to make a point that not every guy fantasizes about the same thing. Just as most regular people have a diverse range of sexual fantasies, so do guys who love ladies with muscles. We’re no different, no freakier than you are. We’re just into a different sort of woman.
Contrary to popular belief, I still find women like Kate Upton to be beautiful.
4. A guy with a female muscle fetish isn’t attracted to “normal” looking women.
On the contrary, I find women of all types to be beautiful. When I was in high school, I had the biggest celebrity crush on Monica Bellucci, whom I thought was literally the most beautiful woman in the world.
Upon further review, there is little evidence to suggest that my assessment at the time was wrong. Even as a middle aged woman, Ms. Bellucci remains a supremely gorgeous creature. My high school-self had every rational reason to be enamored by this Italian Goddess.
Like most young men, I see beautiful women everywhere I look and frequently fantasize about being with them (guys think about sex every, what is it…seven seconds?). One young lady I particularly like at the moment is the polar opposite of a female bodybuilder: She’s small, petite and possesses absolutely no upper body strength. Kim Chizevsky could snap her like a twig if she wanted to. But I nevertheless find her supremely beautiful.
She has narrow hips, skinny legs, pale white skin and flat breasts. She’s half Asian but looks very much like she could be full. She’s smart, funny and shares a lot of the same interests as me. I’m very much in love with her, but unfortunately she doesn’t quite share the same mutual feelings (my confession of my love for her and her subsequent “friend-zoning” of me could make for a whole other blog post). Regardless, I think she’s one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met.
All this is to say that I’m also attracted to “normal” looking women. It’s not like guys who love muscular women find their less muscled counterparts to be repulsive. We don’t expect every woman to look like Lauren Powers or Lora Ottenad, so it’s unreasonable to assume if you don’t look like them, we don’t care. It’s not like that at all.
Having a female muscle fetish isn’t a one-track deal. It’s just one tool in the tool shed, so to speak. Of course women like Megan Fox and Kate Upton also catch our eye. But ladies like Deidre Pagnanelli and Monica Brant do as well. That’s all there is to it.
If being attracted to a woman like Gayle Moher means I’m unhealthy, then I’m one sick puppy!
5. Having a female muscle fetish is a “condition” that’s unhealthy.
This is a misconception that especially gets me angry. I don’t know how common this belief is, but I do know that a small percentage of folks out there might think this.
Clinically speaking, the proper term is sthenolagnia, which means “sexual arousal from displaying strength or muscles.” This isn’t a condition. It’s just a kink. Of course, any interest that goes too far can be unhealthy. When a fetish becomes an obsession, you can be prone to adopting some very unhealthy behaviors.
Wasting money you can’t afford to spend to satisfy your kink. Alienating your friends and family. Breaking the law. Endangering your physical being and psyche. All of these things can be associated with a fetish gone too far.
But this definitely is not normal for people with a harmless and unusual fetish.
To be fair, I should say that the word “fetish” can be misleading. In some definitions, the word “fetish” implies that someone needs that particular object in order to get sexually aroused and cannot get aroused otherwise. In other words, if feet are your thing, nothing will turn you on except for feet and feet only.
This definition might be a bit extreme, but like I mentioned before, being attracted to muscular women doesn’t mean I can’t be attracted to non-muscular women. There are lots of non-FBBs who strike my fancy.
So there is nothing unhealthy about having a female muscle fetish. It doesn’t affect my personal or professional life. My relationships with my friends and family aren’t strained because of it. My relationship with women also isn’t suddenly off-the-wall because of this particular fandom. I’m perfectly normal. And many other guys who share my kink are as well.
Growing up, I considered Monica Bellucci to be the most beautiful woman on the planet. After looking at photos like this, I can see why.
6. A female muscle fetish is caused by unresolved childhood trauma.
Can my love for female bodybuilders be explained because of some unresolved childhood trauma? Was Mommy overbearing, despotic and cruel? Was Daddy weak, complacent and effeminate? Could this be the cause of my lust for strong women?
I’m no psychologist, but I’m guessing there’s absolutely no link between liking female muscle and having a troubled childhood. But it does seem rather tempting to make a Freudian connection between having a strong mother and gravitating toward strong women as an adult.
I’m willing to bet there’s some truth that someone who was spanked as a child (by mom, perhaps) might develop a fetish for being spanked as a grownup. But I have absolutely no empirical evidence to back me up.
Alas, I can only speak from personal experience that my attraction to female muscle is completely independent from my upbringing.
Then again, it’s hard to self-analyze, isn’t it?
Maybe I should see a shrink after all…
I don’t think my attraction for Gina Davis will ever go away.
7. A female muscle fetish is temporary and will eventually go away.
Sticking with this theme of a female muscle fetish being a “condition,” is it like the common cold and it will eventually go away with plenty of bed rest, cough drops and chicken soup?
I highly doubt it. This is not some sort of temporary fad that I’ll get into and eventually move on from as if it were a trend diet. The South Beach Diet, Atkin’s Diet and the recently chic Paleo Diet may come and go, but I don’t think the love for female muscle will ever go away.
If you browse chat forums that discuss muscle worship, wrestling sessions and the love for FBBs, many of these folks talk about loving female muscle for many years, sometimes dating back to childhood. It’s like a light going off: Everyone who loves muscular women can remember the exact moment they first discovered this love. Whether it was pursuing through a fitness magazine, catching a glimpse of a female bodybuilder on television or seeing a strong female character in a comic book, everyone with a female muscle fetish can share their personal testimony of “how it all started.”
This is why I very much doubt the belief that this kink will simply run its course after a new fetish is magically “discovered.”
Unfortunately, not all female bodybuilders are as beautiful as Monica Brant.
8. Guys who are attracted to female bodybuilders are attracted to ALL female bodybuilders.
There are lots of FBBs whom I find attractive. Katka Kyptova, Victoria Dominguez, Tina Lockwood (who retired from bodybuilding a while back), Colette Guimond, Amber DeLuca and scores of others are some of the most beautiful women I’ve ever laid eyes on.
However, this doesn’t mean I find every female bodybuilder attractive.
I hate to say it and sound sexist, but there are some FBBs who do indeed look “gross.” Whether it’s because of veins sticking out of their skin, “masculine” faces caused by an imbalance of hormones, or some other reason, there are some FBBs in this world that don’t even come close to turning me on. While I wholeheartedly reject the notion that female bodybuilders are disgusting because women shouldn’t have muscles, unfortunately (and it hurts me to say this) this is somewhat true for a select few.
Whew. There you go. I said it. Not every muscular woman looks sexy and beautiful. I hope I don’t offend anybody out there!
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, as the old saying goes. Generally speaking, we all have our standards for what we find aesthetically pleasing in a human being. Some folks fit in those categories, and others simply do not. We should try our best not to be judgmental about these sorts of things, but that doesn’t change the fact that some women (and men!) are naturally more beautiful than others.
I have nothing against FBBs whom I don’t find pleasant to look at. They have every right to sculpt their bodies into whatever shape they want. I just don’t need to find it attractive, necessarily.
To each his own, eh?
Sandra Faas is beautiful, regardless of what others might think!
9. A female muscle fetish is misogynist because we’re objectifying a muscular woman.
I’m no feminist scholar, but I’m sure some folks out there might object to us guys with the hots for strong ladies because we’re treating them like sex objects instead of human beings.
This is one misconception that might, unfortunately, have a certain degree of truth. I suppose it’s not a stretch to say that a guy who likes the muscles on a woman is similar to a guy who likes a woman with fake breasts, artificially tanned skin and excessive Botox treatments. We like what we see instead of who she is as a person.
If we lust after a woman because of her looks, does this make us sexist? This is a whole other discussion that I’m not too keen on getting into right now. But here is what I can say with a certain degree of certainty: Guys who like muscular women probably aren’t typically going to be the sexist, misogynist pigs you see on Mad Men.
I say this because I think the hatred of female bodybuilders is more fueled by sexism than the love for female bodybuilders. While objectification under any circumstances is unacceptable, I’m willing to bet if there is a group of straight men out there who is less likely to be against a woman demonstrating her independence and bodily freedom, it would be guys with a female muscle fetish.
Personally, I think it’s awesome there are women out there who could care less about what society says and choose to pursue bodybuilding regardless. I’m all for someone striving to be the best they can be at what they do. The beauty about bodybuilding is that it’s a sport where, ultimately, you’re competing against yourself more so than against other people.
Think of it this way: Us guys who like strong ladies do so because we like the way they look. Fine. But there’s a hidden layer underneath this. We also like their will, tenacity and dedication to looking the way they do. Lots of guys are scared and intimated by a woman who’s not afraid to break stereotypes.
Guys like me aren’t.
The peerless Kim Chizevsky could care less if you think muscles aren’t sexy on a woman. You go girl! Keep pumping those biceps!
10. A female muscle fetish is rare.
My last point is another point that might be partly true. It’s very hard to say how many guys are actually attracted to muscular women. It is fair to say that the number of guys who are open about their attraction to muscular women is rare. I’ll give you that.
But how many guys (like myself) keep their love for strong lassies a secret? As we all know, it’s a taboo to openly admit this, so this could explain why we think it’s so rare. But is it actually more prevalent but kept underground because of the stigma attached to it?
Anything that’s considered “weird” ceases to become weird once it becomes more popular. I could list a million things that fit into this category. But as much as I love female muscle, I’d be very hesitant to openly admit this fetish in casual conversation with my friends. Complete strangers on the Internet? No problem! My best friends? Uh, no.
So is a female muscle fetish rare? Maybe, maybe not. I’m in no position to say either yay or nay.
But maybe it isn’t. Maybe there are a lot of men out there who wouldn’t hesitate to confess that a woman with muscles is way more sexy than a woman with a bony body if it weren’t so “strange.” Maybe the more we see muscular woman in public, the more willing guys would be to whisper to their buddies, “Hey, she’s pretty hot. And strong, too!”
Maybe, and bear with me here, if more guys admitted to liking a girl with a little bulk, more women would abandon ridiculous fad diets and do more bench presses. Starve yourself to get skinny? Screw that! Go to the gym instead and LIFT to your heart’s delight! If we want to see more women in the weight room, all we simply need to do is encourage them. Hmmmmm…
I often wonder why being attracted to muscular women isn’t more mainstream.
Of course, there are the obvious reasons, such as muscular women aren’t commonplace, “society” (however you define that) believes skinny is beautiful and the perception that women with muscles look too much like men.
All these reasons are valid and definitely hold a degree of truth, but there lies a deeper explanation. And that explanation can be summarized into two words: Masculine insecurity.
One has to conclude that, by and large, straight men in America aren’t encouraged to openly admit they like muscular women out of fear they’d be labeled as “not a real man.” What real man would like a woman who is stronger and bigger than himself? I mean, do you really want to marry a lady who can bench press more than you in front of your friends at the gym? Talk about embarrassing.
Then again, one has to also wonder whether this fear is based on other people’s judgments or actual personalized fear. Are guys more afraid of the pure fact that a woman is be stronger than him or the public ridicule that comes with it? It seems like what other people think about you is more important than how you think about yourself.
There’s also the literal fear of a muscular woman.
Are some guys afraid that muscular women are more dangerous than normal women? If your muscular girlfriend gets mad at you, will she start hitting and beating you up like an abusive partner? Would you be powerless to effectively fight back?
I don’t think there’s a strong stereotype (thought it does exist to a degree) that female bodybuilders are more aggressive and violent in nature. Being strong doesn’t mean you always use that strength for belligerent purposes. I don’t think people believe male bodybuilders are more dangerous than “normal” guys.
Blonde Muscle Goddess Melissa Dettwiller.
Nor do we believe professional athletes are more prone to violent behavior than non-athletes. An NFL linebacker may spend their Sundays pounding guys to a pulp, but I don’t think that behavior necessarily translates off the field. Granted, there are professional athletes across all sports who can be violent at times, but that has nothing to do with their profession.
Sadly, plenty of people who don’t play sports for a living commit acts of violence in everyday life. Violence is a result of a large variety of social cues, which are obviously too numerous to explain. Suffice to say it’s foolish to equate muscular strength with any tendency toward violence.
It could be true that people predisposed to aggressive behavior tend to gravitate toward hobbies that exhibit these characteristics; such as boxing, hunting or martial arts. But correlation doesn’t prove causation, a sentiment you’ll hear often on Internet discussion forums.
So, if engaging in activities that create muscular strength (like weightlifting, sports or physically demanding jobs) does not automatically mean that person will be more aggressive, this also means men have nothing to fear when it comes to interacting with muscular women. Obviously, muscular women don’t exactly show up in our lives every day, but discussions surrounding strength and femininity do.
And this is where a heterosexual male’s fear of strong women comes into play. We fear a muscular woman will “emasculate” us, not in a physical sense (a female bodybuilder isn’t going to rip off your penis during foreplay!), but in a psychological sense. She makes us feel inadequate because her strength is superior to ours. As the so-called “weaker sex,” a woman isn’t supposed to be stronger than a man.
Maybe this is why so many male sports fans make fun of female athletes. We tell athletes like Danica Patrick and Venus and Serena Williams to “go back into the kitchen” because we feel emasculated that they’ve achieved something we haven’t. They’ve become good at a professional sport. Most of us aren’t professional athletes who get paid millions to play a game. Most of us pay the bills doing something less glamorous with our lives.
This might also explain why rabid male sports fans will worship somebody like LeBron James or Adrian Peterson while making fun of Abby Wambach for being a lesbian. We admire James and Peterson for being supreme athletes but are secretly jealous of Wambach because she can score more women than most of us guys. And she’s a chick!
Also, we can rationalize that athletes like Kobe Bryant, Justin Verlander and Tom Brady are where they are because they have more natural skill, support systems (professional trainers and coaches) and personal drive than us. So we accept the fact that they’re wildly successful multimillionaires. But how can you explain Kim Clijsters? How can a woman be so rich and famous while I’m not? Preposterous!
Let’s look at this from another angle: the relationship between a female muscle fetish and BDSM culture.
I can only speak for myself on this point. I’m obviously very attracted to muscular women, but I don’t consider myself into BDSM kink culture. I’d love to have sex with a woman like Alina Popa or Amber Deluca, but I have no desire to be tied up, spanked, slapped or wrestled by either of them.
Meet Coco Crush. She could “crush” you if she wanted to, but I don’t think she would.
I should hurry up and say that I’m not against BDSM, nor am I judging anyone who is into that. Not at all! Rather, I’m just saying I’m not personally into that sort of thing. Anything consensual is fair game in my book. What I do want to say is that being attracted to female muscle isn’t the same thing as being into bondage, submission or sadomasochism. Rather, my attraction is purely based on other reasons.
We’ve just explored that the backlash against muscular women by heterosexual men can be based upon a combination of sexism and irrational fears. But it can also be based on prejudice and the mistaken belief that if you can lure a muscular woman into bed, she’ll “take over” and become the “man” in the relationship.
I’ve never had sex with a muscular woman, but I’m willing to bet their bedroom behaviors and preferences are no different than any other woman. She just wants to have a good time like you! I highly doubt she’ll want to grapple you and make you into her “little slave” without your consent. If she’s into that sort of thing and you are too, great. But I’m willing to bet not every FBB shares that kink.
Seriously, who wouldn’t want to be Deidre Pagnanelli’s little slave?
If only I could ask a hundred or so straight men to anonymously answer me this simple question: Are you attracted to a woman with muscles?
I’d like to think if they could honestly answer without anyone knowing their answer, a good percentage of guys would say “yes.” I can tell you from my personal experience that I’d say yes in private but would be less likely to admit it in public.
Of course, no one has ever directly asked me if I’m into muscular women, so I have no idea how I’d answer. Maybe it all depends on who’s asking and why.
Now…I don’t want to come across as a man-basher. I’m far from it. I’m a man, too! I realize embarrassment, fear, misinformation and sexism aren’t the only reasons why a straight guy wouldn’t be attracted to a lady with bulging biceps. Sexual attraction, ultimately, is a personal thing determined by each individual.
To each his own. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. It’s all a matter of opinion. Blah, blah, blah. We’ve all heard this before. Maybe some guys genuinely don’t dig this particular aesthetic. They’d rather go for Kim Kardashian instead of Colette Guimond. There is no right or wrong answer.
If hypermuscularity isn’t your thing, check out professional figure competitor and fitness model Erin Stern. Isn’t she ridiculously pretty?
But my real point is that regardless of what you’re into, can we stop judging each other for it? I’m into muscular women. There you go. Can we move on with our lives? I’m no more freaky than you are. In fact, I might be less freaky because I can actually put into words what my penis tells me is attractive in a woman, while some guys are only attracted to someone because a Photoshopped magazine cover told them to be.
Maybe someday it will be more socially acceptable for a guy to admit he likes muscular women. Maybe someday it will be accepted into the “mainstream.”
Maybe.
So, if that day ever comes, here’s my stereotypical Seattle hipster moment for the day:
I was into beautiful muscular women BEFORE it was mainstream.
When you imagine “Muscle Girl,” think about Nikki Fuller.
Asian Boy was obsessed with Her. He couldn’t stop thinking about Her. Every night he fantasized about Her. The thought of Her beautiful muscular body grinding against his tiny, scrawny Asian body drove him wild with ecstasy.
Tonight is no exception. Asian Boy is in his apartment watching his favorite video of Her: a crudely shot YouTube video of Her pumping iron at the gym wearing nothing but a bright green bikini.
You can see every inch of Her magnificent body. The bikini leaves little to the imagination.
He can see every drip of sweat streak down Her thick muscled body. He stares in awe as She bench presses 315, squats 405 and deadlifts 500. He watches Her pose for the camera after Her strenuous workout – every muscle on Her divine body glistening, a valuable piece of art in the flesh.
Asian Boy has seen this video hundreds of times. It never gets old. To his misfortune, this is the only video he could find of Her. He’s searched everywhere for another. But so far he’s found nothing.
God, She’s the most gorgeous woman on the planet! Asian Boy is completely enamored by a woman he’s never met. But, in a strange way, he feels a powerful connection to Her. There’s something about the way She looks into the camera that convinces Asian Boy She’s looking specifically at him.
He knows this is crazy, but he knows it’s true.
The woman’s name is Michelle. No last name is given. She’s a professional bodybuilder and powerlifter. She’s competed in contests around the globe. No other information exists about Her.
Where does She live? How old is She? How did She get into weightlifting? What kind of grueling training regimen does She follow in order to develop Her phenomenal muscle mass?
Michelle is a Divine Muscle Goddess of spectacular proportions. The video description details her measurements:
Wow. Can you believe it? She’s a BEAST. She puts male bodybuilders to shame with Her incredible measurements.
Michelle, Michelle, Michelle. Every Google search turns up nothing. He’s tried “Michelle female bodybuilder,” “Michelle powerlifter,” “Michelle muscle woman,” “Michelle female bodybuilder and powerlifter.”
He’s tried them all. But nothing comes close to finding Her.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It’s like She doesn’t exist.
But he knows She exists. She has to.
For now, Asian Boy is preoccupied watching a six and a half minute video he’s seen over and over again. He’s memorized every single frame. He’s hopelessly obsessed with this Powerful Muscle Angel. She’s blonde, exceptionally tall, looks to be between 40 and 50 years old and is entirely covered from head to toe with incredibly bulging, rippling muscles.
Asian Boy wouldn’t be surprised if She could bend a crowbar with Her bare hands or rip a phone book in half. Asian Boy could imagine Her doing a whole host of amazing feats of strength.
The video ends. But he wants more of Her. He can’t get enough of Her. He decides to watch it again.
The video starts from the top. Muscle Girl is back at it – bench pressing ten strenuous repetitions till She’s completely out of breath with sweat dripping out of every pore of Her heavenly body.
Asian Boy knows he’ll never be able to make love to a woman like Muscle Girl. Michelle must have countless men clamoring to be with Her. She must have a husband who’s without a doubt the luckiest man on Earth. He’s privileged to be with the most beautiful and strongest woman on the planet.
Asian Boy often fantasized about what it would be like to make love to Muscle Girl. The video half over, Asian Boy closes his eyes and lets his imagination take off…
Dusk.
A secluded beach house on an exotic Caribbean island.
Asian Boy and Muscle Girl enter the house after a long walk on the sandy beach. After a hot and humid 97 degree day, the evening has cooled off considerably.
Muscle Girl stands at least a foot taller than Asian Boy, but Asian Boy feels absolutely no insecurity. Muscle Girl is at least 25 years older than Asian Boy, but She feels no qualms about Her age. She’s embraced Her age and understands it’s only a number. At heart, She’s still a young free-spirited woman.
Muscle Girl just won the Ms. Olympia bodybuilding competition for the twelfth year in a row and continues to break world records at a staggering rate. Considered the greatest professional bodybuilder and powerlifter of all time, Muscle Girl has the unquestioned respect of every man and woman in the business.
She’s gained endorsement contracts, movie deals and is an international celebrity. People around the globe admire Muscle Girl’s massive size, unparalleled physical strength, supermodel-like beauty, stark femininity and undisputed greatness.
She’s out-lifted male athletes and bodybuilders. Feminists and social critics praise Her as shattering the stereotype that women are the weaker sex. Muscle Girl is admired for being a woman who, through self-determination and iron will, can achieve anything.
Muscle Girl has become a social icon, a symbol, a cultural warrior.
But none of that matters now. Little does the outside world know that Muscle Girl’s heart belongs to the most unlikely fellow: a short, skinny soft-spoken Asian American young man named Jonathan. Muscle Girl and Asian Boy have dated for almost a year without the paparazzi or even their own families knowing about it.
They prefer their secret relationship stay that way.
But they’re not ashamed of their love. On the contrary, Muscle Girl and Asian Boy would not hesitate to publicly profess their undying love for each other…except they don’t want the perils of fame and fortune getting in the way of their passionate relationship.
Both will admit the jarring contrast between the two: A short, nerdy Asian boy dating a large, tall powerful muscular woman. They turn heads when they’re seen in public together. But they could care less what people think. All they care about is the love they have for each other.
A romantic sunset on the beach.
The beach house belongs to a friend of Muscle Girl, some rich Hollywood executive. He let Muscle Girl and Asian Boy borrow the house for the week. This unorthodox couple has spent their time exploring the island, eating the local food, exercising at the local gyms, swimming in the Caribbean Sea, soaking up the sun and…
Most of all, their favorite pastime: making love.
Asian Boy and Muscle Girl make love constantly and passionately, the internal fire burning inside them refusing to die. When they join together their bodies become one; two unlikely lovers becoming whole.
Upon returning to the beach house, Muscle Girl takes a shower while Asian Boy starts a fire in the fireplace. He pours two glasses of champagne and grabs a fruit platter out of the refrigerator. He then sits and reflects on how they came to this point.
They met when Asian Boy was working as a freelance photographer. One day Muscle Girl was in town to promote Her new line of health clubs. Asian Boy was assigned to snap a few photos of this international celebrity. When they met, it was magic. Muscle Girl was wearing a sports bra and shorts. Asian Boy stood there watching Her, clutching his camera toward his chest. Their eyes met. They knew they had connected on a metaphysical level. She came to him. He said something to Her. She laughed.
The rest, as they say, is history.
When the shower stops, Asian Boy turns around. Sure enough, right on cue, Muscle Girl walks out wearing nothing but a white towel around her torso.
Asian Boy’s heart stops, as it always does.
Though he’s seen Her naked thousands of times, Her magnificent body never fails to steal his breath. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get accustomed to seeing Michelle’s Goddess figure in all its glory.
Muscle Girl: “You poured two glasses of champagne.”
Asian Boy: “Yes, one for me and one for you. Here you go, darling.”
Muscle Girl: “Thank you, lover.”
She takes a sip of Her champagne and sighs deeply. She’s been under a lot of stress lately and desperately needed this vacation to relax and unwind.
Asian Boy: “You never cease to amaze me. You look absolutely gorgeous. Beautiful beyond words.”
Muscle Girl: “Thank you, lover. You look amazing, too.”
He blushes, knowing he’s light years away from looking as great as Her. Sensing his insecurity, Muscle Girl puts the glass of champagne down on the bedside table and approaches Asian Boy slowly. She wraps her thick, strong arms around him and embraces him tightly, communicating Her undying love for him.
They share a long fervent kiss, a spiritual exchange of affection that makes his heart race. She has to look down to meet his lips. He has to look up and stand on his toes.
When they come apart, they stare intimately into each other’s eyes. They know what’s next. Asian Boy opens a window and lets a cool breeze enter. Muscle Girl turns off the lights and allows the fire’s celestial glow to fill the room.
Asian Boy begins to remove his clothing as he has often done in front of Her. Muscle Girl lets the bath towel drop and pool around Her feet, revealing her nude form.
She’s as tall as a basketball player and as thick as a wrestler. She’s a natural blonde with faint traces of white hair mixed in between. Her legs are long and as thick as tree trunks. Her arms bulge in every direction, Her pumped biceps as big as cantaloupes. Her shoulders stretch at least a yard across. Her back is covered with layers and layers of mounds of pure muscle. Her abdomen proudly shows off Her swollen six-pack, a jaw-dropping reminder that Her strong chiseled core could take a punch from a heavyweight prize fighter and not break. Her skin is tanned and rough as leather. At 48 years old, Her age lines and wrinkles do nothing to distract from Her perfectly proportioned face.
She has the body of a Greek goddess, the face of a supermodel, the will power of a marathon runner and the intelligence of an Ivy League professor. It’s by no mistake that She’s the wealthiest female athlete in the world. Her business savvy and unequaled physical strength is the reason why She’s a superstar celebrity. No doubt She’s the most beautiful and intelligent woman he’s ever met.
Asian Boy: “You look divine. I love the way the light from the fire casts shadows across your muscular body. Amazing.”
Muscle Girl: “You’re too kind, lover. Way too kind! Here, let me help you with that.”
Muscle Girl reaches down and unzips Asian Boy’s pants. She pulls down his underwear to reveal his erection, hot and ready for her. Asian Boy knows he isn’t gifted with a large endowment, but that never gets in the way of their lovemaking. She insists size doesn’t matter to Her. Even though he knows She would never lie to him, a small part of him still feels insecure.
Once Asian Boy removes his last article of clothing, hand in hand the two lovers walk to the bed and lie down. Their hands ravenously explore each other’s bodies, touching with finesse and familiarity. He toys with Her nipples, making them stand at attention. She reaches down and strokes his thighs, making him want Her more. They kiss, savoring every single taste.
The tip of his penis brushes slightly against Her six-pack abs. He lets out a soft moan, telling Her he’s more than ready. But She doesn’t want him to enter Her yet. She wants to take this leisurely and enjoy the moment.
Muscle Girl grabs the fruit platter and takes a small sip of Her champagne.
Muscle Girl: “Place the fruit across my body.”
Asian Boy does so without saying a word.
One by one, he places thinly sliced pieces of mango, papaya and pineapple across Her buff body. He puts two blueberries on top of her sensitive nipples and a slice of watermelon across Her wet vulva. He reaches down and tenderly strokes Her enlarged two inch-long clitoris. After years of taking synthetic male hormones, Muscle Girl’s feminine parts grew to superhuman proportions. Unexpectedly, her clitoris expanded by an unbelievable two inches. She refers to this as Her “little penis.”
Asian Boy, constantly taunted by society for having a tiny penis, feels intimidated that a woman could have such an endowment. But he continues to stroke Her little penis and gets down to taste between Her legs.
Muscle Girl: “I like this, lover. I like this a lot.”
Asian Boy puts Her little penis into his mouth and sucks on it joyfully. Muscle Girl chews on a piece of papaya while he satisfies Her. She gags as she comes, a powerful orgasm ripping through Her body. Asian Boy feels the whole bed shake as Her vagina contracts wildly in response.
Minutes later, Asian Boy and Muscle Girl eat all the fruit off Her body. She decides foreplay is over.
Muscle Girl: “Enter me, lover.”
Muscle Girl, now on Her back, spreads Her legs wide for him. Asian Boy grips Her hips, positioning the head of his penis onto Her vulva and enters Her with a single thrust. Both lovers let out a moan as they connect at their most intimate parts, a transcendental form of communication only two perfect lovers could understand.
Slowly he rocks back and forth, building to what would be an earth-shattering climax. They stare into each other’s eyes, expressing a love so beautiful and perfect no two people would ever be able to replicate it. Every nerve ending in his manhood erupts with pleasure as he goes in and out of Her.
Finally, Asian Boy climaxes, emptying himself into Her, hot and sticky.
Muscle Girl, however, does not climax and is hungry for Her own orgasm. She gets up and reaches for the bedside drawer and takes out a nine inch long black dildo. Asian Boy grabs a bottle of lubricant and applies some onto the dildo’s daunting shaft. Muscle Girl leisurely inserts the dildo into Her vaginal canal, enjoying every inch of it. Asian Boy sits back and finishes his champagne.
Her breathing quickens as Her orgasm builds. He watches keenly, wondering if he should be jealous of this nine inch-long contraption. His concentration breaks as She climaxes for the second time, a small amount of feminine juice gushing from Her loins and staining the bed sheets. Muscle Girl, breathless and wheezing furiously, looks down at Her mess.
Muscle Girl: “Looks like I just wet the bed, huh?”
Asian Boy: “Yes you did! We can clean that up later.”
Muscle Girl takes the dildo out of Her womanhood and places it on top of the drawer. She looks at Asian Boy and immediately senses his feeling of emasculation. They live in a cruel world that relentlessly emasculates Asian men. She knows that and kisses him deeply, tasting his essence.
She guides his hands down, encouraging his fingers to enter Her. First, one finger was inside Her. Then two. Then three. Eventually, his entire fist is completely inside Her. She continues to kiss him as his fist pounds into Her, eventually delivering Her third orgasm. Muscle Girl lets out an uninhibited scream. Asian Boy removes his hand from Her vagina.
Muscle Girl finishes Her champagne and eats the last of the fruit, sweat beading on Her coarse skin. To complete the night, they decide to do something they’d only done a few times before.
Muscle Girl dabs a generous amount of lubricant on Asian Boy’s penis and tickles his scrotum. His erection returns. Muscle Girl turns around and gets down on Her hands and knees.
Muscle Girl: “Enter me again, lover. But you know where I want it.”
Asian Boy: “Yes, lover.”
Asian Boy puts his hands on Her bottom, admiring its shape. Then, he thrusts his entire manhood into Her anus, eliciting a throaty moan from both lovers.
Asian Boy: “Am I hurting you?”
Muscle Girl: “Yes, but I don’t care. Do it. I want you to.”
Asian Boy pushes in and out of Her, filling Her tightness with his small manhood. Her groans of pain become louder as his thrusting becomes faster. Both lovers let out a scream so loudly and passionately they could care less if the entire world hears them. To hell with the world.
Muscle Girl stifles a moan as Asian Boy climaxes for the second time that night, filling Her anal cavity with his seed. He immediately pulls out and kisses the back of Her neck. He falls on top of Her and they lay there motionless, their skin covered in sweat.
Muscle Girl: “I love you, Jonathan.”
Asian Boy: “I love you, Michelle.”
Muscle Girl and Asian Boy instantly fall into a peaceful slumber, the cool breeze from outside blanketing their bodies.
Asian Boy then wakes up. Not in the beach house, but in his apartment. Alone, he realizes he’d been dreaming. His computer screen is black and it’s nearly 3:00 a.m. He turns off the computer and rolls onto his side.
He can’t stop fantasizing about Her. He can’t stop imagining what it would be like to make love to a beautiful muscular woman like Her.
Asian Boy silently says a prayer to the Heavens, wishing Her good luck and sweet dreams. Once again, he couldn’t explain how he knew, but Asian Boy senses She heard his prayer. He knew, in a cosmic way, Muscle Girl heard all of his prayers.
His last thought before drifting off to sleep was a thankful wish to Her. Thank you for being a part of my life, he prays, even though She doesn’t know he exist. But he knows She exists, and that’s all that matters.
I need some cheering up. It’s Saturday afternoon and I’m still not close to landing a replacement job. I realize it’s been less than a week, but there’s got to be something out there for me, right?
Uh, maybe not. Maybe there isn’t anything out there for me right now.
I mean, I’m not going to become a high class drug dealer and follow Sam’s footsteps. I have standards! I’m more willing to go back to that God-forsaken temporary staffing place than sell dope to the rich and famous.
Sheesh. I really need some cheering up.
And I think I know the precise medicine: spending another night with Cindi.
Oh, Cindi. You are so beautiful. Tall, muscular, powerful, sexually confident, compassionate, funny, intelligent, gentle…you get it. She’s awesome. So fucking awesome.
God, I need some Cindi North right now! Like, right now! This very instant.
Now.
But it’s Saturday afternoon, so I’m just a few hours closer to seeing the Divine Muscle Goddess again. I promised last time that I’d bring something other than a bottle of wine, so I better keep that promise. What should I bring? I think something healthy and delicious will give me bonus points with her. Let’s check out what the interwebs can tell me…
Hmmm. Gluten-free Yorkshire pudding? Yuck. That doesn’t sound too appetizing.
I don’t think I should do anything with meat. I’m sure Cindi loves a good steak like anybody else, but she said something healthy, so I better stick to the script on this one. How about…
Oh! Here it is! “Curried couscous and red pepper salad.” That sounds delectable. In fact, that sounds pretty darn good. I think I’ll make that.
I run down the street to the store and buy all the necessary ingredients. While standing in the check-out line I see a former co-worker from Wellford Fitness Center and divert my eyes in order to prevent him from seeing me. When I see him leave, I begin to wonder: does everybody know about me and Michelle? Does everyone there know we got fired because we were caught by the boss going at it like dogs at 10:30 in the morning?
No doubt, but I still don’t want to be seen in public by any of them. Granted, I have nothing to be ashamed about. I mean, what straight guy wouldn’t be proud to have had sex with a gorgeous blonde like Michelle? I’d shake the hand of the guy who’s lucky enough to score someone as hot as her.
Which makes me also wonder: In the past few weeks, I’ve been with a strong female bodybuilder AND a hot blonde. Just thinking about that makes me smile with pride. Knowing I was a virgin not so long ago nearly makes me laugh out loud.
As I prepare this couscous salad, it starts to sink in that I’m going to see the Lovely Muscle Angel in less than three hours. She didn’t give me a specific time to show up, but I’m going to assume 5 o’clock should be acceptable.
The clock on the wall says 4:38. Time to go!
I quickly wrap the bowl of curried couscous and red pepper salad (which I tasted before to make sure it’s good) in plastic wrapping and scurry out the door excitedly. It’s not every day you get to meet up with an amazing muscle woman like Miss Cindi North!
The drive up to Everett zooms by quicker than a fat kid eating a Twinkie (yes, I just used this lousy analogy. Live with it). I decide to go the speed limit instead of flooring the pedal because I can’t afford to get a speeding ticket at this time. I’m broke and unemployed. A fine from Johnny Law would not bode well for me.
When I arrive at her house I notice not a single car is parked near her driveway. Is she not here yet? I’m here a bit before 5 p.m., but she should be expecting me. Maybe she parked her car in her garage. That’s always a possibility.
Just then, out of the corner of my eye I see a trashy blue sedan park right in front of me. I look forward and see a big, burly dark haired woman sitting in the driver’s seat. Yup, that’s her alright!
We both get out of our cars and lock our doors simultaneously. We stare at each other and smile unapologetically.
“Ryan! It’s good to see you! Were you waiting for me for a long time?”
“No. I just got here, literally a minute ago. No, you’re fine.”
Carrying two large grocery bags, Cindi looks as stunning as ever. Dressed in a tight pink top and baggy dark green sweat pants, she seems to become more muscular every time I see her. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Cindi North’s body will never cease to amaze me. Never.
“Come on in. I just did some shopping for dinner tonight. And other things, of course. It’s convenient when the store is right across the street from the gym.”
“I know the feeling.”
Cindi escorts us inside her house. I shut the door close behind me. She immediately heads over to the kitchen to put her groceries away. I follow her, clutching my bowl of curried couscous and red pepper salad tightly in my arms.
“What did you bring, lover?” Cindi asks while putting items away in the refrigerator.
“I made a salad. Something healthy. I hope you like it. It’s a curried couscous and red pepper salad. I tasted it ahead of time. It’s quite good.”
“Wow! That sounds incredible. I can’t wait to try it.” Placing several cans of tomato sauce into a cupboard, Cindi seems to be in a more festive mood than usual.
“You seem upbeat, Cindi. Dare I ask why?”
“Do I? I guess I do feel a bit snazzier tonight. Maybe it’s because I just a modeling job this morning!”
“Really? You got a modeling job? Congratulations. That sounds like a fantastic opportunity.”
“It really is. It’s with this new modeling agency that specializes in featuring unorthodox and nontraditional types of models. As a female bodybuilder, I guess I fit that bill.” Cindi is now pouring salt and extra virgin olive oil into a large soup pot. She turns the stove on to “medium” and takes more items out of her grocery bags, including various vegetables and spices.
“Well, you are a nontraditional looking woman. Not too many ladies around here have as much muscle as you, I must say.” My mouth becomes dry as I scan up and down her buff body.
“Yeah, this is true. I’m happy to get the exposure that comes from modeling. I know they’re a small company and I’m just one of many models they’ve hired, but I get a feeling this is the start of something special!”
An hour later, Cindi puts the finishing touches on dinner. We end up eating a lovely leek and spinach tomato stew served with my salad and a freshly baked baguette. Toward the end of dinner Cindi brings out a delightful bottle of merlot that we nearly finish all at once. A good time was had by all.
“That was delicious, Cindi.”
“Thank you! I’m glad you enjoyed it. This was a recipe I got from Julie.” Cindi and I clean up the dining table and place our dishes in the sink. I courteously give them a good rinse.
“What’s Julie up to these days?”
“She’s doing great. She’s training for a major competition that I’m going to skip this year. I’ve won it before and I don’t need to win it again. I feel like if I don’t compete she’ll have a better chance of winning.”
“So you think you’ll win again if you decided to compete?”
Cindi turns toward me and stares at me straight into the eyes. Her face is deadly serious.
“Of course. I always win. I’m practically letting her win.”
Silence.
We both burst out laughing. This is what I LOVE about Cindi North. She’s big, strong and tough as nails but she has a huge soft spot underneath all her layers of muscle and brawn. We share a kiss after our laughter dies out.
“You taste delicious, Ryan.” Cindi licks her lips, tasting my essence.
“You taste like leeks,” I deadpan.
Cindi giggles and kisses me again, this time deeper and with more passion. I feel her tongue piercing inside my mouth, exploring me feverously.
“Let’s go upstairs,” Cindi whispers into my ear. I nod my head in agreement. And with that, we walk hand-in-hand up to her bedroom, as if we’ve done this many times before. In a strange and unusual way, it genuinely feels like we’ve done this a million times in the past. I can’t explain why, but this feels SOOOOOOOO right.
We enter her bedroom and instantaneously begin our mating ritual. She closes the blinds and I close the door. We simultaneously turn toward each other and begin our stare-down, like two scruffy gunslingers in the Old West. Cindi walks to me and wraps her strong arms around my entire body. I quiver at the feeling of her vascular, veiny arms poking into my softer skin. I feel my manhood harden as I have to look up to reach her lips.
We kiss. Again. And again, and again, and again. We love kissing. Next to coital penetration, it might be our favorite shared physical activity.
After a moment of stillness, Cindi lifts my shirt over my head and starts kissing my stomach and moves up to my chest and neck. I reach down and pull her sweatpants down, fondling her massive legs one thigh at a time. I feel the deep curves within her strong quads and shiver at their thickness. Cindi licks my Adam’s apple, causing me to squirm in response. She massages the back of my neck in an effort to relax me.
“You smell so good right now,” I whisper into the open. Cindi answers back by gently biting into my shoulder. I tremble as her teeth lovingly sink into my flesh.
Cindi unilaterally strips off her pink top, revealing her wide chest. She’s not wearing a bra, so I immediately suck on her left nipple and stroke the other with my fingertips. Cindi unzips my pants and pulls them down toward my ankles. I kick them away and bend down to remove my socks. Barefoot, Cindi is left wearing nothing but lacy white panties which are already soaking wet. I feel her vulva to get a better sense of her feminine moisture. She smiles.
“I was ready half way through dinner,” she chuckles.
“Why didn’t we starting doing it then?” I ask.
“I wanted to eat first.”
“Well…I want to eat NOW.” I bend down and pull down her panties and begin licking her vulva with all the strength of my tongue. Cindi laughs at my terrible joke but stops when she feels my tongue explore the inside of her intimate parts.
“Make me come, Ryan. Make my come!” Cindi commands, standing there as naked as the day she was born.
I push Cindi onto the bed and she flops down on her back. Surprised at my unexpected display of brute strength, she moans delightfully as I continue to orally satisfy her. Her large clitoris stands at attention, her “little penis” occupying more and more of my attention. I get the feeling Cindi likes a man who takes control in bed. Though I may not be the most experienced lover in the world, I’ve learned a lot in the past few weeks and I’m becoming more comfortable taking the lead.
I grip her hips firmly as my tongue continues to please her beautiful vulva. I then fully concentrate on her clitoris in order to bring her to orgasm. Cindi’s breathing quickens as I continue to massage her girly penis. I stick my right index finger inside of her and find her g-spot.
“Ryan! I love you, Ryan!” Cindi candidly yells out in the heat of passion. Her gorgeous clitoris takes one final tongue lashing before Cindi finally climaxes. I press onto her g-spot when I sense she’s successfully reached her moment of ecstasy.
“Ohhhh!!!!!!” Cindi moans, expressing her pleasure unashamedly. Her vaginal walls contract rhythmically as a modest amount of white milky fluid gradually drips out of her, staining her bedspread.
I remain still as Cindi finishes wriggling around the bed, enjoying the aftershocks of her pleasure. Her breathing subsides to normalcy as my erection lays across her right thigh, ready to be pleased. I lean over and kiss her eight-pack abs, one individual ab at a time. I lick her bellybutton as well.
She briefly starts to stroke my penis, forcing a small drip of clear fluid to escape from it. But Cindi decides now is not the time to satisfy me yet. She gets up in a sitting position and wipes a small amount of vaginal juice that leaked onto her bottom. She kisses me again, sending electric jolts running through my entire system. Her hands explore my hands as her large, strong fingers interlock with my smaller, softer fingers. We look at each other.
“Before I satisfy you, I want you to do something for me.”
“Anything, Cindi. I’ll do anything. Just ask.”
Cindi kisses me again, firmly grabbing both of my hands. She takes a few of my fingers into her mouth and sucks on them sensually. I feel like my erection is about to explode, but I contain my excitement and enjoy the pleasure she is giving me.
She leans over and nibbles on my ear. She rubs her saliva onto my fingers.
I often wonder how many straight men, if they were forced to give an honest answer, would admit to being attracted to muscular women.
Mainstream society tends to frown upon women who’ve gained too much muscle. For example, we like our female athletes to remain feminine, beautiful and graceful even when they’re in the middle of hitting a tennis ball, shooting a free throw, skiing, sprinting at full speed or smacking a softball. Gymnasts, naturally, are supposed to be graceful, so this is an obvious exception.
Female athletes like Venus and Serena Williams, Hope Solo and Lolo Jones are right at the cusp of being “too muscular” while remaining “easy on the eyes.” As long as they keep winning Olympic medals and championship trophies, we’ll endure seeing their non-conformist figures on ESPN for now.
But this is not supposed to be a rant against sexism in mainstream American sports. This is about something else entirely.
Straight men (I can’t speak for lesbian women) are not often given a forum to discuss weird sexual fetishes in places other than the Internet. You don’t often hear two dudes talk about their love for feet at a crowded Starbucks on a lazy Sunday morning. Nor do you hear a bunch of football lovin’ good ol’ boys talk about their “thing” for overweight MILFs while watching the game at a bar. These are not topics we discuss in public.
So, I will attempt to dissect and explain to the best of my abilities my personal reasons for being sexually attracted to muscular women. Let’s see where this goes…
The Beginning of My Awakening
This is how it all started. Embarrassing, I know.
I understand “The Beginning of My Awakening” sounds ridiculously overdramatic, but bear with me.
I can’t pinpoint an exact time when I began to be attracted to muscled ladies, but I think it can be traced to this one time when I was a little boy (I was probably no more than 8-years-old), I was at a video store (for you young kids out there, once upon a time ago when we wanted to watch a movie we had to go to a video store like Blockbuster or Hollywood Video and rent a VHS cassette. This is practically ancient history) with my mom and I saw the cover for the movie “Red Sonja,” a cheesy 1985 B-action movie starring Brigitte Nielsen and Arnold Schwarzenegger.
I will admit, I’ve never seen this movie nor do I ever plan on seeing it. The 4.7 rating it received on IMDb is not exactly convincing me to go out and rent it.
Alina Popa is divine.
But I distinctly remember, as an impressionable prepubescent little boy, being taken aback by the movie’s cover: It showed two warriors, one male and one female. The male is obviously strong and tough, which any male action hero should be. But seeing a female warrior also look intimidating and ready to kick butt opened my eyes to a whole other world.
Women can be tough, too.
As an 8-year-old boy raised on hyper-violent Saturday morning cartoons and action figures, this was without a doubt a paradigm-shifting realization.
Of course, as I got older I started to “notice” girls once puberty hit. At the tender age of 12, I encountered my second experience with a tough, nontraditional woman. My parents bought a copy of the Guinness Book of World Records for the year 1999 and inside were tons of colorful photos of people doing all sorts of weird and hardcore things.
One page stood out in particular, though: a full color photo of Cory Everson. In it, she looked startling. It was the first time I’d ever seen a woman with bulging muscles all over her body.
She looked freakish; as if she weren’t human. I didn’t want to say she looked gross, but my hormone-driven mind couldn’t process what I was seeing: a woman with muscles. In the years afterward, I would continuously turn back to this particular page to gaze upon this indescribably sight.
Later, when my family first got the Internet (we had dial-up. Remember that?), I discovered the joys of online porn. Like any teenage boy discovering the opposite sex (and the concept of “sex”), viewing pictures of naked women on a computer screen occupied many hours of my life and led me to also discover masturbation, an activity I still enjoy today.
However, it wasn’t until college that I truly became enamored with muscled women.
The Female Muscle Fetish Begins
As a freshman in college, I began to work out regularly. During high school I casually lifted weights at home, but the first time I ever stepped foot into a gym was visiting my university’s recreational center on campus. It was small and, looking back upon it, unremarkable; but it was a gym nevertheless.
I lifted weights probably around three times a week. As a beginning weightlifter, I used poor form and technique like any novice would. It even came to a point when people working out next to me would stop me during my work out and tell me how to do certain lifts the right way. Those were embarrassing moments.
Lisa Marie Bickels changed my life. Will she change yours?
This video changed my life, just like that cover of “Red Sonja” and that photo of Cory Everson. Though the video was amateurish and grainy, it showed a beautiful woman working out and showing off her gorgeous muscled arms. Sculpted and divine, Ms. Bickels opened my eyes to an Earth-shattering fact: muscular women can also be feminine and beautiful.
That hyper-muscular photo of Ms. Everson isn’t the only way to view female bodybuilders. They don’t all look “man-like.” They’re just typical women. The only difference is that they’re women who strive to be as strong as possible.
Who wouldn’t want Czech muscle goddess Katka Kyptova as a workout buddy?
As expected, over time I visited YouTube and watched videos of countless other female bodybuilders such as Karen Zaremba, Maryse Manios, Deidre Pagnanelli, Lynn McCrossin, Monica Brant, Krissy Chin and others. I must have seen literally hundreds of videos during my freshman year of these well-defined ladies posing for photos, doing incredible lifts or being interviewed.
It wasn’t until after graduation when I moved back home that I discovered a whole other world: Hardcore porn.
The World of Smut
I feel like this is a progression. First, it was a cover of a b-movie. Next, it was a sports photo in a record book. Then it was a short online video of a woman exercising. Then it was a whole slew of YouTube videos of muscle ladies doing their thing.
Finally, we get to the next step in my personal muscle fetish evolution: porn.
The first hardcore porn video I ever saw was Lynn McCrossin and Yvette Bova, two gorgeous FBBs, pleasuring each other in a steam room. Before then, I’d never seen a woman’s genitalia up close and personal on a computer screen before. And not just any type of genitalia: These two women have very large feminine endowments, something you don’t see every day.
Yvette Bova is not afraid to flaunt her sexuality.
This epic discovery opened the doors to watching other kinds of videos: Female bodybuilders having sex with men, FBBs having sex with each other, FBBs masturbating, FBBs playing with sex toys, FBBs posing nude, etc. This was the first time I ever saw female bodybuilders as sexual beings. I definitely fantasized about them before, but I’d never actually seen them in action before until now.
Smut can be a funny thing. Once you see what people choose to do in their bedrooms, you can never look at the world the same way.
Watching porn (both hardcore and softcore) introduced me to other female bodybuilders like Francesca Petitjean, Denise Masino, Melissa Dettwiller, Lauren Powers, Gayle Moher, Yvette Bova, Victoria Dominguez, Amber DeLuca, Autumn Raby, Roxie Rain and plenty others. While I don’t want to categorize any of them as “pornographic actresses,” I discovered these women thanks to videos of them either being nude and/or engaging in sex acts.
Another photo of Lisa Cross. There is nothing wrong with this at all.
Along the way, I also discovered other FBBs like Alina Popa, Katka Kyptova, Lisa Cross, Angela Salvagno, Karla Nelsen, Colette Nelson and others via Dailymotion, Google Images and Facebook pages.
Regarding FBBs and porn, I could write a whole post discussing this topic. But for now, I’ll just say this: If a woman (or man) makes an independent decision to pose for photos or shoot videos that are sexually explicit, who are we to judge? It’s their bodies. They can do whatever they want with it.
Fantasy vs. Reality
Unlike a lot of guys who are into muscle women, the sub-genre of erotica called “Female Muscle Growth” stories isn’t really my thing. These stories usually involve a guy meeting a dainty, weak girl who, either by magic or through some scientific potion, grows a freakish amount of muscle to become superhuman. For whatever reason, I’m only attracted to watching and looking at strong, muscled women doing real things; like pumping iron, posing for pictures or doing whatever they do in porn.
Personally, I’ve never met a professional (or amateur) female bodybuilder, so my only exposure to FBBs is through the glorious wonders of the Internet.
The closest I’ve ever been to a real FBB was back in college when, for some reason I could never quite figure out, I walked past a woman (she was older and clearly not a student) in our student union building with huge arms busting out of her short sleeve shirt. I didn’t get a clear look at her, but I could tell she didn’t just casually lift at the gym. I could tell she puts extra effort into her exercising.
Speaking of the gym, most of the women who go to my gym either do only cardio exercises or attend classes like Zumba, Pilates and yoga. Only a small handful of women lift with us guys. Of them, only two of these ladies have any discernible muscle definition. Too bad.
So…in other words, I’m attracted to the real thing, not a fantasy. I’m not turned on by the idea of a strong, muscular woman. I’m turned on by actual strong, muscular women. Nor do I have any alternative fantasies involving role playing or BDSM.
The idea of wrestling an FBB doesn’t appeal to me. Neither is being tied up and spanked by one. Nor do I want an FBB to wrap her legs around me in a headlock. Instead, I’d prefer to make love to a beautiful, strong athletic woman just as though she were any other kind of woman.
Karen Zaremba is living proof that muscles doesn’t in any way shape or form compromise a woman’s femininity.
I guess this means I don’t necessarily fetishize female bodybuilders; I’m just attracted to them in a special way. They’re women who take great care of their bodies. They’re women who spend countless hours pumping iron at the gym and making lots of dietary and lifestyle sacrifices in order to get their bodies to look the way they want it to look. There’s a lot to admire about that.
Some women starve themselves to look “beautiful.” Others go under the knife to remove any perceived “blemishes.” Some hate themselves because when they look in the mirror all they can see are “imperfections.” My previous post about FBBs best summarizes why I’m personally attracted to a woman with muscle. The purpose of this post is to give you some context and perhaps a deeper explanation.
So…What’s the Big Deal Anyway?
Simply put, I’m attracted to female bodybuilders because they are, quite simply, beautiful. I hope others who share my attraction feel the same way. I hope you now understand that being attracted to a lovely muscled lady isn’t weird, strange or disgusting. There’s nothing incomprehensible about it.
A woman with muscles is still a woman. She’s not a woman trying to be a man. She’s a woman trying to become the best woman she can possibly be. That’s another great reason to be physically and emotionally attracted to her.
Perhaps, little by little, society can start accepting muscular woman as a normal thing instead of a freak of nature. I strongly believe when people are disgusted by a muscled woman, it’s because there’s some deep rooted sexism at play. Plenty of people in our society still expect women to be dainty, weak and ultra-feminine. Anyone who rebels against this is either a “gender traitor” or a monster.
Look at the photos of the FBBs I’ve put in this post. Are any of them disgusting to you? Do you find any of them “masculine,” “repulsive,” or “monstrous?” If you do, I think that reflects more on you than it does on me.
But please don’t misinterpret me. I’m not claiming to be some quasi-feminist activist. I’m not claiming to be “sexually progressive” in my attraction to FBBs. I’m not trying to destroy the foundations of gender roles or sexual politics by this post or through my blog. All I want to do is express my opinion that being attracted to a muscular woman isn’t all that strange.
In fact, it makes a lot of sense. Muscular women are healthy, curvy, dedicated, passionate and strong-willed. Who could possibly be turned off by that?
So the next time you encounter or see an image of a female bodybuilder, female athlete or a woman who takes her fitness hobbies very seriously, keep an open mind and try to appreciate a different side of life.
Who knows? You might just enjoy it.
You also might enjoy this shot of the lovely Victoria Dominguez.
At 9:45 a.m. I wake up, vaguely remembering my dream. I think it had something to do with going back to school and finishing a biology exam, but I could be wrong. Who needs to dream when real life is so much more exciting?
I lazily turn to my left and see Miss North snoozing like an angel. Her black and gray hair covers her face, shielding her eyes from the sunlight peeking through the blinds. Lovingly, I pull back a lock of her hair and lightly caress her face.
Cindi stirs, feeling my fingers on her cheek. When she takes my finger into her mouth and sucks on it lightly, I know she has fully awoken.
“Good morning, Cindi.”
“Good morning to you, Ryan. You taste sweet.” Nibbling on my finger, I sense that my penis has also woken up from its slumber. As if she has a sixth sense for these things, Cindi reaches down and strokes up and down my shaft, sending goosebumps shivering up my body.
“Thank you, but you’re much sweeter than me.” Kissing her right breast, I gently take her nipple between my lips and play with it with my tongue. Releasing a hushed moan, her fingers wrap tighter around my manhood, as if she’s grabbing onto it for dear life.
“You sure know how to treat a girl right.”
“You’re welcome. I’m just saying thank you for all you did for me last night.”
“Oh, thanks. But remember, lovemaking is a two-way road. You also did things to me as well, wouldn’t you say?” As if trying to job my memory, Cindi cups my scrotum and tenderly squeezes it. I groan, expressing my pleasure.
“Yes, you’re right about that. A lot happened to me last night, but I’m sure it’s just par for the course with you.”
“Are you calling me a whore?” Cindi sounds genuinely offended.
“No! Of course not! I’m just saying–”
“Shhhhhh!!!! Don’t get so chippy! I’m joking, Ryan.”
Cindi releases my testicles and sticks a finger up my anus, just as I did to her last night in the shower. I gasp loudly, but not with the shock of Cindi intruding my body, but with the delightful astonishment of her returning the favor.
“How does it feel to have a woman penetrate you? Does it feel good?” Cindi’s finger digs deeper inside me, as if she’s claiming ownership over me. I have no qualms about Cindi North claiming me as her own.
“It feels…strange. Is this what it feels like…to…you know, be penetrated back there?” I almost stop breathing. My lungs fill with air, but cannot exhale as long as she’s inside me.
“Yes. Because that’s exactly what’s happening to you right now.” Cindi releases her finger from my bottom and kisses me deeply on the lips, tasting every centimeter of my mouth. Our tongues meet, wrestling like two heavyweights grappling on the mat.
“What shall we have for breakfast?” Cindi asks. I struggle to catch my breath as our lips come apart.
“I have no idea. I don’t live here. What do you suggest we have for breakfast?”
“I know exactly what we should eat.” Cindi kisses me again. Then, she grabs my head with both hands and shoves me down toward her pubic mound. Her enormous clitoris stands at attention, ready to be satiated.
“Eat me for breakfast.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I begin by wrapping my lips around her “little penis,” sucking at its head till I hear Cindi let out a loud, uninhibited groan. I then stick one, then two fingers inside her vagina, exploring her inner walls. They are already moist and hot to the touch.
Cindi spreads her bulky legs wide in a spread eagle formation, opening her womanhood wider to me. I notice a small drop of feminine juice leak out from her vulva. It leaves a small, clear stain on the bed sheet. This arouses me further.
My fingers find her g-spot as my tongue continues to punish her clitoris. Waves of sensation pulse through Cindi’s dynamic body, leaving this muscular angel weak and helpless. She is at my mercy, a feeling of domination that sends surges of adrenaline rushing through me.
A third finger enters her, complimenting what my two fingers are already doing. I lightly blow hot air onto her wet clitoris, causing Cindi to gasp even louder than when I gasped. I am still in shock that a woman could be so well endowed. Her “little penis” grows harder and harder, anticipating a raging orgasm.
Cindi grabs my hair and pulls it, almost lifting my mouth off her womanhood. I resist, remaining between her legs, pleasuring her like she pleasured me last night. My three fingers suddenly thrust against her g-spot, forcing a vulgar scream to bellow from her throat.
Finally, Cindi can’t hold it any longer and she climaxes, sending waves of delight streaming across the entire room. Hell, her climax is probably being felt on the Richter scale at this moment!
A clear jet of white, milky fluid escapes from her vagina as her walls contract powerfully. It leaves a significant stain on the sheets, adding to the previous stain she made earlier.
Holy hell.
HOLY FUCK!!!
Did she just ejaculate? Did I just cause Cindi to ejaculate? I think it did.
Cindi’s breathing calms down and she eventually returns back to planet Earth. Her eyes open and she looks at me, smiling and puffing away.
“Thank you, Ryan. That’s exactly what I wanted.”
“Uh, Cindi, you…kind of…uh…”
“Squirted?”
Her nonchalant answer took me by surprise. I immediately sat up after hearing this singular word escape from her mouth.
“Yes…that’s exactly what I meant. You, um…squirted. All over your sheets.”
“I’ve been known to do that when someone hits my g-spot at the right time with the right amount of force. Congratulations, Ryan. You did something hardly anyone can do without specific instructions.”
I feel proud. Really? Did I just do that? Did I just give her an orgasm so powerful it caused her to ejaculate like a man? WOW!
“Wow. I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t need to say anything. I’m proud of the fact that I can squirt as well as any man.”
Cindi sticks out her chest and beats on her breast like Tarzan. I laugh, causing her to laugh with me. She might be a powerful, dominating, muscular woman, but she’s still a softie at heart. I like this about her.
“Are you sure you can squirt as well as any man?”
“Of course. When properly motivated.”
“Men can squirt pretty well when they’re properly motivated, too.” I nibble on her ear. Taking my not-so-subtle hint, Cindi reaches down and grabs onto my penis with both hands, rubbing up and down furiously.
“I think I know what you mean.”
Before I could speak, Cindi kisses me, an electric shock bolting down my spine. Her fingers wrapped tightly around my manhood, with reckless abandon Cindi strokes up and down, causing my vision to blur. On the apex of the proverbial “Cloud 9,” I feel my orgasm build as her right hand surrounds me, refusing to let go.
“I love this, Ryan. I love this so much!” Cindi whispers into my ear, as if she enjoys giving pleasure as much as she enjoys receiving pleasure. At this point, who could argue either way?
Cindi’s thumb brushes against the tip of my penis, making me shudder. Then she grips the base of my manhood and squeezes it suddenly, sending me over the edge. I climax, powerful spasms rocking my entire being.
Five or six squirts later, I look down and see several drops of my semen lying on her bed sheets, shamelessly sprawled out on top of her womanly juices. We kiss again, but with less ferocity and with more passion.
We both look down at the mess we made and burst out laughing for what seems like ten minutes. Can you believe two mature adults, one 48 and the other 23-years-old, just wet the bed?
Our laughter dies down. Tears are rolling down our faces. We kiss again.
“I’m sorry I stained your sheets.” Embarrassed, I must be red in the face.
Cindi kisses my cheek and smiles.
“It’s okay. I did too!”
We burst out laughing again, this time our laughter lasts an eternity.
Eventually, we clean up our mess and toss the bed sheets into the washing machine. She starts a load of laundry, which includes a large pile of workout shirts, shorts and towels. We put our clothes back on and go downstairs toward the kitchen. It’s now time for REAL breakfast!
Cindi doesn’t feel like cooking, so we eat leftovers from yesterday’s dinner. Who knew quinoa still tastes good the next day?
After breakfast, Cindi takes out the laundry from the washer and places it in the dryer in preparation for her Sunday afternoon workout. Cindi tells me today is a chest day. Imagining Cindi bench press 350 pounds is enough to give me another erection. Surprisingly, I remain settled.
“Can you come over again next Saturday? We can do dinner again.”
“Of course! I’d love to. I think I should bring something else instead of just a bottle of wine. I can cook something!”
“You can do that? I’d love for you to bring something. Just make sure it’s healthy.”
“Without a doubt! I’d never bring anything unhealthy here.”
“I’m just kidding. I do have a sweet tooth. I can be very naughty at times.”
“Tell me about it! You are a naughty girl.” I squeeze her thigh. The feel of her large, muscular legs almost gives me a heart attack.
Cindi plants one last kiss on me as I head out the door. Gasping for air, I decide to hug her. We embrace for a very long time, savoring every moment. I should be thankful for this wonderful, gracious woman. She took me into her home, cooked me a delicious meal, took my virginity and treated me to an evening I will never forget. I’ll never forget this morning, either.
“Thanks, Cindi. For everything.”
“No, Ryan. Thank you. You’re a great guy. I’m glad I know you.” We embrace again, this time under the watchful eye of Cindi’s next door neighbors. Who cares if the whole world sees us like this? They can judge all they want. What we do in our own private time is nobody’s business but our own.
“I’m glad I know you, too. Have a good workout.”
“I will. Thank you.”
The short walk back to my car is very surreal. I came to his house yesterday a virgin, but I left a man. A real man. Yes, Cindi told me I was always a man, but this morning things are totally different. I genuinely feel different. I feel more grown up, more confident, more vibrant.
I can take on the whole world! Nobody can get in my way! Watch out, universe. Ryan Takahashi has arrived, and he’s taking no prisoners!!!
I wave one last time to Cindi as I drive away back to Seattle. She waves back, blowing me an air kiss. I almost hit a mailbox, but swerve out of the way at the last second.
As I drive home, I realize I just had six orgasms in the last twelve hours. Gee, I’m going to be so sore tomorrow!
Cindi turns on the hot water and runs her fingers through it; feeling its warmth. As for me, I’m already hot, if you know what I mean. Steaming hot.
But not as hot as Cindi. She’s more scorching than the center of the sun.
Already naked and dripping with sweat, we hop into the shower and feel the hot water cascade off our bodies. The shower stall is almost too small to fit the both of us. Cindi is a ridiculously massive woman who takes up a lot of space. I’m surprised the two of us can even fit in here together.
“Are you cramped?” Cindi asks, her entire body blocking the spraying water.
“No, I’m just fine. Although, it’s a lot tighter in here than I expected.”
“That’s what she said.”
Pause.
“Oh my God!” I burst out laughing, throwing my head back and feeling the water shoot out onto my neck. Cindi joins me in laughing and massages my hips with her bulky hands.
“I can be a little dirty when it’s the right occasion.”
“Dirty? I thought we’re in here to get clean.”
“Hm. That’s what you think.”
Planting a long, passionate kiss on my lips, I taste her feminine essence and love every moment of it. She’s tall, muscular, strong as an ox, but very feminine at the same time. She’s absolutely remarkable and without peer.
Cindi opens a bottle of shampoo and lathers her long black (with gray streaks) hair. I follow suit, except I use a lot less shampoo because my hair is considerably shorter. She takes the bottle, squirts a small amount of soap in the palm of her hand and wrings both hands together. Full of bubbles and froth, Cindi reaches down and soaps up my limp penis, which immediately springs to life. I moan as her soapy, calloused fingers work their magic on my manhood.
I take her left nipple into my mouth, sucking on it till it stands at attention. I take her other nipple into my mouth as she rubs my scrotum to her heart’s content. I look up and place my chin on top of her breasts, like a child looking up at his mommy. Cindi stares down back at me, a fabulous grin stretching across her face.
“Let’s get dirty, Ryan.”
“I want to so get dirty with you, Cindi dear.”
My penis once again fully engorged, Cindi puts down the bottle of shampoo and grabs a bar of soap. She brushes it from the top of her neck all the way down to her abs. A white line remains on her brown skin, trailing the soap’s pathway.
“Wash me,” Cindi commands.
Not hesitating, I take the bar of soap from her and rub it up and down her tree trunk legs. If I had to cover her entire body with soap, I might need at least eight or nine bars to do the job!
I squat down and kiss her knees as the hot water continues to jet off our bodies. Suddenly, a crazy idea pops into my head. I hope this works!
“Spread your legs,” I demand.
“Oooh, are you giving me orders?”
“Yes, I’m giving you orders. Now spread your legs. Now!”
“I like your authority! I like this a lot! You ARE a dirty boy!”
“Not as dirty as you think.”
Before she could say anything else, I spread her labia with two of my fingers and rub the bar of soap across her swollen, enlarged clitoris. She groans, expressing her careless enjoyment. Impulsively, I shove the entire bar of soap up her vagina, using the palm of my hand to jam it in completely.
“Oh!!!!!!” Cindi suddenly cries out; either out of pleasure, pain or utter surprise. Not sure if I’ve done anything wrong, I stand up and look at her face, trying to see if I’ve crossed a boundary with this reckless move.
“Are you okay? Should I take it out?”
Cindi’s entire body shudders. She closes her eyes and opens them, glaring straight at me. I’m afraid. Afraid that she might hurt me or that she might be mad at me. My heart stops.
“That…feels…amazing! What made you do that?”
“Uh, I was being impulsive, that’s all. Does it hurt?”
“No, not at all. I’m already wet down there, but if we hadn’t just had sex, it might hurt. But damn, that was really unexpected! Good job, sweetie!” Unsure how to react, she leans down and kisses me hard, making my knees buckle and nearly forcing me to fall down. I then remember the bar of soap is still inside her vagina. Wow, there must be a kinky side to me that I’m just now discovering!
I squat down again, reach toward her vulva, pinch the bar of soap between my fingers and quickly yank it out. Cindi gasps loudly, expressing pleasure (I hope!) at this sudden move. Her entire womanhood is covered in sticky white foam.
“Ryan, there’s soap inside my pussy.”
“Sorry, Cindi.”
“Don’t be sorry. Clean it out. Now.”
“How should I clean it out?”
“Use your imagination.” She grips my penis with her fingers, stroking any remaining soap off of it. If she grips any harder, I might come again and will have to wait another fifteen minutes. But I take the hint and follow her innuendo.
“Turn around.”
“What?” Cindi asks, confused.
“I said, turn around. Please.”
“Hey! Don’t say ‘please.’ Be a man. Tell me what to do!”
“Turn around! Do it! Now!”
“Yes, sir!”
She follows my orders and turns her gargantuan body around so she’s facing the shower spray while I get all the mist that seeps through. I bend down and kiss her amazing body from her lower back all the way up to her neck. I feel goosebumps spring up across her flesh as my lips caress her rough, coarse brown skin. The tip of my erect penis scratches across her right butt cheek. Not wanting to lose control over her (is she wanting me to give her orders?), I make a pro-active choice and stick my left index finger up her anus while I reach forward and brush my other fingers across her lips. She tastes my fingers, stroking it with her tongue.
Cindi lets out a fervent moan, expressing her delight. My finger still up her anus, I lean toward her ear and whisper one final commandment to Miss North:
“Spread your legs, darling. Do it, for me.”
Immediately on cue, Cindi widens her stance and sticks her butt out toward me, her strong glutes pressing against my loins. I withdraw my finger from her anus and grapple her hips with both of my hands. I feel the adrenaline pumping through me as I’ve only dreamed of doing these sort of acts to a woman. Right now, in this moment, I’m living out those dreams. And from the sounds of her moaning, this woman is enjoying every minute of it just as I am.
“Take me!” Cindi screams at the top of her lungs, hot water streaming down her magnificent body. To hell if the whole world hears. She could care less.
“Yes, Cindi.”
I grip the base of my penis and slide inside Cindi’s soapy vagina, nice and slow, savoring every sensation. The soap helps me enter her fully. Slick and wet, I pump back and forth at an unhurried pace, feeling my orgasm build, enjoying the moment. I hope this moment never ends. Ever.
“Yes…yes…do it Ryan. Do it…for me! Do it for me, Ryan!”
I dig my fingers into her fleshy, muscular hips and quicken my pace. My orgasm overtakes every fiber in my body, as if millions of pleasurable sensations are jolting through my soul all at once. Pumping into her harder and faster, I feel my climax approaching like a ticking time bomb ready to explode in a frenzy of heat and emotion.
“Fuck me, Ryan Takahashi! Fuck me!” Cindi passionately hollers out, every inhibition in her left at the proverbial door. I could also care less if every single one of her neighbors can hear us making love like two wild animals.
“Ahhhhgggggg!!!!!!” I scream, coming and discharging more of my semen into her. Is this the third time tonight that I’ve climaxed into her? Amazing…
Our heavy breathing abates; our passionate cries turn to satisfied whimpers, our shouts of ecstasy shift into whispers of sweet nothings. Stunned and deeply blissful, we silently finish washing our bodies to scrub off the grime of the day. Cindi shuts off the water and we dry ourselves off. Our third mating session comes to an end, and what an end it was.
Fresh, clean and still very naked, Cindi and I return to her bedroom, holding hands like two long-time lovers. I will treasure this evening for all eternity. For this night, in this house, in this very room, two people enjoyed a shared pleasure that no one else on Earth will ever understand. Absolutely no one. That makes us special.
“Will you spend the night?” Cindi asks, combing her long hair with a brush.
“I can. Do you mind if I do?”
“You are invited to spend the night with me. I’m offering, so of course I don’t mind.”
“Yes. I will spend the night with you. Lover.”
We kiss, but this time without the zeal of two amorous lovers, but with the mutual respect of two deeply connected people expressing their undying devotion to each other. At least, this is how I interpret this particular kiss. I could be wrong.
Or not.
We decide to sleep naked, as if there would be any reason for us to put on clothes. As far as we’re concerned, we could go the rest of our lives without wearing any more clothing. Clothing is for simple humans. We’re more sophisticated and open about our bodies than that.
“Good night, lover.” Cindi kisses my forehead.
“Good night to you too, lover.” I return the kiss, but my lips caress her cheek instead.
Cindi turns off the bedside lamp and we both immediately fall asleep.
About two hours later (judging from the time being 1:35 a.m.), I wake up when I feel wet lips brushing against my shoulder. I open my eyes and turn around. Sure enough, Cindi is wide awake and ready for more. What kind of a sexual appetite does this woman have? Will nothing satisfy her hunger?
“Did I wake you, darling?”
“Yes, you did. But I’m not complaining.” I turn toward her and we kiss.
“Are you up for round four?”
Upon hearing this question, my sagging penis springs to life, as if it’s answering with a resounding “yes” in my honor.
“Let’s make it happen, Miss North.”
Cindi straddles my hips, licks both of my nipples, fondles my stomach with her hard fingers and gracefully engulfs my penis with her entire womanhood. I’m amazed how moist her vagina is at this point, considering we’ve been sleeping for nearly two hours. But here she is, riding me like a cowgirl riding her horse.
Eventually, I climax for a fourth time and spill more of my seed into her divine body. She rolls off me, pecks me on the cheek and gets out of bed.
“I have to pee. I’ll be back.”
“Okay, Cindi.”
I never hear her use the bathroom because I instantly fall back to sleep.
Three and a half hours later, at 5 in the morning, I decide to initiate the impromptu lovemaking session this time. Who says I can’t be the one who does it?
After waking up, I roll on top of Cindi, who stops her quiet snoring and wakes up herself. Groggy and still partially in Dream World, I kiss her and nibble on her nose.
“Are you up for round five?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
We make love missionary style, with me pumping away as she lies on her back, taking in every moment. My fifth climax jolts through me, stealing my breath and sapping any iota of energy I had left. I empty myself into her and plop onto my back. Cindi strokes my cheek with her index finger, wiping off a drop of sweat.
“I’m glad you’re here, Ryan.”
“I’m glad you invited me to spend the night, Cindi.”
“We should do this all the time.”
“I wholeheartedly agree,” a happy grin shooting across my face. If she’s being serious, then I just struck gold!
After kissing and fondling each other for several minutes, Cindi and I fall back to sleep again. But this time, we decide to sleep for good. Enough is enough. We’re both spent.
I look at my alarm clock and see it is 4:58 a.m. I turn it off before it decides to ring.
Shit. Garfield the cat is right. Mondays do suck.
My shift at Wellford Fitness Center starts at 6 a.m., which is when the gym opens to the public. That means I have to wake up at 5 a.m. to give myself enough time to eat breakfast and get some coffee in me.
I usually make my own coffee. Today is no exception. I only buy already-brewed coffee on Sunday mornings when I make my weekly trek across the street to D’Angelo’s Café. This is partly the reason why I didn’t order anything at the espresso bar when I first met Cindi. Why pay two dollars for coffee that I could make for myself at a much cheaper price?
After a hearty breakfast of Wheaties and a bagel with cream cheese, I chase down a cup of iced coffee (I’m too lazy to heat it up in the microwave) and head out the door.
Five minutes later I enter through the back door and put on my dark red Wellford Fitness Center t-shirt that’s sitting in my employee locker. Believe it or not, the company gives us four pairs of these shirts in order to prevent us from wearing the same shirt all week. I think this is a good policy. Gyms smell bad enough. We don’t want the foul stench of employees making things worse.
I usually feel a bit depressed on Monday mornings (who doesn’t?), but today I’m feeling especially down-trodden considering my week ahead. I have five whole days before I see the Goddess Cindi again. I wonder what time she gets up every morning to start her workout? Is she an early riser, or does she workout in the afternoons/evenings? I should ask her the next time I see her.
It is my turn today to man the front desk. I’m in charge of the front desk from 6 to 9 a.m. From 9 to noon I clean and do laundry (we provide workout towels for everyone).
As the clock approaches 6 a.m., I see our first customer of the day show up. And right on schedule. It’s Dale, a 40-something businessman who’s always here right when we open. Dale and his wife are both former college athletes who have raised two ridiculously athletic children. Their daughter is currently training for the Olympics as a gymnast and their older son is a high school track star. No big deal.
I unlock the front door at the stroke of 6 and let Dale in, who waits outside patiently like always.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning to you, Ryan.”
I scan his membership card and he strolls toward the locker rooms. Next I see Frances, an elderly 80-something woman who does water aerobics every morning. The class doesn’t start until 7, but she likes to be here early so she can read the newspaper before her workout.
“Hi Frances. How are the grandchildren?”
“They’re rude and they don’t listen,” she sheepishly says. I scan her membership card and wisely choose not to ask any more questions. She’s always in a pissy mood. But she seems to have a positive relationship with her grandchildren, so I’m a little taken aback that she thinks they’re rude and don’t listen.
Us whippersnappers are a real pain in the butt, aren’t we?
“Have a good workout,” I tell her as she leaves.
Frances doesn’t respond.
Somehow, my feelings aren’t hurt. My heart will go on.
Minutes later more people start to come in large groups. We’re talking people ranging from the very old to people my age looking to become as buff as possible. Try as they might, but they’ll never have anything on my Cindi. She’s buffer than anyone on the planet.
“My” Cindi? Am I claiming ownership over her? She should claim ownership over ME. She deserves that much.
As it approaches 7:30, the gym finally becomes lively with the noises of chit chat, treadmills running at full blast, the clank of 45-pound metal plates rubbing against each other and the usually grunts and groans of people getting a quality workout.
My mind starts to wander. What is Cindi doing right now? She’s definitely at the gym. She has to be. If she works out early on a Sunday morning, there’s no reason why she wouldn’t be at the gym earlier on a Monday morning.
“This sucks,” I tell myself out loud. It sucks that I have to wait five days before I can see her again. God, she’s like a drug. I’ve only met her once and I’m already at the stage where I can’t get her out of my mind.
Cindi North, you Beautiful Muscular Temptress. You’ve cast a spell on me. And I like it. A lot.
I giggle when I think about our first sexual encounter together. I totally prematurely ejaculated all over her face. I was humiliated at the time, but I can laugh at it now. It’s true when they say that time heals all wounds. But everything was totally worth it when she performed oral sex on me later. That felt divine. Absolutely divine. And I got to come on her eight-pack abdominal muscles. That was ridiculously hot.
I continue to daydream until I hear a woman’s voice call out to me.
“Excuse me, sir. Uh, excuse me?”
I immediately wake up from my mini-daydream.
“Uh, sorry. What is it? How may I help you?”
I look at the woman speaking to me and I almost stop breathing when I see her.
Hot damn.
She’s a young black woman who looks to be anywhere between 25 and 30. She’s fairly tall, maybe between 5’10” and 6”. She’s wearing a bright pink sports bra and a matching pair of tight spandex shorts that leaves nothing to the imagination. She has very dark skin that looks as black as night and as smooth as silk. Her angular face looks very exotic and unbelievably beautiful. I’m not a world-renowned traveler, but there’s something in her look and in her voice that tells me she wasn’t born in this country. I don’t know. But she’s simply gorgeous.
“I’m new in town and I have a free one-week pass. Do I give this to you?” she asks politely.
Her voice does sound like it has a slight African accent to it. I struggle to look at her face once I take a peek at her large, plump, bountiful breasts. Unlike Cindi, this woman has breasts. And very enticing. I want to squeeze them right now. But that would get me fired.
“Yes, you can give that to me. Can I see it?”
She hands it to me and I see that it’s legit.
“Alright, this is good for exactly one week, so it expires next Monday. Let me scan it for you.” I scan it and give it back to her. I take a quick look at her midriff and see she has a modest four-pack of abs developing. After I scan her paper card I look at the computer and see her name is Monifa Okendu. That’s a name you don’t hear too often around here.
“Thank you,” she says.
“Alright, have you ever been here before, Monifa?”
“No. I just moved here yesterday morning.”
“Oh! Welcome into town. Where are you originally from?”
“Ethiopia. But I’ve lived in New York City for the past three years.”
“In that case, welcome to Seattle. Would you like someone to give you a tour of our facility? I can ask a staff person to show you around.”
“Thank you, but no thanks. I think I can find everything I need just fine.”
“Alright. The women’s locker room is on the opposite side of the men’s locker room to your left. You will have to provide your own locks, however. Did you bring your own today?”
“Yes.”
“Good. It’s wise to do whatever you can to prevent against theft. We’re usually pretty good around here, but you never know. So, we offer workout towels for all our clients, including guests. Just drop them off in this box after you’re finished. Any other questions?”
“I don’t think so. Thank you very much.”
“Oh, I forgot to mention. Guests are allowed to attend all the classes we offer except for the advanced ones. Here’s a brochure explaining everything we offer here.”
I hand her a brochure and she puts it in her gym bag. Her toned arms look delicious.
“Thank you very much. You’ve been very helpful. What’s your name?”
“My name is Ryan. Enjoy your workout, Monifa.”
With that, Monifa turns around and walks toward the locker rooms. I take a look at her butt as she leaves. Holy mackerel! Lush, ample, perfectly rounded and taut, she nearly competes with Cindi’s impeccable derriere, but not quite. No one can compare to Goddess Cindi.
Well, that Monifa is quite a physical specimen! I hope she chooses to work out here long-term. That would make my mornings a lot easier to bear.
Just when I thought my morning got a little better, I look outside and see it has begun to rain. Hard. I mean, pouring down rain. Cats and dogs. Sheesh. Typical Seattle weather. Whenever a Monday seems to become somewhat tolerable, Mother Nature finds a way to slap you in the face and bring you back to reality.
The rest of my morning passes without a hitch. Nothing too spectacular. Later when I return to the front desk to pick up the box of dirty towels, I catch a peek of Monifa (whose bright pink and revealing outfit is extremely hard to miss) deadlifting what looks to be about 135 pounds, which is the metal bar plus a 45-pound plate on both sides. Not bad. It’s not quite the 500 pounds that Cindi can do, but that’s pretty darn impressive for a woman.
Wow, will Cindi ever leave my mind? Not for a long time, let me tell you.
As I walk into the laundry room I bump into Michelle, the ridiculously cute receptionist/personal trainer who works here.
“Hi Michelle. How many clients do you have today?”
“Only three. But they’re real clients, not the fake ones I’m usually stuck with.”
“You mean real athletes?”
“Yeah. One girl plays high school volleyball. Another girl wants to be a competitive figure model. And the other is a lady who’s determined to lose all her baby fat before Thanksgiving.”
“Before Thanksgiving? She better get on it. That’ll be here sooner than you think.”
“Well, she seems determined enough. See you around, sugar.”
Michelle, wearing a black Wellford Fitness Center sports bra and tight black shorts (not unlike what Monifa is wearing today), takes a swig from her coffee tumbler and goes into the workout area, leaving me alone holding a box of smelly towels. Dear God, these reek. Holy shit. If I don’t load these into the machine right away, I might just barf.
Ugg!
Oh, and by the way, Michelle usually calls every guy she knows “sugar,” so don’t get too excited on my behalf.
“That Monifa looks like she could become a competitive figure model,” I say to myself.
Loading the towels into a washing machine, I (for some really odd reason) start to think about Sam’s job offer he talked about yesterday. How would I like to be a drug dealer for the rich and wealthy? It would be easy money, these are people who don’t typically get involved in random street shootings and if I ever get caught, they could use their power and influence to get me off without any trouble. I mean, they’d do that, right?
And depending on what kind of drugs I’d be dealing, I might be able to meet more FBBs like Cindi North. Steroids and other human growth hormones are considered drugs, right?
But I’d never be able to meet another woman quite like Cindi. She’s a statuesque Goddess. But if women like her exist, there should be others like her. That makes sense. And I seriously don’t want to work here for the rest of my life. These smelly towels can always be washed by someone without a college degree.
I hope I’m not sounding too elitist.
But I digress. Sam and his buddies probably aren’t the type of people I want to associate myself with on a regular basis. I’d much rather hang out with Cindi and make love to her. Hell, who wouldn’t?
The thought of making love to a celestial muscle Goddess like Cindi is enough to carry me through the rest of the day.
The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi 
