To See Her is to Understand Her

To understand Yvette Bova, feast your eyes on her body. It’s the right thing to do.

“It’s impolite to stare” is a common piece of advice many of our mothers and grandmothers gave to us as children.

Whether the object we were staring at was a person in a wheelchair, a short person with dwarfism, or a man wearing a dress; the point our elder was trying to make is that by staring at this person for a longer than normal amount of time, we could be making them feel uncomfortable, singled out, or “freakish.” Nobody wants to feel like a social outcast, even if their outward appearance suggests the sentiment isn’t misplaced.

To not stare is to imply that this person should be treated as “normal,” even if they are not. Or even if they are intentionally trying to not be normal. You can’t tell me someone with a face tattoo doesn’t know this will bring additional attention to their appearance. If they get annoyed with people staring and asking them questions about it, why did they acquire it in the first place?

But the point is well taken. Very few of us want to be stared at because we don’t want to feel like an anomaly. We want to be accepted for who we are and not thought of as an outlier. People who appear abnormal on the outside – for whatever reason – just want to be accepted as normal. A small child stopping, staring, and *gasp* coming up to them and asking unwanted questions violates that very principle. So mom and grandma were correct (as usual). Just put yourself in their shoes (or high heels) and ask yourself how you would like to be treated.

This same idea, naturally, doesn’t always apply to female bodybuilders. FBBs, on the other hand, look the way they look by choice. They did not get there by accident or by happenstance. An FBB’s intentional choice to sculpt their bodies to look a certain way is etched into every muscle fiber. You see a female bodybuilder’s body and you can tell – with absolutely no ambiguity – who she is, what she stands for, and what her worldview revolves around.

Debi Laszewski has achieved her Final Form.

Can you tell who she voted for in the last presidential election or whether she prefers Elvis or the Beatles? Well, no. You can’t derive information that specific, but you can certainly deduce that she works out regularly, eats differently, and can probably defeat you in an arm-wrestling contest pretty easily. That much is really darn obvious.

Unlike a burn victim whose scars will forever tell the story of that tragic incident, a female bodybuilder proactively decides to be as bulky, sculpted, and aesthetically pleasing as she wants to be. It’s a choice, not a designation. Her muscles are part of her identity; an identity that she’s chosen to craft from scratch. And her hard work must be appreciated. After all, what’s the point of looking great if no one is around to look at you?

Whenever a female bodybuilder goes out in public, she knows that she will be stared at. And not just by children, but by everyone. Most well-behaved adults will try to be as inconspicuous as possible when they look at her. Some will be more successful than others at hiding their intentions. Whether you are intrigued by what you see, disgusted, grossed out, confused, curious, or uncontrollably aroused, we can all agree that one cannot simply look upon a muscular woman and not have any kind of emotional reaction. Unless you are so accustomed to being around female bodybuilders that seeing one in public is as mundane as seeing a Seattle hipster wearing flannel. If this is the case with you, please let me know where you live ASAP!

But here’s the difference. Whereas a person with a physical deformity or handicap deserves to be treated with respect and not singled out for being different, a female bodybuilder looks different on purpose…and wants to be looked at as being unique.

This, of course, doesn’t excuse rude comments, insults, or physical harassment. Then again, why anybody would want to provoke a strong female bodybuilder who could beat your ass to a pulp is beyond me. But I digress.

Go ahead. Look at Sondra Faas. It’s okay.

FBBs know they look unusual. They know their lifestyle (hours upon hours spent lifting at the gym, strict dieting, etc.) is out of the ordinary. They know not everyone approves of a woman having big muscles. They know they’re taking a risk. They know they could fail. They know they’re challenging taboos, social expectations, and norms. But these warnings do not deter them from pursuing their dreams. In fact, the desire to openly defy these realities may be fueling their life’s work.

So when an FBB goes to the grocery store (back before everyone had to wear face masks and carry around sanitizing wipes everywhere), she can expect that people will stop and stare at her. And you know what? That’s exactly the idea. Maybe not in every case, but generally speaking. Many FBBs talk about how fun it is for people to stare at them in public. They intentionally wear tight clothing because it shows off their muscles. They aren’t annoyed by the additional attention, but rather are flattered by it. Within reason, of course.

But more than feeding one’s ego, it’s important to remember why bodybuilders – both male and female – choose to do what they do. They build their bodies up to look a certain way because it makes them feel empowered, strong, dynamic, superhuman, and yes, freakish (but in a good way). This concept goes into overdrive when we’re talking about women who pursue bodybuilding.

Men are socially expected to be strong alpha providers. While technology, science, engineering, and innovation have made “strength” in the traditional sense somewhat obsolete for survival (we no longer have to hunt and gather our food, but instead patiently wait in line at Costco at least six feet apart from each other), the symbolic importance of physical strength still survives. There’s no practical reason for Ronnie Coleman, Jay Cutler, or Phil Heath to get as massive as they are. But there are plenty of reasons to do so from a professional perspective. You know we’ve advanced as a society when people can earn a living doing impractical – but awesome – things. Gaining hundreds of pounds of muscle isn’t going to make it easier for you to pay your mortgage, but the product endorsement deals you get because of your muscles certainly will.

Kim Buck on full display.

Okay, okay, so men are expected to be strong. We are accustomed to seeing men look big, muscular, invincible, and dominant. But what about women?

There’s no need to go too deep into this, but women are taking a much bigger risk in getting super bulky than men are. Their unnatural muscle mass makes them more unusual because we don’t expect women to ever get that big. Not because they are not able to, but because our society doesn’t encourage them to. The “strong independent woman” trope is more about attitude than it is about practicality. We want to raise our daughters to be mentally and emotionally strong, as opposed to literally strong. Unless you want your little girl to grow up to be a millionaire MMA fighter who can subsidize your future retirement.

All of this is to say that a woman with big muscles is a woman who defies social norms, whether she intends to or not. A woman gains big muscles proactively, not passively. And in doing so, she’s opening up herself to the types of criticism and backlash that a male counterpart would not face. So, what does this all mean?

This means that she is meant to be stared at. Maybe not intentionally, but in principle. An FBB is meant to be looked at. Her body of work (pun intended) is meant to be appreciated. It is meant to be a spectacle. She is a work of art who deserves to be displayed at a museum, even if this museum is more symbolic than literal. In this case, the museum she is displayed in is the real world she inhabits. A supermarket. A public park. A gym. A church. A busy street corner. A nightclub. A library. A restaurant. A bar. An airport. And so on.

Look at Kim Birtch. LOOK. AT. HER.

Wherever she is, whatever she’s doing, she’s meant to be seen. Because to see her is to understand her. You understand her raison d’etre. Her life’s purpose. Her muscles aren’t meant to be hidden. Her muscles aren’t a secret. They should be proudly exhibited as openly as possible.

Here’s a great example. Watch this video of Margie Martin at the 2019 Wings of Strength Rising Phoenix World Championship. It shows a portion of the show where an interviewer speaks to all (or most) of the contestants in front of the whole audience. Watch and be prepared to be dazzled:

Whew! Wow!!! What a moment. What a time to be alive. Can you imagine what it would have been like to be there at that moment in time? I think many of us would have passed out if we saw Margie unexpectedly strip down to a bikini – or try our best to suppress an uncomfortable erection straining in our underwear.

This moment perfectly encapsulates what I’m talking about when I say “to see her is to understand her.” Margie’s beautiful body doesn’t deserve to be hidden underneath that dress (despite her dress leaving little to the imagination as it is). Her beautiful body deserves to be proudly presented in front of an audience of hundreds of screaming fans. Her body deserves adoration. She deserves those screams and applause. That single moment was when Margie was at the Peak of Her Purpose. When her body was being SEEN by everyone in plain sight.

Granted, it would have been socially inappropriate for her to have stripped completely naked. So sporting just a bikini was the maximum of how far she could have gone. But the larger idea remains intact: she was bare. Or as bare as she could possibly be. Her nudity (or near nudity) didn’t make her vulnerable, however. The exact opposite, in fact. Her nude state made her as powerful as she could ever be. Wearing that dress was a disservice to herself, her identity, and her very philosophical purpose. In order for her to fulfill her maximum utility, she had to be as naked as possible in front of as large an audience as possible. There’s no other way around it. It was almost a requirement. Anything less than that would have been an abdication of duty.

Once her dress came off, she had accomplished her personal version of Nirvana. She had reached her summit. Her peak. Her true self. Her real form had finally taken shape. Not just the fact that she had spent the last several months training to become as hypermuscular as possible. No, more than that. In that moment, her body was being seen by the public. By the world. By the whole universe. Even God Himself had to stop whatever He was doing and say out loud, “Damn! She looks great!!!” This was the moment when her final form had reached its zenith.

This is how a female bodybuilder fulfills her destiny. When she’s SEEN. When people are LOOKING at her. When her body is out in the open, almost as in-your-face as possible. When she’s not holding back. When her audience gets more than they bargained for. More than they wanted. More than they actually deserved. When people are staring at her, they are not only doing her a service, they are almost obliged to. We are obligated to SEE her body. We MUST stare at her because to not stare at her would be a sin. It would be a moral failure on our part.

In that moment, Margie was making a statement, whether she knew it or not. She was making a statement that her body must be looked at. Closely. Inspected. Judged. Appreciated. Loved. If you want to truly understand who Margie is and why she does what she does, all you have to do is see her.

See.

Her.

Look.

At.

Her.

Watch.

Her.

Observe.

Her.

Margie’s body isn’t just a part of her identity. It’s the very foundation of her identity. If you don’t look at her body, you will never understand who she is. You’d be a blind person trying to describe an elephant to another blind person. You can try your best but you’ll always fail. In this spirit, go ahead. Look at her. Stare at her. Feast your eyes on her. Make sure she is SEEN. When you look at her body, you aren’t just looking at her body – you’re looking at her soul.

Building muscles is her job. Seeing those muscles is yours.

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

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

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

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

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

Watch Video

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not really. But whatever. You get my drift.

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

Metaphorically speaking, of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

The Scantily Clad but Not Quite Nude Female Bodybuilder

Cindy is such a tease.

Is it possible for a female bodybuilder to be more beautiful than when she’s nude?

After all, it’s when we are able to see her in her full glory. Nothing hidden from view. Everything she has laid out bare. All her hard work, sacrifices, perfections, imperfections, and insecurities out in the open. She is vulnerable, yet invulnerable at the same time.

Being nude is a female bodybuilder’s natural state. That isn’t to say that all female bodybuilders are also nudists, however. “Nudism” is a cultural movement that seeks to advocate for and normalize nude social activities. That’s a separate thing unrelated to our discussion here. What we’re talking about is that in order for someone to see a female bodybuilder for who she really is, one must look at her when she’s naked. From head to toe. Then, you can see who she really is. This is when her true identity comes out.

Every curve, every muscle fiber, every square inch of her uniquely structured body on full display. She is hiding nothing because there is nothing to hide. She isn’t ashamed to reveal her life’s work, her masterpiece, her artistry. She is an artist and her body is her canvas.

Yet, that is not always when a female bodybuilder is at her most alluring. As strange as this may sound, an FBB might be at her most intriguing when she’s scantily clad – but not quite nude.

Uh, what?

Now, this may sound crazy. Okay, it flat out sounds crazy. But don’t tune out quite yet. Think of it this way:

Throughout the history of humankind, the practice of wearing clothes has almost been universal. Some primitive cultures that exist in hot tropical environments may not wear very much, but they at least cover up the “essentials.” But by and large, you get the idea. All people wear clothes most of the time – at least in public. You don’t need to be a literal believer in the Adam and Eve story to understand this.

Africa Carey (a.k.a. Coco Crush) showing us just enough of her immaculate beauty.

The Book of Genesis notwithstanding, the tendency to wear clothes is based on the assumption that the human body isn’t meant to be seen in full. And it’s not just because it’s cold in the winter. Nudity implies sexuality, even though the two are not synonymous. Nudity exposes genitals, which is central to reproductive activities. Enthusiasts of nudism (or naturism) would vehemently argue that there is nothing inherently sexual or dirty about the human body, even in nude form. That’s certainly debatable, but we cannot ignore that from our society’s point of view, nudity and sexuality are intimately intertwined.

Try not to visualize the words “intimately intertwined.”

So, we’ve decided that the taboo associated with nudity is both understandable and probably, if we’re being honest here, justified. Maybe not completely justified, but justified enough that we’d feel really, really uncomfortable if we learned that our kid’s kindergarten teacher took off her own bra during a makeshift anatomy lesson. That would be weird. Very weird.

But there are definitely variations of nudity that must be acknowledged. Nudity is a continuum, not a black or white matter. On one end of the spectrum we have someone wearing a hazmat suit, ready to clean up after an unfortunate nuclear spill. On the other end we have drunk college kids parading around the street naked in preparation for Mardi Gras. And everything in between. Let’s talk for a moment about what exists in the middle.

Generally speaking, what is the most amount of nudity a person can show in public and not get arrested for indecent exposure? For both men and women, it’s covering up the genitals. For women, it’s also covering up the nipples. Bare butts are discouraged, but acceptable depending on where you are specifically.

Cancun on spring break? Get cheeky with it.

Wading through a public pool at the senior center? Eh, don’t stick out too much if you can avoid it. For everyone’s sake.

God bless America, Kati Alander.

Alright, so no genitals, no bare butts (for the most part), and no female nipples. Got it. Is this fair? Probably not, but it is what it is. At least, this is the way it is for now. There is a hashtag trending on social media called #FreeTheNipple that’s being used to protest Facebook and Instagram’s policy of censoring female nipples. The argument is that if men are allowed to show their nipples without punishment, then women should be allowed the same courtesy. It remains to be seen how effective this awareness campaign will be.

But at the end of the day, this isn’t really a discussion about social standards. This is more about what we find to be erotically pleasing versus what will or will not land us in jail for a night.

Here’s a strange question: What’s more erotic, a nude female bodybuilder or a female bodybuilder wearing sexy lingerie?

Hm. This may seem obvious at first, but later it gets complicated the more you think about it. Yes, a fully nude female bodybuilder is a fantastic sight to see. That same FBB wearing lingerie or a bikini isn’t the same because you don’t see all of her. You see most of her, but not everything. She’s scantily clad, but not quite nude. Yet, as odd as this sounds, the latter is much more intriguing than the former.

A female bodybuilder wearing lingerie, a negligee, a bikini, shorts and gym bra, a towel, a cocktail dress, a blanket draped over her body, or her own hands covering up certain parts intrigues us because we see enough to get a great idea of what she looks like without getting the satisfaction of seeing everything she has to offer. We see her curves, musculature, striations, bulging mounds of flesh, and deep grooves. We see how hard she must work day-in and day-out to attain and maintain that physique. We see her sacrifices. We see her dedication on full display. However, we don’t see the intimate parts of her that she’s chosen not to reveal. And that point cannot be emphasized enough: she’s choosing to not reveal certain parts of her. And that’s perfectly okay, no matter how frustrating it may be for the rest of us.

Maybe she’s covering up certain parts of her because she doesn’t want to get censored or kicked off certain social media platforms. Or for her, full nudity is a bridge too far. The best example of this is Cindy Landolt. Cindy is one of the most beautiful women on planet Earth. She’s stunning. She’s absolutely gorgeous. She’s flawless. She’s a perfect demonstration that muscles do not compromise a woman’s femininity. In fact, muscles can enhance your femininity. For Cindy, her curvy muscles exemplify her feminine identity.

I cannot stop staring at Kim Birtch’s piercing eyes.

Cindy does not do full nudity. Ever. At least, not yet. And that is 100 percent her choice. She can choose to never ever show us her nipples or genitals. As much as we fans want her to “go all the way,” it’s her right to not do that. She is under no obligation to do so. No matter how much we beg her, if she stands firm and goes her entire career without going full nude, we just have to live with it. And we have no reason to feel slighted by her. She showcases her beauty in plenty of other ways. Her contribution to the world speaks for itself. Period.

In a way, Cindy’s choice to never do graphic nudity works to her advantage. It’s a “Holy Grail” of sort that her fans will clamor for as long as they live. It keeps our imaginations running wild. It teases us. Our hormones go into overdrive fantasizing about what Miss Landolt really looks like. Are her nipples long? Pink or brown? What does her clit look like? Is it large like Denise Masino’s clit, or is it normal-sized?

We will never know. Only Cindy’s lover knows. And he is one hell of a lucky guy!

Our continual fascination with Cindy’s mysterious bits makes her that much more alluring. It makes her seem otherworldly. We know she’s a real-life human being, but in the back of our minds we still suspect she’s either a robot constructed from an FBB fan’s wildest dreams or an animated “deep fake” character illustrated by a basement full of horny guys. The same goes for any FBB who chooses to forego full nudity.

It makes them appear more “classy.” That isn’t to say that FBBs – or any model, for that matter – who proudly show us everything God has given them are classless or filthy. They still deserve our respect and admiration. Angela Salvagno isn’t trashy because she leaves nothing to the imagination while Minna Pajulahti keeps things more guarded. Both women are beautiful. Both are unbelievably sexy. Both are irresistible. One chooses to share her intimate parts with the world while the other sticks to keeping things PG-13. Nothing wrong with either choice.

But getting back to our more “modest” FBBs, not only do they let our imaginations run wild and keep us begging for more, they inadvertently make us view them as pieces of art rather than pieces of meat. That isn’t to say that those who choose to go full nude in photoshoots and videos are deserving of ridicule, judgement, or rudeness. Quite the contrary. No one deserves dehumanizing treatment, regardless of their life’s choices. But there is something to be said about an FBB who selectively reveals her body. She knows her body is a work of art and she’s deliberate on how patrons of her art view it.

By showing us just enough but not everything, it leaves us begging for more. It leaves our appetites fulfilled, but not satiated. We will continuously come back, hoping that today is the day when we get to experience everything we want to experience. And even if we go home empty handed, we can still be counted on to come back the next day.

The Scantily Clad But Not Quite Nude Female Bodybuilder is both a tease and a skilled strategist. She toys with her captive audience like an experienced burlesque performer. She flaunts just enough without giving her fans so much that they start to devalue her. This is a key point: FBBs who deny you full nudity are taking a stand. Maybe it’s a principled stand or perhaps it’s a moral one. Regardless, they know that if they “give in” and provide the public everything they ever wanted, deep down inside these fans will think differently about her…whether they know it or not.

Fair or unfair, as mentioned before we as a society associate nudity with sexuality. And sexuality is directly connected with reproduction, then pregnancy, and then motherhood. By being scantily clad, an FBB is challenging us to not think of her as a sex object, but instead as an athlete. After all, she’s showing us all we need to see: her big muscles. Do we actually need to see anything else?

Alina Popa has huge, beautifully sculpted muscles. I don’t need to see what her nipples or clit looks like. Those parts of her body are mutually exclusive from her biceps, triceps, forearms, back, shoulders, abdomen, glutes, quads, and calves. She proudly puts those parts of her on full display. I can clearly see how impressive her physique is without seeing her intimate parts.

Does Nat Rochner show up at the gym looking like this?

Heck, just pay attention to the language we use to describe an FBB’s body: We like looking at her glutes, not her butt. The word “butt” has a sexual connotation. “Glutes” does not. See the difference?

I already know everything I need to know about Cindy Landolt’s physique. Would I love to see more of her? Well, yes. But it’s not necessary. Her identity is set in stone. She’s a gorgeous feminine woman with big strong muscles. Period. I don’t need to see her private parts in order to sufficiently come up with that conclusion. All the evidence I need is already right there before me.

In other words, by de-emphasizing an FBB’s sexuality, we are fully able to see her for who she really is: a world-class athlete. That isn’t to say that we can’t see her as both a world-class athlete and as a sex object, but the latter has a pernicious way of overshadowing the former.

A female bodybuilder who shows us enough but not everything may not be intentional about this, but I’d wager a guess that she is. Many FBBs don’t want to be sex objects. They don’t think of themselves as strippers or porn stars. They identify as athletes first and everything else second. There’s nothing wrong with that. By wearing a simple bikini, I can see all her muscles and hard work on display. I don’t need the bikini to come off. If it does, I’m definitely not going to complain (obviously!), but it’s not essential. Her modesty – or lack of modesty – is her choice, not mine.

To conclude, a scantily clad female bodybuilder may not be sexier than a fully nude female bodybuilder, but that’s beside the point. The actual point is that how she chooses to present herself is an intentional strategy meant to influence how we view her. Whatever her reasons are for not going “all the way,” we will be left wanting more. Begging for more. Perhaps one day she’ll give us what we want, or maybe that day will never come. Either way, what happens is up to her.

I still stand by my original assessment that a female bodybuilder’s natural state is being nude. Nothing has changed. But this is more practical than philosophical. I’d love to see every single one of my favorite FBBs in their birthday suits. A few I have. Many I have not. While nude is how to best experience an FBB’s body, it’s not a requirement to learning how to appreciate her. What she allows us to see is sufficient, no matter how frustrated that makes us feel. If she wants us to know that she’s a strong, independent woman who takes risks, lives life to the fullest, and doesn’t care what her haters have to say, we can see that whether she’s wearing underwear, gym attire, jeans and tee-shirt, a sweatshirt, or nothing at all.

She Belongs in a Museum

Rachelle Carter belongs in a museum.

Female bodybuilders are both athletes and artists. Personally, I consider them to be more artists than athletes, but that’s just me. Of course, that isn’t to minimize their athletic prowess or their belonging in the world of competitive sports. It’s more of a reflection of how I perceive their modus operandi.

They build their bodies to look a certain way. They lift, eat, hydrate, supplement, rest, and strategically plan their lives in such a way to achieve their desired look. This is why I consider them to be artists. Mozart had his symphony. Picasso had his canvases. Hemingway had his typewriter. Scorsese has his camera. Female bodybuilders have their bodies.

Their bodies are their canvases. It’s a blank slate. A sheet music with no notes. A film stock with no pictures. A chapel ceiling with no paint. A chorus with no conductor. They are in charge of their own destinies. No one will give them what they want. That’s not possible (yet). You can’t go to a plastic surgeon and ask them to give you large muscles. You can’t purchase a muscular physique on Amazon. You can’t cheat your way to the top. Yes, even with steroids. Human growth hormones won’t automatically give you large bulging muscles. You still need to put in the hard work at the gym to obtain them. And keep going back in order to maintain them. Or else they go away like winter snow when spring arrives.

She can choose to be as large as a world-class bodybuilder. Or she can be as slender as a fitness model. Either way, it’s her choice. And which reality comes to pass is entirely up to her. Using “bad genetics” as an excuse is just that. An excuse. And a bad one at that.

But I’ve already written about this. Nothing about this is new. We all know female bodybuilders are artists. We all know their bodies are art. We all know that we’re patrons of that art.

Here’s a cool fantasy I’ve thought about a lot recently. Perhaps many of you have too. Here’s what it looks like:

Imagine you’re a wealthy philanthropist. You’ve assembled hundreds of millions, if not billions, of dollars of wealth during your eventful lifetime. It doesn’t matter how. Maybe you’re a tech CEO. Or a lucky investor. Who cares. One day, you get a brilliant idea. You want to sponsor an art exhibit at a local museum. Or better yet, open up your own museum, perhaps in a makeshift environment like an abandoned office building or factory.

But you don’t want to showcase paintings, photographs, drawings, sculptures, or multimedia installations. No, that’s too old school. Too basic. Too…mundane. Been there, done that. Yawn. Instead, you want to display human bodies. And not just any kind of human body: Human female bodies. And not just any kind of human female bodies. You want to feature muscular female bodies.

Real muscular female bodies.

In various forms of dress. And undress.

But, uh, mostly undress.

Imagine thirty or so nude female bodybuilders standing around in a large room. Women of all races, ethnicities, cultural backgrounds, and sizes. Some are posing. A few others are lying down. Others are dancing. One or two are masturbating. You might even catch a glimpse of two FBBs making love to each other. These ladies are standing on the ground, on a dais, on a bed, suspended above ground on wires, and so on. Some are doing explicitly sexual activities, while others are simply showing off their hard work. No matter what, you cannot help but be enthralled by what you’re witnessing. It’s not every day that you get to see this much female muscle in one central location!

Hey! No taking pictures on your phone! Unless you’re Cindy Landolt, of course.

The rules are simple: no touching, no taking pictures on your phone, and do not try to conduct a conversation with any of them. They won’t talk back. You can only look with your eyes. Drink in the moment. Experience what you need to experience. Leave a changed person.

And like most “radical” art, this exhibit is supposed to shock you. It’s provocative. Sensual. Alluring. Unforgettable. Unsubtle. In-your-face. Subversive. Erotic. Educational. And of course, unapologetically sexy. Very sexy. Almost too sexy.

Many people have seen photos of female bodybuilders in old sports magazines or TV documentaries. But few have been in the same room as one. And the experience will certainly be an eye-opener. You will not believe that such women can be real. No Photoshop or Hollywood-grade CGI are at play here. None of that. It’s all real. As real as it can get. Get used to it.

For fans of female bodybuilders, it’s a shame that our favorite ladies aren’t more prominently celebrated by our culture. They aren’t as “seen” as we’d like them to be. We love female bodybuilders but have limited opportunities to demonstrate that love. But more than that, we want FBBs to feel empowered, appreciated, and visible. They’ve worked their whole lives and made numerous sacrifices to look the way they look. One does not get hypermuscular by accident. It’s not a coincidence. You only look like that if you make a concerted effort to look like that. You have to expend blood, sweat, and tears over the course of several years to become that swollen. It takes pain – both physical and psychological – to achieve that level of muscularity. For women, it probably takes more labor and toil to get that big compared to their male counterparts. Life isn’t fair, kids.

So, it’s only fitting that they receive the chance to show off their hard work for an audience that might not necessarily want to see them. It’s one thing for a sympathetic audience to appreciate you. It’s quite another for an unexpected audience – or even one that’s pessimistic – to regard your body of work. And “body of work” should be interpreted literally, not just figuratively. The people who visit this art exhibit know theoretically what they’re getting themselves into, but they can’t truly comprehend what it’s like to see a muscular woman up-close until it actually happens.

The experience of looking at a muscular woman should be audacious. Exploitative. Daring. Bold. Offensive. It’s a powerful experience made more memorable by the fact that such sculpted women are so rare in our world. You don’t see women who look like Brigita Brezovac walking down the street every day. Heck, you may never in your life encounter a woman who looks like her. But if you are lucky enough to be able to, I can guarantee you will remember it for the rest of your existence.

One exhibit should feature Larissa Reis posing exactly like this.

Whenever I have the privilege of meeting a female bodybuilder for a muscle worship session, inevitably there’s going to be a moment during our time together when I think to myself “she belongs in a museum.” I may even tell her that. It’s a natural reaction when you’re in the throes of touching her hard, curvy body in the most appreciative and intimate manner possible. A point I’ve made before that bears repeating is the fact that for most highly accomplished people, their impressive accomplishments are not immediately obvious. For example, you could be sitting on the bus or at a coffee shop or at the library and for all you know the random person sitting next to you is a world-class violinist. Or expert astronomer. Or well-respected heart surgeon. Or once appeared as an extra in a James Bond movie or an episode of Game of Thrones. Or served in the military many years ago and came within a few inches of assassinating Osama bin Laden long before 9/11. Or someone who hosts a podcast that gets two million downloads a month. Or someone who once played the bass for a famous band during one forgettable summer concert.

Regardless, for these highly accomplished people, you can’t really tell what their accomplishments are unless you ask them. Or if they volunteer that information to you. But for a female bodybuilder – and male bodybuilders too – her accomplishments are right out in the open. It’s plain for all to see. It’s embedded onto every fiber of her body. Her artistic achievement isn’t just on her body (like a tattoo artist), but it is her body. Her body is her art. Her art is her body. And for that reason, she definitely belongs in a museum.

But more than that, the sight of a muscular woman elicits a different emotional reaction than seeing a muscular man. By and large, our society is conditioned to not think of a muscular man as being unusual. We know that guys who look shredded like an NFL linebacker are still statistically rare, but seeing a fellow like that up close and personal isn’t something that will make you stop dead in your tracks. Seeing a muscular woman, on the other hand, will make your jaw drop to the floor. As it should.

The sight of a muscular woman makes some people feel disgusted. Or insecure. Or inadequate. Or confused. Or aroused. Or angry. Anger can be a byproduct of insecurity – or a method for disguising one’s insecurity. Seeing a muscular woman distorts our reality and causes cognitive dissonance. We are unable to process what we’re seeing precisely because we rarely ever get to see something like this. Our brains hurt because our brains are processing new information. Women are supposed to be small and dainty. Guys are supposed to be large and buff. But to see a woman with muscle mass that surpasses that of your typical gym bro dude…that visual subversion creates psychological conflict in our minds. Conflict that makes us feel strong feelings. Feelings we cannot easily explain or articulate into words.

Another features Julie Ann Kulla sitting on a bed looking exactly like this.

For misogynists who don’t like strong women – “strong” both in the physical and emotional sense – seeing a muscular woman in the flesh feels like a sledgehammer being smashed into their toxic narrowmindedness. It’s a harsh reminder that their limited understanding of the world is probably a product of their own internal self-hatred. They hate strong women because they themselves are weak, feeble, and hopeless. They’re projecting their own inadequacies onto highly accomplished women who’ve done things they can only dream of doing. Female bodybuilders challenge in the most explicit way possible the notion that women are destined to be the “weaker sex” and that men own a monopoly on strength. Men do not, as it turns out, own any such claim.

I don’t want to suggest that guys who love female bodybuilders are more enlightened, intelligent, and socially progressive than those who do not. In all seriousness, there might be a small sliver of truth to that, but overall the love of FBBs can be politically neutral. I do believe, however, that guys who love FBBs are probably less sexist and hateful than guys who are genuinely disgusted by them. But I could be wrong about that.

But let’s return to my hypothetical situation involving the female muscle museum exhibit. Imagine being a sexist loser who is forced to walk through this room full of strong ladies. Everywhere you look, there are women with bigger muscles than you. They’re happier, more powerful, and more beloved than you’ll ever be. Do you react with bitterness, or a renewed commitment to becoming a better person? I sure hope it’s the latter, not the former. In this respect, this female muscle showcase can be a much-needed wake up call. A reminder that being angry does not make you righteous. That hating someone is less an indication of who they are and more a reflection of who you are. That you can become a better person if you choose to work on who you are. That you are not destined to be a loser for the rest of your life.

Siska Bossert looking like a chiseled sculpture. Because she is!

Beautiful female bodies deserve to be seen. Female bodybuilders deserve more visibility, a larger share of the pie of our nation’s multimedia landscape. And I write this not out of a sense of self-serving fetishism, but out of a belief that muscular women can change the world. They can alter our perspectives. They can inspire us to become better people. They can force us to reevaluate our own prejudices and dedicate our lives to self-improvement.

Because female bodybuilders are beautiful. Because female bodybuilders are awe-inspiring. Because female bodybuilders have the potential to break the chains of hatred and foment the foundations of progress. Because of this, there’s no doubt that…

…she belongs in a museum.

So pay your ticket, stand in line, and prepare to have your eyes, heart, and imagination opened. You might just like what you see.

A Most Magnificent Body of Work – Part One of Five

Tall muscle goddess Maria Wattel.

One more set, Debbie. That’s it. Just one more set.

Looking up at the bench press bar, Deborah knows she has only one more set of ten repetitions remaining before her chest workout would come to an end. Then she could cool down, work on her abs, shower, buy a protein smoothie, and go home.

At this point Deborah has worked her way up to benching 275 pounds. The only woman currently in the weight room, all eyes are on her and she’s well aware of it. Some men are rooting for her, others are hoping she will fail. But Deborah is determined to prove everybody wrong. Even her supporters.

“Alright, time to do this motherfucker,” Deborah whispers to no one in particular.

Deborah places both hands on the bar, equidistant apart, and lies down on the bench. Her forehead is dry, not a single drop of sweat is left remaining in her body. She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and imagines herself pumping this bar up and down ten times before putting it back on the rack. She can do this. She’s done this many times before. Even with all these idiots watching her. For her, pre-visualization is the key to success. If you cannot imagine yourself doing it, how can you actually do it?

Time to do it, Debbie. Time to make yourself stronger. Stronger than you’ve ever been before.

She opens her eyes, focuses on the ceiling fan above her, grips the bar tight with both hands, and lifts the bar off the rack.

Deep breath in.

Down, exhale, up. One.

Inhale.

Down, exhale, up. Two.

Inhale.

Down, exhale, up. Three.

Inhale.

Down, exhale, up. Four.

Inhale. Slight exhale. Another inhale.

Down, exhale, up. Five.

Inhale.

Down, exhale, up. Six.

Deep inhale. Holy shit. This is getting tough. Dammit.

Down, exhale, up. Seven.

Her eyes burn when a drip of sweat seeps into her eye socket. She was under the impression her body had no sweat left in it. She is wrong.

Fuck.

Inhale.

Down, exhale, up. Eight.

Fuck!!!

Inhale.

Down, exhale, up. Nine.

Oh, shit. She has to give up. Her arms tremble. She feels her elbows start to wobble. She’s going to drop the bar and smash her neck in half. She needs a spotter. But no! She refuses to give up. Nobody tells Deborah she can’t do anything. Fuck that shit. Deborah can do whatever the fuck she wants. Fuck the world. Fuck her doubters. Fuck anybody who thinks she’s a weakling because she’s a woman. Fuck that!!!

Inhale.

Down, exhale, up, up, up, up!

Just a little bit more….

Ten.

Deborah groans loudly, her booming voice reverberating across the room. She couldn’t care less if she’s distracting her fellow exercisers. This is all about her, nobody else. Fuck everybody else.

On the verge of collapsing, Deborah places the bar back on the rack and drops her arms to the floor. She’s gasping for air harder than a heavyweight prize fighter after the twelfth round. Her chest feels so tight it could burst with the prick of a needle. Her arms feel like jelly. She doubts she can move a single muscle until tomorrow morning.

But she has to move. She can’t spend the night and sleep here. No way. No fucking way.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen. This is a classic case of mind vs. matter. And in Deborah Frost’s case, her mind won. She kicked matter’s ass. Big time. Oh yeah.

Yet another tall muscle goddess, this time it’s Shawn Tan.

After a minute or two (which felt like an hour), Deborah sits up, grabs her towel, and wipes herself off. She then stands up, wipes down the bench, and proceeds to take the weight plates off the bar and place them back where they belong. Her “audience” has moved on and returned to their own little worlds. She just bench pressed all that fucking weight and her doubters are left to eat their own shit. Let them eat shit.

Time to do some ab work.

Deborah’s tall 6 foot 2 inch frame is covered from head to toe with big, thick muscles. As ripped as a professional bodybuilder and athletic as an Olympic gymnast, Deborah Frost is a unique, one-of-a-kind physical specimen. She doubts anybody in the world has ever had a body quite like hers. And she’s determined to make sure it stays that way.

At 27 years old, Deborah is certainly young enough to still be in the prime of her physical potential. Everything depends on her work ethic. And her work ethic is off the charts.

Forty-five minutes later, Deborah is stark naked and standing at a shower stall, feeling the hot water cascade off her strong, muscular body. She is not alone, showering alongside a short elderly woman, a grossly obese high school girl, and a young ditzy blonde who looks like she could be a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader.

Mmmm. Delicious. She’d love to lick her sweet pussy. She looks so soft, so sweet. She must smell like roses.

But Deborah isn’t usually into girls like her. She prefers women like Cassandra, her long-time girlfriend who lives with her. Like Deborah, Cassandra is as strong as an ox and refuses to let anybody tell her she can’t do anything. She’s just got back home after serving an eight month-long tour of duty in Afghanistan with the U.S. Marines. Cassandra was wounded when a road-side bomb hit her patrol vehicle, lodging a long piece of metal into her left leg. She sees a physical therapist every single day to help her recover.

But all Deborah could think about is fantasizing about Cheerleader Girl. That, and getting clean. Maybe she should focus more on getting clean.

Cheerleader Girl turns off her shower and walks away to her towel hanging on the wall. Deborah watches her curvy, round butt sway from side to side as she struts. Deborah can feel an electrical current pulsate between her legs. God, she needs release. Really bad. All this pent-up energy can’t be taken out through a workout. She needs a good, old-fashioned fuck.

Cassandra can help her with this when she gets home.

Gorgeous blonde FBB Cindy Phillips.

After her shower, Deborah quickly dresses and buys a small protein smoothie at the gym’s food bar. Her preference is banana strawberry. It’s fucking fantastic.

“Thank you. Have a good night,” the Smoothie Guy says. Deborah cannot remember his name to save her life and it’s beyond the point of embarrassment to ask him again. So she just smiles and nods as pleasantly as she can.

“You’re welcome. See you next time!”

He’s cute. A bit short and pudgy, his dark hair and perpetual five o’clock shadow is too irresistible to ignore. Deborah hasn’t had sex with a guy in nearly a decade, but she’d consider it if Smoothie Guy ever mustered up the courage to ask her. Or the foolishness to ask her. Same thing.

“See you tomorrow, right?” The Front Desk Gal asks.

“Yup, tomorrow. For sure. Today was chest day, so tomorrow is back and shoulders. Got to balance yourself out, you know what I mean?” Front Desk Gal nods. Deborah flashes her a subtle smile and sashays out of the gym.

The time approaches 10:30 p.m., which is a little bit later than she’s used to working out. Today she had a late start because she had to drive Cassandra to and from her therapy appointment. Usually she can snag a ride from her sister, but not today. Today, Cassie’s sister was meeting with her brand new sugar daddy. Deborah hopes things work out this time. Heaven knows she needs one right now.

Tonight, Deborah parked her car in the back lot. The gym’s super popular Zumba teacher taught back-to-back classes today so the front lot was completely full when Deborah arrived. Oh well. It could be worse. Heck, odds are stupid aerobic classes like that keep the gym in business. So she doesn’t have a whole lot to complain about.

Deborah fumbles with her car keys. She really needs to simplify how many damn keys she carries around in her tiny purse–

“Miss Frost?”

Deborah turns around to see whose voice it is that called out her name. It’s pitch black outside, so it’s nearly impossible to properly see who it is.

“Yes? Who is it?”

Standing next to a broken light post smoking a cigarette is a thin man wearing a black overcoat, a burgundy red fleece scarf, and a light gray fedora. The man approaches her nonchalantly. Even though she has every reason to feel threatened, she remains calm and collected. The man takes one last drag and tosses the cigarette on the ground. He steps on it for good measure.

“Good evening. Don’t feel alarmed. I’m not with the paparazzi or anything like that,” the man says. “I know people like that are constantly swarming you.”

“From time to time. But not for a while.” Deborah briefly dated in college a guy who was the school’s stud quarterback. He was drafted in the top ten and played two seasons in the NFL before overdosing on heroin. Deborah had broken up with him prior to his death, but the mysterious circumstances surrounding his sudden passing made her the subject of a criminal investigation. His fame, combined with her unusual muscular body, created a temporary media firestorm. Eventually, her name was cleared and she resumed living her life as normal.

Mysterious man wearing a fedora and smoking a cigarette.

She and William never had sex because he was secretly gay but refused to publicly come out. She was just a “girlfriend” for show. He felt like being outed would hurt his chances of playing in the pros. He wasn’t totally wrong. She went along with the charade as long as she received a cut of his paycheck. He agreed to this arrangement. Their phony relationship resulted in her receiving $15,000 per month from him in cash. They were both happy with this “business arrangement.” They both benefitted. But eventually even that had to come to an end, like everything does.

“I’m glad. It’s good to see your life has returned back to the way it was.”

“What do you want? An autograph?”

The Thin Fedora Man takes another step toward her. Deborah’s heart rate increases slightly.

“Oh, no. I’m not looking for that at all. I’m actually here to deliver a message to you. Would you like to hear it? I believe you will find it financially rewarding.” Deborah’s ears perk up at the mention of money. Due to her living life as a professional bodybuilder – which pays very little – and Cassandra having to spend so much of her money on therapy sessions, money is always tight with them. Always.

“Go away.” Deborah unlocks her car and takes one step toward it.

“Very well. As you wish. I will inform my client that you have refused his offer before even hearing it. He will be quite displeased with this news.” The Thin Fedora Man turns around and walks away. Impulsively, Deborah shouts back at him.

“Wait! Come back. I want to hear your offer.” The Thin Fedora Man stops dead in his tracks and smiles. He turns around and faces Deborah, a woman who is by far the most muscular he’s ever seen in his life.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I want to hear it. Go on.” How fucking pathetic does she look right now? Deborah shudders at the thought of her actually talking to a complete stranger who claims to represent someone interested in giving her a lot of money…

“Fantastic. I will not reveal my client’s name, but he will reveal himself if you choose to meet with him. He is offering you this: My client wants to spend one evening with you at a location of his choosing. The time parameters will be agreed upon beforehand,” he says.

“During this time together, he asks that you allow him to do whatever he pleases with you. Whatever he pleases, if I may reiterate that crucial point. Don’t worry, no physical or psychological harm will come to you. He can assure you of that. In return, you will receive $1 million in cash on the spot. No questions asked. No need to do anything else after that.”

Deborah can smell Thin Fedora Man’s smoky breath from several paces away. She tries to not cough. The struggle is real.

“Wow. That’s quite an offer. I’ll give you and your client credit. I’ve never been approached before about something so elaborate. But my answer is still no,” Deborah says. She begins to walk away toward her car for the second time.

“He figured you would immediately refuse. I also can sympathize with your reaction. This is why he’s offering you this ahead of time.” Thin Fedora Man takes out a white envelope from his coat pocket and hands it to Deborah. “It’s $10,000 in cash. Straight up. Even if you ultimately refuse my client’s offer, the money is still yours. No need to return it. Go ahead. Open it. It’s yours.”

Cautiously, Deborah takes the envelope from him and opens it. She peers inside. Sure enough, a thick stack of 100 dollar bills greets her. She gasps.

“Fuck me. You’re not joking around,” she mutters under her breath.

An envelope full of cash.

“No, he is not,” Thin Fedora Man chuckles. “Also inside this envelop is a business card with a phone number that you are to call if you would like to take him up on his generous offer. You have 48 hours to respond. If he does not hear from you, he will then pursue other potential candidates for this particular escapade. Understood?”

Unable to believe her eyes, Deborah looks up at Thin Fedora Man and nods her head faintly. “Yes, I understand completely.”

“Good! We look forward to your response. Have a pleasant rest of your evening, Miss Frost.”

And just like that, Thin Fedora Man turns around and calmly walks away. He gets inside a car parked several yards away and turns on the engine. Deborah still has not moved an inch since looking at the stack of bills. She sees red break lights illuminate the pitch black parking lot as the vehicle driven by the enigmatic man backs up. A chill runs down her spine.

“Holy hell. Is this guy for real?” she says to herself.

Dumbstruck and clutching the envelope as if her life depended upon it, Deborah can do nothing but watch Thin Fedora Man’s car speed off toward the main highway, leaving behind a thin trail of dust floating around in the darkness.

To be continued…

The Erotic Dreams of Max Shimura: Episode Five – Gym Rats (part two of two)

The gorgeous Laurie Steele.

Continued from part one

As quiet as a church mouse, Max creeps out from behind the corner and reveals himself to Tanya. Embarrassed to his very core, Max isn’t sure whether he should immediately run away into the next zip code or stand there and take his punishment.

Either way, he’s going to be in major trouble!

“I, uh, seem to have been unaware that the gym had closed,” Max stutters. “My mistake. Sorry about that!”

Tanya, glistening in her own sweat and standing as tall and confident as an Amazon warrior, smirks at Max’s clumsy excuse. She knows he’s full of bullshit…and thinks it’s completely adorable.

“Don’t worry, Max. Come on out. Seriously. I won’t bite,” she says. “I’m not even angry.”

She steps forward away from leg press machine and places her hands on her shapely hips. Max reluctantly approaches her. Although she’s naked from head to toe and is possibly the most perfect physical specimen he’s ever seen in his life, he maintains eye contact with her as he gives her the most shame-filled expression possible. Tanya still smiles.

“You probably didn’t expect me to take off all my clothes, huh?” Max nods his head in agreement. She bobs her head in response. Out of the periphery of his vision, Max notices an unusually large phallic organ hanging between her massive legs. He chooses to ignore this observation and remain focused on crafting an apology in his head.

“No, I didn’t. That came as quite a surprise,” Max says.

“That’s okay. I’d be shocked too if I were you.” She reaches down into her gym bag and takes out her water bottle. In one fell swig, she empties it and tosses it back inside. She lets out a modest burp.

Sarah Hayes showing off her triceps.

“The truth is, I never work out in the nude. Especially not in public. Especially when there are security cameras everywhere.” Tanya points to the ceiling at a panoramic 360-degree camera stationed almost right underneath her. Max gulps as he reckons with the fact that this entire interaction is being recorded and stored into the cloud. Holy shit, will some random bloke working at some God-awful private security company watch this whole thing and…

“But, I don’t worry about such things. Generally speaking, nobody watches this unless they have a reason to,” Tanya takes a few steps closer to Max. He feels a chill run up his spine as she closes the proximity gap between them.

“I am…um, really sorry for peeping on you,” Max says.

“I’m sure you are. In your defense, you aren’t the first guy who’s tried this, and you probably won’t be the last.” Tanya strikes a quick side chest pose, showing off her impressive triceps. Max cannot believe his eyes…or the situation he finds himself in!

“I should be going…”

Tanya grabs Max by the shoulder and squeezes it tightly. Instead of pain, which is what he was expecting to feel, Max is pleasantly surprised at both her considerable strength and gentle touch.

“Why? We’re just getting started. Aren’t we?” Tanya leans over and kisses Max unexpectedly. He quivers in response. She steals his breath away from him. Their lips come apart after what seems like a blissful eternity. “You’re different from everyone else, Max. You’re modest, you don’t show off, and you treat everyone with respect. There’s a lot to like about that.”

“Thanks. I don’t know what to say. I just try to be myself, I guess.” As he fumbles his words, Max is afraid he might tip over and fall flat on his face. Luckily, he doesn’t.

“You just want to be yourself? Good for you,” she says, leaning in toward him. He can smell a grimy musky sweaty scent emanating out of every pore of her gorgeous body. Usually he would grimace at such a noticeable stench, but in this moment it smells like sweet exotic perfume. “I try to do the same. I try to live my life as authentically as possible, and without any regrets.”

Coco Crush giving us her best side.

Max nods. It’s the last thing he can do until…

Tanya squats to the ground and tears off Max’s shorts. Taking the not-so-subtle hint, Max takes off the rest of his clothes until he’s down to only his underwear. His erection is as plain as day. But instead of being embarrassed by it, he feels powerful. More powerful than he’s ever felt in his entire life. Even though Tanya is stronger and more authoritative than he is, for some unexplainable reason he cannot help but feel invincible.

“So, who do you think has a bigger one, you or me?”

Max blinks unintelligently. He is as dumbfounded as he’s ever been.

“I…um, uh, beg your pardon? What are you talking about…who has a, uh, bigger one?”

She smiles. He still cannot think straight. Then, she takes his hand and leads him toward a wall mirror. The two of them stand side-by-side in front of a smudged-up mirror, looking intently at their reflection. The sight of a tall muscular woman dwarfing a medium-sized man almost looks comical, but in this environment it’s as erotic of a sight that has ever been produced.

“It’s a simple question, Max. Who has a bigger one, you or I?” Suddenly, out of nowhere, Tanya spreads her massive legs apart and shows off her…

Her…

Um, her……………….

………………………………………………………..

Holy shit!

…her enormous clitoris!!!

Hanging between her legs, almost as if it exists purely for shock value, is the largest clitoris Max has ever seen before. Before he can process what he’s just seen, Tanya abruptly rips off his underwear and exposes his erect penis for the two of them to see. Fully hardened, Max’s modest size never bothered him before. At least, not before he encountered a fully nude Tanya!

Protruding out from between her legs is what appears to be a hefty six-inch long piece of meat. Mostly covered by a thick-layered dark brown clitoral hood, the head of her clit looks to be the size of the tip of Max’s thumb. What the hell!!!!!!!!!!!!!! How the FUCK is that even possible????????

“Is that what I think it is? Is…um, is that your…you know?” Max’s erection deflates as he attempts to mentally process what he’s witnessing. He doesn’t seem to notice. She doesn’t seem to care.

“What? What do you think it is, Max?” She continues to flex her enormous muscles.

“Is that a, uh, penis?”

There is a long awkward pause.

Tanya bursts out laughing and slaps Max playfully on the back. She doesn’t mean to cause any harm, but her sheer strength causes him to screech in pain. She grabs him by the shoulders and pushes him down to the floor. Max is on his knees with his face right in front of her divine clit.

“Fuck, no! It’s my fucking clit, you dumbass! I’m a woman, not a man. For fuck’s sake.” Tanya strokes her feminine endowment up and down, exposing the bright pink head to its fullest extent. Indeed, her clit is an eye-popping six inches long, if you count the tip to the point where it appears to enter inside her body. Max’s modest erection is not quite 5.5 inches, a sore subject with him whenever the topic of “size” ever comes up in casual conversation. Fortunately for him, it rarely does.

“Believe it or not, I have to wear a cup around my pussy every time I go out in public so that it doesn’t attract too much unwanted attention,” she says. “It can be quite distracting, wouldn’t you say?” Max nods in agreement, which is the only thing he can do right now.

“You want to take a closer look?”

Autumn Cleveland in her natural habitat – the gym.

Max looks up at Tanya and stares at her ocean blue eyes. She does not seem to be joking. Obediently, he sticks his face between her legs. Tanya is fully erect, with small traces of moisture dripping down her slit. Max is impressed by the stature of her feminine endowment. Eventually, Tanya pushes Max’s head closer in and he takes the whole thing into his mouth. He sucks on her engorged piece of meat with furious curiosity. She moans and trembles as the initial rumbles of orgasm shake inside her.

“Fuck, Max! Oh, fuuuuuuuuuck……”

Tanya lies down on a nearby stretching mat and spreads her legs out as widely as she possibly can. Max’s lips have not come apart from her beautiful meat. He laps her ultrasensitive pink head with his tongue, relentlessly beating it back and forth. Tanya shakes in response. She’s close. Max also knows it. He pinches the sides of her labia and stretches it as far as it can go, further exposing her pink head to his tongue. Finally, she comes.

Trembling, squirming, and gasping for air, Tanya lifts her pelvis off the floor and lets out a small fart. Breathing heavy and enjoying her last few vaginal contractions, Tanya lays her head down on the mat. Max scoots closer to her and kisses her on the lips. She enjoys the taste of her own juices. Before she can say “thank you” to him, Tanya wraps her fingers around Max’s penis and gently strokes it up and down.

My God, Cindy Landolt. You sure do things to me…

Max moans. Tanya turns on her side and kisses his cheek as she caresses him with more urgency. Sweat drips off his face. He closes his eyes so that he can indulge in the moment. He notices the hardness of her calluses against his sensitive shaft and loves it. Max is pleasantly surprised at how gentle she is, considering the power of her forearms. She may be bigger, stronger, and more accomplished than he is, but in this moment Max has never felt like more of a man than he is now. He feels in charge, even though he clearly knows she’s the one who is…

“Oh!”

Max climaxes, spurting his hot semen all over Tanya’s six-pack abdomen in five potent squirts. She allows it to drip down her belly and onto the mat. Minutes later, Tanya and Max are lying in a pool of their own fluids – sweat, saliva, semen, and vaginal juices – all without having a care in the world. They’re a sticky mess…and that’s the way they like it to be.

Who gives a fuck if a security guard watches what they’re doing? Who cares if gossip spreads across the gym and soon everyone will know about their illicit nighttime coupling? Let those idiots say whatever they want. Tanya needed this. So did Max. And now they have each other, at least they do for this moment.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring? They don’t want to think about that right now. All that matters is the here and now.

Tanya strokes Max’s limp penis and brings it back to life. After a long period of silence, Max decides to speak.

“Ready for round two?”

Tanya leans over and kisses him deeply.

“Ever since we got done with round one!”

They laugh. They kiss again. This time, it’s Max who takes charge. Full of newfound confidence, he mounts her, looks at her pretty blue eyes, and begins to make love to her.

The Erotic Dreams of Max Shimura: Episode Five – Gym Rats (part one of two)

If Mavi Gioia worked out at my gym, I’d go every single day!

Rumor has it that after the gym closes, one customer in particular is allowed to remain behind and finish her workout.

Max heard this rumor from a front desk employee who can’t keep a secret to save his life. As a frequent member of East Heights Fitness Center, Max is privy to the latest gossip going on among its members and staff. But this latest piece of gossip is the juiciest because of who it involves.

Tanya.

Tanya is without question the most beautiful and angelic woman Max has ever laid eyes on. With an imposing 6 foot 4 inches frame, she is a competitive female bodybuilder who has won numerous competitions over the years. She is by far the most muscular woman he’s ever seen. In fact, she’s probably the most muscular human being he’s ever seen, and that includes all the men who work out at the gym.

She’s the total package: Beautiful, tall, enormously muscular, funny, intelligent, kind, hardworking, successful, famous, and undeniably sexy. She’s a mini celebrity in town and a much bigger celebrity within the pro bodybuilding community. Max has been going to this gym for three years now, but he knew about her legend before he signed his membership contract. Everyone knows who Tanya is and what she’s accomplished during her illustrious career.

He has even spoken to her a few times. She’s very personable and doesn’t mind chatting before or after her workouts, but never during. In fact, she gets very upset with you if you bother her during her lifting sessions. This is why she prefers to work out later in the evenings. There are fewer people around, better availability of equipment and not nearly as many distractions.

A typical weight room.

So when Gus, the chatty front desk guy, told Max that recently Tanya has requested that the gym stay open specifically for her, he figured it makes sense she would ask for this. Gus claims Tanya can stay as late as she wants just as long as she cleans up after herself and turns off all the lights and locks the door after she’s finished. The owner knows her well and Tanya holds enough clout to do whatever the hell she wants. Tanya considers the gym to be her work place, so she wants an optimal environment to get to work.

“She sure is something special, isn’t she?” Gus says to Max. It’s 10:30 p.m., which means the gym closes in an hour and a half. Max has just gotten to the gym and has yet to start his warmup cardio. He usually chats with Gus for a minute or two before heading upstairs to the treadmill area.

“Who, Tanya?”

“No, your Fairy Godmother. Yes, of course Tanya! She’s fucking beautiful,” Gus says.

Max and Gus share a laugh. Today is Thursday (which is Max’s Saturday, which explains why he’s here at the gym so late in the evening), so according to her usual schedule she should be walking in any time now. Most of the crowd has left by now, but a few stragglers continue to lift late into the night in hopes of catching a glimpse of her. Most of the guys admit that they feel much more motivated to lift when Tanya’s around. They all want to impress her. Nobody wants to feel weak around her. If a rising tide lifts all ships, Tanya’s very presence inspires everyone around her to work that much harder.

“Without a doubt, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. Speaking of which…” Before Max could finish his sentence, she walks in. Strutting in wearing grey sweat pants, a burgundy red tank top and Beats By Dre headphones around her thick neck, Tanya’s celebrity status is palpable. All eyes; both male and female, young and old, those who are in shape and those who are completely out of shape; are fixated on her. Everyone’s undivided attention is drawn to her whenever she enters the room. Tonight is no exception. Max forgets to breathe. Gus freezes in place and ignores an incoming phone call. It can wait.

At 6’4”, she would be eye-popping even if she weren’t so muscular or beautiful. Tanya has striking emerald green eyes, long jet black hair, and dark umber brown skin that looks as smooth as velvet. Max couldn’t quite figure out what ethnicity she is, but regardless, she’s a perfect genetic mix. Sharp jaw line, legs that stretch out forever and enough muscle to put a roaring lion to shame, Tanya’s brawny physique is matched by few. Her perfect combination of muscularity, size, height, beauty and femininity is the reason why she’s so incredibly successful in all facets of life.

Except her love life. In one of the few conversations they’ve had together, Tanya once told Max she’s given up on dating men because they’ve all been jerks to her. Max insisted that not all guys are like that, but she’s put that behind her and insists she’s only interested in being with women right now (yes, she’s bisexual). Max made a vow after that to one day show her that there are good guys out there who will treat her with the respect and reverence she deserves.

Denise Masino showing off what she does best: Giving guys like me heart attacks.

Tanya waves to the two star-struck guys as she walks toward the women’s locker room. Max is surprised he doesn’t faint.

After snapping back to reality, Max grabs a sweat towel from the front desk, wishes Gus a good day, and proceeds to begin his workout.

Seventy minutes later, Max is finishing his evening with light cardio on an elliptical machine. He watches below as Tanya squats 350 pounds for an astonishing 15 repetitions. A small crowd gathers around her as she grunts her way to the end of her set. Cheers erupt all over when she finishes. Her gorgeous face covered in sweat, Tanya smiles and takes a bow to her audience. The people scatter as she takes a drink of water from her bottle and rests a moment before her next set.

Midnight approaches. Gus makes an announcement over the PA system reminding people that the gym closes in ten minutes. Max, feeling in an odd mood, decides he wants to see what exactly Tanya does when she works out alone. Recklessly, with an unexpected streak of lust and curiosity storming through him, Max sees a broom closet located near the dressing rooms and sneakily approaches it. The door opens. Max is aware that Gus and his crew don’t always run a tight ship, so he is not surprised that the door is unlocked. He closes it quickly and waits inside in total darkness.

“What the fuck am I doing?” Max whispers to himself. Seriously! What the fuck is he doing? Staying behind after everyone has left just so he can spy on Tanya’s lonely workout? What kind of a creep is he? Minutes pass as Max ponders these questions. He estimates that twenty minutes have gone by. Then thirty minutes. Finally, he hears this brief conversation:

“That’s about it, Tanya. Enjoy the rest of your workout. You know what to do from here,” Gus says.

“Thank you, darling. Good night!” Tanya replies.

Theresa Ivancik is redefining what “happy hour” is all about.

Max hears footsteps and then total silence. The music has stopped playing over the PA. The clanks of weights hitting the floor have ceased. The humming of the treadmills can be heard no longer. He and Tanya are definitely the only ones left inside the gym. Boldly, Max opens the closet door and exits. The gym is significantly darker than usual. Only a portion of the lights are on, mostly near the weight room. He walks toward the light cautiously.

He peeks around the corner, and sure enough, he sees Tanya all alone. She has moved on from squats and is now engaging in leg presses. She’s lifting 1,080 pounds for 10 reps. Wow! Max gets down on his knees to hide himself better. For nearly 15 minutes, he watches Tanya blast her quads on the leg press machine while buckets of sweat pour from her body. Max would do anything to be able to taste her salty goodness.

After finishing her leg press set, Tanya goes to her gym bag, takes a long swig of water, and puts the bottle away. She takes the earbuds out of her ears and places her phone in her bag. Is she done with her workout? Is she going to head back to the locker room, which means Max is going to have to find a new hiding place? Is she planning to–

Before Max could finish his thought, Tanya reaches down and pulls down her shorts to the floor. She kicks them away to the side. Max’s jaw drops to the floor when he sees her tight, rounded butt in full form. Then she removes her workout shirt and tosses it in her bag. Wearing a black sports bra, her ripped back captivates Max’s attention.

I need Autumn Raby as my personal trainer.

What on Earth is she doing? Why is she stripping naked in the gym?

The bra comes off. She drops it to the floor. Max’s heart momentarily stops. A moment later, she is completely nude. Max has not moved an inch. Covered from head to toe with large ripped muscles, Tanya’s chiseled physique is both awe-inspiring and indescribable.

Max may not be able to move, but he can still attempt to process what he’s seeing right before his very eyes. Does she prefer to work out in the nude? Does it make her lifts easier to complete? Or is she overheated and needs to allow her skin to “breathe” now that no one is around? Or is she…

“Come on out, Max. I know you’re out there somewhere.”

Max’s heart has jumped upward near this throat. How the hell did she see him?

“It’s okay,” Tanya teases. “Come on out, I won’t bite!”

To be continued…

Nude: A Muscular Woman’s Natural State (NSFW)

Emery Miller in her natural state.

One year ago, I published a post titled “A Muscular Woman is Always Nude in Public, Even When Fully Clothed.” The basic gist of my article is that a woman with muscles cannot easily hide her muscles from the public. Even if she wears baggy clothing and acts as inconspicuous as possible, she can never fully conceal the fact that she is indeed a woman with big muscles.

So no matter what she does, where she goes, or who she associates with, her identity as a “female bodybuilder” is forever branded on her body – that is, until she decides to stop training and lets her muscles atrophy. She can run, but she can’t hide.

However, that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. One does not pursue bodybuilding unless he or she is okay with, ahem, looking like a bodybuilder. That’s the whole point, isn’t it?

Yes, it is the whole point. No arguments there. I’d like to follow up this post with more thoughts on the concept of female muscle and nudity. Here it goes. Not only is a female bodybuilder always nude even when she’s fully clothed, when she is nude she’s actually in her “natural state.”

By “natural state,” I mean the way in which nature intended for something to be presented. As human beings living in human civilization, it is not encouraged to be naked in public. Nor is it natural for people to live clustered sedentary lives where they spend all their free time glued to a computer screen. In-person human interaction involving people actually looking at and talking to another human being has (nearly) gone by the wayside, thanks to the introduction of social media, texting, and other digital distractions. Life in the 21^st Century may resemble a quasi-dystopian (and heavily exaggerated pre-apocalyptic) reality, but that doesn’t mean we can’t occasionally turn back the clock and return back to how we were supposed to behave.

Kathy Johansson showing off her best side.

As a particular sub-species of humanity, female bodybuilders belong in a unique category. Female bodybuilders are, in many respects, a prototypical 21^st Century human being: Strong, independent, rebellious, entrepreneurial, and “feminine” by her own definition. Never mind the fact that female bodybuilders are not celebrated by our culture in quite the same way that pop stars and loudmouth politicians are; FBBs are women who are known to exist but aren’t given the adequate public space that they deserve to exist in.

So in a realistic sense, FBBs will forever be relegated to the backburner of greater society’s consciousness. Or more specifically, they’ll inhabit the backburner of the stove located in the shanty sitting 20 miles away from our culture’s proverbial kitchen. It’s a hard knock life, but a life that our beloved FBBs are willing and able to wade through.

But within the female muscle fan community – and to be sure, God knows how many of us are out there – the accomplishments of FBBs do not go unnoticed. In fact, we spend an inordinate amount of time experiencing these ladies as many ways as we can: Meeting them for muscle worship/wrestling sessions, watching their videos, looking at their photos, reading articles about them, following them on Instagram, etc. And if there is one theme that consistently comes up, it’s that we love seeing our gorgeous strong ladies wearing as little clothing as possible.

Granted, the desire to see a beautiful person without clothing isn’t particularly unusual. Adam didn’t notice Eve while she was wearing a nuclear hazmat suit. He noticed her when she was wearing…uh, nothing at all. I’m pretty sure if any of us were to see a beautiful person walking down the street wearing his or her birthday suit, we’d all stop what we’re doing and stare. If you wouldn’t so such a thing, well, I don’t know what to say to you.

However, in a strangely poetic way, female bodybuilders aren’t just beautiful women whom we would like to see naked. They’re beautiful women who should be naked all the time. A muscular woman should never be covered up. Her body should always be displayed in all its natural glory. A clothed muscular woman is a travesty. It’s an abomination. It’s unnatural, just like eating tropical fruit in the winter or listening to Christmas music in July.

The gorgeous Lindsay Mulinazzi.

As bodybuilders, FBBs dedicate their whole lives to developing their physical bodies to fit a certain desired aesthetic. It’s not a hobby. Nor is it just a career choice. It’s a lifestyle. What they eat, how they train, when they sleep, where they find themselves at any given moment, what they spend their money on; it’s all part of the life of being a pro (or exceedingly dedicated amateur) bodybuilder. In short, you don’t become a bodybuilder. Bodybuilding becomes you!

And the human body, when deliberately sculpted to look a certain way, deserves to be seen in its proper context. There’s a reason why bodybuilding contests feature contestants wearing almost nothing. Obviously, the competitors won’t wear anything that isn’t acceptable at any public beach, because “going commando” is still pretty taboo. It’s like going to the movies: Seeing hundreds of people get shot and blown up is okay, but seeing a bare female breast is totally wrong.

It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, but plenty of things in life don’t make a lick of sense when you think about it.

So forget about this in a practical sense. I’m not suggesting female bodybuilders – and male bodybuilders, I suppose – should go around completely naked all the time. This is more of a philosophical discussion with regards to who female bodybuilders are and what they represent, not a call to action to defy indecent exposure laws!

Simply put, female bodybuilders should be appreciated in the nude whenever possible. Yes, it can be incredibly sexy to see a gorgeous FBB wearing frilly lingerie or a g-string bikini or a French maid’s outfit. But that’s all fun and games. I’m talking about how a female bodybuilder deserves to be seen.

What can you conclude by seeing Michelle Tuggle fully nude?

You cannot fully appreciate her hard work unless you see every single square inch of her body. Her calves. Her quads. Her hips. Her butt. Her abs. Her arms. Her chest. Her neck. Her back. Her face. Her breasts. And yes, her genitals.

Her genitals may seem inconsequential, but they are not. Seeing a woman with big muscles and female genitalia proves the point once and for all that she’s a real woman. Whether her clitoris is small or abnormally large doesn’t really matter. What matters is the stark reminder that this hypermuscular human body is also a female body. Whether her breasts are small or large also doesn’t matter. They need to be seen. If her breasts are normal-sized, they serve as further reinforcement of her femininity. If they are flat, they could then be used to argue either that one doesn’t need breasts in order to be a woman or that “womanhood” needs to be redefined. Or more specifically, our concept of “womanhood” needs to be tossed out the window altogether.

The size of her muscles, the appearance of her genitalia and breasts, and the confidence in which she carries herself (or perhaps, lack of confidence if she’s self-conscious about anything) all tell us the complete story about her. If she’s embarrassed by her small breasts and large clit, this offers a clue to how she views her own femininity. If she’s damn proud of her big muscles, flat chest, and oversized genitals, we can surmise that she doesn’t give a damn what society says or that she wants society to dramatically change the way we view women.

As I’ve written before in a previous blog article, a large clitoris is beneficial for the perception of women and their sexualities. It proves that women are indeed sexually sovereign beings who deserve to experience pleasure whenever they desire to. The vagina is often (unfairly) mischaracterized as a passive bodily organ that only serves to receive a man’s penis during intercourse and to deliver a child during birth. Add to it a clitoris that is often too small to see (without zooming in very closely!) and you get a set of genitals that can be viewed as being submissive, dependent, and unremarkable.

A very sultry Desiree Ellis.

However, that’s not even close to being true. But as far as perception goes, a big clitoris that resembles a very small penis can go a long way in proving the point that women do in fact possess an organ that exists solely to give her pleasure. We might know that in the back of our minds, but a larger-than-life clitoris that shocks you when you see it accentuates that point a hundred-fold.

Thus, yes, her genitals do matter. Every single inch of her body matters. You cannot truly understand who a female bodybuilder is unless you see her completely nude. But do not mistaken nudity with vulnerability. There’s a difference between being naked and being nude. “Naked” is when someone lacks clothing. “Nude” is a state of being in which one shows off all their skin. In other words, “naked” implies vulnerability, deficiency, and being unprotected. “Nude,” on the other hand, connotes an active choice to be bare.

Being naked is humiliating. Being nude is an empowering choice. See the difference?

A nude female bodybuilder is most likely to be in the “empowered” camp. But I guess that’s not always the case. In addition to being embarrassed by her genitalia or breasts, not everyone is comfortable being naked…regardless of the circumstances. Obviously, bodybuilders (male and female) tend to have fantastic looking bodies, but we all hold differing mores when it comes to showing off skin to the public.

There’s an undeniable difference between seeing a muscular woman clothed and a muscular woman completely nude. When clothed, we are reminded of her ordinariness. She wears shirts, pants, socks, shoes, and jackets just like the rest of us. It’s like she’s covering up who she really is, as if wearing clothes is just like Clark Kent wearing glasses to disguise the fact that he’s actually Superman. A female bodybuilder who’s wearing clothes is shielding her identity, albeit not completely.

Yes, you can still tell that she’s really darn muscular. Her tight jeans may generously show off her sculpted glutes and rock hard thighs, but it’s not even close to seeing the actual thing. I’m sure Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen suspected that Mr. Kent was actually somebody else, but who in their right mind would go all the way and suggest that he’s actually the Man of Steel? Preposterous!

Likewise, it’s not the same to look upon a fully-clothed female bodybuilder with a similar amount of awe and wonder if she were nude. That even goes for her wearing a bikini. She’s mostly nude…however there are still a few crucial parts still left uncovered.

Now, contrast that with a fully nude muscular woman. It’s as though you’re seeing her from a whole new perspective. She transcends her humanity and becomes a goddess. When you see her in her “natural state,” you truly are able to comprehend just how amazing her body is. You witness not just her physical beauty; you also get to experience her entire essence. Her personality, her hard work, her sacrifices, her lifestyle choices, her fears, her doubts, her dreams, her hopes; everything is right there on display. She hides nothing because this is who she really is.

This is how she’s meant to be seen.

You may be asking yourself: Does the same apply to a gorgeous non-bodybuilder woman? Well, not really. Without question, the sight of a beautiful nude woman is always pleasant to regard, whether she has big muscles or not. I’m only human. However, the major dissimilarity is that an FBB’s sculpted body is so crucial to her identity. Her chiseled physique is central to who she is as a person and what she’s dedicated her life toward accomplishing.

The real Jungle Woman: Rita Sargo.

A beautiful non-muscular woman isn’t quite the same. A supermodel can wear a sultry black dress and make jaws drop to the floor (although I believe “slay” has become the currently accepted nomenclature). If a female bodybuilder were to wear the exact same dress, she could garner the exact same reaction…but it wouldn’t feel the same. Instead, the dress would seem like a burden. The dress becomes a distraction, an unnecessary diversion away from what’s really important.

And what is actually important? You guessed it! Her hard chiseled muscles.

Perhaps that’s the heart of this discussion. That’s my core message. Clothing seems unnatural when placed on a female bodybuilder’s body. And not just unnatural; it seems sacrilegious. A masterpiece by Monet deserves to be viewed by millions of people at a museum, not locked away in a vault somewhere in an undisclosed underground location. A grand piano deserves to be played, as opposed to serving as a glorified piece of furniture. A novel sitting on a shelf and doing nothing is degrading. It must be read and enjoyed, not relegated as common clutter.

In the same manner, a female bodybuilder’s body needs to be seen in its entirety. And that means she must be fully nude. I’m not suggesting every single bodybuilder must be forced to strip naked and pose for pictures. Heavens no! That’s the furthest thing that I would advocate for, trust me. Rather, I’m talking about this in a metaphysical sense.

A female bodybuilder’s body is maximizing its utility (or purpose) when it’s displayed in the nude. More than being athletes, female bodybuilders are also artists. And like Michelangelo and Leonardo Da Vinci before them, FBBs warrant having their handiwork displayed in a way that provides the viewer an optimal experience:

Nude. No clothing. At all. Just her beautiful body and nothing else shielding it. That’s the way she is meant to be seen. That’s the way nature intended it.

Anything else would be a disservice to all her years and years of shedding blood, sweat, and tears. Maybe I was wrong in my initial assessment that a muscular woman is always nude in public, even when she’s fully clothed. When she’s wearing clothes, she’s just like the Monet sitting in a dark vault or the masterpiece of a novel collecting dust. We’re in the presence of greatness; we just don’t know it. And this is perhaps the greatest tragedy of them all.

That being said, when she’s completely nude, our eyes aren’t the only things that become wide open. So do our minds, hearts, and souls.

Naked, Proud, and Defiant: The Fantasy of Seeing a Nude Muscular Woman in Public

Who wouldn't want to see Alina Popa working out at their gym? — Who wouldn’t want to see Alina Popa working out at their gym?

I’ve seen a fair share of muscular women in my life. I’ve seen gorgeous fit women at the gym. I’ve met a number of female bodybuilders for muscle worship sessions. I’ve seen most of these female bodybuilders wearing their Birthday Suit, which means (for those of you in which English is not your first language) wearing absolutely nothing.

Seeing a muscular woman naked is like a spiritual experience. It’s like seeing a divine creature up close and not feeling worthy of being able to do so. It’s like being a layman and visiting the Holy of Holies inside Solomon’s Temple. You know it’s strictly forbidden, but your curiosity will always get the better of you.

As a fan of female bodybuilders, I have plenty of fantasies that I daydream about with great frequency. Making love to a female bodybuilder, having a romantic dinner with a female bodybuilder, snuggling closely with a female bodybuilder by a crackling fireplace, and lots of others. Most of them are quite mundane. Most of my fantasies aren’t kinky, violent, or contain any shred of BDSM fetishism. I don’t want a muscular woman to pee on me (gross!) or to stomp her high heels onto my scrotum (ouch!). If that’s your “thing,” so be it. It’s not mine!

One aspect of my female muscle fantasies that comes close to entering the realm of kinky is voyeurism. Voyeurism isn’t all that kinky or bizarre, but it can cross that threshold if taken to certain extremes. Here’s one simple voyeuristic female muscle fantasy that I have that I often think about:

Imagine you’re taking a casual stroll through a crowded street in a big metropolitan city. It’s Sunday afternoon and you see shoppers milling around, people eating brunch, tourists enjoying what the town has to offer, joggers, dog owners walking their pooches, and teenage kids being up to no good. In other words, it’s a typical pleasant carefree day.

You’re walking round aimlessly, minding your own business. Not a chore to do in the world. All of a sudden, out of the corner of your eye, you see a sight that you’ll never forget. Nor will anybody else who is also witnessing this event. On the opposite side of the street, you see a naked woman nonchalantly walking down the sidewalk; and not just any kind of woman, but a drop-dead gorgeous female bodybuilder.

She’s tall. She’s muscular. She’s completely ripped from head to toe with big swollen muscles. Her thighs could crush a watermelon. She can bend steel with her bare hands. Her broad shoulders take up almost the entire sidewalk. Her perfectly round butt bounces up and down poetically with every step she takes. She isn’t wearing a single article of clothing. She’s willingly allowing people to see every square inch of her stunningly chiseled physique.

People don’t recognize her and treat her like she’s an extraterrestrial visitor from another solar system. Nobody can look away. All eyes are helplessly glued to her. In fact, nobody wants to look away from her. Some are disgusted by her. Others are instantly turned on by her. But everybody stops what they’re doing, dead in their tracks, and stares at her theatrical nude promenade.

Everyone sees her – children, families, little old ladies, packs of teenagers, Catholic nuns, stoners, homeless drifters begging for spare change, police officers on patrol, dogs, cats, birds, and every living being within view of her immaculate body.

Not only is she boldly strolling around a crowded public place in the nude, but she’s proud to be doing this! She’s confident. She’s defiant. She’s empowered. She knows she has everyone in the palm of her calloused hand. No one can resist looking at her. And from what she can tell, no one has any desire to resist staring at her powerful body.

The police won’t arrest her for indecent exposure because they’re enchanted with her. The nuns won’t chastise her because they feel like they’re seeing the splitting image of God walking before them. The stoners and drunks sober up immediately. A few homeless folks offer to give her whatever nickels and dimes they have for just the opportunity to get a closer look at her. But she ignores all of these people. She doesn’t have a care in the world. As she continues her triumphant constitutional, she develops a following of people. No one dares touch her, talk to her, or bother her. They react to her with a combination of awe, erotic curiosity, and fear.

The countless individuals who follow her create traffic jams. Cars can’t pass through intersections. A jogger who notices this naked muscular woman accidentally runs into a telephone poll. People take out their cell phones and snap pictures of her. She loves the attention. She craves it. She doesn’t care if her flamboyant performance goes viral. She loves being who she is and will never apologize for it.

She’s worked her entire life to achieve this impeccably muscular body. She knows her body will receive mixed reactions. She knows this exhibitionistic exercise violates social norms. She knows her body is polarizing. But she doesn’t care. All she wants is for the entire fucking world to see it!

Wow. Imagine that for a moment. How would you react if you were one of the thousands of people who witness this moment? What do you think is going through the mind of the female bodybuilder who’s choosing to proudly display her body (and years of hard work) to the masses of onlookers?

But, let’s specifically focus on the narrator of the story. Let’s assume the narrator of the story is a secret admirer of muscular women. He (or she) may be caught off guard by our audacious performer (let’s call her “Ginger”), but once he realizes it’s happening he goes with the flow and loves every minute of it. Or, let’s assume he knows it’s going to happen ahead of time and enjoys watches it unfold just to see how other people will react.

Oh boy. Tatianna Butler.

Will Ginger get jeers from unpleasant trolls? Will the police try to arrest her? Will mothers cover the eyes of their children? Will husbands get slapped in the face by their wives because they can’t stop drooling over her? Will the kindly grandmas suddenly become militant and start to lecture her about the lack of decency she’s exhibiting? Will she inadvertently cause car collisions and pedestrians to trip over themselves? How far is Ginger planning to stroll through the neighborhood? Will she ignore the voices hurling unsolicited remarks toward her? Will she do something more daring like pose for pictures or allow strangers to touch her body?

I fantasize about being our protagonist. I’m just as aroused by seeing a muscular naked woman in public as I am witnessing people’s reaction to her. So my fantasy is less about voyeurism and more about exhibitionism. Call it “proxy exhibitionism” or “surrogate exhibitionism.” I’m not the one who’s nude in public, but I’m on her team. By extension, her display of courageous nudity is also mine as well. Ginger and I could be in cahoots. Maybe I’m conspicuously video recording the whole ordeal. Maybe I’m working with Ginger to make her go viral. Maybe I’m collaborating with her to plan and execute this innovative guerrilla marketing campaign.

Regardless, I love the feeling of making other people uncomfortable. No matter who you are, you cannot witness a naked muscular woman in public (or even a non-muscular naked woman) without feeling some sort of visceral reaction. How can you not?

This fantasy is rooted in the desire to break down social norms and shove certain sexual taboos into people’s faces. It’s one thing to see a naked muscular woman in the privacy of her hotel room (and, it should be noted, this whole interaction is completely consensual) and it’s quite another to see her out in public in the least private manner possible. Meeting her for a muscle worship session is intimate; this fantasy is the total opposite of intimate.

I’ve seen interviews with FBBs who say they enjoy getting stares from people when they’re in public spaces. I’m sure there are many who do not like such unwarranted attention. But it’s undeniable that a number of them do receive a thrill from knowing there are hundreds of pairs of eyeballs fixated in their direction. Likewise, I want to see people react to seeing an FBB out in the open. Even though I am not a female bodybuilder, I also receive a thrill (by extension) from the intense attention she receives.

Theresa Ivancik wearing a sexy red dress. Meow.

Female bodybuilders receive two kinds of responses from people: lust and disgust. Just read the comments left behind on YouTube videos of FBBs. Some commenters are completely in love with them, and others are irrationally repulsed by them. There doesn’t seem to be a middle ground. So the fantasy I described above panders to both audiences: it gives the people who lust over her a little “show” that they’re bound to enjoy and it gives the people who are disgusted by her a demonstration of defiance and spite.

The best way to counter the “haters” isn’t to ignore them, but to intentionally shove your successes down their throats.

Ah yes. How sweet it is!

A part of this fantasy can be partially explained by my own personal life. As an Asian man, I often hear jokes about guys like me having a small penis. Even when people aren’t joking, they just assume that I’m “small down there” because of my ethnicity. It’s either people trolling me (and guys like me) or spouting off what they think to be “scientific-based” evidence. Regardless, I get pretty sick and tired of hearing this.

I often fantasize about doing this exact same thing as Ginger. I want to walk down a crowded street completely naked and see how people react to me doing this. I want my body (and penis) to be seen by everyone around me. Will women giggle and whisper to their friends all sorts of insulting things? Will men smirk at me and insist their packages are much larger than mine? Or will neither of those things happen?

Part of me wants to do this (although I won’t ever actually do this!) just for the sake of self-empowerment. It sounds clichéd, but it is what it is. Instead of being ashamed of my body (or a certain part of my body), I want to defiantly show it off no matter what the consequences would be. Likewise, I also fantasize about seeing a female bodybuilder do this. People might make fun of her shrunken breasts. Other will comment about her large clitoris and insist that it’s really a man’s penis. Some may even call her a man. But it doesn’t faze her at all. She’s going to be who she is despite what her critics say.

Naked, Proud, and Defiant.

On a side note, have you noticed that people who tend to say “I don’t care what the critics say” are usually the ones who (ironically) really care what their critics have to say? This claim is a defense mechanism that’s meant to downplay the role that critics play in your life. If you view outside voices as being irrelevant to your life’s choices, then what point is there to getting emotional over what those voices have to say?

If women like Kristy Hawkins strolled around the pool more often, I'd go swimming every single day! — If women like Kristy Hawkins strolled around the pool more often, I’d go swimming every single day!

I often wonder how well female bodybuilders tune out negative voices. To a certain degree, they all can. But realistically speaking, it’s nearly impossible to avoid vitriol in every moment of your waking life. Sooner or later, you’re going to hear hurtful or spiteful remarks directed your way. So how do you counter them? One method is to do what I’ve fantasized about: put yourself so out there that eventually your critics get sick and tired of saying damaging things to you. Obviously you can’t just prance around naked in public areas, but there are alternative methods at your disposal.

You can wear short sleeved shirts. You can wear shorts (in the summertime) that generously show off your thick legs. You can wear skimpy athletic swag at the gym. And of course, you can choose to post photos of your beautiful body on the Internet. These suggestions of alternative ways to flaunt what you got are being done by large numbers of FBBs already.

But the “Naked, Proud, and Defiant” fantasy has less to do with how a muscular woman feels about herself and more to do with how fans of muscular women feel about themselves. We don’t expect a muscular woman to feel compelled to put herself out there. She is under absolutely no obligation to do so. She can be as private as she chooses to be. If her husband (or wife) is the only person on planet Earth who is privileged to see her naked, so be it. As fans, we are not entitled to her body. But in our private thoughts, we can fantasize about whatever we want to.

Deep down inside, female muscle fans want their fetishes to be validated. I suppose that’s true of every fetish, sexual orientation, and kinky interest in existence. We want muscular women to be more accepted in society because, logically speaking, that could potentially lead more women to pursue bodybuilding, CrossFit, and lifting at the gym – which then leads to a surplus of more women with big muscles in the world (yay!).

Muscular women are rare in our society and female muscle fans want nothing more than for that to drastically change. But we all know realistically that’s not going to happen. So, we fantasize about the next best thing and wish that one day we’ll miraculously witness a gorgeous strong woman proudly showcase her nude body to all who surround her.

Seeing a beautiful non-muscular woman in public is not a big deal, though still a pleasant sight nevertheless. Most of us who catch a glimpse of a pretty lady will appreciate how she looks and quickly forget about her minutes after she leaves. For example, yesterday I saw an incredibly gorgeous Asian girl on a public train in Downtown Seattle. I did not think about her again until I wrote this sentence. Why did I forget about her? Because she was damn pretty, but not out of the ordinary. That’s why.

But what if I saw a gorgeous muscular woman (of any ethnicity) sitting on the same train wearing a revealing sundress that leaves very little to the imagination? I can guarantee you I wouldn’t stop thinking about her. Heck, I might write an entire blog post dedicated entirely to describing my experience seeing her sitting on that train! I’d jot down that article in 10 minutes flat and promptly publish it without editing it too much, spelling and punctuation errors be damned. But alas, she was undeniably beautiful but not exceptionally remarkable.

Seeing Colette Nelson in private is one thing, but seeing her dressed like this in the "outside world" would be a totally different animal. — Seeing Colette Nelson in private is one thing, but seeing her dressed like this in the “outside world” would be a totally different animal.

So, this fantasy speaks to my desire to see something remarkable unfold without prior expectation of it happening. When I visit a female bodybuilder for a muscle worship session, I know what to (reasonably) expect. The anticipation, excitement, and nervousness will still be there, but nothing that happens in the next hour will shock or surprise me. On the other hand, running into a complete stranger of a female bodybuilder in the outside world is a whole different matter. In the “outside world,” I don’t expect to run into women who look like Theresa Ivancik. If I were to do so, all bets are off!

But not only do I want to witness something unexpectedly beautiful, I also want others to experience it too. I don’t want to see car accidents happen as a result of a beautiful FBB strolling down the sidewalk, but a sick side of me sort of does! I want people to be stunned by her. I want her shake up our social order. I want her to cause chaos. I want others to be as spellbound by her as I am.

I want a muscular woman to proudly be herself and people who don’t like her can go f**k themselves!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yikes. That’s quite an emotional response, but sexual fantasies aren’t always perfectly rational. To conclude, the “Naked, Proud and Defiant” fantasy can be explained by the pent up frustration female muscle fans often feel when it comes to the women we love. We love them to death, but not everyone else does. People can say the most horrifying things about them, and we feel powerless to do anything about it. Trolls feel emboldened to insult, diminish, and belittle these women, and we feel that they’re also attacking us indirectly.

We feel helpless and voiceless, so we secretly want an FBB or two to take direct action and shut up these “haters” in the most bold and audacious way possible. But we also want them to change the hearts and minds of those who aren’t necessarily “haters” but are either indifferent or on-the-fence about them. Basically, we want them to be more “out there” than they currently are.

Their bodies are beautiful. Like patrons visiting a prestigious art museum, we want to immerse ourselves in beauty whenever possible. The “Naked, Proud, and Defiant” fantasy opens the doors for that to happen.

The Benevolent Voyeur and the Female Bodybuilder – Part One

When you think of Rebecca Tanaka, think of a younger Tomoko Kanda.

Most people despise the daily grind. Rebecca Tanaka thrives in it.

Rebecca’s schedule is nonstop. Her evenings are always free – most of the time – but from 7:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m., she is one relentless busy bee, churning along at her own frenzied pace.

7:00 a.m. – Wake up, eat breakfast consisting of egg whites, oatmeal, and fruit smoothie

7:30 a.m. – Walk on the treadmill for an hour, interspersing with light jogging every 10 minutes

8:30 a.m. – Take short shower, dress, and drive to the gym

9:00 a.m. – Workout at the gym, regimen changes depending on the day (Monday: Chest and shoulders, Tuesday: Abs and back, Wednesday: Rest day, Thursday: Arms, Friday: Rest day, Saturday: Legs, Sunday: Rest day)

11:15 a.m. – Shower, dress, eat second meal of the day (brown rice, chicken, and steamed carrots)

12:00 p.m. – Drive to physical therapy clinic, work with clients

1:30 p.m. – Eat third meal of the day (sweet potato, steak, and raw broccoli)

6:00 p.m. – Leave work, drive to grocery store, drive home

6:30 p.m. – Arrive at home, eat fourth meal of the day (Salmon, kale, asparagus, couscous, and tomatoes)

7:00 p.m. – Answer e-mails, schedule personal training clients, set up photoshoots, etc.

9:00 p.m. – Eat fifth meal of the day (protein shake and raw fruit)

11:00 p.m. – Go to sleep, prepare to do it all again the next day

Rebecca, one of the world’s rising stars in the international bodybuilding industry, doesn’t have much time for relationships or pets. No dogs, no boyfriends. But this doesn’t bother her at all. She loves her life and wouldn’t change a single thing about it.

Except for one thing, however. Being a competitive bodybuilder and part-time physical therapist doesn’t pay a whole lot of money. Lucky for her, she inherited a nice studio condominium from her deceased aunt and uncle (they died tragically in a car accident while travelling through South America four years ago) located right in the heart of downtown Bellevue. However, living expenses are still living expenses. Money isn’t tight, but she can’t afford to not be frugal.

All of that changed one fateful Tuesday evening.

Rebecca drove home and parked her car in the underground parking garage like usual. With her massive gym bag slung over her broad shoulders, she takes the short flight of stairs up to the lobby. There, she sees Craig, the reliable and friendly front desk staff person.

“Good evening, Rebecca!” Craig greets her with a wide toothy grin.

“Hi Craig. Has your wife decided on whether she wants to take the promotion or not?” Rebecca takes her keys out of her pocket and walks toward the row of mail boxes.

“She has. She’s not interested. Macy loves where she is right now,” he says. “I guess that means I’m here to stay.”

Rebecca turns around and shoots Craig a happy smile of her own. “Oh well. Darn. I was just getting used to putting up with your antics!” Craig’s wife works at the city’s water treatment facility and was asked to move to Washington D.C. to supervise the federal government on crafting better national water policy. Apparently, Macy didn’t like that offer and would rather stay here and get paid less. Rebecca has never met Macy but she’s starting to like her more and more.

Craig laughs. The phone rings. He stops laughing, puts on his “professional” demeanor, and answers it. Rebecca chuckles to herself and approaches her mail box. She unlocks it and finds the usual assortment of junk: Grocery store coupons, a community newsletter, a postcard asking her to donate to needy children in Tanzania, her monthly cell phone bill, and a lone letter. She doesn’t usually get individually written letters anymore. For that matter, in today’s digital age, who does?

“Jones,” she reads aloud. The return address is somewhere in Kirkland. Only the sender’s last name is revealed. The 4”x3” letter is modest in size but remarkable in its simplicity. She stuffs the mail in a pouch on the side of her gym bag and heads toward the elevator. She nods at Craig, who is still talking to a potential tenant on the phone. He graciously nods back.

Five minutes later Rebecca opens the door to her 15^th story condo unit and walks inside. She lays her heavy gym bag down on the floor and gently shuts the door behind her. Not thinking too much about the letter, she turns on the TV and tunes in to whatever baseball game happens to be going on. It appears the home team is losing by a score of 5-2. It’s the seventh inning. Whatever. Sports never interested Rebecca too much – except for bodybuilding, of course. That’s a sport she pays attention to with keen interest.

The clock in the kitchen says it is 6:39 p.m. Rebecca opens the refrigerator and pulls out a blue Tupperware container. Fish, veggies, and corn are inside. She pops it in the microwave and sets it for three and a half minutes. The humming of her dinner heating up provides the background music she needs to relax and unwind. Rebecca plops herself on her bed and turns on her laptop computer. Just as the home screen starts to boot up, the microwave makes the joyful “ping” sound.

Rebecca grabs a fork, napkin, bottle of FIJI Water, and the steaming hot Tupperware container. She returns to her bed and starts to eat. By now, the home team has scored another run and the score is now 5-3. The crowd goes wild. She couldn’t care less.

There are only four e-mail messages in her inbox. Two of them are junk. One is a balance statement from her bank and the other is a picture of a random man’s penis taken with his shitty cell phone camera. As a nationally known female bodybuilder, Rebecca is accustomed to receiving creepy or obscene e-mail messages from fans across the globe. She promptly deletes the dick pic and blocks the idiot from ever communicating with her again.

“Congratulations on being so well-endowed, buddy,” Rebecca says. “But you’re still a perverted jerk.”

A solo home run by the other team. 6-3 road team. The crowd goes silent. Rebecca swiftly changes the channel to the evening news. The first story she sees is a report that ISIS has kidnapped another European aid worker and has threatened to cut off his head. She decides to turn off the TV altogether. Nothing but bad news.

“It’s a hellish world we live in,” Rebecca whispers to herself. “God help us all.”

She looks at her gym bag and suddenly remembers the letter. After putting the dirty Tupperware in the sink, she takes a last sip from her FIJI Water and dumps the empty bottle in a recycling bin. Rebecca takes the envelope out of the pouch and opens it with a letter opener. She sits down on her comfortable leather sofa and reads it.

Rebecca gets plenty of fan mail, but they all go to her business mail box at the Post Office. So she has no idea who this could be from. Who does she know in Kirkland? The handwritten note says the following:

Dear Miss Tanaka,

I am a dear fan of yours. We’ve never met, but I’ve been following your career from the start. I see a lot of promise in you. You are destined for stardom, there’s no doubt in my mind about that.

I don’t know how much money you make being a professional bodybuilder, but I’d imagine it’s not nearly enough for you to live off. Or maybe you do make enough. Either way, who couldn’t use a little extra cash in their pocket?

That being said, I have a simple proposition for you, one you can refuse to do if you choose to with no consequences.

I happen to live within viewing distance of your condominium unit. With my trusty pair of binoculars, I have a clear view of your balcony. I have never made any effort to physically contact you, so do not feel alarmed. Thus, I’d like to offer you this: Every Tuesday evening at 9:00, I want you to stand outside on your balcony and strip naked for me. I want to see your beautiful body in all its splendor and glory. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.

Every time you do this, I will mail you $1,000 in cash the following day. I will also send you written instructions on what to do next. I will never ask you to do anything dangerous or unreasonable. But it will always involve me wanting to see your beautiful body.

Just to prove that I’m not joking, tonight at 9:00 please stand outside fully clothed for a solid 90 seconds. I will send you $500 in the mail tomorrow just for that simple gesture. If you do not do as I ask, I will interpret this as your refusal and I will never contact you ever again. I can promise you that.

I look forward to seeing where your career goes, Rebecca. Peace be with you Angelic Sweetheart.

Sincerely,

Jones

Uh, what? Rebecca looks up at the ceiling in disbelief, remaining frozen for what seems like forever.

What the fuck is this all about? Should she call the police? She knows the return address of this creep, so it wouldn’t be too difficult for the authorities to investigate and put this asshole in jail. However…

$1,000 is a lot of money. Fuck, that’s $52,000 in extra tax-free cash per year. Perhaps she should consider it.

Damn it! That’s crazy talk. This guy is nuts and should be arrested for harassment! Rebecca tosses the letter in the trash can and closes the blinds on all her windows. The last time she ever had a stalker was back in college. A random dude kept writing her love notes despite the fact she was in a committed relationship at the time (they broke up when he later revealed he was gay, but that’s a whole other story for another time). She reported this to campus police and found out it ended up being not a student, but a tenured English professor. She (yes, it was a she) was fired and had to spend 150 hours doing community service and pay a small fine. Rebecca never saw her again.

Writing and sending handwritten letters is a lost art.

The clock now says it is 7:45 p.m. Rebecca decides to call the police first thing in the morning and report this idiot. She logs on to Netflix and begins watching “House of Cards” to get her mind off of this shit. She may have seen this episode before. Or maybe she hasn’t. Whatever.

Time passes. Soon, it is 8:56 p.m. She looks at the time on her computer and smiles. Should she poke her head outside her balcony just to see if this asshole will actually pay her? Rebecca peeks at her phone bill and gasps when she sees how substantial it is. She’d used a lot of data this month, between using her phone for personal and business matters. Damn. How the fuck is she going to pay for all this shit?

8:58 p.m.

Fuck!

Rebecca puts on a pair of old slippers and cautiously opens the glass door leading to the balcony. She’s wearing pajama pants and a tank top but no makeup or a bra. Her jet black hair is a mess. She doesn’t think she looks terribly appealing at the moment, but this pervert apparently thinks she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen in his life. Rebecca doesn’t know what is compelling her to follow through with this, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Standing at a diminutive 5’2”, Rebecca is just as short as most Japanese women but is much huskier than usual. Her thick thighs, broad shoulders, big biceps, 8-pack abdomen, and rounded butt make her stand out against most women, Asian or not. Her 30^th birthday is right around the corner, a fact she’s trying to not think about. She’s never been married but has never struggled to find a boyfriend. Most of her past boyfriends have been white, but she’s dated her fair share of Asian guys. But after committing her life to bodybuilding, she’s discovered fewer and fewer men want to be with her romantically. Maybe they’re intimidated by a woman with bigger muscles than them!

Rebecca looks up at the clock. 9:00 p.m. on the dot. Alright, time to do this.

She enters the outside and takes a deep breath. The sun is beginning to set. Earlier in the day it reached 85 degrees, which is practically the seventh level of Hades for someone who was born and raised in the Pacific Northwest. She silently counts to 90 in her head. She looks around to see who this creepy stalker could possibly be. All around her are apartment buildings, office buildings, and fancy homes overlooking Lake Washington. There are hundreds of thousands of people who could see her at this moment. Is this guy for real? Or is this a prankster who gets off on writing disturbing letters to competitive female bodybuilders?

Rebecca may be willing to temporarily embarrass herself, but this is far from being the first time she’s ever felt helpless. Though she’s never been married, when Rebecca was 15 she became pregnant thanks to her then-boyfriend (who happened to be Asian like her) using a faulty condom. Her parents were outraged. The rest of her family shunned her. She eventually gave birth to a healthy baby girl. Rebecca reluctantly put the baby up for adoption. Within weeks of giving birth to the child, a couple in Indiana flew out to meet little Cecelia. They immediately fell in love with her. They hired some lawyers to draw up the adoption papers and within days the couple flew back home with a new daughter.

Rebecca has never seen her daughter since. Her family has never spoken about it. They’ve kept absolutely no contact with the couple from Indiana. She tries to not think about that dark chapter of her life, but every so often she’s reminded of it. This moment is one of those times.

A simple outdoor balcony overlooking a major metropolitan city (in this case, Chicago).

90 seconds have officially passed. She returns back indoors and shuts the glass door. She locks it.

“That was the longest 90 seconds of my fucking life,” Rebecca says to nobody in particular.

Looking outside at the setting sun, she wonders if anyone was actually watching her. Who is this “Jones” guy? Was he a balding middle-aged loser who was jerking off at the sight of a female bodybuilder wearing pajama pants? God, that’s disgusting. The thought of this put a churning feeling in her stomach. Rebecca feels foolish that she even went outside on her balcony as the letter instructed in the first place. Wanting to forget the whole ordeal, Rebecca goes to the kitchen, takes out a wine glass, and pours herself some Chardonnay. She returns to bed and turns the television back on.

The home team tied it up in the bottom of the ninth and ended up winning it in the 12^th thanks to a walk-off home run by the second baseman. Rebecca thinks he’s cute. Good for him. Good for his teammates. Hopefully, he’ll sleep tonight with a big fat smile on his face.

***

The next day Rebecca didn’t give a single thought to what had happened the previous evening. The thought of calling the police about the disconcerting letter never crosses her mind.

Wednesday is her rest day, so she can spend the morning working on her personal business before going to work at the clinic at noon. She spent the whole morning scouring the Internet for a new bikini. Her photographer tells her it’s about time they take new photos for her website. Now that the weather is improving, they agree to go down to the beach this Saturday and snap a few photos before the hordes of families, little kids, and drunk tourists show up.

Work is boring as usual. She sees four clients altogether. James, an 87-year-old former steel worker who’s suffering from chronic lower back pain. He thinks it’s caused by his days hauling gigantic hollowed rods across the mill he worked at back in Pennsylvania. Rebecca thinks it’s caused by the fact he’s in his late 80’s. Whatever. He doesn’t want to argue with “the pretty girl with big muscles.”

She also sees Tyler, a high school football player who suffered a major knee injury last season while returning a punt. Tyler’s a nice kid. He isn’t good enough to play at the college level, but Rebecca nevertheless feels he deserves a shot at being able to step onto the field again. He’s rehabbing his injury and hopes to be able to be ready in time for summer practices.

Rebecca is confident he’ll be able to do so. Tyler and his mother concur.

Sarah Hayes wearing a dress that shows off all her impressive assets.

The other two clients are a married couple named Frankie and Loren. They’re both in their 60s but still manage to work at the local public school district. Rebecca cannot imagine why they still want to put up with spoiled bratty kids when they’re so close to retirement, but they seem to enjoy the work. They must be good at what they do, apparently.

“I do it for the kids. I can’t speak for Frankie, but I feel like it’s my duty to my community to put these youngsters on the right path,” Loren tells Rebecca and Julie, the clinic’s senior physical therapist. Frankie nods in agreement.

“Damn right! But don’t tell the kids I occasionally swear. I always get them in trouble for cursing, so I don’t want to seem like a hypocrite,” he fires back.

“Don’t worry you two,” Rebecca assures them. “Your secrets are safe with me. My lips are perfectly sealed. What’s discussed in this building doesn’t leave this building, I can assure you of that.”

Now it’s Julie’s turn to nod her head in agreement. It’s so wonderful when everyone agrees with one another. That’s what makes life pleasant.

“See you next time!” Rebecca exclaims as Frankie and Loren stroll out the door. She waves at them. They wave back. All is good and right with the world.

The drive home is messy but not a surprise. There’s a stretch of 8^th avenue that’s being repaved. It’s a project the City Council promised to implement years ago, but it’s just now getting underway. Even in the most financially affluent cities it takes forever for simple government tasks to get done. Oh well. That’s the way things are, Rebecca supposes. Maybe that explains why Macy wants to stay put.

Like usual, she parks her car in the underground garage and hikes up the stairs to the main floor. It is at this moment that she remembers the strange letter she got yesterday from that mysterious creep. Today, Craig happens to not be working the front desk. That usually means he’s talking with the maintenance man to fix something. Instead, Hannah, a spunky 22-year-old blonde girl fresh out of college, is working in the lobby. Rebecca thinks Hannah is scared of her. It’s not a stretch of the imagination, however. It’s not too often you encounter a pretty Asian girl with big muscles!

“Hi Hannah. Where’s Craig?”

Hannah jumps in surprise at the sound of Rebecca’s voice. She is busy playing Temple Run on her phone and didn’t expect anyone to want to make casual conversation with her. Hannah puts the phone away and regains her composure.

“Oh, he’s milling around somewhere. A tenant on the 8^th floor complained about a weird smell. He’s looking into it.” That’s what Rebecca thought Craig would be doing. Fixing a problem. Hannah is usually an on-call staff person who comes into work if Craig knows he has a lot of building maintenance work to do. Rebecca thinks Hannah works part-time as a cocktail waitress at a dive bar in Renton. She could be wrong about that, though.

“Hm. Thankfully for him, I don’t have any weird or offensive smells coming out of my unit,” Rebecca says. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear that.”

Hannah can only smile. That’s pretty much all Rebecca expects from her. This must confirm her suspicions that she’s frightened to death of her.

This is what the inside of Rebecca's condo would probably look like. — This is what the inside of Rebecca’s condo would probably look like.

Rebecca takes out her mail box key and puts it in the slot. She twists it and opens the small door. She reaches inside and only finds a single item.

A modest 4”x3” letter.

Oh fuck.

She looks at the return address. Sure enough, it says “Jones” followed by a Kirkland address.

Well, shit.

Stuffing the letter in her jacket pocket, Rebecca smiles at Hannah and scurries off to the elevators. She presses the button for the 15^th floor. Three minutes pass until it shows up, which feel like ten. The door opens, Rebecca walks inside, and within moments she’s at her front door.

Rebecca isn’t usually a paranoid type of person, but how could you not be at this moment? Perhaps her decision to not notify the police was dead wrong. Before opening the door to her condo unit, she looks around the empty hallway. No one is in sight. That’s how it usually is at this hour. She unlocks the door and steps inside.

She immediately drops her purse on top of a nearby chair, tosses her jacket carelessly on the ground, and sits down on the leather sofa. Taking in a deep breath, Rebecca cautiously opens the letter without the letter opener. She doesn’t mind if she gets an innocuous paper cut. Fortunately, she’s just fine.

It’s another handwritten note. Of course. It reads:

Dear Miss Tanaka,

I’m glad you decided to follow through with my wishes last night. I did not know if you would ignore me or not. Fortunately for me, you made a choice I am most pleased with. Bravo to you.

In return, I’ve enclosed $500 in cash as I promised in my previous correspondence. I hope you put this newfound money to good use. I trust you will be judicious with it.

Your participation in last night’s trial run tells me you’re willing to play along with my proposition. I am pleased to learn of that. Now is the appropriate time to up the stakes. As I outlined before, I am willing to pay you $1,000 for further exhibitions. That offer is still on the table. I am only interested in watching you perform for me on Tuesday evenings at 9:00 p.m., so you have a full week before I am able to see you again. I cannot wait for our next encounter.

Next Tuesday, June 7, I want you to walk outside your balcony at 9:00 like last time. I want you to wear whatever clothing you happen to be wearing at the moment. I care not what it is. Once you are fully outside, I want you to meticulously strip naked until every single article of clothing is removed from your immaculate body. Then, I want you to twirl around slowly in a circle three times. No more, no less. I want to be able to see your entire body. It is my desire to be able to do so.

I want this full performance to last two minutes. Bring your phone with you if you need to keep track of time. Anything lasting less than two minutes will result in you not receiving any monetary compensation.

I trust you will agree with these terms. I look forward to seeing you next time.

Peace be with you Angelic Sweetheart.

Sincerely,

Jones

Rebecca freezes in stunned silence. Before she could reread the message, she digs into the envelope and finds five crisp $100 bills tucked inside. She holds the bills up to the light. As far as she can tell, they’re perfectly legit. A professional bank teller could tell the difference between a legitimate and a counterfeit $100 bill, but Rebecca’s amateurish opinion will have to suffice for now.

“Holy fucking shit.”

A chill runs down Rebecca’s spine. She isn’t sure if she wants to cry or call the police without a moment’s hesitation. Instead, she chooses to sit there on the sofa and stare off into the nothingness in front of her.

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