Sex – Page 7 – The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi

What Your Female Muscle Fantasies Say About You

If your female muscle fantasy doesn't involve Ava Cowan, well...I don't know what to do with you. — If your female muscle fantasy doesn’t involve Ava Cowan, well…I don’t know what to do with you.

We all have fantasies. Fantasies about throwing the game-winning touchdown in the Super Bowl. Fantasies about being a brilliant scientist winning the Nobel Peace Prize for curing world hunger. Fantasies about hitting the go-ahead home run in Game 7 of the World Series. Fantasies about being elected President of the United States.

Without fantasies, what fun would it be to live our lives knowing something more exciting wasn’t possible? Of course, no one realistically expects to ever become POTUS, but it sure is fun to daydream while you’re wasting time at your desk job.

But for female muscle fans, we also have fantasies. In fact, these fantasies make up the majority of our female muscle fandom. Odds are we’re never going to ever be able to date a beautiful female bodybuilder. Romantic (and platonic) relationships with them are not going to happen any time soon. It sucks, but this is reality.

This explains why fantasy is so appealing to us. If we can’t live out our dreams, we might as well keep dreaming, right?

Right! There’s no harm in daydreaming, is there? Well, maybe if we take our fantasies a little too far or we let them negatively affect our personal lives. But that is neither here nor there. What is infinitely more interesting is dissecting what our fantasies say about us. Fantasies reveal what we find attractive. They tell us about our fears, our insecurities, our views about certain people, our most intimate desires.

The beauty about fantasies is that no one has to know about them but you. Unless you tell someone, of course. But more often than not, we keep our sex fantasies to ourselves because, well, it’s a little weird for our friends and family to be in the know about these things!

I’m not a psychology expert and haven’t done any extensive research about sexual fantasies and secret fetishes. Therefore I’m only going off of what little I do know and my own educated guesses. So take what I have to say with the proverbial grain of salt. It may be informative salt, but it’s a mere grain of salt nevertheless.

So let’s discuss a few common sexual fantasies involving female muscle and explore what they might possibly mean. Some of these fantasies I have, and others I do not but I know for a fact that other guys do. I want to be inclusive and not exclude anyone’s perspective(s) just because I don’t happen to share it.

1. I want a strong woman as my wife/girlfriend and I want her to control the relationship

The desire to have a muscular girlfriend or wife is nothing unusual for men like us. However, the dynamics of that relationship can differ from guy to guy. For example, let’s talk about the concept of a Female Led Relationship (commonly referred to an FLR). Simply put, a Female Led Relationship is exactly what it sounds like. In a male/female relationship, instead of the man being the leader of the relationship, the woman takes on that role.

However, this particular relationship arrangement is more erotic in nature than financial. When the woman is the main breadwinner of the household, this is not necessarily an FLR in the strictest sense of the term. There has to be an erotic aspect to it to really make it a true FLR. Roleplaying, BDSM-type activities and sexual banter meant to demean the man and demonstrate dominance of the woman are all par for the course.

If Kim Birtch wanted to take control in bed, I'd let her. Wouldn't you? — If Kim Birtch wanted to take control in bed, I’d let her. Wouldn’t you?

This fantasy really boils down to power. A guy who desires a muscular woman to control of the relationship really desires to relinquish the power he actually has in real life. There is a lot of pressure on American men to be everything: the moneymaker, the leader, the decision-maker and the strong one in times of duress. Unfortunately, a down economy makes this difficult. With unemployment rates continuing to stagger and women gaining higher social status than ever before, it’s difficult for a man to be a “man’s man” in today’s world.

The eroticism behind a Female Led Relationship takes root in the secret desire of a lot of straight men to have this burden lifted from their shoulders. They don’t want to lead. They don’t want to make decisions. They want someone else to “wear the pants” and “be the man.” These feelings come out in the bedroom.

Your muscular girlfriend decides what happens in bed? Check. She hurls insults at you and degrades your masculinity? Check. You let her do whatever she wants sexually and you have no say in the matter? Check. The list goes on and on.

2. I want a muscular woman to dominate me in the bedroom and torture me

This takes point #1 a step further. This crosses into the territory of bondage, domination, submission and masochism (sometimes the “d” stands for “discipline” and the “s” stands for “sadism”). You know the drill: humiliation, being tied up, forced sexual activities, ball gags, ropes, hot candle wax, collars, anal plugs, chains, whips, handcuffs, strict rules, safe words, etc.

This list is so long I won’t even attempt to summarize everything! Just Google it if you’re really curious about what BDSM and the lifestyle is all about.

This fantasy means you have a really kinky side to you. But ignore what you think you know about BDSM. Forget “50 Shades of Grey” or whatever introduced you to this subculture. BDSM, at its core, is all about trust and excitement. Regular “vanilla” sex can sometime get, well, a little dull. Why not spice things up a bit?

For female muscle fans, the BDSM fantasy seems like a natural fit. A strong woman is appealing because she is in a unique position of dominance. Her physical strength makes her unusual. She shatters the belief that women are the weaker sex. She can put a man in his place due to her physical abilities alone. This separates an FBB from a normal woman. For men who are insecure about themselves but would never dream of breaking their alpha male façade, this fantasy is the perfect escape. You can be a wuss (and enjoy it) in the privacy of your own mind without anyone judging you. How cool is that?

In addition to wanting to surrender control, men who share this fantasy want her to not only take control, but bring the definition of “control” to the next level. This is more than just a Female Led Relationship. This is a Female Dominated Relationship. The complete loss of power turns many men on because breaking social taboos can be so damn exciting!

The chief appeal of this fantasy is knowing that even though she has supreme authority over you during “play” time, she’s doing this with your pleasure completely in mind. Sure, a dominatrix definitely enjoys her work, but she’s really doing it for her client’s sake.

Oh Angela Salvagno. Tie me up. Spank me. Do what you want to me. RIGHT NOW.

The concept of torture can be bizarre if you think about it too much. Let’s just put it like this: there’s a reason why the Saw movies are so popular. Horror movies that feature gruesome torture scenes (also known as “torture porn”) for whatever reason tap into a part of the human psyche that gets extreme pleasure from pain. I personally don’t feel that way, nor do I actually believe people honestly want to get physically tortured. This is just another example of the dark side of human nature that can safely come out during consensual BDSM playtime.

3. I want to physically dominate a muscular woman and control her

This fantasy spins upside down the previous two fantasies. It’s the first two in complete reverse. This is where you want to be the dominate one in the bedroom and your fantasy FBB girlfriend is the one at your mercy.

A fantasy like this means you get turned on by control, but you want to gain control over someone who’s formidable, strong and considered (more or less) your equal. In other words, you want to earn your dominance. If you can control a strong female bodybuilder who’s unambiguously stronger than you, it signifies that you deserve your alpha male stripes.

One of the strange appeals of a female bodybuilder is that she breaks the conventional mold of a “conventional” woman. She’s strong, assertive, physically dominant and has bigger muscles than most men. Because men traditionally have had a monopoly on musculature, an FBB should be admired because she’s staking her claim that having a vagina doesn’t mean you are condemned to lifelong sentence of “weakness.” It isn’t a barrier. Nothing can hold her back.

But this fantasy allows the man to gain back that monopoly by putting a strong woman back in her place. She may be able to lift more than you, but you’re still above her. She has larger muscles than you, but your male authority will never go unquestioned. Her attempts to break the stereotype of the “weaker sex” are admirable, but at the end of the day your masculinity still reigns supreme.

I won’t go as far as to say that this fantasy is misogynist. It definitely seems like it, but let’s not jump to conclusions quite yet. This fantasy still falls into the BDSM realm, which most of its adherents will argue is not misogynist/misandrist at all. The desire to control an FBB in the bedroom really boils down to being turned on by power.

We’ve all heard the infamous quote from former U.S. Secretary of State Henry Kissinger: “Power is the ultimate aphrodisiac.” How exciting is it to know that someone’s (or in the case of a politician, an entire nations’) fate is entirely in your hands? If you want her to perform oral sex on you, she’ll do it without question. If you want her to bow down and worship you, she has no choice in the matter. If you want her to follow your every command, she must obey you or suffer the consequences. I’m not personally into this sort of fantasy, but I can see why certain men would find this alluring. When your whims alone can effectively manipulate your environment, how incredible is that?

Just a side note, I’ll acknowledge that this particular fantasy can be rooted in misogyny. It’s certainly possible. I just wanted to say that there are alternate explanations out there.

4. I want an army of gorgeous Amazon warriors fighting alongside me on the battlefield

Now we get into territory that I can personally identify with! This is definitely a fantasy of mine. Imagine, if you will:

Dusk. In a dusty, post-Apocalyptic futuristic wasteland, planet Earth is controlled by a ruthless army of zombies (or aliens, inter-dimensional beings, robots, Communists, Nazis, werewolves, vampires, rabid bunny rabbits, etc.) who are bent on destroying the human race. Enter <insert your name> and his army of gorgeous, muscular Amazon warriors. Will our small group of badass heroes vanquish their enemies and restore peace and justice on Earth? Tune in next week for the next episode…

Yadda, yadda, yadda. The actual details can vary. The circumstances can differ. What matters is this: unlike the previous three fantasies, this one treats you and your FBBs as equals, not antagonists. You’re peers with no one in either a dominant or subordinate position. This is a fantasy I have. Here’s a little background information:

In Greek and Classical mythology, the Amazons were a nation of all-female warriors. Located in either Eurasia or Asia Minor, the Amazons participated in the Trojan War and among other things, established themselves as hardcore ladies you shouldn’t mess around with (unless you want to get your head chopped off). I understand that male sex slaves were used to keep their population going, but my specific fantasy has them fighting alongside me in battle, not me staying at home waiting for them to return safely.

Is sex involved in this? Well, yes! But after we slaughter an army of helpless zombies and liberate a captured town from oppression.

I have this fantasy because I don’t view female muscle within the lens of power and power struggles. Instead, I look at female muscle as an expression of confidence and inner-strength. A woman shouldn’t become muscular because she wants to counterbalance the power of men – she should do so because she wants to improve herself regardless of what the outside world thinks. For me, female muscle isn’t about power and control, it’s about self-determination, self-improvement and self-empowerment.

Chellss. It's a very unusual name, but she's one extraordinary woman. — Chellss. It’s a very unusual name, but she’s one extraordinary woman.

In this fantasy, my army of strong women uses their power for a greater good: fighting against the forces of evil and freeing the oppressed from captivity. With my assistance (I’m not necessarily their leader, but I could be) we are working together, side by side, to free the world from the clutches of totalitarianism, militarism and fear.

Perhaps this means that deep down inside, I’m a firm believer in using our collective strength for the greater good. Strength shouldn’t be abused or used for selfish purposes. Strength should be used to fight against tyranny. Should I reference the quote that “With great power comes great responsibility?” Well, I just did!

For me, this means female muscle doesn’t just fulfill an erotic niche in my personal psychology. It fulfills my desire for people to use their gifts for good. The gift of strength is a beautiful thing that can help liberate our planet. Don’t abuse it. Don’t ignore it. Use it to fulfill your destiny.

5. I want every woman to be as strong and muscular as a female bodybuilder

Now this is an interesting fantasy. How many of you have had this thought before? Have you ever found yourself sitting on a public bus or standing on a busy street corner and wishing every female looked like Marthe Sundby or Lindsay Mulinazzi? If this were to magically happen, I can assure you I’d struggle to contain my excitement!

Whether you like it or not, this fantasy means you secretly abhor the idea that “skinny is beautiful” or “fat is beautiful.” I don’t want to get into a debate about body image, body shaming or mass media, so here is what I will say. We all have our preferences, but we should never judge anyone negatively because of them.

I don’t believe shame and embarrassment are the best ways to inspire someone to change. Positive beliefs (I want to live healthier) instead of negative beliefs (I need to stop being so fat) are probably a more sustainable approach to weight loss. That being said, the fantasy of being completely surrounded by muscular women is rooted in being unsatisfied with how our collective culture views beauty.

If Kristin Nunn walked past me on a busy street, I'd probably hit my forehead against a light pole. — If Kristin Nunn walked past me on a busy street, I’d probably hit my forehead against a light pole.

How often do you go to the gym and see guys force their wives/girlfriends to lift with them? She always looks reluctant to be there and probably holds a grudge against him for pressuring her to lift weights. I see this all the time. The truth is lots of men wish their significant other had toned arms, a firm butt and shapely legs. And you’re not going to achieve this by sitting around all day eating potato chips and watching reruns of Gossip Girl.

Unhappy with our culture’s current standards of beauty? Sick and tired of the weight room being a “boys club?” Are you too politically correct to admit that you don’t like looking at unattractive people of the opposite sex? This fantasy is probably right up your alley.

6. I want my female bodybuilder girlfriend to have a penis

This is a strange one, but not unusual. Transgender fetishes aside, this fantasy doesn’t literally mean you want your FBB girlfriend to have a penis. You want her to have an endowment between her legs that resembles a penis.

It’s no secret that lots of FBBs who’ve taken human growth hormones tend to have enlarged clitorises. The clitoris, which is homologous to the male penis, is essentially a woman’s “little penis.” It’s ultrasensitive and exists for the sole purpose of giving her pleasure. She can achieve orgasm from it. It pleases her. She masturbates with it. Her partner can please her by stimulating it. Not unlike a penis, right?

So basically, there are men out there who want their girlfriends to have a clit that rivals Denise Masino’s in terms of size and girth. Ms. Masino is legendary for her large feminine endowment. Don’t believe me? Just run a Google or Bing search on her and turn off the safe search filter. Then enjoy.

In my opinion, this fantasy returns back to the concept of equality. You want your FBB girlfriend to be like a man, but not a man at the same time. She can have the large muscles and a penis-like clitoris proudly hanging between her legs, but she’ll never be The Man. YOU are The Man. She is still The Woman. And no freakishly large piece of female genitalia will ever change that.

Do you want all women to look like Marthe Sundby? Uh, yes, Your Honor.

This fantasy doesn’t mean you’re gay. It doesn’t mean you have a transsexual or transgender fetish. It means you want her to come very close to being like you, but never actually cross that line. Her enlarged clitoris gives her some additional power she never had before (if we’re going to assume that having a penis automatically puts you in a position of power), but at the end of the day it will never come close to fully emasculating you.

We like our women strong, but not TOO strong. We like our women to enjoy the privileges of being a man, but not ACTUALLY be a man. We want her clitoris to grant her male powers, but still maintain the distinct definition that it’s a female sex organ, not a male sex organ. A large clitoris gives her the illusion of maleness without ever making her a male. YOU are the male. Not her.

***

Of course, this list is neither exhaustive nor complete. This doesn’t even come close to scratching the surface. I will not pretend these are the only fantasies female muscle-loving men have.

Rather, this essay mostly explores how your views on gender relations, power dynamics and personal securities/insecurities determine what fantasies you have in relation to female muscle. Whether you’re comfortable in your masculinity, struggle with your identity, hold deep-seeded disdain for women (or your fellow men), recovering from being bullied when you were younger, or are in a position of power that puts too much pressure on you, hopefully you can identify with what I’m talking about.

Our fantasies that we dare not share publicly say a lot about us. They tell us things we would rather people not know about us. They expose our fears, our desires, our likes/dislikes, our insecurities, our opinions, our childhoods and some things we aren’t consciously aware of.

This is a subject countless psychologists, anthropologists, sex experts and writers have tried to explain. I am not an expert. I’m just writing about what I think can be part of a productive dialogue. I can probably lay out multiple reasons for having any of the fantasies listed above. You can too.

To claim to be a connoisseur would be delusional. I can’t write a book on the subject, but I can reassure you that whether you dream about being a Super Bowl hero or being hogtied and spanked by a muscular dominatrix, you can sleep well at night knowing this:

You’re not alone. And you’re not out of your mind.

The Wow Factor

Before Lindsay Mulinazzi, there was nothing.

I’ve finally figured it out. In all my years of my female muscle fandom, I’ve never really been able to put into succinct words why I love muscular women so much.

Sure, long essays can explain the bread and butter of why I find female bodybuilders and athletes so appealing. I can even post a ton of photos of my favorite FBBs for all of you to salivate over. But that still doesn’t even begin to describe why exactly we love them.

But now I’ve got it figured out. Finally.

Simply put:

The Wow Factor.

That’s it. The Wow Factor. “Wow” is a word we use to describe something so amazing, Earth-shattering, incredible and astonishing that no other monosyllabic utterance could do it justice. Wow. You could substitute that for “whoa,” but let’s not confuse our female muscle fandom for the vernacular of California surfer dudes or college stoner kids. I’m talking about something else here.

Wow. Just…wow.

The Wow Factor is my best way of describing it.

Women like Debi Laszewski are so damn beautiful that “wow” is the only way I can properly react when I see a photo of her. Yes, “Damn girl” or “Daaaaaaaaaaaaaamn” are also sufficient substitutes, but I’m not interested in catcalling Ms. Laszewski like a dirty-minded construction worker on his lunch break.

I’m interested in communicating what’s on my mind. And “wow” is the only thing on my mind. Is there any other way to put it?

How can this image of Victoria Dominguez lifting this heavy weight not turn you on?

But it’s not just about putting your feelings into words. It’s describing your gut reaction the moment your brain processes what your eyes have just seen. The millisecond your mind realizes that it just saw an image of a strong, gorgeous woman showing off her hard work in all its erotic glory – you can’t possibly articulate what that feels like. No way. It’s a feeling that hits you on a level that goes way beyond mere “attraction.”

It’s not just lust. It’s not just turning your head when you see a pretty woman walking past you and thinking to yourself, “That’s one fine looking lady.” That happens all the time (at least, it happens to me all the time!). The Wow Factor goes way further. The Wow Factor isn’t an everyday occurrence. The Wow Factor changes the way you think. It changes the way you look at women (all women, not just those of the muscular variety). It changes the way you behave. It changes your paradigm.

This Wow Factor explains why bloggers like me continue to post pictures and essays about female muscle nonstop. This explains why guys like me are willing to pay $350 for an hour-long muscle worship session with a complete stranger in a hotel room. This explains why we can’t get enough of those glorious FBBs and their immaculate beauty.

The Wow Factor is a visceral gut reaction you can’t control. Here’s an anecdote for you. As strange as it sounds, sometimes I occasionally forget why I love female muscle in the first place. It’s sort of like a professional baseball player who’s played for 10 years in the league but lacks passion because he plays for a terrible team. But the moment his team catches fire and he’s playing in Game 7 of the World Series, suddenly his childhood love for the game returns and he’s playing with rejuvenated energy.

He suddenly remembers why he loves the game. The nervous energy. The thrill of competition. The joy of victory. The heart-wrenching depression of defeat. That child-like love for the game all of a sudden returns in that moment when you’re actually playing for something.

I sometimes get like that in regards to my female muscle fandom. I know I love strong women, but all it takes is a singular image of Alina Popa flexing her large, beautiful biceps wearing nothing but a microscopic thong bikini, and…I suddenly remember why I think Ms. Popa is a gift from God. I’ve always known that, but The Wow Factor hits me like a semi-truck blindsiding me out of nowhere and I’m instantaneously reminded why I feel the way I feel.

It’s a feeling that causes you to stare at your computer screen with your jaw dropped to the floor and your heart ceasing to beat. It makes me forget that other women exist in this world.

Lisa Cross. Denise Masino. Lindsay Mulinazzi. Angela Salvagno. Victoria Dominguez. Nikki Fuller. Yvette Bova. Amber DeLuca. Autumn Raby. Gayle Moher. Lauren Powers. Annie Rivieccio. Brandi Mae Akers. Jill Rudison. Shannon Courtney. Desiree Ellis. Jana Linke-Sippl. Lora Ottenad. Brenda Raganot. Monica Martin. Gracyanne Barbosa. Juliana Malacarne. Karen Zaremba. Michele Levesque. Sheila Bleck. Monica Brant. Lisa Marie Bickels. Lenda Murray. Iris Kyle. Julie Bourassa. Kris Murrell. Sondra Faas. Vilma Caez. Kris Clark. Melissa Dettwiller.

The list goes on and on and on. This doesn’t even scratch the surface.

Pick anyone on this list and spend five minutes doing a Google Images search on her. I guarantee you’ll be hooked within seconds. You’ll be completely enraptured by her power, beauty and strength. Her feminine prowess and physical stature will make you as hapless as a little puppy dog. You’ll totally forget why you used to ogle at the rail-thin supermodels in the Sears catalog (if you actually at one time did that, I’m really sorry!).

The Wow Factor exemplified in Larissa Reis.

This is what it’s like to experience The Wow Factor. You’re struck by a lightning bolt and feel like there is no definition of “beauty” other than what you’ve just witnessed.

Before Lindsay Mulinazzi, there was nothing.

Sometimes I wonder if this is the reason why there’s so much animosity against female bodybuilders. Haters (who are, pardon the expression, going to hate) have never experienced The Wow Factor. They’ve instead experienced The Ew Factor. The Gross Factor. The Utterly Disgusting Factor. The Why-the-Hell-Would-Anyone-Want-To-Look-Like-That Factor. It saddens me when people choose to shut themselves out from a certain part of life. True, no one has an obligation to like female muscle, but why say “no!” when instead you can choose “sure, why not?”

It’s clear to me that someone who says they’re repulsed by female bodybuilders say that mostly because deep down inside they’re insecure about themselves. They don’t feel secure in their masculinity. They don’t feel secure in their femininity. They react negatively to what they don’t understand or want to understand. They insult others because the only way for them to feel good about themselves is to bring down everyone else. This is a vicious cycle that especially comes out on the Internet. Anonymity brings out the worst in us. There’s no harm in expressing your true feelings when nobody knows your name. Insecurity and a forum for acting upon that insecurity can be a hurtful combination.

One can never see enough photos of Karen Zaremba.

It should be obvious to anyone who follows the sport of female bodybuilding that the industry is pushing our favorite ladies off to the side and telling them “we don’t want you as much as we did in the past.” People may have wanted to see you on the cover of magazines thirty years ago, but that’s all changed now. Iris Kyle will never be a sports superstar. No way. We don’t care how many Ms. Olympia titles she’s won. We don’t care how dominating she is in her sport. None of that is relevant. What speaks is dollars. And, quite frankly, she doesn’t bring in the dollars like others can. Sorry. You lose. Better luck next time.

Does this make you angry? To anyone who’s experienced The Wow Factor, it should.

Additionally, The Wow Factor affects you in one other way: It makes you defensive whenever you feel like your passions are being attacked. How many times have you been told that female bodybuilders look “gross?” How often do you read articles about the decline of female bodybuilding and you just want to throw your computer against the wall? Does replacing the sport with pole dancing competitions make you want to face-palm over and over again till your forehead turns beet red?

These reactions are classic examples of wanting to defend what you love. The Wow Factor makes us feel as though any attack on a strong woman is also an attack on us. Insult the sport of female bodybuilding on a public forum? Expect fans from across the world to fight back. Someone wants to deny Alina Popa’s right to climb the mountaintops and finally win the Ms. Olympia? In no time will you see her countless fans defending her on her behalf.

Though this negative energy can be seen as a bad thing, anything can be used for something positive. Being angry and defensive all the time will get you nowhere. A more constructive use of these emotions is to become pro-active. There are a lot of things we can do to make sure female bodybuilding doesn’t become extinct. Write letters. Send e-mails. Boycott those who vigorously marginalize the FBBs we idolize. Buy books and magazines promoting female muscle. Open your wallets and hearts to the women we adore. Openly support these athletes as if they truly are our best friends. Don’t let society dictate what you find beautiful. Do what you can to make these amazing athletes more mainstream.

What if one day female muscle becomes more mainstream? Imagine a world where gorgeous women like Larissa Reis are seen in the media as often as we see Kate Upton. Think about how awesome it would be if we can turn on the summer Olympics and instead of being perplexed by the presence of strong women, we can just sit back and enjoy watching her hard work being proudly displayed on the world’s brightest stage.

Instead of thinking to ourselves, “Ew!” we can have a more complimentary reaction:

“Wow.”

Educating Jonathan – Part One

This is the figure I imagined Dr. Samantha would possess.

“Is it true Asian men have small penises?” she asks.

Jonathan stops his slow, languorous kisses across her neck as he freezes, utterly shocked to hear such a question.

“Um, I have no idea if we do or not. I don’t think any scientific studies have been done on the matter.” He continues to kiss her, moving up to her jawline, tasting her sweet skin. Samantha softly moans as his tongue explores her slender cheek bones.

“I lost my virginity to an Asian boy. He was Vietnamese. We were both fifteen. I haven’t spoken to him in almost twenty years,” she says, cupping his bottom with her hands. Jonathan and Samantha were now down to their underwear, dainty pieces of fabric separating them from total nakedness.

“How was he? In bed, that is…” he asks. He isn’t just asking to make casual conversation. Jonathan sincerely wants to know. How would he compare to a pubescent Vietnamese boy?

Samantha takes a deep breath and wraps her arms around Jonathan’s waist. She ponders this question for a moment, her right eyebrow raised slightly. Deep in thought.

“I don’t remember. We were both very young. I didn’t come, but that wasn’t because of him. The whole time I was scared we’d be caught by my parents. We did it on their bed. They could have come home at any moment. We were both drunk.” Samantha felt a chill roll down her back as she reflects upon that particular night. They were so close to being caught. But alas, they had plenty of time to finish the deed before Mom and Dad came home from the movie theater.

Jonathan wonders where this conversation is going. Are they going to make love or not? He isn’t the impatient type of guy, but after hours of foreplay (starting with him buying her dinner at an overpriced seafood restaurant) he was more than ready to ravish her on his bed. Mostly naked and furiously aroused, he was as good as ready. He was pretty sure she was too.

The rain fell peacefully on the bedroom’s sky window. Jonathan’s top floor apartment unit stood seventeen floors high, overlooking the entire metropolitan skyline. It was approaching midnight, but neither of them felt sleepy. He wants to make love to her right now. She, on the other hand, is preoccupied with discussing the size of Asian men’s penises.

This is how things are going so far.

“Overall, was it a positive experience for the both of you?” he asks. Maybe if he kept the discussion going this would lead to better sex than if he just remained silent. Women love men who can communicate, right?

There's something peacefully calming about the rain. — There’s something peacefully calming about the rain.

“Yes, it was. I didn’t feel any pain. He came inside me. I didn’t come, but I was at an age when I hadn’t ever come before. I learned how to shortly after.” Her soft skin felt divine against his body. She smelled like a fresh spring morning, full of hope and renewal. Jonathan desperately wants to taste her femininity, to take in every inch of her magnificent body and destroy any notion that Asian men can’t be good lovers. He wants to bring her to as many earth-shattering climaxes as possible and leave her begging for more until the sun rose the next morning.

“How…big was he?” Jonathan courageously asks.

“I was young, so I didn’t think about that. We did it in the dark, so I couldn’t get a good look at him. He felt fine inside me, I think. But no one can fill me the way my husband can.” Jonathan almost cringes at the thought of Samantha being a married woman. He hates being the “other man,” but his uncontrollable lust for her has clouded his judgment and rendered any sense of moral decency useless.

“What would your husband think if he knew what we were doing?” he quietly whispers in her ear.

“He’d be very angry. He wouldn’t resort to violence, but he’d be very angry.” Samantha doesn’t have a single shred of guilt inside her. The moment she peeked into their bedroom one early afternoon and saw her husband in bed with a female coworker, she knew she had to exact revenge on him without his knowledge. He never found out that she found out…and that’s the way Samantha wants it to be.

Jonathan and Samantha met under very unlikely circumstances. He’s a grad student at the University working on his Masters in physics. She’s a college professor at the same University and earned her doctorate in Gender, Race and Class Studies. He’s never taken a course from her, but her reputation as an accomplished and intelligent woman with gorgeous good looks made her a legend on campus. She’s never slept with any of her students, as she’s remained faithful to her husband (a neurosurgeon and widely respected man in his community) throughout their entire marriage until this fateful night.

He’s Asian, 25-years-old and unmarried. She’s a natural blonde, white, 52-years-old and has been married for 27 years. She’s been with her husband longer than Jonathan’s been alive. This fact does not escape either of them.

Jonathan reaches down and feels between her legs. Her panties are soaking wet, moisture seeping through the bright red fabric. She lets out another moan as his fingers explore her swollen womanhood.

Olympic track athlete Funmi Jimoh, born in Seattle, WA! She's the inspiration for "Kristina," the girl Jonathan lost his virginity to years ago. — Olympic track athlete Funmi Jimoh, born in Seattle, WA! She’s the inspiration for “Kristina,” the girl Jonathan lost his virginity to years ago.

“I want to make love to you. Badly, Samantha,” Jonathan pleads with her. His erection is straining against his underwear, equally anticipating release and satisfaction. She reaches down and pinches the sides of his underwear, slowly dragging it down his legs.

“Please. Call me Sammy. That’s what my students call me,” Samantha quips, mesmerized by the unveiling of Jonathan’s manhood.

“Dr. Sammy” is what she’s specifically known by around campus. The moment Jonathan first saw her he instantly fell in love. Her beauty, intelligence, passion and dedication to her craft of teaching struck him immediately – like a thousand bolts of lightning hitting him all at once.

When she pulled off his underwear, Jonathan was completely naked. His erected manhood stood between him and her. A sudden wave of insecurity rushed over him. She says her husband can fill her like no one else can. How would he compare? What is she thinking right now?

Samantha looks down at his penis and stares at it, studying its shape and size. Before marrying her husband, Samantha had a very active sex life and has seen her share of male anatomy through the years. She didn’t quite know what to think about his endowment yet. It wasn’t particularly small, but it wasn’t big either. It was light brown, curved slightly and circumcised. His black pubic hair was short and lightly trimmed, dancing around his manhood without being distracting.

“How big is it?” she asks, almost in a trance-like state. Jonathan has no idea how to respond.

“Uh, I don’t know. What do you mean by that?”

“How long is it? Have you ever measured it before?”

“No, I have not. Do you want to?”

Her eyes light up. Of course she wants to! Samantha doesn’t know where her obsession with penis size came from, but throughout her adult life (starting in high school) she’s been mesmerized by men’s penises – their function, their size, their appearance, their unique smell and their role in social relationships. She once wrote an entire book dedicated to studying penises. Every possible angle was explored in this groundbreaking text. She even won an award for it.

“Yes, I want to. Do you have a ruler or measuring tape?” Her eyes still have not left his manhood. Jonathan has never taken much thought about the size of his penis. He’s always assumed he was average. None of the women he’s ever been with (both Asian and non-Asian) have ever complained. But then again, not complaining isn’t the same as being satisfied. He lost his virginity to a black girl during his freshman year in college. Her name was Kristina. She lived in the same dormitory building and was a member of the track team. She had an incredibly muscular body that was as fit and athletic as he’d ever witnessed in his life. He’ll never forget that experience.

“I have a roll of measuring tape in my desk drawer.” Jonathan gets up off the bed and almost trips on the pile of clothes recklessly sprawled out across the floor. His erection sways from side to side as he walks across the room. Samantha notices this and begins to touch herself in response. She slides her right hand beneath her panties and places two fingers across her swollen clitoris, stroking herself as she closes her eyes and imagines Jonathan’s Asian penis filling every inch of her. She unclasps her bra and drops it on the floor.

Have you ever measured the length of your manhood?

Meanwhile, Jonathan opens his desk drawer and takes out a small roll of measuring tape. He can’t remember the last time he used this. High school shop class, perhaps? That must be it.

He turns around and sees Samantha pleasuring herself. Her right hand caresses the sensitive nub between her legs while her left hand explores her stomach, breasts and neck. Jonathan watches, captivated by this little “show.” Jonathan has seen lots of videos of women masturbating in front of a camera, but nothing compares to watching the real thing unfold right before his very eyes.

She has no idea what’s come over her. She’s not the type of woman who impulsively touches herself when a sudden rush of arousal hits her. But here she is, rubbing herself like a sex-starved housewife in front of a total stranger she’s only met hours ago. Samantha feels a hot rush of heat pulsate from between her legs as her fingers relentlessly caress her most sensitive area. She knows she’s close. And she’s further turned on knowing he’s watching her.

Jonathan can’t breathe. Samantha loses her breath – caught up in the moment, reveling in the sensations rising up from her depraved body.

Samantha looks up to the Heavens as she approaches her climax. Her fingers continue to rub her clit as her breathing increases with forceful panic. Seeing Jonathan’s hard manhood sway back and forth reminded her of her husband twenty years ago, when they were both young and full of uninhibited sexual ambitions.

Finally, Samantha’s orgasm reaches its peak and she climaxes. A controlled scream fills the air as her orgasm engulfs her entire body from head to toe. The rhythmic contractions of her vaginal muscles steal her breath, making her fall backwards on the bed. Her fingers linger on her clit until her spasms subside. Eventually her breathing returns to normal and she opens her eyes, thanking every deity in existence for this amazing experience. She brings her fingers to her mouth and tastes her feminine juices, enjoying the way her taste buds respond to her own essence.

Silence. Neither of them move for what seems like an eternity. Jonathan decides to break the deafening stillness.

“That was amazing. It looks like you don’t even need me.” Jonathan winks at her, a wicked smile streaking across his face.

Samantha laughs heartily. She never expected this impromptu masturbation session. But there was something in the way that Jonathan’s penis moved as he walked that erupted a sudden burst of lust inside her. She needed release at that moment. And the only one who could give her that immediate release was herself.

More erotic photography. A woman pleasuring herself. Who can better please a woman than herself?

“Come here. I want to do something with you.” Samantha pats the bed next to her as she sits back up. By now Jonathan can clearly see her panties are soaking wet, a sign of her arousal that sparks a similar eruption of lust inside him. He hands her the measuring tape and sits down next to her.

“Let’s see how big you are. If you don’t mind.” She stretches the tape out. It’s 72 inches long, plenty of length for whatever scientific experiment she wants to conduct.

“No, I don’t mind. I’m never one to get in the way of scientific research.” Jonathan inhales a deep breath as Samantha grabs the base of his penis and lightly strokes up and down. He feels sudden waves of pleasure cascading through his body. If she wasn’t careful, he might come right there.

“Good. Let’s see where you are…” she trails off, pushing her thumb against the tip of his penis to make sure it stands straight. She then places the end of the measuring tape at the base of his pubic hair and rolls the tape up to the top. He looks down to see how he stacks up.

“About five and a half inches long,” Samantha says unemotionally, as if she were relaying astronomy coordinates to a bored lab assistant.

“Whew,” Jonathan says, breathing a sigh of relief. Is that standard? All the unscientific research he’s ever read says the average penis size, when fully engorged, is between five and six inches. At five and a half, he’s right in the middle. Good! He’s not small. But he’s also not large. He’s…average.

He can live with “average.”

Samantha then wraps the measuring tape around the base of his penis to calculate the circumference. She brushes some of his pubic hair aside to get a more accurate reading.

“Just shy of four and three-quarters inches,” she says, equally without emotion or judgment.

“Dr. Sammy” winds the measuring tape and places it on top of the bedside table. She turns to face Jonathan and plants a light kiss on his right cheek. Electricity runs down his spine as her soft, luscious lips linger on the side of his face.

“Let’s make love,” he suggests, caressing her cheek and lightly pinching her pink nipple with his fingertips.

She takes the hint and slips off her soaked panties down her beautiful legs. Samantha kicks them away to the side, uncaring where they land. She is now completely nude.

“Yes.” She kisses him deeply, refusing to let this prefect moment go to waste.

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

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

Dear readers,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace be with you always.

Sincerely,

Ryan

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

The Erotic Dreams of Max Shimura: Episode Two – Black Beauty

When you think of Black Beauty, think about Desiree Ellis.

Max’s next dream took him to a familiar place: his own life.

Rainfall. Dusk. The time is 5:37 p.m. It is Friday, a day Max always cherishes.

After a rough week at work, Max knew he had to blow off some steam at the gym. TGIF, right? Max frequently worked out at the gym 3 to 4 days per week, doing a variety of exercises ranging from weight lifting to yoga to Pilates to swimming. Today he just needed to lift till his muscles gave out. It was one of those days.

6:40 p.m.

Max just completes nearly an hour and a half of blasting his chest and back muscles. Drenched in sweat, breathing hard as if he’d just run a marathon; he decides it’s time to stretch and end his workout with light cardio. As he was heading to the treadmill area, a heart-stopping sight caught him dead in his tracks.

Walking out of a now completed Zumba class was a striking black woman. Tall (perhaps 6’1”, maybe taller), muscular, athletic and as gorgeous as a supermodel, this woman exudes sexual power out of every pore of her impeccable body. Max is certain he’d never seen her here before, but at this moment, encountering this Beautiful Goddess destroyed any certainty he had of anything.

Imagine seeing a lady like Tatianna Butler in your gym. Talk about distracting.

Wearing tight pink workout shorts and a revealing pink sports bra to match, this fetching woman is a perfect specimen of female beauty. She is the quintessential Black Beauty, the Immortal African Queen. Her dark black skin looks silky smooth and as soft as a blanket. Her hard muscles are sharp and well-defined. She is as strong as an ox. Every inch of her is perfect.

And Max was determined to find out more about her.

Black Beauty proceeds to walk toward the weight room. Wait, really? She’s not going back to the locker room? She actually plans to lift with the rest of the guys?

Hell yes, she is!

Black Beauty demonstrates that she isn’t just strong “for a woman;” she shows everyone she’s STRONG, plain and simple. Deadlifts. Squats. Lunges. Leg presses. Massive weight. Heavy reps. Sweat dripping off her delectable body. Today is definitely her leg day.

All the guys stop and stare at her. But does she get offended with this new-found attention? Nope. She loves the attention. She adores being looked at. She treasures every guy who can’t help but stare at her glorious figure. She wants this. She desires this.

She deserves this.

Every guy wants her. But Max knows he would be the one who would end up with her before the night is out. He doesn’t know how. He just knows this is how things will happen.

So…time to make a move!

It started with casual flirting. Max passes by Black Beauty and lets out a hushed wolf whistle. Black Beauty smiles back and returns the whistle as Max pumps out ten reps of heavy military shoulder press. Today isn’t a shoulders day, but any excuse to get close to her makes that fact irrelevant.

Then he strikes up a casual conversation with her. He asks her why he’s never seen her here before. She answers that she just moved into town. Their conversation goes deeper. They learn things about each other; where they grew up, what schools they attended, where they live, what they do for a living (as it turns out, she’s an amateur bodybuilder and a professional erotic model) and what hobbies they share. They learn a lot in a brief amount of time.

Her name is Afrika. See her power. See her strength. Admire her.

Minutes pass. Then an hour. Then an hour and a half. Forget working out. Max and Black Beauty aren’t just flirting – they’re connecting at a deep level. All the men in the weight room are jealous of Max. Many leave after conceding that Black Beauty is Max’s for the taking. They know what will happen between these two. So why bother sticking around and hoping they’ll get their shot?

For Max and Black Beauty, this is no longer casual flirting. This is foreplay. This is a mating dance; albeit one that involves dumbbells, barbells and lots of 45-pound plates of weight. Consummating this dance isn’t a possibility; it’s a guarantee.

Eventually Max and Black Beauty ease off their conversation and resume their workouts. Having already completed his initial workout, Max is now doing overtime. His muscles may collapse on him. But he doesn’t care one bit. This opportunity to get to know Black Beauty is one that he cannot pass up.

Max says he’s leaving and is heading home. Black Beauty, clearly enamored by him, offers to exchange phone numbers. They do. Max texts to Black Beauty his name and phone number. She smiles and resumes her grueling workout. Max leaves the weight room as if he’d just conquered the world.

After taking a quick shower and brushing his teeth, Max buys a protein shake at the juice bar. He looks around for Black Beauty. She’s still at the weight room, squatting what looks to be 315 pounds. Holy smokes. Look at that power. Look at her impeccable form. Look at her massive thighs, growing stronger and stronger with every punishing repetition. The way she strenuously pushes her leg muscles beyond what they can handle turns Max on in ways he’s never been turned on before.

Max senses his manhood waking up. Who cares if anyone notices?

An hour later, Max is at home watching a rerun of some football game he couldn’t care less about. Out of the blue, his phone buzzes. He checks it out and sees this simple message:

I wanna fuck you. So fucking bad. My place or yours?

Do you really have to guess who this is? Didn’t think so.

Ultimately, Max decides to come over to her house. Black Beauty texts him her address and fifteen minutes later he’s pulling up his car onto her driveway. He kills the engine. She lives in a quaint stone house in a quiet residential neighborhood a few miles away from his apartment. Though he wouldn’t consider her a next-door-neighbor, he’d drive any distance to be with this Black Muscle Goddess.

Zoe Saldana's beauty is enough to make my heart stop. — Zoe Saldana’s beauty is enough to make my heart stop.

He rings her doorbell. He waits. Seconds pass which seem like days. Eventually, the door opens. Black Beauty is standing before him.

Holy shit.

Dressed in nothing but a lily white negligee, silky purple lingerie and bright red stiletto heels, Black Beauty was a divine object of flawless beauty. Her revealing outfit shows off every bulging muscle on her unbelievable body. Her pumped legs, which Max was surprised was still able to stand considering the intensity of her earlier workout, nearly gave him a heart attack. Her wide, massive thighs squeeze together, unable to separate apart on their own. This thickness sends a chill down Max’s spine.

She invites him in. He enters her home. It is artistically decorated – littered with Greek nude statues, post-modern erotic paintings, photographs of muscular men and women in a variety of sensual poses and bookshelves full of academic textbooks.

She explains that she’s a student of art history, erotic art and human sexuality. Max isn’t surprised one bit. Their conversation at the gym was much deeper than any normal weight room banter. Black Beauty isn’t just a strong, beautiful woman. She’s also deeply passionate, intelligent and artistically-minded.

Not a bad combination.

Black Beauty offers him something to drink. Max takes the offer. They enter her dining room and sip fine wine by romantic candlelight for the next two hours. Their topics of conversation run the gamut; politics, art, sex, race, society, bodybuilding, culture, sports, history, family and culinary experiences. Their mutual fondness grows exponentially with each passing moment. Both Max and Black Beauty sense this isn’t going to be just a quick affair. Both know this has potential to be something more…profound.

It is nearing midnight. One empty bottle of wine later, Max and Black Beauty are both fairly loosened up. Not drunk. No, both are very clear-minded. Probably because they only have one thing on their mind:

Making love.

Yes, not fucking. Not screwing. Not banging one another. No…making love. Max and Black Beauty are about to make love as if they’d known each other for decades. This isn’t purely physical. This is something else entirely. This is real. Very real. Very tangible.

All hail Iris Kyle, a legend in her own right.

Finally, after hours of keeping a respectable physical distance, Black Beauty leans in and kisses Max passionately. She tastes him, possessing him with her mouth. Her tongue explores him, marking its territory. Max couldn’t breathe. But he didn’t mind. He’s been waiting for this moment a long time.

Max and Black Beauty finish their kiss and lock eyes. It’s time to start this dance. This erotic dance that will, inevitably, last all night and into the early morning. Hell, it’ll probably last into all day tomorrow as well. But tomorrow can wait. All that matters is the here and now.

Black Beauty stands up from the dining room table and walks over to him. Max loves the sight of her tight butt jiggling with every step. They share a second kiss, this time less fervent than the last, but nevertheless equally endearing. Max gets up and embraces her securely, feeling every mound of muscle on her taut back. She squeezes back and nearly knocks the wind out of him. Wow! She’s powerful! Her enormous arms wrap around his torso with a force that could sever him in half.

She releases. He struggles to catch his breath. Before he makes an attempt to, she grabs his hand and leads him into the living room.

All the lights are out. A fire is burning in the fireplace, giving off a dreamy glowing aura. A large fleece blanket and two pillows are neatly laid on the floor. She’s planned this out, meticulous detail by meticulous detail. God, what a woman!

Black Beauty stops, turns around and lifts Max’s shirt over his head. She kneels down and unbuckles his belt. Max reaches down and rubs her strong, broad shoulders. Black Beauty kisses his abdominal muscles, savoring every inch. Max plans to savor every inch of her, too.

Victoria Dominguez on a beach. Heaven on Earth, no?

She finally strips him and instructs him to sit down on the blanket. Max obliges. Black Beauty takes a few steps back and starts an erotic dance that captivates him. His manhood stands at attention. She removes her negligee and drops it to the floor. It pools around her ankles. She slowly removes her bra tosses it recklessly across the room. It disappears into the darkness.

Her large, plump breasts beckon him, but she pulls away to tease him. She kicks off her stilettos and places them behind her. All that’s left are her panties.

After another languorous erotic dance, inspired by ballet and rhythm stepping, Black Beauty at last removes the one last piece of clothing from her magnificent body. She steps back and poses, proudly demonstrating her muscularity. The light from the fire accentuates every fine curve, every muscle, every inch of her hard work at the gym.

Black Beauty bends over and kisses Max again. She lightly strokes his penis in an effort to arouse him. But the truth is he’s been aroused for hours now. But he appreciates the kind gesture.

She rolls on top of him and kisses his neck, chest and shoulders. Max returns the favor and strokes her long silky black hair. Black Beauty pulls him up and they share a long, wet kiss. Max reaches down and inserts a finger inside her vagina. She lets out a moan, expressing her approval. She’s completely wet, moist and ready for him. He knows what comes next.

Coming apart from their kiss, Black Beauty lies down on her back and spreads her thick legs in a spreadeagle formation. Max caresses her calves and takes his time to admire them. But she is impatient. She wants him to enter her. She wants him to please her.

Max, not wanting to disappoint, positions his penis at the entrance of her vagina and rubs the tip against her swollen clitoris. Black Beauty moans again loudly, not holding back. Now is not the time to hold back anything.

Halle Berry is one of my favorites from my youth. God, what a beauty!

In one single movement, Max pushes himself into her until he can’t possibly get any deeper. Jolts of electricity scream through their bodies. Max bends over and kisses Black Beauty ardently, savoring her with an earnest that he’s never experienced before. She wraps her long strong legs around him and thrusts herself into him, forcing both lovers to moan out loud in unapologetic pleasure.

Max whispers something into Black Beauty’s ear. Only they know what is said, no one else. As he drives himself deeper and deeper into her, he forgets where he is for a moment. Her house? Paradise? It makes no difference.

Black Beauty clutches her lover’s body tightly against her ample chest, her bulky muscles temporarily knocking the wind out of him. They kiss with a force that neither could replicate with another person again. Wet, sloppy and untamed, these lovers are holding nothing back. They don’t have time to waste. It’s only this moment, this place and their animalistic lust for each other that matter. Why worry about tomorrow?

The lovers experience the initial sensations of orgasm. But this lovemaking session isn’t about the orgasm. No. It’s about one thing only: Love.

She rolls over and takes over on top. He enthusiastically indulges in her whim. Riding him like a cowgirl riding her prized stallion, she locks her fingers around his and playfully dances up and down his manhood. He whimpers, knowing this is a moment he will never forget. She falls on top of him, spreads her legs wide and prepares for one final thrust that will send both lovers over the edge.

She whispers something into his ear. Like before, no one in the world will ever know what she tells him.

Black Beauty lifts her perfectly rounded butt in the air, takes a deep breath, kisses Max one last time and gives him one last final thrust. Their lips never come apart.

Max and Black Beauty come at the same time. Their lips finally separate. They let out a wild scream which will surely shake the Earth’s foundation.

Her vaginal muscles contract uncontrollably. His penis pulses with authority, emptying himself into her. He wants to give her all he’s got. He wants this moment to be special.

She collapses on top of him. They breathe heavily. Sweat drips off their bodies. Their hearts pound together to the same beat. The shadows created by the fire’s light produce a picturesque image of erotic perfection. Two people. One body. Pure love.

They continue to whisper sweet words into each other’s ears. The poetry shared between them could fill a thousand volumes of classical literature.

Outside, the rain begins to fall. It gets louder and louder with each passing moment. There is now a peace between the two lovers. The gentle sounds of water cascading off the roof add to the sexual ambiance.

Finally, she lifts herself off of him. His penis has softened by now. She toys with it playfully, smiling down at him. He returns the favor and lightly strokes her beautiful labia. He sits up and kisses her breasts, lapping her tongue across her sensitive nipples. She closes her eyes, looks up to the Heavens and sighs with satisfaction. This moment cannot be any more perfect, she tells herself.

The night is still young. The fire’s celestial glow endures. The fire burning within them is far from being satiated. Their shared love will never die.

The two lovers cuddle underneath the blanket and share stories about their childhoods. There’s something poignant about the simplicity of life and the desire to share it that comes out after the act of lovemaking. They talk for what seems like an eternity. The rain continues to pour. Nurturing the earth, the light tapping of water against the windows makes both Black Beauty and Max a little nostalgic for the mutual pleasure they experienced moments before.

What should they do? How can they make this flawless night last forever?

Max has an idea.

He pulls back the blanket, kisses her again, hugs her firmly and tells her what’s on his mind. She nods.

She embraces him back, and they make love again.

And again…and again…and again…and into eternity.

Incomprehensible Admiration: The Internal Thoughts of a Female Muscle Lover

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

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

So what’s coming over me lately?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sure brings back memories, doesn’t it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our love for female muscle is no different.

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

GFBB reached for a bottle of baby oil on a bedside table and dabbed a small amount on the palm of her hand. Lubricating her fingers, I eagerly anticipated the finale to this incredible muscle worship appointment.

Take a deep breath, I tell myself. This is going to be your first time receiving a sexual service from a woman. And not just any woman, but an absolutely gorgeous female bodybuilder whose beauty, sexiness and smarts turn me on like nothing else.

For those of you who don’t know, my sexual history isn’t terribly detailed. I’m a pretty quiet and meek kind of guy. While I don’t consider myself shy around women, connecting with people doesn’t come easy to me. This goes for people in general, but attractive ladies in particular. Am I trying to fix this? Of course I am. But easier said than done, n’est-ce pas?

Still, my manhood isn’t erect yet. Despite the obvious sexual circumstances – me alone with a gorgeous naked woman in a hotel room – I’m feeling more nervous than aroused. This worried me a bit. What if I can’t produce an erection? What if, despite my years and years of experience masturbating and producing erections at will, I fail at the worst possible moment? Let’s face it. Opportunities like this don’t come around too often!

This causes a flood of insecurities to come crashing down upon me. Strangely enough, GFBB must have noticed my awkwardness because she flashed me a compassionate smile after putting the bottle of baby oil back on the table. Did she see fear in my eyes? Did I give off an anxiety-ridden vibe that’s impossible not to notice?

“Can I kiss you?” I ask GFBB. It was an honest question.

“Yes, you can kiss me.”

I lean over and kiss her on the lips. Her lips are sweet, warm and loving. I’m not sure if she’s usually cool with kissing her clients, but I appreciate her willingness to let me indulge a bit. Kissing random strangers is an easy way to get sick so I would not have been surprised if she said “no.” But…she didn’t say no. She said yes!

And how sweet did she taste. Yummy!

We lay on our sides – me on the right side of the bed, GFBB on the left – and came closer together. The scene resembled a couple engaging in foreplay before making love. While that’s not what was going on, in my imagination I can think whatever I want, right?

I stared into her eyes. She slowly reached down and began to stroke my penis. Still soft and small, I tried to make a joke to ease my tension.

“You’d be surprised. It’s not as easy to produce an erection as you’d think.”

She nodded in agreement. She continued to stroke, her lubricated fingers massaging my manhood in an up and down motion. I felt a slight tingle of sensation rising up from my pelvis.

“Can I ask you something?” I innocently asked.

“Go ahead.”

“Have you heard the stereotype about Asian men and their penises?”

She knew where I was going with this.

“You mean…”

“The stereotype that Asian guys are small down there?”

“Honey, here’s what I have to say about that. When you’re in a relationship with a woman, she won’t care. There’s nothing wrong with that. Don’t worry about a thing.”

I sure hope she’s right. But come to think of it, this is neither the time nor the place for me to air out my insecurities. GFBB is a female bodybuilder, not a therapist!

Toni West is so strong, muscular, beautiful and feminine. A perfect combination.

As her fingers resumed their caressing touch, getting that confession off my chest must have done wonders because almost immediately my penis becomes fully erect. Was I having performance anxiety? Probably not, but I felt the need to keep a conversation going in order to calm me down.

My manhood fully engorged, the initial tingling of orgasm began. Her fingers wrapped around my penis with authority, not rushing to bring me to climax but urgent enough to give me a remarkably pleasurable experience. I leaned over and kissed her on the lips, cheek and neck. She may have kissed me back, but I was on a different planet by now. In this moment, I felt like we were Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden – two perfect, innocent creations experiencing sexual pleasure for the first time.

Of course, I knew GFBB was not new to performing sex acts. As a mother and middle aged woman, she’s had her fair share of erotic life experiences. But not me. I was the newbie, a stranger to a strange game. I tried to focus on the moment and take it all in.

As I kissed her cheek, lingering on tasting her essence and smelling her feminine fragrance, I knew I was about to come. Her fingers were stroking me more earnestly. Electricity was surging through every nerve ending of my body. My erection became harder, anticipating a satisfying climax. The coolness of the baby oil rubbing against my sensitive skin, satiating my every desire, added to the eroticism.

I tried to whisper something in her ear, but could not bring myself to saying anything. Would it be weird to confess my love for a woman I’ve only known for a little more than an hour? Would she think I’m peculiar for doing so? Or would she understand this is purely something done in the heat of the moment, an irrational act committed by an otherwise rational being?

Before I could whisper anything, I felt a surge of pleasure rising and bursting forth out of my manhood. I knew this was it. The time is now.

I came hard, spurting all over my belly and chest. Her fingers stopped massaging me and she watched as I covered myself with my own seed. I let out a deep sigh. GFBB gave me pleasure I will always remember. For all the time we spent talking philosophy and politics, this moment was the culmination of our shared time together. Frozen in time, perhaps? I have no doubt about it.

A legend in her own right, Lenda Murray.

Eventually, my mind came back down to Earth and I left whatever dreamy metaphysical state it was previously in. GFBB got up from the bed and went to the bathroom to fetch a towel.

“You came quite a bit,” she remarked, evidently impressed with how much semen I released. I looked down at myself and was equally impressed. Quite a lot of warm white liquid lying across my torso!

She returned with a towel and I wiped myself off. She offered me the chance to take a shower. I obliged and hopped into the shower to quickly rinse off before leaving. My mind raced at a million miles per minute during that short shower, still basking in the glory of receiving a hand job from a very sexy, intelligent and strong woman.

I'm not too familiar with Nena Cortes, but I'd sure like to learn more about her! — I’m not too familiar with Nena Cortes, but I’d sure like to learn more about her!

After I dried myself off and dressed, I came back into the room and saw GFBB had put back on her tight blue dress. She was watching TV. Some dreadful highway accident was being covered in the news. I gathered my things and decided it was time to give her the bottle of wine.

I went over to my backpack and took it out.

“I brought a gift for you.”

I hand it to her and she smiles widely.

“Why, thank you! That is very kind. Thanks!”

“This is my way of saying thank you. I had a lovely time.”

We briefly chatted about whatever was happening on the television. Eventually I put on my shoes and socks with my backpack slung over my shoulder. Whew. I knew this was it. It was time to say good bye for good. God knows if I’ll ever have the chance to see her again. GFBB lives in Texas and she tells me this will be her last year doing “appointments.” She’s ready to settle down and quit traveling the world to see guys like me. Hey, that’s her prerogative. She has every right to decide for herself when it’s time to hang up the cleats.

I guess my earlier analogy about meeting a fading sports superstar had some truth to it. GFBB was, in a way, “retiring.” Not from bodybuilding necessarily, but from bringing her show on the road and offering these unique services to her fans. If she indeed will call it a career, then I jumped on this opportunity at the right time. That’s fantastic luck on my part!

We stand in front of each other. I thanked her again for the lovely session. It must have been well past one hour since I first came into this room. At least 75 minutes, I’d estimate.

“One more kiss for the road?”

She nods and we share one last kiss. It was sweeter than any other kiss I’ve ever received. We hugged, said our “goodbyes” and I opened the door to leave.

“Have a good night!” she tells me as I walk out into the dimly lit hallway.

“Good night. Bye, bye!”

I close the door behind me and quickly shuffle toward the main lobby. I kept my head down, scurrying in the direction of the exit so none of the hotel staff would have time to think about who I am and what business I had being here. But, to be honest, what other people were thinking had no bearing on my own thoughts. I could only think about myself and GFBB.

Yikes. Wow. What did I just experience?

Everything was so surreal. Did that really happen? The past 75 minutes were all a blur. I felt like I had an out-of-body experience that seemed real but wasn’t. Like “Inception,” perhaps my appointment with GFBB was nothing more than a fabricated dream that I convinced myself was real.

As I left the hotel and headed back to my car, the rational side of me knew this wouldn’t change anything about my life. I’m in no way shape or form a “new” person for having gone through this spectacular experience. I’m the same person right now as I was minutes before walking into that hotel lobby.

But, there was a part of me that knew that something, however miniscule and incremental, had indeed changed. I might come out of this bolder. I’ve always been moderately cautious throughout my life – this could be a step in a different direction. This might not be a new chapter in my life, but certainly a new page. GFBB didn’t change me. I changed myself. She was my incentive for getting out of my box and trying something new. But not just something new, but something selfish.

I try not to be selfish. I try to be as helpful, accommodating and frugal as I can. My muscle worship session with GFBB completely reversed that tendency. This was 75 minutes of me acting upon my lusts, my carnal desires, my sexual curiosities. This was me doing something purely for me and no one else. I benefitted from this experience alone (except for GFBB, who was a couple hundred dollars richer). This was “me” time.

Could this be the start of a reformed outlook on life? Will I start to live life to the fullest? Will I begin to, perhaps in minor ways, live life more selfishly? There’s nothing wrong with rewarding yourself every once in a while. This evening was my chance to reward myself. This was my chance to take hold of a unique situation and run away with it unashamedly.

GFBB earlier asked me what my mother would think if she knew I was in this hotel room with her. I told her she would probably be shocked. But what would she be more shocked at; the circumstances of the situation (paying a muscular woman to let me touch her body) or the fact that I took the initiative and sought out this opportunity to begin with?

I have no idea. I’ll probably never find out.

Lora Ottenad is not only pretty and strong, but she's local! (at least, for me) — Lora Ottenad is not only pretty and strong, but she’s local! (at least, for me)

So this is why this muscle worship session was the 75 greatest minutes of my life. Do I mean that in a literal sense? Of course not. That’s hyperbole. What I really mean is that this past hour+ could very well change the way I live my life – what jobs I choose to work at, how I spend my free time, how I relate with my family, who I choose to be friends with and what I plan to do with my life.

I know this is crazy. I know this evening will not define me. But I couldn’t help but wonder but this, even months later after the fact. The drive back to my apartment was interrupted by a stop off at Subway to grab a sandwich for dinner. It was approaching 8 p.m. and it was getting dark outside. The sun was fading fast, perhaps a symbolic commentary of the situation.

I returned home, turned on my computer, watched some old clips of “Whose Line is it Anyway?” on YouTube and ate my sandwich in peace. I was at peace. My heart stopped pounding nonstop. My blood pressure returned to normal. All the anticipation and anxiety I felt in the minutes leading up to knocking on GFBB’s hotel door was completely gone. I was at my natural emotional state, albeit whatever philosophical thoughts I had churning through my mind at rapid fire.

When I was done eating, all I could do was lie on my bed and ponder in complete silence. The silence was deafening, yet peaceful at the same time. No distractions. Nothing to stop these wild thoughts racing through me.

But something did eventually break my contemplation. I suddenly remembered something I forgot to ask GFBB before leaving her room.

I forgot to take a picture of her!

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

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

The lovely Ginger Martin. Once again, none of the ladies featured here is the woman I had a session with.

So there I was. Tuesday, May 21. Sitting at my desk, staring blankly at my computer screen.

I had a hard time concentrating at work. Getting stuff done was nearly impossible. My mind was somewhere else, far away from whatever I was supposed to be doing at my job.

Because in two days, in a little more than 48 hours, I’ll be engaging in my first ever muscle worship session with GFBB (Gorgeous Female Bodybuilder). I just don’t know where yet. This one last detail is the only thing I haven’t solidified yet with her.

Thursday at 7 p.m. Got it. But where? In Seattle? Or somewhere outside of Seattle?

But suddenly, while lounging around and superfluously passing the time, I receive a much anticipated e-mail from my personal account.

It’s from GFBB! Yes!!!

Up to this point, I felt like GFBB and I have developed good e-mail chemistry, if such a thing is possible. We’ve communicated clearly back and forth, there’s been no misunderstandings (wiring the deposit money into her account went smoothly) and she’s even cracked a joke or two toward me. It definitely appears as though this arrangement is starting off on the right foot.

I’m guessing she probably gets a lot of creepy messages from random guys (and ladies) asking her to do some ridiculous things. Fetish activities, threesomes, choking (to the point of near death), posing for photos/videos, role playing and probably even straight up sex. So it was refreshing to hear that she thinks of this as less of a “sexual” arrangement and more of a “business-like” proposition.

Kathy Johansson wearing very sexy red lingerie.

Her e-mail message lets me know which hotel she’s staying at during her Seattle stop. And guess what? The hotel is less than three miles away from my apartment! Holy cow! She’s staying within a stone’s throw of where I live. This definitely bodes well.

GFBB gives me her phone number and tells me to text her when I arrive at the hotel. Alright, gotcha. I can do that.

The next two days flew by quicker than a Tokyo bullet train running away from Godzilla. I decided to take a “sick day” that Thursday because I don’t want any distractions leading up to this session. I work fairly far away from my apartment and there are times when really bad traffic, combined with terrible weather, can make my commute long and arduous. I didn’t want any emotional or physical disruptions on the day of my first ever session with a gorgeous female bodybuilder. So it seemed clear to me that being “ill” that day was justifiable.

I woke up on Thursday morning feeling fresh and alive. Butterflies weren’t swarming in my stomach yet, but I could definitely tell there was a certain electrical charge flowing through my system. Let’s face it; this doesn’t happen all the time. And a guy is totally allowed to be nervous in anticipation of his first time, right?

Shawn Tan is tall, elegant, beautiful and sexy as hell. Can we all agree?

I ate breakfast and headed out to the gym to work out. I understand I could never look as amazing as GFBB, but it never hurts to get a good workout in to get my blood flowing and to calm my nerves. I don’t normally to go the gym on afternoons, so I saw a whole different crowd than I’m used to seeing. Mostly retired folks and stay-at-home-moms.

It was leg day. Yuck.

On the agenda for the day were squats, lunges and other leg machine exercises. During my entire workout all I could think about was me – yours truly – stroking GFBB’s strong legs, caressing her biceps and fondling her breasts. Judging from pictures I’ve seen of her, she definitely has a bountiful pair of breasts. This is without a doubt something I was looking forward to experiencing!

The gorgeous Kathy Connors demonstrating the nerdy/sexy dynamic.

After my grueling workout (leg day is always grueling. Just ask anyone who actually does it!), I then walked over to the grocery store across the street from the gym. At the store I bought a nice bottle of wine to give to her as a gift. I figure it’s the least I can do to demonstrate how thankful I am that she’s willing to let me have a session with her. I then went to the bank in the same complex to withdraw the rest of the money I need to pay her.

Upon returning home, it suddenly hit me. I’m about to participate in my first ever session with a gorgeous female bodybuilder. Don’t get me wrong; I know I’m about to do this (I’ve had this planned for at least a month), but it wasn’t until this moment, with a bottle of wine and an envelope full of cash in my possession, that it really started to sink in.

I lay on my bed and tried to think of nothing. Not think about playing hooky from work. Not think about whether this session will be a disappointment or not. Not think about what she’ll think of me once she meets me. Not even think about what I’ll eat for dinner after the session is over. I tried to think of nada, nothing, zilch.

But I couldn’t. I had butterflies dancing in my stomach (they were probably participating in a drunken rave by now), my blood pressure skyrocketing through the roof and enough nervous energy of fifty chorus girls making their Broadway debut. I had to do something in the next hour to pass the time…

I then thought of what to do: Write a blog post.

So, I did. You can read it here.

After publishing this new post, I looked at my phone and saw it was a little after 6 p.m. My appointment with GFBB is at 7 p.m. The venue is less than three miles away. I could get there in ten minutes. Theoretically, I could leave here at 6:30 and still be early. But darn it, I have to leave now! All this fiddling around is making me go insane.

Besides, what if I get a flat tire? What if my car magically runs out of gas? What if there’s some catastrophic accident on the road that will delay me for forty minutes? Yes, I should leave now just to play it safe.

Damn. Logic has completely left my brain. All that’s left are nothing but an aching libido and flaming nerves. I should definitely leave now or risk suffering a subdural hematoma right here in my apartment.

It never hurts to show a picture of Kim Perez, does it? No, it certainly doesn't. — It never hurts to show a picture of Kim Perez, does it? No, it certainly doesn’t.

Before departing, I check my e-mail one last time to make sure I have her room number. Room 132. Okay…I’ve looked at Google Maps enough times to know where this hotel is like the back of my hand, so I’m golden on that front.

Alright. Time to go!

No more than twelve minutes later, I’m sitting in the parking lot of the hotel where GFBB is staying. Yikes! This shit is getting real! And to think that this Beautiful Muscle Goddess is a within shouting distance of where I live. Hot damn. I feel like a teenage girl about to meet a heartthrob pop star for the first time. If my voice starts to squeak indeterminately and I get the sudden urge to pass out, I’ll know why.

What time is it? Hmmmmmm…6:19.

6:20.

6:21.

6:22.

6:23.

6:24.

Holy hell. Could time move any slower?!!!

Seriously. Time could not move fast enough. As I sat there, in my car, on an overcast day in the Pacific Northwest, I began to think: Is she with a client right now at this moment? If not, could I text her right now and perhaps get a good fifteen or twenty minutes of extra session time with her? Speaking of which, is she a clock-watcher or is she very loose with how long these things last? Am I her last appointment of the day or does she have three or four other horny guys scheduled later this evening? Could some of her other clients be sitting in their cars right now, twiddling their thumbs, just like me? What if–

You know what? Screw it! I’m going to text her. I know it’s early (by the time I make this decision, it’s about 6:45), but what the hell? I’m here, aren’t I? I was told to text her just as soon as I got here, so I might as well follow along with her directions.

Nikki Fuller is one of my all-time favorites. Need I explain why?

So, I texted her to let her know I was here.

A few moments later, she replies, saying “Ok u can come to my room now.”

Well, if the lady says so…

I got out of my car, locked the door and made the “long” trek (it felt long, okay!!!) to the entrance of the hotel. Thankfully, there weren’t a whole lot of people around, except for an older Asian couple who looked as though they just arrived in town. I quickly entered the hotel, intentionally avoided making eye contact with the front desk staff and took a sharp right turn toward her room.

On one hand, I want to look like I belonged here; but on the other hand, if they don’t remember me, would they ask me what business I had being here? Better play it safe and speed walk while keeping my head down. It probably isn’t too often when a random dude comes in to their premises to meet a strange woman for a sexually-charged muscle worship session.

Walking down the long corridor, complete with a dark red carpet and Seattle-themed artwork, I decided to use the bathroom before knocking on her door. Whenever I get really nervous, I get the urge to pee. Better do it now versus wasting time later using the toilet during my session!

This is Sarah Hayes. Baby got back, n'est-ce pas? — This is Sarah Hayes. Baby got back, n’est-ce pas?

Minutes later, I left the bathroom and proceeded forward to meet my Fate. I felt like a death row inmate making his last trip down the prison hallway before being electrocuted. Overdramatic? Of course. But if there’s ever an occasion to be unapologetically theatrical, now is the time.

I stood in front of room #132 and took a deep breath. This is it, Ryan. This is the moment you get to meet up close and personal (and hopefully, get really personal later on) with a famous female bodybuilder who’s strong, gorgeous, accomplished, well-regarded and amicable. This is it, buddy!

Another deep breath.

Exhale.

Extend hand.

Make a fist.

Knock on the door.

Wait.

The door then opens.

It creeks open ominously, almost romantically, as if I were a lost prince exploring a magical castle in a Disney movie.

I peeked my head inside to see who opened the door. Is it her? Is it–

And there she is.

There she is.

There. She. Is.

THERE. SHE. IS.

Holy cow. Holy mother of mercy. Wow!

I only have one word to describe this moment:

…

Damn.

Continued in Muscle Worship, Female Bodybuilders and the Greatest 75 Minutes of My Life (Part Three)

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

Please note: None of the FBBs featured in this blog post is the one I set up the session with. It just never hurts to post photos of strong, gorgeous women.

Anyone who has a female muscle fetish can understand how frustrating it can be.

We love women with muscles, but women with a lot of muscles aren’t exactly common.

Yes. This is very true. How often do you see a lady with the muscular frame of Sheila Bleck walk down the street, shop at your grocery store, patronize your favorite coffee joint or stroll through your local park? Unless you work with professional bodybuilders and athletes for a living, the answer is probably not (and if you do happen to associate with female bodybuilders on a daily basis, we really need to exchange jobs!).

So guys (and gals) who love female muscle are more often than not stuck in the aggravating situation of being in love with a body type that’s more accessible through a Google search than hitting the bars at happy hour. Imagine being into blondes in a world where all you see are brunettes. Talk about agonizing!

But…for those of us who like muscular women and would love nothing more than to meet one, there’s a way to do it. It can be pricy, but if you do your homework it can be a worthwhile experience.

As you can probably imagine, being a professional bodybuilder isn’t exactly a very lucrative profession. It’s an expensive lifestyle (food, supplements, personal trainers, gym memberships, equipment, etc.) and doesn’t bring in much money. Only the top competitors win enough money to call it a career and endorsing commercial products isn’t always an viable option.

If you could get paid to be beautiful, Kristy Hawkins would be a billionaire by now.

So, many bodybuilders (I would guess mostly female) offer “sessions” to bodybuilding fans across the world. These “sessions” often involve “muscle worship,” an activity where clients feel, caress and touch the muscles of a bodybuilder for a fee. You don’t literally worship this person, but it comes awfully close.

Some FBBs offer wrestling (competitive and semi-competitive), sensual massages, grappling, scissor squeezing, posing, lifting, role playing and BDSM services in addition to muscle worship. They often travel around the country (and world) and visit major cities where enough fans are interested in paying for their services. Muscle worship sessions mostly take place in hotel rooms, but sometimes they can occur in private homes or studios if the FBB feels comfortable doing that.

I’ve known about this sort of thing for years but never thought about doing it until recently. Firstly, it’s pricy. Some sessions can cost up to $800 or as low as $400 for an hour. That’s quite a bit of money for someone who’s not exactly rolling in the dough. Secondly, muscle worship sessions (especially the sensual kinds) come dangerously close to prostitution, which I’m not inherently against, but it does come with its own social stigma.

I have nothing against prostitution per se, and I’ll admit my perspective on this matter has changed over the years, but I’ve always felt like I’m better than that. Pay someone for sex? Even if actual sex isn’t involved (and in most cases of muscle worship, full-service sex isn’t involved), this still sounds like something a desperate loser would resort to because they can’t get this anywhere else.

But on the other hand, this is different. Female bodybuilders aren’t exactly common. If feeling the body of a muscular woman is a kink of mine, and this kink isn’t easy to fulfill, what’s the harm of paying money for it? It’s not every day when an opportunity like this comes around.

Also, please don’t misunderstand me. I’m not being judgmental toward FBBs or male bodybuilders who offer sessions. I’m not equating what they do to prostitution, nor should we stigmatize those who do work in the sex industry. My hesitancy toward paying for a muscle worship session has more to do with my personal biases than my opinion about the concept of sex work. I’ve come to realize that everyone has the right to make a living by whatever means they see necessary as long as they don’t harm anyone else or themselves. This includes female bodybuilders.

So, I decided to pursue setting up a muscle worship session after careful deliberation. I decided first to do some casual online research to see what’s out there. After a lengthy Google search, I discovered the website wb270, which is essentially the Craigslist of those seeking female muscle worship sessions. I looked at the state of Washington to find out who is either local or traveling to my region.

An absolutely stunning photo of Kris Murrell.

At first, I e-mailed a local FBB, but heard no response from her. I figured maybe she wasn’t doing that sort of thing anymore and that her contact information was left erroneously on wb270’s website. I checked back a few weeks later and discovered a particular FBB would be travelling to Seattle at the end of May.

Before I continue, I’ve decided to leave the identity of this FBB a secret because of a few reasons. I’ll explain later. For now, let’s call her GFBB (Gorgeous Female Bodybuilder).

I e-mailed GFBB and asked her how much she charges for an hour long session and if indeed she’s travelling to Seattle. She didn’t respond for the longest time, which made me assume she too wasn’t interested in my inquiry. I then began to think if somehow I came across as either too creepy, or passive, or inexperienced, or something else that’s making me appear less than trustworthy. Those thoughts crept into my mind until about a week later…

She responded!

I was so excited I felt jittery all over. GFBB isn’t just beautiful and strong, but she’s a celebrity as well. Anyone who follows the world of female bodybuilding has no doubt heard of this woman. She’s a superstar of the sport and very well known to fans all over the world. When she finally responded to my e-mail, I felt star-struck and in awe that she would actually communicate with me!

We exchanged a few e-mails back and forth, discussing her travelling schedule and such. She tells me that she’s tentatively confirmed to be in Seattle on May 23, but that she needs at least three confirmed appointments before making concrete plans. This makes sense. Why book a flight to Seattle when you have no assurance you’ll land any clients?

Feast your eyes on Jana Linke-Sippl, a woman with thighs of steel (which is putting it mildly).

After learning about this, I asked GFBB what services she offers. She says she’s pretty open from anything ranging from semi-competitive wrestling, to grappling, to sensual muscle worship and other stuff in between. I told her muscle worship was my thing and that I wasn’t too keen about wrestling. I’m not really into that, to be honest. But touching this woman’s muscles? Yes, please!

She told me about her prices and says she offers two kinds of sessions: bikini and nude. Well, shucks! I can see her completely naked? Hell yes!

Naturally, a nude session costs more, but it was a price I was willing to pay. This sort of thing doesn’t happen to me all the time, so I better take advantage of it while I can.

We settled on this arrangement: One hour of nude muscle worship. She even says she’s willing to give a hand job at the end. Eureka!

This is why I’m choosing to keep the identity of GFBB a secret. Because this comes very close to prostitution, and there’s the possibility she could get into legal trouble if word leaks out, I’ve decided not to reveal who she is. Odds are I could mention her identity and no harm will come her way, but I don’t want to risk that. Also, she has family and friends who might not want to hear that she offers hand jobs to random guys who pay her. I mean, talk about embarrassing! In this age of the Internet, information can spread quicker than an STD at a college dormitory, so I’d sleep better at night knowing her willingness to give her customers a “happy ending” is kept off the Web. I try to be respectful to everyone’s reputation and personal comfort.

If more women around me looked like Emery Miller, I'd be a happy man. — If more women around me looked like Emery Miller, I’d be a happy man.

So…we made our deal and I wired her some money as a deposit. After asking for some cash up front, at first I was afraid she might be scamming me, but I took a risk and trusted that she truly was who she says she is and not some flimflam man trying to con my libido-fueled idiotic ass out of easy cash.

After paying her the deposit, I played the waiting game and crossed my fingers that at least two more chaps around the Seattle area would contact her and set up appointments. She says she’ll return the deposit if she can’t make the trip. While I appreciate this, I hoped like hell it wouldn’t have to come to that.

A few weeks passed and I finally heard the good news: She has three confirmed appointments, meaning we’re on for May 23. Oh happy day! Yahoo!!!

Indeed, I felt like dancing in the streets after hearing GFBB was definitely coming to my area. My heart pounded as I proceeded to think about what sort of things I’d like to do with her. Muscle worship? Caressing her body? Touching her hardened biceps? Leaving a trail of kisses down her taut back? Rubbing her powerful thighs? Receiving a hand job from her? Holy cow! All of this would be possible now.

Anyone who isn't into female muscle should take a look at Ocean Bloom and prepare to have their perspective changed permanently. — Anyone who isn’t into female muscle should take a look at Ocean Bloom and prepare to have their perspective changed permanently.

Whew. I’ve just booked my first muscle worship session ever. Wow. Is this really happening? Am I actually going to go through with this? Am I dreaming?

I sure hope I’m not dreaming. I pray that this is real.

Well, whether I like it or not, this is real. Shit is getting real. Very real. I’m a few weeks away from meeting a famous, gorgeous female bodybuilder in the flesh. I’m going to worship her flesh and touch her body. And she’s going to touch my body. And give me pleasure in ways I’ve never experienced before with a woman (see a previous blog post for further context). Hot damn.

I’ve just crossed a threshold. For the past several years, I’ve just been a female bodybuilding fan who’s admired strong women from a distance. I’ve had very limited up close and personal experiences with a muscular woman, so this will be unprecedented. Never in my life have I ever done something like this before. Who knows, I might never do something like this again.

But all I could do was wait. She said she’ll give me further information about which hotel she’ll be staying at a few days before our session. So all I can do is wait.

Waiting. Damn. I might not like having to count down the days on my calendar like a kid anticipating Christmas morning, but what else can I do? This is just like Christmas to me, except a lot more erotic.

So every day I looked at my calendar. Twenty days and counting. Nineteen days and counting. Eighteen days and counting. Seventeen days and counting…

Let the countdown begin.

Continued in Muscle Worship, Female Bodybuilders and the Greatest 75 Minutes of My Life (Part Two)

Top 10 Misconceptions About Having a Female Muscle Fetish

I’d like to think that one day it’ll become more acceptable to being attracted to muscular women. After all, I do sense a somewhat significant backlash against the “skinny is beautiful” aesthetic that we’ve all grown accustomed to seeing.

I’m also willing to bet the recent debate about healthcare will also spur some further dialogue about the health of our country and what it means to be healthy. Is starving yourself in order to achieve that rail thin look good for your body? The answer, of course, is a resounding NO.

Maybe someday we’ll actually see more muscular women in everyday society once we get past the irrational concept that women can’t lift weights in the gym like guys do. Face it: You all know what I’m talking about. Which demographic almost always dominates the weight room at your gym? Men. This isn’t even up for debate.

So, once we see more ladies pump iron in the weight room, perhaps this will lead more and more straight guys (and non-straight guys, to be fair) to openly admit that a women with muscle isn’t gross, but beautiful. Is it so strange to finally admit something that was once “taboo” the moment it becomes mainstream? I would hope not.

But seeing muscular women walk down the streets in droves is far from a reality and probably will never become commonplace (though one does hope and pray!) in my lifetime. Nevertheless, let’s delve into ten common misconceptions about having a female muscle fetish that we should clear up in anticipation of a complete social paradigm shift in how we define “sexy.”

I'd go to the gym more often if women like Ericca Kern were hanging around the weight room. — I’d go to the gym more often if women like Ericca Kern were hanging around the weight room.

1. Straight men who are attracted to muscular women are secretly gay.

There’s this belief out there that straight men who love a female with brawn is somehow living a lie. He’s not really straight, but instead a fabulously gay man ready to burst out of the closet with two chiseled female bodybuilders sitting on his shoulders.

If my understanding of sexuality is correct, gay men are attracted to OTHER MEN, not women. I’m heterosexual and have no desire to be intimate with a guy. I do, however, have many fantasies about being intimate with women like Gayle Moher, Tazzie Colomb, Ericca Kern and Angela Salvagno. I’m attracted to these women (and scores of others) because they’re beautiful women; regardless if their beauty is or is not commonly accepted among the general population.

That’s correct. They’re WOMEN who are BEAUTIFUL by standards that happen to be outside of the norm. My personal standards for female beauty are my own. I’m not saying you should agree with me, but you should accept this fixation of mine and move on with your life.

Sound good?

Great!

I could write a whole essay describing the beauty of Denise Masino. I just might... — I could write a whole essay describing the beauty of Denise Masino. I just might…

2. Having a female muscle fetish also means you’re into BDSM.

BDSM, for those of you who don’t know what this means, is an acronym for Bondage, Discipline (it could also be Domination) and Sadomasochism. In short, this means chains, whips, being tied up, tying up someone else, spanking, role playing, domination, submission, safe words, leather outfits, consensual pain, pleasure though pain, pleasure through risqué social relationships, pleasure through power, pleasure through the lack of power, paddles, rope, orgasm control, dungeons, anal plugs, kinky toys, blindfolds and a whole host of other elements.

You get the idea, right? Think “50 Shades of Grey,” if you’ve ever heard of that before.

Hell, at this point who hasn’t?

While many female bodybuilders often engage in BDSM activities outside of their bodybuilding careers (being a professional bodybuilder, unfortunately, isn’t a very lucrative business), there is no direct link between being having a female muscle fetish and being into the D/s subculture.

Please don’t get me wrong: I’m not judging those who are into that sort of thing. In fact, I believe that whatever you’re into is your own business and no one else’s. What happens between consenting adults in the privacy of their own homes is not for us to judge. So…I am not saying all of this because I want to distance myself from DBSM culture.

Rather, you can be attracted to an FBB and not want her to tie you up, spank you with a paddle and call you dirty names while she makes you do her bidding. Your lust for her can be very “vanilla,” just as if you had a crush on the girl next door.

Except this girl happens to have steel thighs, bulging biceps, wide pecs and rock hard abs!

But this all brings me to my next point…

Would I want Tina Lockwood's massive thighs around my neck? No, but don't knock it unless you've tried it, right? — Would I want Tina Lockwood’s massive thighs around my neck? No, but don’t knock it unless you’ve tried it, right?

3. A guy with a female muscle fetish wants a female bodybuilder to physically dominate him.

Nor is this a true statement. Speaking from my personal life, all my fantasies about being with a beautiful female bodybuilder has nothing to do with her physically dominating me.

I would love nothing more than to make love to a woman like Lisa Cross. She doesn’t have to wrestle me, sit on me, grapple me, pick me up, or pin me to the ground till I beg her to let me breathe. A simple evening with her involving candle light, a bottle of wine, fresh fruit and silky white bed sheets will suffice.

Seriously. That would be awesome.

While many guys who love female muscle are also into D/s role playing, I want to make a point that not every guy fantasizes about the same thing. Just as most regular people have a diverse range of sexual fantasies, so do guys who love ladies with muscles. We’re no different, no freakier than you are. We’re just into a different sort of woman.

Contrary to popular belief, I still find women like Kate Upton to be beautiful.

4. A guy with a female muscle fetish isn’t attracted to “normal” looking women.

On the contrary, I find women of all types to be beautiful. When I was in high school, I had the biggest celebrity crush on Monica Bellucci, whom I thought was literally the most beautiful woman in the world.

Upon further review, there is little evidence to suggest that my assessment at the time was wrong. Even as a middle aged woman, Ms. Bellucci remains a supremely gorgeous creature. My high school-self had every rational reason to be enamored by this Italian Goddess.

Like most young men, I see beautiful women everywhere I look and frequently fantasize about being with them (guys think about sex every, what is it…seven seconds?). One young lady I particularly like at the moment is the polar opposite of a female bodybuilder: She’s small, petite and possesses absolutely no upper body strength. Kim Chizevsky could snap her like a twig if she wanted to. But I nevertheless find her supremely beautiful.

She has narrow hips, skinny legs, pale white skin and flat breasts. She’s half Asian but looks very much like she could be full. She’s smart, funny and shares a lot of the same interests as me. I’m very much in love with her, but unfortunately she doesn’t quite share the same mutual feelings (my confession of my love for her and her subsequent “friend-zoning” of me could make for a whole other blog post). Regardless, I think she’s one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met.

All this is to say that I’m also attracted to “normal” looking women. It’s not like guys who love muscular women find their less muscled counterparts to be repulsive. We don’t expect every woman to look like Lauren Powers or Lora Ottenad, so it’s unreasonable to assume if you don’t look like them, we don’t care. It’s not like that at all.

Having a female muscle fetish isn’t a one-track deal. It’s just one tool in the tool shed, so to speak. Of course women like Megan Fox and Kate Upton also catch our eye. But ladies like Deidre Pagnanelli and Monica Brant do as well. That’s all there is to it.

If being attracted to a woman like Gayle Moher means I'm unhealthy, then I'm one sick puppy! — If being attracted to a woman like Gayle Moher means I’m unhealthy, then I’m one sick puppy!

5. Having a female muscle fetish is a “condition” that’s unhealthy.

This is a misconception that especially gets me angry. I don’t know how common this belief is, but I do know that a small percentage of folks out there might think this.

Clinically speaking, the proper term is sthenolagnia, which means “sexual arousal from displaying strength or muscles.” This isn’t a condition. It’s just a kink. Of course, any interest that goes too far can be unhealthy. When a fetish becomes an obsession, you can be prone to adopting some very unhealthy behaviors.

Wasting money you can’t afford to spend to satisfy your kink. Alienating your friends and family. Breaking the law. Endangering your physical being and psyche. All of these things can be associated with a fetish gone too far.

But this definitely is not normal for people with a harmless and unusual fetish.

To be fair, I should say that the word “fetish” can be misleading. In some definitions, the word “fetish” implies that someone needs that particular object in order to get sexually aroused and cannot get aroused otherwise. In other words, if feet are your thing, nothing will turn you on except for feet and feet only.

This definition might be a bit extreme, but like I mentioned before, being attracted to muscular women doesn’t mean I can’t be attracted to non-muscular women. There are lots of non-FBBs who strike my fancy.

So there is nothing unhealthy about having a female muscle fetish. It doesn’t affect my personal or professional life. My relationships with my friends and family aren’t strained because of it. My relationship with women also isn’t suddenly off-the-wall because of this particular fandom. I’m perfectly normal. And many other guys who share my kink are as well.

Growing up, I considered Monica Bellucci to be the most beautiful woman on the planet. After looking at photos like this, I can see why.

6. A female muscle fetish is caused by unresolved childhood trauma.

Can my love for female bodybuilders be explained because of some unresolved childhood trauma? Was Mommy overbearing, despotic and cruel? Was Daddy weak, complacent and effeminate? Could this be the cause of my lust for strong women?

I’m no psychologist, but I’m guessing there’s absolutely no link between liking female muscle and having a troubled childhood. But it does seem rather tempting to make a Freudian connection between having a strong mother and gravitating toward strong women as an adult.

I’m willing to bet there’s some truth that someone who was spanked as a child (by mom, perhaps) might develop a fetish for being spanked as a grownup. But I have absolutely no empirical evidence to back me up.

Alas, I can only speak from personal experience that my attraction to female muscle is completely independent from my upbringing.

Then again, it’s hard to self-analyze, isn’t it?

Maybe I should see a shrink after all…

I don't think my attraction for Gina Davis will ever go away. — I don’t think my attraction for Gina Davis will ever go away.

7. A female muscle fetish is temporary and will eventually go away.

Sticking with this theme of a female muscle fetish being a “condition,” is it like the common cold and it will eventually go away with plenty of bed rest, cough drops and chicken soup?

I highly doubt it. This is not some sort of temporary fad that I’ll get into and eventually move on from as if it were a trend diet. The South Beach Diet, Atkin’s Diet and the recently chic Paleo Diet may come and go, but I don’t think the love for female muscle will ever go away.

If you browse chat forums that discuss muscle worship, wrestling sessions and the love for FBBs, many of these folks talk about loving female muscle for many years, sometimes dating back to childhood. It’s like a light going off: Everyone who loves muscular women can remember the exact moment they first discovered this love. Whether it was pursuing through a fitness magazine, catching a glimpse of a female bodybuilder on television or seeing a strong female character in a comic book, everyone with a female muscle fetish can share their personal testimony of “how it all started.”

This is why I very much doubt the belief that this kink will simply run its course after a new fetish is magically “discovered.”

Unfortunately, not all female bodybuilders are as beautiful as Monica Brant.

8. Guys who are attracted to female bodybuilders are attracted to ALL female bodybuilders.

There are lots of FBBs whom I find attractive. Katka Kyptova, Victoria Dominguez, Tina Lockwood (who retired from bodybuilding a while back), Colette Guimond, Amber DeLuca and scores of others are some of the most beautiful women I’ve ever laid eyes on.

However, this doesn’t mean I find every female bodybuilder attractive.

I hate to say it and sound sexist, but there are some FBBs who do indeed look “gross.” Whether it’s because of veins sticking out of their skin, “masculine” faces caused by an imbalance of hormones, or some other reason, there are some FBBs in this world that don’t even come close to turning me on. While I wholeheartedly reject the notion that female bodybuilders are disgusting because women shouldn’t have muscles, unfortunately (and it hurts me to say this) this is somewhat true for a select few.

Whew. There you go. I said it. Not every muscular woman looks sexy and beautiful. I hope I don’t offend anybody out there!

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, as the old saying goes. Generally speaking, we all have our standards for what we find aesthetically pleasing in a human being. Some folks fit in those categories, and others simply do not. We should try our best not to be judgmental about these sorts of things, but that doesn’t change the fact that some women (and men!) are naturally more beautiful than others.

I have nothing against FBBs whom I don’t find pleasant to look at. They have every right to sculpt their bodies into whatever shape they want. I just don’t need to find it attractive, necessarily.

To each his own, eh?

Sandra Faas is beautiful, regardless of what others might think!

9. A female muscle fetish is misogynist because we’re objectifying a muscular woman.

I’m no feminist scholar, but I’m sure some folks out there might object to us guys with the hots for strong ladies because we’re treating them like sex objects instead of human beings.

This is one misconception that might, unfortunately, have a certain degree of truth. I suppose it’s not a stretch to say that a guy who likes the muscles on a woman is similar to a guy who likes a woman with fake breasts, artificially tanned skin and excessive Botox treatments. We like what we see instead of who she is as a person.

If we lust after a woman because of her looks, does this make us sexist? This is a whole other discussion that I’m not too keen on getting into right now. But here is what I can say with a certain degree of certainty: Guys who like muscular women probably aren’t typically going to be the sexist, misogynist pigs you see on Mad Men.

I say this because I think the hatred of female bodybuilders is more fueled by sexism than the love for female bodybuilders. While objectification under any circumstances is unacceptable, I’m willing to bet if there is a group of straight men out there who is less likely to be against a woman demonstrating her independence and bodily freedom, it would be guys with a female muscle fetish.

Personally, I think it’s awesome there are women out there who could care less about what society says and choose to pursue bodybuilding regardless. I’m all for someone striving to be the best they can be at what they do. The beauty about bodybuilding is that it’s a sport where, ultimately, you’re competing against yourself more so than against other people.

Think of it this way: Us guys who like strong ladies do so because we like the way they look. Fine. But there’s a hidden layer underneath this. We also like their will, tenacity and dedication to looking the way they do. Lots of guys are scared and intimated by a woman who’s not afraid to break stereotypes.

Guys like me aren’t.

The peerless Kim Chizevsky could care less if you think muscles aren't sexy on a woman. You go girl! Keep pumping those biceps! — The peerless Kim Chizevsky could care less if you think muscles aren’t sexy on a woman. You go girl! Keep pumping those biceps!

10. A female muscle fetish is rare.

My last point is another point that might be partly true. It’s very hard to say how many guys are actually attracted to muscular women. It is fair to say that the number of guys who are open about their attraction to muscular women is rare. I’ll give you that.

But how many guys (like myself) keep their love for strong lassies a secret? As we all know, it’s a taboo to openly admit this, so this could explain why we think it’s so rare. But is it actually more prevalent but kept underground because of the stigma attached to it?

Anything that’s considered “weird” ceases to become weird once it becomes more popular. I could list a million things that fit into this category. But as much as I love female muscle, I’d be very hesitant to openly admit this fetish in casual conversation with my friends. Complete strangers on the Internet? No problem! My best friends? Uh, no.

So is a female muscle fetish rare? Maybe, maybe not. I’m in no position to say either yay or nay.

But maybe it isn’t. Maybe there are a lot of men out there who wouldn’t hesitate to confess that a woman with muscles is way more sexy than a woman with a bony body if it weren’t so “strange.” Maybe the more we see muscular woman in public, the more willing guys would be to whisper to their buddies, “Hey, she’s pretty hot. And strong, too!”

Maybe, and bear with me here, if more guys admitted to liking a girl with a little bulk, more women would abandon ridiculous fad diets and do more bench presses. Starve yourself to get skinny? Screw that! Go to the gym instead and LIFT to your heart’s delight! If we want to see more women in the weight room, all we simply need to do is encourage them. Hmmmmm…

Is strong the new skinny? We can only hope so.

Or, at least, I can only hope so.