Tag: sexy

Kathy Connors: A Devilishly Sexy Muscle Siren

Kathy Connors showing off her gorgeous legs.
Kathy Connors showing off her gorgeous legs.

As far as female bodybuilders go, Kathy Connors isn’t for everyone. She isn’t traditionally beautiful, nor is she especially “feminine” in the mainstream sense of the word.

But for those who “get” Kathy’s appeal, one cannot help but be captivated by her unrepentant sexiness. Miss Connors may not carry the crossover appeal of ladies like Larissa Reis or Minna Pajulahti, but she doesn’t have to. Kathy is remarkable for many reasons; but one reason in particular that stands out is the way she’s forged her own path toward becoming a superstar within a very specific subculture.

Definitive biographical information is difficult to find, so here it goes: Kathy Connors was born on April 3, 1960 in Buffalo, New York. She began working out in 1980 at the tender age of 20 and competed in her first show a year later in 1981. She describes herself as being interested in gourmet cooking, biking riding, skiing, scuba diving, travelling, learning foreign languages, and exploring other cultures. She currently resides in New York City.

Her contest history includes the following, though this is probably not a comprehensive list:

1989 NE Florida – 1st Light & Overall

1990 East Coast – 1st Light & Overall & Mixed Pairs

1990 Southern USA – 1st Light & Overall

1990 Jr. Nationals – 2nd Light

1991 Team USA vs. USSR Exhibition

1992 Florida State – 1st Middle

1992 USA – 3rd Middle

1992 Jr. Nationals – 3rd Middle

1993 Nationals – 10th Middle

1996 NE USA – 2nd Middle

1997 Jr. USA – 1st Middle & Overall

1998 Nationals – 10th Middle

1999 Nationals – 6th Middle

2001 Florida State Championships – 1st Middleweight

2001 Nationals – 7th Middleweight

2002 USA Championships – 13th Middleweight

2003 USA Championships – 12th Middleweight

2003 Southern States – 2nd Heavyweight

2004 North American Championships – 8th Lightheavy

2006 North American Championships – 7th Lightheavy

2007 Florida State – Heavyweight and Overall Champion

2008 North American Championships – 9th Heavyweight

2008 Masters Nationals Heavyweight – Over 45 1st place

2008 Masters Nationals Heavyweight – Over 35 2nd place

2008 USA Championships Heavyweight – 7th place

2012 Teen, Collegiate, and Masters Nationals – 5th

Kathy is a rare breed who has enjoyed success in three different professional ventures: bodybuilding, powerlifting, and adult entertainment. Obviously, the latter is where the most amount of stigma exists. Doing porn, regardless of who you are or what kind you participate in, will cause people to look at you differently. Fairly or unfairly, pornography is still a taboo subject in our society, and those who produce pornographic materials are also by extension considered taboo.

Bodybuilding and powerlifting are also somewhat unusual professions, but they’re obviously not offensive to large swaths of society. Porn is.

I’ve heard that the porn stigma exists even within the bodybuilding industry, an assertion that may or may not be accurate. I’m sure it does to an extent, but I’m also sure there are plenty of people and decision-makers within the industry who either look the other way when a prominent athlete participates in adult films or doesn’t care one iota. Or maybe I’m completely wrong about this. Who knows?

Kathy can definitely sport a sexy black cocktail dress.
Kathy can definitely sport a sexy black cocktail dress.

Regardless, balancing all of these endeavors is a challenge that not too many of us are equipped to handle. And not just attempt to do, but to do well. Kathy Connors may not be a superstar at any of these occupations, but she’s without question respectably accomplished with no reason to hang her head in shame.

Kathy is, as I alluded to before, not for everyone. I mean absolutely no disrespect when I say this, but she doesn’t have a pretty face. I wouldn’t say she’s ugly, but on a scale of 1 to 10 – 1 being Danny DeVito and 10 being Monica Bellucci – Kathy is probably somewhere in the 2-3 range. Yikes. Not impressive at all, if you ask me. But nothing to be ashamed about either.

However, part of that is what makes her so damn charming. Kathy isn’t blessed with a naturally beautiful face, but she’s still sexier than most women half her age. She’s reinvented herself to become an irresistible sex kitten through sheer willpower, strategic thinking, and business savvy.

In her adult-themed videos, Kathy usually takes on the persona of a pseudo-dominatrix who is tough, naughty, and takes no prisoners. She physically dominates her co-stars (male and female) but doesn’t abuse them in any unreasonable manner. Her shtick is to showcase her sexiness through power dynamics. She’s in charge…but doesn’t forget to please the people she’s lording over. She’ll show off her muscles in proud fashion…and will use it to get her co-stars off.

Whether she’s squeezing a man’s penis between her flexed biceps or allowing her male co-star to ejaculate all over her chiseled torso, Wild Kat (her online alias, for what it’s worth) will allow others to experience pleasure in exchange for the opportunity to show off her power and authority. She dominates not in a self-absorbed sort of way but rather in an altruistic fetishistic way. For Kathy, power is the ultimate aphrodisiac…when it’s used properly, that is.

So she’s not authoritative in the scary sense. She means no harm. At the end of the day, she wants everyone to be happy and go home with a big fat smile on their face. There’s a lot to be said for that.

Speaking of which, when watching her in action, one cannot help but notice her deep sultry voice.

Indeed, her voice is what makes her a sexy siren. In Greek mythology, Sirens were creatures who took human female form (sometimes bird form, depending on which version of the myth you buy into) and lured male sailors to their death through enchanting music and singing. A sexy body is one thing, but a sexy voice is quite another. The Sirens that Odysseus encountered in Homer’s The Odyssey were merciless beings who would not hesitate to devour whichever helpless victims were to pass them by. I don’t think Kathy is quite that devious, but her sexy hot voice is enough to lead me into certain death.

Yet another leg shot.
Yet another leg shot.

Her irresistible velvety voice is one of her best features. I could listen to her recite the phonebook for several hours and never get tired of it. Seriously, though. Miss Connors’ voice is unique for being unbelievably deep without sounding masculine at all. A remarkable feat, considering the negative stereotype pertaining to the idea that the sport of bodybuilding magically turns women into men. There’s not a single shred of evidence that this is even remotely true, but that’s a whole other story for another day.

Kathy should know that her voice is one of her biggest selling points. In addition to her muscles, Kathy’s speaking voice is enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up straight. If it doesn’t do that, then you must be either hard of hearing or totally immune to her unique vocal charms. As rich as butter and as refined as fine wine, Kathy’s voice resonates deeply throughout her environment. She can make the ground shake with her rumbling vocal chords. Her dulcet tones are both surprisingly soothing and undeniably erotic. That’s a winning combination that’s hard to replicate.

Obviously, taking hormones will do that to her voice. That’s shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone. Her “natural” voice sounds much different. But as things stand now, Kathy Connors can verbally seduce a man – or more specifically, me – in a way that makes Kathleen Turner seem like an amateur.

When looked at from afar, Kathy Connors possesses three distinct features:

  1. A homely face
  2. A deep, traditionally unfeminine voice
  3. Big muscles

How on Earth can a woman with these characteristics be considered tantalizingly sexy? It doesn’t make any sense. It defies all social norms. It goes against our conventional definitions of “beauty” and rules of sexual attraction. Even many female muscle fans prefer an unambiguously feminine woman with a traditionally pretty face. So what kind of person is attracted to a woman that even the most sympathetic female muscle fan finds hard to appreciate?

The answer to that question is simple: She’s confident in who she is and won’t apologize for being who she is.

Compared to Deidre Pagnanelli, Kathy has almost zero crossover appeal. Deidre has the gorgeous good looks of a supermodel and just enough bulk to put her in the “muscle chick” category. For hardcore female muscle lovers, Deidre might not be big enough, but at the very least they can appreciate her divine beauty and unique ability to capture the attention of “female muscle skeptics” across the globe. Kathy isn’t necessarily the epitome of every single negative stereotype associated with female bodybuilders (Nicole Bass and Maryse Manios come closer to that categorization), but she’s certainly not someone who can convert a non-believer into a believer overnight.

Yet, Kathy Connors has found a niche and is willing to exploit that niche to the best of her abilities. There’s a lot to admire about that. Kathy knows she doesn’t appeal to hundreds of millions of people. But she knows she doesn’t have to in order to be successful at what she does. She only needs a few thousand fans who are endlessly devoted to her and “get” her appeal. I am obviously one of those folks. I find her alluring, even though I completely understand why others might not feel the same way. Nor do I expect everyone else to feel the same way.

Kathy understands that if you’re willing to watch videos of her in action or to look at photos of her, then you must be already on her side. Therefore, she doesn’t feel the need to “earn” your interest. She already has it! And she’ll do whatever she can to keep your interest indefinitely.

She can even sport a bikini!
She can even sport a bikini!

One other aspect that cannot be ignored is the “forbidden” nature of Kathy’s aura. As I mentioned earlier, Kathy isn’t a woman tons of guys (and gals) would normally be enchanted by. She’s not very pretty, nor is she conventionally feminine. We’re not “supposed” to like her. But we do! That sort of goes for most muscular women in this world, but Kathy is a rare exception in that even amongst already-converted female muscle fans, she isn’t considered the most popular FBB in existence. Thus, there’s the Forbidden Fruit element attached to Kathy’s identity.

We’re not supposed to admit that we’re attracted to Kathy Connors. But we are. We’re perhaps a bit ashamed to feel this way. We know it’s strange. We know we’re not supposed to be mesmerized by her. But we are regardless of what out gut tells us. Indeed, Kathy is a Forbidden Fruit. In the deepest recesses of our hearts, we know that we’d rather make love to her than Chrissy Teigen or Margot Robbie. We know the vast majority of society would tell us that we’re nuts. Our friends and family would look at us funny and probably would never look at us the same way. But that doesn’t stop us from feeling that way. Not at all.

Do I personally find Kathy Connors more desirable than Miss Teigen or Miss Robbie, two women whom no one would bat an eyelash if I said I’d love to ravish them all night if I could?

To be honest, yes.

Yup, you read that right.

Although, I’d choose Kathy 8 times out of 10 and choose the other two ladies the remaining two times. But that’s just silliness. Kathy is the Forbidden Fruit sitting next to a cornucopia of hundreds of other pieces of delicious fruit. I can easily choose the others with no judgement from my peers. Yet, I choose the one piece that will cause the largest number of people to raise their eyebrows at me. My head tells me to go with the supermodel or the Hollywood starlet. But my heart tells me to go with the plain-looking middle aged female bodybuilder with a masculine sounding voice.

Wow. How devious is Kathy? Think about it. It’s as though she puts herself out there and says to the world: I dare you to look at me with lustful eyes! I dare you to jerk off to me when you’re all alone and no one else is watching. I dare you to fantasize about me instead of any of the hussies half my age prancing around in their underwear on Instagram!

It’s almost like she’s playing a mind game on us. It’s psychological warfare conducted by an adversary whom you cannot stop thinking about. Kathy is so bold she considers it an act of defiance to strut around naked and show off her gigantic clit for the camera. She loves to talk to her audience and reveal her deep masculine voice to the public at large. She refuses to stay silent. She refuses to put on a hyper-feminine character that would help her reach a more massive viewership. She wants to be the anti-Margot Robbie who defies our traditional notions of beauty, youthfulness, and sex appeal.

Damn girl.
Damn girl.

When we daydream about banging a hot chick in a back alley somewhere, Kathy wants us to fantasize about her being that hot chick instead of anyone else. She wants us to question our sense of “normalcy.” It’s not normal for a guy or gal to dream about having sex with a buff 56-year-old woman with an unattractive face and a man-like voice. Yet for many of us, that’s exactly what we do in the privacy of our own minds. Kathy has us in the palm of her hand and refuses to let us go.

Her defiance is what we love about her. She isn’t the type of woman who “should” do porn. Most women her age would be scared to death to expose their aging bodies like that in such a vulnerable manner. But she does. Most women who are insecure with their looks wouldn’t dream of allowing a camera to zoom in closely on their wrinkle-covered face while they masturbate, which is an act of extreme intimacy. But Kathy does. Not only does she dare to do such a thing, she challenges you to look away, knowing full well that you won’t.

Kathy doesn’t give a fuck that the crow’s feet around her eyes accentuates when she smiles for the camera. She also doesn’t give a rat’s ass when her booming voice causes your computer speakers to rumble like an earthquake. She doesn’t care about these things because she knows that if you’re willing to make it this far, then you’re willing to accept whatever she’s going to present to you.

This is why Kathy Connors is a devilishly sexy muscle siren. She’s someone we’re not supposed to like, but we do anyway. She has incredible assets, even though those assets aren’t appreciated by the vast majority of our culture. She won’t ever have mainstream appeal, but she doesn’t need it in order to thrive. She’s a muscle woman who understands why guys like me love her to death. She doesn’t care if out of one hundred people only three truly dig her. She’s going to stare deeply into the eyes of those three saps and jerk them off until they ejaculate all over her hard biceps, while the 97 others struggle to look away in utter disgust.

Kathy Connors is a rebel. She’s fiercely defiant and proudly unapologetic about who she is. To reiterate the opening line of this article, she isn’t for everyone. But she doesn’t need to be. She’s a grotesque muscle bitch who will dominate you both physically and psychologically. She refuses to hide anything about herself. She, in a metaphorical sense, stands in front of the entire Universe and gives everyone the middle finger while sticking her other middle finger inside her vagina and masturbates until she comes all over herself.

Kathy doing what she does best: looking irresistible.
Kathy doing what she does best: looking irresistible.

She rebelliously shoves a camera right in front of her ugly face, deep wrinkles, big muscles, enlarged clit, and masculine voice and says “fuck you” to anyone who dares to look the other way. If you do look away, she won’t hesitate to grab you by the balls and squeeze until you cry for mercy. Even then, she might not actually give you mercy. Or she’ll torture you until you squirt hot semen all over her maligned face while she dares you to call her “pretty.”

If you do tell her that she’s “pretty,” she might relieve you from your pain. Or she might continue to torment you because you failed the test: You aren’t supposed to call her pretty. You’re supposed to acknowledge that she’s hideous. You failed because you aren’t turned on by her. But once you are, then you’re good to go. You finally “get it” now.

Kathy Connors might be an ugly muscle bitch, but she’s the Biggest and Baddest Muscle Bitch of All Time Who Deserves Our Undying Respect. If you mess with her, she’ll fuck your shit up and laugh as she watches you crawl away in defeat.

Yowza! The Biggest and Baddest Muscle Bitch of All Time Who Deserves Our Undying Respect?

You know what? I get the feeling that’s exactly how she wants us to describe her.

All I Want for Christmas is My Own Female Bodybuilder

All I want for Christmas is Dena Westerfield!
All I want for Christmas is Dena Westerfield!

They say the holidays can be a miserable time for people who’ve recently lost loved ones or are experiencing broken relationships. For the first time in his life, Darren can empathize with this. It’s been almost three months since he and his wife decided to separate. But the pain is no less fervent today than it was when it was happening.

Thankfully, Darren’s two children are spending the Christmas weekend with him together. Tonight, they saw a performance of “The Nutcracker” by a travelling ballet company. It was marvelous. His youngest, 8-year-old Heather, fell asleep during the last hour of the performance. His oldest, 12-year-old Marcus, stayed remarkably captivated the entire time.

Who knew he’d become an enlightened patron of the arts?

Clearly, he takes after his mother.

The thought of their mother, a smart and strong-willed woman whom he met in college, spending the holidays away from her family elicits melancholy feelings inside Darren’s mind. The kids haven’t quite adjusted to the “new normal” yet. Neither has he. But as their father, he must remain resilient in the face of emotional chaos. He’s trying his best, but he knows it’s not going to be easy.

With the time nearing 10:30 in the evening, Darren, Marcus, and Heather quickly stroll back to their car in the hopes they can make it home in time for “A Charlie Brown Christmas” to air for the third or fourth time that day. But as they leave the performing arts theatre, Darren spots out of the corner of his eye a large water fountain.

“Wow, will you look at that! Isn’t that something?” Darren remarks aloud.

“Dad, can we just get home? Charlie Brown is on at 11!” Marcus pleads.

Darren reaches into his pocket and takes out a shiny new quarter. He looks at it and thinks to himself whether he should make a wish or not. He decides he should. Heather is a few hundred paces away marveling at an impressive toy train set that apparently won first prize at the city-wide Christmas decorating contest.

“Just a moment. I want to do one simple thing before we go.” Darren approaches the fountain. It’s more than twenty feet tall and features two dancing angels at top. Beethoven’s 9th Symphony plays softly in the background. Occasionally, the fountain lights up and spews ice cold water thirty feet into the air. Impressive, indeed.

Coins in a fountain.
Coins in a fountain.

“What should I wish for?” Darren quietly asks himself. Wanting to get his mind off of his impending divorce, he thinks back to his days as a teenager ogling pictures of fitness women in bodybuilding magazines. He looks around to make sure his son and daughter (not to mention complete strangers who happen to be passing by) are not within earshot. They are not. So he places the quarter between his index finger and thumb and declares out loud:

“All I want for Christmas…is my own female bodybuilder!”

Marcus watches this unusual ceremony from a distance. He sees his father toss the quarter into the water, which makes a distinct plopping sound. Satisfied, Darren turns around and walks toward the parking lot.

“Alright, let’s get going! Charlie Brown is on in twenty-five minutes!”

“Woo hoo!” Heather cheers as she runs toward their minivan.

An hour later, Darren tucks his kids into bed and pours himself a glass of chardonnay. It’s Christmas Eve, which means tomorrow morning will be the day they enthusiastically open presents. He tries not to think about what the experience will be like with Samantha not in the picture. Oh well. That’s something for all of us to discover together, whether we like it or not.

Darren drains the wine, walks upstairs, takes a quick shower, and hops into bed.

At the stroke of 1:00 in the morning, Darren suddenly awakens. There is no sound, crash, or flash of lightning that prompts him to break from his peaceful slumber. But for whatever reason, he senses there’s something happening downstairs that needs his attention.

Double trouble: Brandi Mae Akers and Yvette Bova.
Double trouble: Brandi Mae Akers and Yvette Bova.

Does the cat need to be fed? Darren is pretty sure he remembered to put food in Laila’s dish before taking his shower. He peeks into Heather’s bedroom and sees Laila curled up underneath her bed. So that can’t be it! What the heck is going on?

Cautiously, Darren creeps downstairs and finds a baseball bat sitting around his sports-themed man cave. Darren doesn’t like guns, but he understands the importance of protecting his family from harm. Once he gets to the ground floor, he peruses around the kitchen to see if the glass door has been opened. It’s not.

“What the hell am I doing down here? I’m being paranoid…” he mutters.

Just then, Darren hears what sounds like paper rustling in the living room. He glides toward the location of the abrupt noise with the baseball bat perched over his left shoulder. Like a ninja stalking an unsuspecting victim, he switches on the light and looks around the room.

“Hello, darling,” a sensual voice calls out.

It takes a moment for Darren’s eyes to adjust to the light, but when they do he sees a surprising sight that makes him drop the baseball bat to the floor.

Lying on the ground underneath the Christmas tree is a gorgeous naked muscular woman.

“Uh, what the fuck is happening here? Who the hell are you?” Darren demands.

The woman remains on the floor, massaging her enormous calves against a candy cane dangling from a low-hanging tree branch. While shocked that a complete stranger would mysteriously find her way into his house, Darren feels an uncontrollable spark of sexual desire rise up inside him.

Sensually and like a hazy dream, the woman stands up and approaches Darren. Sure enough, she’s as ripped as any woman he’s ever seen. Standing at a modest 5’6”, the woman is covered from head to toe with large bulging muscles. Her chest as wide as a truck, shoulders as broad as a cruise ship, arms as thick as coconuts, and legs as round as watermelons, she’s incredibly muscular but gorgeous and feminine at the same time. Her breasts are flat, but nothing else about her could be described that way. Darren looks down at her clit and nearly suffers cardiac arrest from regarding its sheer size.

“I’m your wish. That’s who I am,” the woman responds.

“My wish?” Darren asks. He’s asking himself this question just as much as he’s asking her.

“Yes. You remember the wish you made at the water fountain? I’m your wish incarnate. I’m not real, but for the next hour I will be as real as chestnuts roasting on an open fire.” The woman sashays around the living room and flexes her gigantic muscles for him. Double biceps. Abs. Side pose. Hamstrings. She then flexes her glutes up and down, prompting Darren to collapse on the couch. What the fuck is this? Is this real?

“What’s your name?” He asks.

“My name is Morgan.”

Darren sits up straight and removes his old high school debate team tee-shirt. Morgan smirks at his impulsive decision to not ask questions and just go with the flow.

“Well, Morgan,” he begins. “Let’s not waste a single moment, shall we?”

He stands up and kisses Morgan on the lips. He reaches down and feels her rock hard body. Morgan squats down and pulls his underwear toward his ankles. As nude as she is, Darren caresses her firm butt as she stands back up. The feeling of her sturdy glutes is enough to wake up his manhood. The Mystery Woman notices this, squats back down, and covers him with her mouth.

May I unwrap Denise Masino now?
May I unwrap Denise Masino now?

“Oh, baby…the things you do to me…”

A gentle snowfall commences outside the comfortable confines of the crispy household. It hasn’t snowed in this area in fifteen years. Yet Darren doesn’t notice this historic feat. He’s too busy feeling up Morgan’s rock hard pecs to give a damn about what’s happening outdoors.

Morgan licks the underside of Darren’s penis as she continues to deep throat him. Not wanting to burst too soon, Darren gently moves his pelvis away from her face and wrestles her to the ground.

“You want to play rough? I can do that!” Morgan declares.

She grabs Darren’s wrists and pins him to the floor. His erect manhood pokes her in the belly. He swears he can feel the tip of his penis brush between the grooves of her six-pack abdomen. A soft moan escapes from his throat. Morgan then wraps her strong arms around him and gives him a powerful bear hug that pushes all the air out of his lungs. Unable to breathe, Morgan interlocks her strong legs around Darren’s legs and squeezes tightly. He struggles to catch his breath but is helplessly distracted by the feeling of her bowling ball calves pressed against his ankles.

“Do you like that?” Morgan asks. Darren mumbles something unintelligible. “Sorry, what was that? I can’t hear you!”

Morgan cackles and mercifully releases Darren from her oppressive embrace. She carelessly tosses him to the side like a rag doll and sits up against the couch. Darren rolls around for a bit and tries to catch his breath. He smiles and immediately stands up and picks her up off the floor.

“My turn to be in charge!”

A much stronger fellow than you’d expect, Darren slings Morgan over his right shoulder and slaps her on the butt. Her muscular glutes jiggle wildly in response. Morgan giggles in return.

Never in his life has Darren ever carried a woman who weighs so much. It’s definitely true that muscle weighs more than fat! He walks over to the far side of the living room and lays her down on top of a fluffy white shag rug. Morgan doesn’t resist. He wants to be on top and to end this the right way. Darren smooths his hands over Morgan’s tree trunk thighs and admires her gorgeous muscular physique.

“Oh my God. So beautiful. You’re huge and strong and absolutely gorgeous,” he says. Morgan suggestively opens her legs out wide and exposes her freakishly large clitoris. Darren gasps and nearly falls backward. Even though he’s seen it before, the shock of seeing it again doesn’t change his reaction one bit.

“Holy shit. It’s so big. So damn big.”

Morgan pinches her engorged endowment with her fingers and strokes it up and down. Initial waves of pleasure sweep through her body. Darren has moved on to caressing her calves but has not stopped staring at her enormous clit. Is it possible for a woman’s clit to get that large?

“Enough of this. Go ahead. Take a closer look!” Morgan stops stroking herself and enjoys the feeling of the soft rug tickling her hard leathery skin. Taking the hint, Darren gets down on his belly and inspects her impossibly large clit. Resembling a very little penis, Darren licks the sensitive head with a soft flick of his tongue. Morgan lets out an audible moan.

Tina Nguyen in triplicate.
Tina Nguyen in triplicate.

Empowered to go further, Darren encloses his lips around her erect shaft and sucks with delight. Morgan pinches her own nipples to enhance her experience. Her eyes closed, she wiggles on the floor with delight as Darren orally please her. Darren, meanwhile, doesn’t care if his kids can hear them fooling around next to the Christmas tree. As far as he’s concerned, Christmas has come early, no pun intended.

“Oooooohhhhhh, that’s it baby. That’s the way mama likes it…”

He knows she’s close by the sudden jerking of her pelvis. But he doesn’t stop and relentlessly presses his lips securely around her clit as he moves his head back and forth.

“Fuuuuuuccckkkkkkk!” Morgan screams at the top of her lungs.

Morgan comes, shockwaves of pleasure screaming throughout her entire body. She groans and keeps her eyes closed. Darren’s mouth is exhausted but he doesn’t relent until she stops writhing.

A brief moment later, Morgan opens her eyes and attacks Darren’s mouth by kissing him deeper than he’s ever been kissed before. She can taste her own juices dripping from his upper lip. Darren’s erection is now resting on top of Morgan’s left kneecap. She pushes her tongue inside his mouth and invades him. He counters by wrestling his tongue against hers. Having regained her concentration, Morgan pushes Darren backward and jumps on top of him.

“You just pleased me, now I’m going to please you.” Not complaining one bit, Darren lifts up her small breasts and lightly pinches her erect nipples. Methodically, Morgan lowers herself over his erection and allows him to penetrate her. Now, it’s Darren’s turn to moan. Like a cowgirl riding her prized stallion, Morgan bounces up and down with reckless abandon. Darren wants to keep his eyes focused on her pretty face but cannot. He shuts his eyelids tightly as she rides him with delight.

The snowfall outside is still going strong, even though Darren senses he won’t last nearly as long. Morgan deliberately moves up and down him by positioning her strong legs in a power squat stance. He knows he’s going to come. She also knows that she’s about to come again.

“Merry Christmas, darling,” Morgan whispers to the Heavens.

“Ahhh, yeah!” Darren groans and empties himself into her. Morgan climaxes for the second time and rides him until her orgasm subsides completely. She falls on top of him and listens to his heart beating rapidly. Darren licks her bicep peak. She flexes to make sure it gets as hard as humanly possible. He removes his limp penis from her vagina and kisses her chest. Before he could suck on her nipples, Darren hears footsteps coming down the stairs.

Who wouldn't want to find a gorgeous female bodybuilder underneath your Christmas tree?
Who wouldn’t want to find a gorgeous female bodybuilder underneath your Christmas tree?

“Oh no!” Darren looks up to see if his two kids have been woken up by their noisy coupling and are rushing downstairs to investigate. But Morgan puts a stop to that nonsense and turns his head toward her face. She looks deeply into his eyes and kisses him on the cheek.

“It’s time to open presents,” she says. Suddenly, Darren wakes up and finds Heather, Marcus, and the cat jumping on his bed. He looks at his bedside clock and sees the time is 8:45 in the morning.

“Daddy! I said it’s time to open presents! Come on!” Heather leaps from the bed and races downstairs toward the Christmas tree. Marcus and the feline follow suit. Darren, groggy and still sleepy, sits up and looks out the window. Much to his surprise, he sees a remarkably burly woman dressed in a winter parka approaching his doorstep.

Darren gets out of bed and takes a closer look out the window. He wipes the fog on the glass with his sleeve. His eyes almost pop out of his skull once he realizes who it is.

“Oh my God!”

The unexpected visitor strikes an uncanny resemblance to the mysteriously sexy Morgan character from his dream. As if knowing she was being watched from above, she peers up, smiles at him, and knocks on the door.

Karen Zaremba: My Sentimental Favorite

Hand bras are the worst!
Hand bras are the worst!

Every female muscle fan has “the one” who truly made them see the light. It’s not necessarily the first muscular woman they ever saw or the one they would consider to be their favorite. Personally, the first FBB I ever noticed was Lisa Marie Bickels, a former U.S. Marine who caught my attention more than ten years ago during my college years.

My current favorite is Denise Masino, a devilishly sexy siren with an endowment between her legs that can only be described as scrumptious. Miss Bickels isn’t close to being a favorite of mine and Miss Masino is someone I discovered later on. Thus, the subject of the woman who played a crucial role in my “female muscle awakening” is none other than Karen Zaremba.

Karen Zaremba was born on January 27, 1964 in Detroit, Michigan. Back then, Detroit was deserving of its nickname of The Motor City and the breeding ground of some of the most recognizable names in American pop music (Motown, anyone?). Today, Detroit resembles a Third World country, but that’s another story for another day. On that fateful day in the heartland of America, the world was introduced to a gorgeous young lass who would one day grow up to become one of the sexiest female bodybuilders the Universe has ever known.

Today, Karen resides in Clinton Township, which is less than 30 miles north of her birth town. So Karen didn’t scurry too far from the crib, as it were. I suppose there’s no reason why one should move far away from home unless there were extenuating circumstances. If you like where you live, why not stay there? Karen and her family obviously feel this way.

Like many beautiful female bodybuilders, Karen is the mother of two children and is happily married. Evidently, she never had any problem balancing her work/home life with her chosen profession of being a competitive bodybuilder and fitness model. Standing at a modest 5”2” and weighing 124 pounds (give or take), she describes herself as a “stay-at-home Mom” when she isn’t working in the fitness industry. Of course, many of the interviews that I’ve used to curate this information are several years old, so take this with a grain of salt.

Love those abs!
Love those abs!

From what I can gather, Karen no longer competes and probably doesn’t participate in bodybuilding anymore. Like many FBBs, details about their personal lives are scant, making it a challenge to paint a complete picture of what she’s like. I am confident that whatever she’s doing now, she’s probably happy with her life and wouldn’t want things to be any other way.

Her contest history is as follows:

2007 – Europa Super Show: 8th place, Lightweight

2006 – IFBB Motor City Pro Figure: 16th place

2006 – IFBB Pittsburgh Pro Figure: 16th place

2005 – NPC National Figure Championships: 2nd place, Class A (earned her IFBB pro card)

2005 – Junior Nationals: 3rd place, Class A

2005 – Junior USA: 3rd place, Class A

2004 – Central States Figure championships: Short Class, Masters and Overall Winner

2003 – Michigan Novice Bodybuilding championships: Lightweight, Masters and Overall Winner

Of course, this might not reflect her full contest history, but my quick bit of Internet research reveals that this is pretty comprehensive. If you know of any further contests that Karen has participated in, please do not hesitate to let me know in the comments below.

As one can clearly see, her contest history isn’t remarkable or noteworthy. Pretty standard for someone who loves to compete but isn’t too committed to becoming an elite competitor. This is not meant to be a slight against her. This is just to say that when she was a competitive bodybuilder, she wasn’t someone you would have associated as being the best of the best.

Poetry in motion.
Poetry in motion.

She came, she saw, she…participated. Her accomplishments are as modest as her objectives. She didn’t aim to be better than everybody else; she just wanted to see what she could do. Many competitors (both male and female) are not necessarily “in it to win it.” Many are in it for no other reason than to have fun, challenge one’s self, and meet new people while trying new things.

That’s an attitude we need to see more in our world.

But that’s not why she’s a sentimental favorite of mine. I discovered Karen in 2005 or 2006, so in other words a solid decade ago. Back then, I would have been 18 or 19 and Karen would’ve been 41 or 42. Think it’s unusual for a boy in his late teens to completely fall in love with a woman who’s more than twice his age? A woman who is nearly old enough to be his own mother? I certainly thought so at the time, but I didn’t think there was anything wrong or abnormal about it.

Why was there nothing unusual about this? Well, have you taken a good look at her?

Yowza!

Karen is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. She has an authentic look to her that’s difficult to explain but easy to see. Her dark hair is beautifully complemented by her olive complexion, a skin tone that perfectly accentuates her muscles. She’s legendary for her six-pack abdomen, which she is not shy about showing off to the camera. I briefly went through a stage of having a six-pack fetish. Can you possibly guess why?

Facially, she doesn’t look like a cookie-cutter Playboy Playmate or a nameless fashion model you see plastered across shopping mall corridors. It’s too clichéd to say she looks like the “girl next door” or the “hot mom next door,” but it’s sort of true!

What initially struck me about Karen, and it still strikes me today, is how effortlessly sexy she is. When she walks, her hips poetically bounce in a way that can make your heart stop. She’s very feminine, so much so you forget that all those negative stereotypes about female bodybuilders even exist. Of course, she’s a mother – which allows her to be called a certain idiotic acronym that I refuse to mention on this blog. Personally, I find muscle moms appealing, but there are certain misogynistic levels I refuse to lower myself to.

Baby got back!
Baby got back!

Perhaps that’s at the root of my attraction to Karen Zaremba. She’s a muscular woman who transcends the “muscle chick” fetish. She isn’t just “beautiful for a female bodybuilder,” she’s “beautiful…period, end of story.” Karen forced me to view muscular women through a different lens. No longer were all FBBs big, oversized masculinized “women” who’ve vehemently rejected traditional femininity and womanhood. I may not have felt exactly that way toward FBBs at the time, but my worldview was limited during those years. Karen encouraged me to expand my horizons.

Then, the floodgates opened. I discovered Annie Rivieccio. Then Lisa Cross. Then Alina Popa, followed by Yvette Bova and Denise Masino and Deidre Pagnanelli. I found out about Michelle Maroldo and Denise Hoshor. And Brandi Mae Akers. Of course, Victoria Dominguez. And other women like Nikki Fuller, Debi Laszewski, Sondra Faas, Marina Lopez, Catherine Holland, Emery Miller, Gayle Moher, Lauren Powers, Shawn Tan, Julie Germaine, and newcomers like Shannon Courtney, Minna Pajulahti, Dani Reardon, and Sheronica Sade Henton. There are many more to name. We could go on for hours. I’m still discovering new beautiful ladies seemingly every single day.

But I never forgot my roots, as the saying goes. Karen Zaremba remains on the front of my mind and tucked away snuggly in my heart. She isn’t just one of my first discoveries…she remains one of the best and brightest. I have the feeling I’m going to feel the same way regardless of how many additional tens of thousands of muscular women I’m introduced to in the future.

But let’s return to Karen’s effortless sexiness. It cannot be understated. Karen doesn’t walk; she glides. She doesn’t smile; she glows. She doesn’t pose; she radiates. She doesn’t flex; she blossoms. She doesn’t impress; she transcends. She doesn’t compete as a bodybuilder; she elevates the ceiling of human potential. She isn’t just beautiful; she’s ethereal and magnanimous. Karen Zaremba exceeds your expectations yet doesn’t seem to be trying to do anything other than being herself.

That takes more than talent. That takes a flawless combination of natural gifts, determination, hard work, and instincts. No one can teach you how to be as angelic as Karen. Nor could she necessarily teach others the ropes. Some of us are more radiant and charismatic than others for reasons that cannot be rationally explained or easily transferrable.

Karen's skin tone is the best.
Karen’s skin tone is the best.

Perhaps part of her appeal is her laidback Midwestern demeanor. Karen doesn’t boast the flashiness of an entitled California-bred pseudo-celebrity. Nor is she a snooty East Coaster who treats bodybuilding as her ticket to Broadway-style stardom. I am, of course, exaggerating and wildly stereotyping millions of people in the United States (which is trendy in the year 2016), but what cannot be denied is the refreshing authenticity that Karen brings to the table.

She doesn’t post selfies every single day on Instagram. In fact, I don’t think Miss Zaremba even has an Instagram account. When you research her, you don’t actually find a whole lot. This adds to her mystique. Because thousands of photos and hundreds of hours of video footage of Karen don’t exist, we can only witness a small slice of who she is. This allows us to fill in the blanks wherever we see fit.

So I can speculate that she’s modest, down-to-earth, and full of “small town charm” because…well, I feel like it. Is this based on extensive knowledge of her personality, lifestyle, and background? Nope! Our idealized version of people is what fuels our love for celebrities.

Karen Zaremba may not be a traditional celebrity, but in my heart she’s a glamorous superstar.

She comes across as a super chill lady who will just as likely bake you a batch of gingerbread cookies as she is to rapidly do 25 pullups as if it were no big deal. She’s a mom and she loves being a mom. She once was a muscular woman who also doesn’t mind being a loving wife and someone who would enthusiastically serve on her local PTA board. Once again, this is based on nothing but what exists in my imagination. But doesn’t this seem plausible?

For her, bodybuilding isn’t her life’s calling or integral to her business model. Doesn’t it seem like for Karen being a bodybuilder was a “neat” thing to do? She wasn’t in it for the money, the glitz, or the fame. She didn’t “brand” herself as a bad girl or a sexy muscle siren or feminist superhero. She just let herself be herself. She’s a mom, a wife, and a friendly neighbor who thinks having big muscles would be nifty. You rarely see that level of unpretentiousness in today’s narcissistic culture.

In other words, Karen never wanted to be a celebrity – even among the small subculture of female muscle fans. Having big muscles wasn’t her way of feeding her ego. It was her way of experiencing self-empowerment. All she wanted to be was the best version of herself. For me, that’s all I need.

Karen left just enough to the imagination...yet revealed enough to let us know what she got. Such a tease!
Karen left just enough to the imagination…yet revealed enough to let us know what she got. Such a tease!

Just as any baseball or football player must eventually call it a career and “hang up the cleats,” Karen has now decided to forgo her muscles and become “normal-looking” again. I have no doubt that Karen still exercises to keep herself fit and trim, but from what I can gather (and she prefers to keep her personal life private, which is her right) she’s allowed her muscles to shrink. She’s now a former bodybuilder. She’s now a regular lady you see shopping for groceries at the supermarket on a quiet Tuesday afternoon. This isn’t disappointing or regrettable. She can do whatever she wants with her life.

But there is undeniably a small element of sadness at play here. It is a bit melancholy when a gorgeous FBB retires and relinquishes her muscularity. As a sports fan, you never want to see your favorite players withdraw from playing the game they love and ride off into the sunset back to civilian life. But time marches on and not everything lasts forever. There will be plenty of young up-and-coming Karen Zarembas who will take up her mantle. Heck, I’ve referenced many of them on this very blog.

So this is a celebration of a woman who leaves a legacy of making the world a more beautiful place, whether she has big muscles or not. Because of her, we now have stronger faith in the goodness of people and the potential of human achievement. Karen Zaremba never has to “prove” that she is gorgeous. She just is. She never hogs the spotlight and demands that people look at her. We look at her because we cannot help but look at her. That takes something special.

As an 18-year-old kid Karen made my heart leap out of my chest. She was more than twice my age and rarely ever did any nude modeling. She never did anything pornographic or overly sexual. She kept it classy. She kept things modest. You’ll never find a video of her sucking a porn star’s penis or masturbating with an oversized dildo. She never had to do any of those things to capture my attention, even all these years later.

She just had to be herself. And that was enough. And it still is.

Who is Your Fantasy Female Bodybuilder?

Tall, strong, and beautiful. That's Shawn Tan.
Tall, strong, and beautiful. That’s Shawn Tan.

I present to you a simple question: Who is your fantasy female bodybuilder?

The answer to this question isn’t necessarily your favorite FBB or the one you find to be the most beautiful. It’s the one you fantasize about the most often – whether you consciously choose to or not. Sometimes daydreams (especially of the erotic variety) have a way of popping into your head without you knowing it, you know what I mean?

So let’s provide a hypothetical scenario that you should consider for kicks and giggles:

You have a whole evening to spend with the female bodybuilder of your dreams. From 6:00 p.m. to 6:00 a.m. the next morning, you have twelve consecutive hours to spend with her. You can do whatever you want with her. Nothing is off limits. Of course, in this dream scenario she’s an enthusiastically willing participant. So you don’t have to worry about trying to impress her or capture her attention. You’ve already established that beforehand!

You can spend the evening doing whatever strikes your fancy. A romantic candlelit dinner complemented by an ice cold bottle of champagne can start the festivities. Or you could attend a concert together. Or the opera. Or an art museum. Or a BDSM dungeon. It doesn’t matter. It’s totally up to you what you do together with her.

Eventually, you’ll want to make love to her. Will it be slow and sensual? Or suave and romantic? Or dirty and kinky? Will it involve rose petals and fine wine? Or handcuffs and whips? Likewise, it’s totally up to your imagination. Anything is possible.

You can spend the whole evening caressing her gorgeous muscular body and making love to her, or you can choose to cuddle and fall asleep like two old lovers. You can be at an idyllic seaside resort, a snowy log cabin in the middle of the woods, or at a luxurious penthouse suite that sits several stories above the city. Or, if you’re into this sort of thing, you can be tied up in a secluded basement somewhere surrounded by hot candlewax, clothespins, and a blindfold.

Regardless of where your imagination takes you, you will enjoy the evening like nothing else had ever existed before it. You will enjoy the pleasure of her company, as will she enjoy yours. But once 6:00 a.m. rolls around, she instantaneously disappears and you are magically transformed back to your normal life – as if nothing had ever happened.

No consequences, no witnesses, no strings attached.

Just you and her. Nobody else. Threesomes may strike your fancy, but for the sake of this hypothetical situation, you can only choose one female bodybuilder to spend the evening with for twelve glorious erotic hours.

So…who do you got?

For me, this is a tough one. There are so many gorgeous female bodybuilders in this world of all shapes, sizes, ethnicities, nationalities, and personalities that it’s way too difficult to choose one I would want to spend an entire evening with. I do know that regardless of who I choose, I’m going to have a swell time!

Instead of telling you up front who I would choose to be my Fantasy Female Bodybuilder, I will tell you my top three in descending order. After all, I don’t want this to be the shortest blog post of all time, so I need something to discuss. So cue the drumroll, please.

Alina Popa, the Undisputed Queen of Female Bodybuilding!
Alina Popa, the Undisputed Queen of Female Bodybuilding!

Second Runner Up: Alina Popa

How strange a world we live in when Alina Popa, The Undisputed Queen of Female Bodybuilding, finishes in third place. But that’s how things operate in my active imagination. I once wrote a blog post saying that Alina Popa is my #1 favorite female bodybuilder of all time. I’m not sure if that’s still how I feel, but I’m a sucker for someone who’s at the top of their game and is currently considered one of the best (if not the best) in her sport.

Alina is one smoking gorgeous woman. She’s huge but still undeniably feminine. Her adorable Romanian accent doesn’t hurt, either! She lives in Lakewood, Colorado right now, which I suppose makes her an honorary American. She might be a U.S. citizen, but I can’t confirm or deny that. Regardless, my home country is richer and better off because Miss Popa resides in it.

What makes Alina great is her impeccable balance between being hypermuscular and strongly feminine. As a Ms. Olympia contestant (she definitely would have won a few had Iris Kyle decided to retire a couple years earlier) Alina possesses an impressive amount of muscle mass. Have you seen her arms? She could probably crush a watermelon with her bare hands if she wanted to.

But she’s also feminine in every sense of the word. Her face is traditionally beautiful and has not developed any unseemly masculine qualities over time. Her voice remains unquestionably lyrical, even though she does speak from a slightly lower register than most other women. She doesn’t seem arrogant, egotistical, or condescending. Then again, I’ve never personally met Alina, so I don’t actually know what she’s like in real life. But I’d imagine she’s a sweet lady with a big heart.

Alina has chosen not to get breast implants, so she allows her chest to remain flat as she enters her peak condition. Personally, I love female bodybuilders who decide to stay “natural.” I don’t judge at all any muscular woman who chooses surgical enhancements (she’s in control of her own body, of course), but I have a soft spot for FBBs who don’t care what society says and proudly lets her breasts shrink as her muscles get bigger and bigger.

As a premiere world-class female bodybuilder, I’d love to just chat with Alina and learn about her life’s journey. How did she get into bodybuilding? What drives her to become an elite-level competitor? What are the biggest challenges she faces on a daily basis? What major obstacles have she had to overcome? What are some obstacles she has yet to conquer? Where do you go from here? Inquiring minds need to know!

A romantic evening, alone with Alina and her flawless body, is just what he doctor would order – assuming my doctor understands what’s good for me. Perhaps in a different universe I would choose Alina to be my #1 Fantasy Female Bodybuilder. But in this concoction of reality, she is only #3, as astonishing as that sounds.

Angela Salvagno isn't for everyone, but she's definitely the gal for me!
Angela Salvagno isn’t for everyone, but she’s definitely the gal for me!

First Runner Up: Angela Salvagno

Angela Salvagno is a rare female bodybuilder who understands why guys love female bodybuilders and is not afraid to maximize her assets for personal gain. My #1 Fantasy Female Bodybuilder is the expert at this endeavor, but we’ll get to her a little later. For now, let’s indulge in Angela’s greatness.

Unlike Alina, Angela isn’t for all tastes. Her raspy voice and unique-looking face (which could be a euphemism for “homely”) doesn’t appeal to everyone. But what I love about Miss Salvagno is her undiluted sexiness and unapologetic way she shows off her beautiful body. She doesn’t try to appeal to a mass audience and instead hones in on her specific targeted audience. In many ways, Angela is an exemplary model of the modern-day female bodybuilder: She accepts she’ll never be mainstream but doesn’t hesitate to appeal just to the people who love her for who she is.

So, who is she exactly? Angela is a woman who revels in her fetishistic allure and proudly showcases what makes her fans love her. She will show off her large clitoris for the camera. She does not hesitate to reveal every inch of her body. She gives us permission to watch her, drool over her, jerk off to her, and fantasize about her. She allows us to fetishize her muscles without apology and without embarrassment. In other words, she wants us to fetishize her!

She knows not everyone will “dig” her look, but she doesn’t care about that. She could give a rat’s ass about people who are disgusted by her. Instead, Angela is just as comfortable sporting a leather-bound dominatrix costume and stroking a comically oversized black dildo as she is masturbating for the camera (and showing us her vulnerable side) while she screams and moans toward another orgasmic climax. She doesn’t pretend that millions of people will watch her do these things because she’s perfectly happy with a few thousand watching her instead.

I’d love to spend an evening with her because she’d know what I’d like to do with her. She can be a “bad girl” or she can just be herself – it all depends on what mood I’m in at the moment. She can be intimidating and authoritative, but in a “wink, wink” kind of way instead of in a frightening sort of way. Angela is super sexy, but in all fairness there are times when her sexiness feels a bit forced. I’m not judging her too harshly for that because I still think she’s jaw-dropping.

An evening with Angela would be an evening with a cool gal who’s strong, confident, savvy, and unafraid to smash the limits that society places onto her. Her personality does seem somewhat artificial in her videos, but I get the feeling she’s sweet and down-to-earth once the cameras aren’t pointed her way. Regardless, how can you possibly not want the opportunity to suck on her gorgeous clit?

Angela’s genitals are gorgeous. Her clit is, like the rest of her body, meaty. There’s a lot of flesh resting between her legs. Who wouldn’t want to taste her essence and experience all she has to offer?

Speaking of big juicy clits…

Denise Masino and her legendary clit. Need I say more?
Denise Masino and her legendary clit. Need I say more?

Winner: Denise Masino

Very predictable, perhaps. But I don’t care. Denise Masino is my favorite female bodybuilder of all time (sorry Alina!) and I would love nothing more than to spend an entire erotic evening with her.

What more can be said about Denise that I haven’t written about before? Well, not much, but I will say this: Denise Masino is everything you want in a female bodybuilder and more.

Her Puerto Rican ancestry gives her an exotic look that’s completely irresistible. She’s beautiful in ways that appeal to fans and non-fans of FBBs alike. She muscular, confident, self-assured, highly intelligent, clever, conscientious, and sexy as hell. She’s feminine but does not allow herself to be put into a box. She can be coy and devilish but at the same moment maintain her dignity and realism. Unlike Angela, Denise’s sex appeal doesn’t feel false at all. She doesn’t need to “act sexy” because she’s naturally sexy just as she is. That’s a rare quality in any kind of person.

Denise isn’t necessarily the most muscular FBB around or the most naturally beautiful. But she doesn’t need to be any of those things. She may not captivate everyone when she walks into a room, but I can guarantee that if you spend any time talking with her about her life, you’ll want to stop whatever you’re doing, toss your wedding ring into a nearby trash can, and hail the next Uber to her hotel room. That’s the power she has over guys like me.

Of course, we must talk about her clit. Like Angela, Denise is well-endowed and is not afraid to prove it at every chance she gets. For that, I am eternally thankful.

There aren’t too many women who are famous for their clitoris, so Denise is in rare company. The “little penis” protruding out between her legs is legendary within the female muscle fan community (at least with this particular member of the female muscle fan community!) for good reason. It’s thick, meaty, juicy, and seemingly always engorged. And what’s best is that she isn’t shy about showing it off to anyone who’s willing to watch. Many FBBs are self-conscious and ashamed by having a “little penis” because it feeds into the negative stereotypes that female bodybuilders are secretly men or are biologically transitioning away from femininity. Denise doesn’t give a fuck about those stereotypes and proudly displays her big clit without shame. She is far from embarrassed by it. On the contrary, she’s proud of it. As she should be!

What would Denise be like in bed? I’d imagine passionate, confident, and intelligent. In other words, she’d just be herself. And that’s all she needs to be, damn it.

So there you have it. Denise Masino is my Fantasy Female Bodybuilder, but Angela Salvagno and Alina Popa are not far behind. What’s incredible is that if you were to ask me this same question a month from now, my answers might completely change. Perhaps I’d choose Minna Pajulahti as my first choice followed by Lindsay Mulinazzi and Deidre Pagnanelli. Or Lisa Cross, Victoria Dominguez and Monica Martin. Or Shawn Tan, Emery Miller and Annie Rivieccio.

Holy smokes. The possibilities are endless, are they not? But for now, I’m sticking to Alina, Angela and Denise.

I love Alina because of her accomplishments. I love Angela because of her rawness. I love Denise because of her realness. All three women are eye-popping and unforgettable in different ways. They aren’t for all tastes, but they’re definitely my personal cup of tea.

What about you? Who’s your Fantasy Female Bodybuilder? I’d like to know!

Appreciating Every Square Inch of Her Muscular Body

Beautiful sexy mama Dena Anne Weiner.
Beautiful sexy mama Dena Anne Weiner.

If you have an affinity for muscular women, it’s not enough for you to want to see her body. You want to touch her body. And not just parts of her body; you want to touch every square inch of her muscular body.

This fantasy is common for guys who love female bodybuilders. There’s a stereotype that guys are visual creatures when it comes to sexuality. I’m not here to debunk that idea, but instead to add to it. It’s true that men love the sight of a beautiful woman (or man, depending on his sexual orientation), but we also appreciate the tactile dimension of human attraction.

Touch matters. Taste matters. Scent matters. There are five senses, not just one or two. Perhaps more than “conventionally” beautiful women, muscular women evoke in our imaginations a desire to experience her with all five of our senses.

On a practical level, how does this play out? Usually through engaging in a muscle worship session with a female bodybuilder/wrestler/erotic provider.

Muscle worship isn’t just about living out one’s fantasies. It’s about experiencing what’s right there in front of you. A muscular woman’s body is the object of desire that sends shivers down one’s spine. What’s important isn’t just enjoying the idea of a strong beautiful woman, but actually being able to meet, talk with, and sensually explore a strong beautiful woman’s physical form. It is this experience that makes our hearts skip a beat and forces time to seemingly stand still.

What explains this? The ethereal nature of female bodybuilders is one explanation. We often treat muscular women like “goddesses” and “angels,” divine beings who are deities incarnate. We know a female bodybuilder isn’t actually a spiritual being in the flesh, but we nevertheless use these types of analogies because they’re the closest way we can describe our affinity for them.

And how are divine beings supposed to be treated? As if you’re not worthy of being in their presence, but you will enjoy being in their presence regardless. When a peasant is fortunate enough to meet the King or Queen, it’s as if they’re meeting God himself. They feel uncomfortable talking to them directly, looking at them in the eye, or offending their sensibilities. It’s not necessarily because they’re afraid of punishment (which could often actually be the case), but rather they’re in awe of being able to be in front of a person of such high political and social power.

Likewise, those of us who are lucky enough to meet a female bodybuilder up close and personal know what this is like. We get a dry throat. Our speech starts to stammer. We can’t think straight or finish a coherent sentence. We act strangely. We cannot sit still if our lives depended upon it. Most of us are able to act cool, calm and collected, but we all have our moments. Like a pyramid-building slave lying prostrate before Pharaoh, we realize we’re no longer in Kansas, Toto. We’re in the same room as a beautiful muscle goddess. Ain’t that something?

Flavia Crisos's lower body is a gem.
Flavia Crisos’s lower body is a gem.

Throughout history, kings and queens were actually treated like deities because their rule was considered divinely approved (or directed). Regal figures may not technically have been considered gods and goddesses, but if the Almighty appoints you the King of France or the Queen of England, who has the right to question your legitimacy?

Today, we realize female bodybuilders are not divinely chosen to be who they are. Yet, that same attitude still persists. If mankind (which obviously includes women) is created in the image of God, aren’t we then logically touching the very body of the Divine?

You don’t need to be a religious scholar to understand why it’s so special to touch a muscular woman’s body. Our psychological and cultural upbringing leads us to treat certain human beings as more than just human beings. The same goes for celebrities, major political figures, world-class athletes and anyone else whose accomplishments we admire. Our admiration for them most likely isn’t sexual in nature, but that doesn’t change the fact our behavior around famous people is very different compared to how we act around “normal” people.

So that explains the shivers that go down your spine when you shake a female bodybuilder’s hand or the giddy feeling you get as you walk down the hallway and approach her hotel room. But once you actually meet her and your session (assuming we’re talking about a muscle worship session) commences, you cannot help but want to touch every single square inch of her gorgeous body. Her body is a work of art and deserves to be appreciated on a tactile level. And in this moment, you’re the one who is allowed to do that.

It’s not just her biceps, abdomen, back or thighs that you want to touch. You also want to touch the parts of her body that aren’t necessarily big and muscular. Her nape (the back part of her neck), her face, her ankles, her wrists, her fingers, her elbows, her flat breasts, everywhere. You want to experience all of her…even if you never would’ve been interested in touching those parts of a non-muscular woman’s body.

You may have a beautiful wife or girlfriend, but odds are she isn’t a bodybuilder. You might find her to be pretty and she may have a great looking body. But you don’t fetishize her fingers. They’re just fingers, for crying out loud! But when you see and feel a female bodybuilder’s hard calloused fingers – tangible proof of her years and years dedicated to weightlifting and busting her tail at the gym – a jolt of electricity surges throughout your entire nervous system. This experience is completely different. A female bodybuilder is a whole other species of human being. You’ve made love to your significant other countless times, but never during your relationship with her have you ever gotten aroused from touching her arms. When you feel an FBB’s swollen biceps and triceps, on the other hand, you feel like you might pass out and fall into a decade-long coma.

What more can be said about Theresa Ivancik?
What more can be said about Theresa Ivancik?

Even if you’ve never participated in a muscle worship session or wrestling match with a muscular woman, this fantasy could still be present inside your imagination. You really want to feel Debi Laszewski’s calves, but you also (for some very odd reason) want to touch her lips, teeth, and chin. It’s strange to possess the desire to do this, but you cannot explain why. Nor do you feel the need to ever explain why. Your desires are your desires and you refuse to apologize for having them.

From personal experience, I can tell you that one of my biggest turn-ons is caressing a muscular woman’s face. Her face obviously isn’t muscular or radically different from any other kind of woman’s face. During my first ever muscle worship session, I took lots of time to caress her cheek. It was the most erotic moment of the evening. The feel of her crow’s feet and wrinkles aroused me like nothing else did. Yes, she was an older woman (she’s just as old as my parents, believe it or not), but that wasn’t the reason. I loved touching her body, even the parts of her body that wasn’t muscular. I loved every moment of it.

During other muscle worship sessions, I’ve felt the weird desire to rub her feet (and I am not a foot fetishist!), feel her callouses, and caress the back of her neck. I wanted to experience every single inch of her. Her muscles are beautiful (obviously!) but they aren’t the most erotic part of her physical self. Her most erotic feature is….everything.

Everything. Every inch of her. Everything.

It’s not just about her muscles. When female muscle skeptics question why guys and gals like us are so into female bodybuilders, it can be difficult to fully explain. To do justice to articulating what it’s like to have a female muscle fetish requires going beyond a muscular woman’s muscles and talking about everything else. It’s not just her wide shoulders, broad back, and rounded calves that we love. It’s also her lips. And the back of her knees. Her veiny forearms. The crinkles around her eyes. The palms of her hands that are covered with rigid dead skin. It’s everything about her.

Female bodybuilders are just like the rest of us, but we don’t always think of them that way. We all know they at one time in their lives looked “normal,” but we cannot help but focus on who they are presently rather than who they used to be. It’s easier to only look at the final product instead of the journey it took to get to that final product. In other words, in the back of our minds female bodybuilders are not actually just like the rest of us, even though we logically know that they are.

They exist on a different metaphysical plane. They might walk amongst us mortals, but they are indeed goddess among men. They aren’t just physically beautiful. They’re intellectually, philosophically, and spiritually beautiful as well. We love them to death but struggle to explain why. Yet, we feel no need to have to explain why. We just do and that’s the end of the story.

If you chat with a fellow female muscle lover, you experience a really awesome sense of unspoken mutual understanding that’s incredibly liberating. You both know why you love FBBs. You don’t feel embarrassed or emasculated admitting to a complete stranger that you love muscular women because they do too. You can admit out loud (or in writing) that you want to lick Alina Popa’s triceps and the other person won’t blink an eye or ridicule you for it. Odds are they want to do the exact same thing! You want to experience every square inch of her, even the inches that not too many of us are keen on. But, they understand and are probably in agreement with you.

Whether you’re lucky enough to meet a female bodybuilder in person or if you just fantasize about meeting one, we all want to do the very same thing with them: appreciate every square inch of her body. Maybe this appreciation is tactile, or perhaps it’s more theoretical. Even the parts of her body that aren’t muscular intrigue us. It’s irrational, but we all know what we’re dealing with here (hence, it goes unspoken).

Jodi Miller knows how to dress herself.
Jodi Miller knows how to dress herself.

So this essay is less expository and more stream-of-consciousness. I apologize if I’m not making a whole lot of sense! This is just a natural continuation of a common theme found in all my writing: female bodybuilders are special in ways that cannot be entirely described. They seem like they belong in a separate caste. Their bodies aren’t just beautiful, they’re divine. And it’s not just their muscles that arouse our interest. It’s every single facet of their beings that makes our hearts skip a beat.

It’s inconceivable why a seemingly limited topic can be subject to millions of essays, conversation threads, blogs, and e-mail exchanges. Compared to conventional topics like politics, parenting, space exploration, Harry Potter fandom, pop music, fly fishing, knitting, or scuba diving, the world of female bodybuilding appears to be limited in scope. After all, is there a single female bodybuilder who is also a household name? Outside of watching the Olympics, how often is the general population exposed to muscular women? Why do FBBs pique our interest so much despite their lack of coverage in mainstream media?

There is no definitive answer. Nor should there be. Female bodybuilders capture our hearts and minds simply because that’s exactly what they do.

Here’s another theory. Sometimes, our minds cannot accept something until we are able to experience it in a more profound way. For example, we all know that we should look both ways before crossing a street. We’ve been taught this by our parents, grandparents, babysitters, and schoolteachers ever since we were little children. Theoretically, we know this is an important piece of advice.

However, we don’t actually start to internalize it until we have a “big scare” moment. Imagine that you’re 16 years old and on one fateful day you don’t look both ways before walking through an intersection. You don’t hear any oncoming traffic so you assume there isn’t any. Before you can take another step, a speeding car zooms by and nearly hits you. If you collide with the car, the car will win 100 percent of the time. You’ll be dead or at the very least severely injured. But assume, for the sake of this illustration, you narrowly escape certain doom and you survive just fine. Suddenly, the old advice of “look both ways before crossing the street” takes on a whole deeper level of meaning for you. Before, you knew on the surface this was important advice. But now, after experiencing a brush with near-death, you now comprehend this adage on a more tangible level.

You don’t just know the words of this proverb. You understand its entire rationale. Will you ever blindly stroll through an intersection ever again? Probably not.

Likewise, we know female bodybuilders and muscular women of all shapes and sizes are real. But it doesn’t actually sink in until you meet one in the flesh. Or when you start to touch her muscular flesh. When you feel her hardness and experience her remarkable strength, as the newer saying goes, “shit gets real.” You know she’s real but your brain struggles to accept that she is who she appears to be.

She’s a woman. She also has more muscles than most men. She’s strong. But most women you know aren’t nearly as strong. How can this be? How does this compute?

Hence, you feel compelled to touch every single inch of her because your brain needs to tangibly experience her physical self in order to fully understand it. Her existence causes cognitive dissonance that isn’t easily shaken. Knowing on a theoretical level that muscular women exist is one thing; being able to see her and feel her body is quite another.

Thai muscle goddess Penpraghai Tiangngok.
Thai muscle goddess Penpraghai Tiangngok.

Maybe this fascination wears off the more often you meet muscular women for sessions. That might be the case for me. Now that I’ve met a fair amount of female bodybuilders (and a few on multiple occasions) over the years, the novelty has sort of dissipated. I still get excited and antsy every single time I’m about her meet one for an appointment, but I’ll admit I’m starting to feel less anxious as the years go on. My electrified giddiness has been downgraded to “eager anticipation.” I used to want to actually touch every single inch of her body.

But now, I’m okay with touching most of it and not bothering with the rest.

However…I still have my moments.

Whenever I watch a video clip of a sexy female bodybuilder preening for the camera, my eyes still cannot leave the screen. I stop dead in my tracks and helplessly stare at:

The veins popping out of her bicep…
Her thick muscular legs spread out wide…
The proud revealing of her juicy big clit…
Her beautiful face smiling at me…
The irresistible sparkle in her eye…
Drops of sweat dripping down her neck and toward her chest…
Long erect nipples that look sooooooooo sensitive to the touch…
A broad back as wide as a refrigerator…
Her meaty triceps…
The striations of her quads…
A chiseled six-pack abdomen that’s begging to be licked dry…………….

…oh, baby….I can’t help but feel, um, uhh, errrrrr………….

<Dramatic pause>

Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhgggggggggggggggg!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WOW!!! Holy Mother of God!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I WANT TO TOUCH EVERY SINGLE SQUARE INCH OF THAT GORGEOUS SEXY MUSCULAR BODY!!!!!!

RIGHT NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

<Deep breath. Another dramatic pause>

Oh, I guess I still do feel that way. Silly me.

Sexy Summer Short Story #3 – Three Strikes

Safeco Field, home of my beloved (but frustratingly inept) Seattle Mariners.
Safeco Field, home of my beloved (but frustratingly inept) Seattle Mariners.

Author’s note: The following story is inspired by a reader who recently e-mailed me at ryantakahashi87 (at) yahoo (dot) com and suggested this plot. As someone who always wants to please his readers, I enthusiastically obliged.

Enjoy! Once again, feel free to submit your story ideas if anything in particular strike your fancy. My ears are always open. I may not follow through on all your suggestions, but I will try my best to take your feedback into consideration.

***

I really want to go home. Right NOW.

I usually love going to baseball games, but this is too much. I’m squirming in my seat. I can’t focus on the game…or anything for that matter. Our team just hit a home run. The crowd is on their feet cheering loudly. I, however, feel absolutely no emotions whatsoever. My mind is elsewhere. My thoughts are preoccupied with millions of thoughts, emotions, and reactions.

Thanks to her.

Her name is Gabby. She’s the new girlfriend of my best friend Jake. Jake and I have been buddies since we played little league ball together when we were little kids. We hang out all the time. We’ve been to hundreds of baseball games together. Occasionally, he’ll bring along a cute girl he’s just hooked up with. Tonight is no exception. But what is unusual is the kind of girl he brought with him.

She’s a bodybuilder. Not a bikini model who likes to use the elliptical machine, but a real life bodybuilder. The real deal. Gabby has muscles that are bigger than that of most of the players on the field. Everywhere she goes, she gets stares from strangers. No one can help but look at her. She’s gorgeous, confident, strong, and built like a saber-toothed tiger.

Fuck. I am so fucking jealous of him!

Ever since I hit puberty, one particular kind of woman has always intrigued me: Muscular girls.

Holy shit, they drive me insane. I used to steal issues of fitness and bodybuilding magazines from my local grocery store and jerk off to the brawny ladies who grace their pages. My mom once caught me in the act, which is still the single most embarrassing moment of my life. We never talk about it. Ever.

All my life I’ve wanted a strong beautiful woman to be my girlfriend. But that shit never happens. After all, buff chicks like Gabby don’t exactly grow on trees. So how the fuck did Jake get so damn lucky?

FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!

I knew he was dating a new girl, but I never in a million years ever imagined she would look like this. As thick as an oxen but as graceful as a ballerina, she’s without a doubt the Woman of My Dreams. She has arms that can snap a steel rod in half and legs that could crush a watermelon. She’s perfect in every way. I’ve had dreams about women like her. But my dumbass best friend gets to bang her instead! What the fuck is this shit???

When you think of Gabby, think about Georgina McConnell.
When you think of Gabby, think about Georgina McConnell.

Just look at them. They’re sharing a box of Cracker Jack and giggling to each other. He’s feeding her, as if he’s her personal servant. I want to be her personal fucking servant! I want to be her slave! Where the hell do I sign up to become the lover/slave of a gorgeous female bodybuilder?

Jake just nibbled on her meaty shoulder. She gasps with delight. A little old grandma sitting in front of them shushes them to be quiet. They giggle again, knowing they’ve just been caught being naughty. It’s sickening to watch!

FUUUUUCKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!

The past two hours have been torture. All I can do is fantasize about being with Gabby. I want to be the one who makes out with her. I want to be the one who holds her hand in public. I want her to lift me up, drop me on my bed, and savagely make love to me all fucking night long. I want us to be the unstoppable power couple that we were meant to be.

Envy is enough to drive a man crazy. Wow. I really need a drink.

Unable to stand it anymore, I politely excuse myself and walk down the stairs toward the concessions area. There’s a full bar inside the stadium located not far from here. I think I’ll go there instead and down a few shots of tequila or whatever.

“I’ll be back in a few. I need something more stiff to drink, if you catch my drift!” I politely say this with my teeth clenched. Jake nods his head in agreement.

“Enjoy that! We’ll see you around. If we score any more runs, we’ll let you know,” she says. Her lyrical voice is music to my ears. She’s divine. She’s perfect. She’s…meant to be mine.

Damn it. I really need to get out of here!

Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting all by myself at the stadium tavern sipping on God-awful tequila. It tastes like gasoline, but it’s all I can afford. Payday is next week.

The bartender is nice enough, but he barely speaks English. I think Polish is his native language, but I’m not totally sure about that.

I'm not much of a fan of tequila, but that sure looks good.
I’m not much of a fan of tequila, but that sure looks good.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jake and Gabby enter the tavern, holding hands and skipping along. They don’t seem interested in ordering a drink. They also don’t seem to notice me sitting all alone at the bar. The bartender just excused himself temporarily because he needed to grab more lemons from the kitchen. It’s dark in here, so there’s a good reason why they don’t see me.

“No one’s in here. Let’s fuck in the bathroom back there!” Jake murmurs to Gabby. He may be speaking softly, but I have really good hearing so I can understand every single word they’re saying.

“Yes, I’d love that!” Gabby responds. She grabs him and kisses him deeply, taking control of the situation. She leads him to a back area and I hear a door open and slam shut.

Intrigued, I immediately leave my seat and scurry in their direction. Sure enough, there’s a unisex single stall bathroom at the back of the tavern. I can hear the crowd roar in the background, but that’s the last thing on my mind. I approach the closed door and hear laughter, sounds of kissing, and clothes being ripped off.

“Quick! Someone may knock on the door! Hurry, Jake!” Gabby begs.

I place my ear to the door and listen intently.

A zipper is unzipped. The kissing has stopped. Jake lets out a passionate groan, which is followed by Gabby also moaning with pleasure. The unmistakable sound of flesh banging against flesh commences. The bartender has still not returned, so I figure no one will witness me listening in on their impromptu fucking.

Always use protection, kids.
Always use protection, kids.

Gabby screams with reckless joy. Jake tries to muffle his own screams, but fails. His banging grows louder and more furious. Her wails become throaty and fervent. Someone kicks the wall on accident, but that only heightens the situation futher.

“God, yes! YES, Jake, YESSSSSSS!!!”

My penis becomes hard at her exclamation of carnal glee. My breathing speeds up. I press my ear against the door as close as possible.

“Oh, fuck!” Jake yells.

The sound of bodies rustling around suggests they’re switching positions. I hear Gabby’s heels clanging against the linoleum floor. Jake is nowhere to be heard. I think the bartender has returned, but I don’t give a shit about him. My attention is on the here and now. In a meek voice, Gabby proclaims to her lover:

“I’m going to come! I’m going…to come….”

The banging stops. Gabby squeals. Jake sighs. I may not be able to see what’s going on in there, but I think they’re done. I don’t hear any more audible noises. I think I hear water running. Or is that heavy breathing? God, it could be anything…

Suddenly, the door opens. I fall on my face into the bathroom. I look up and see Gabby’s muscular calf right in front of my nose. Jake gasps, pulls my legs into the cramped room, and quickly closes the door, locking the three of us inside. I have no idea if the bartender saw us. Regardless, that’s not important right now.

“Holy shit, dude. Were you listening in on us?” Jake asks.

I quickly stand up. The bathroom is a bit larger than I expected, but still too small for three adults to be inside. Gabby’s muscular frame alone takes up most of the space. She’s just pulled up her panties and straightens out her skirt. Jake still hasn’t zipped up his jeans and has just thrown a used condom into the trashcan. I’m blushing uncontrollably. My mind a jumbled mess, I try to think of a way to apologize for spying on them.

“Yeah, man. I was listening. To all of it, from start to finish. Damn, man. I was sitting at the bar and saw you two storming in,” I confess. “I couldn’t help it.”

Silence.

After a brief moment, Gabby flashes Jake a wicked smile. Jake smirks back. Even though they haven’t spoken a single word, they’re apparently in agreement about something. I’m confused.

Gabby squeezes my arm with a level of force that takes me by surprise. She doesn’t look angry. Neither does Jake. What gives?

Gabby reaches into her purse and takes out another condom. She kisses me on the cheek and whispers into my ear:

“Threesome?”

Sexy Summer Short Story #2 – 4th of July Fireworks

Fireworks lighting up the night sky.
Fireworks lighting up the night sky.

Big crowds always make Jeff uncomfortable, but once a year he can make an exception. Strolling through Lake Marino Park on a hot and humid 4th of July, Jeff takes in the sights and smells of his small town’s annual Independence Day celebration.

Little kids with patriotic red, white, and blue face paint, little old grandmas teaching arts and crafts, teenagers enjoying their summer freedom, and the rest of us eating barbecue and getting progressively more drunk as the day goes on….it’s what makes the 4th of July what it is.

His buddies told him they’ll meet him at the southern edge of the lake at 9:00 p.m. It’s 8:15, so he has a solid 45 minutes to waste until he can have an excuse to get drunk. Jeff decides to peruse through the booths usually reserved for local businesses and politicians selling their services to the general public. That sounds like a reasonable thing to do.

The usual sort of chiropractors, massage therapists, tax attorneys, city council candidates, and vitamin stores make their presence known this year. Jeff thinks he voted for the nice lady who’s running for re-election, but he can’t remember. He’s a bit skeptical about just how impactful the city council is on his everyday life.

One booth in particular catches his attention, however. It’s for West Hill Fitness, a small family-owned fitness gym located right across the street from where he works. Jeff has sold out to Corporate America and exercises at 24 Hour Fitness, but he’s strongly considering whether he wants to transfer over to WHF and support the neighborhood business community. He sees a line of guys standing in front of the booth, which captures his curiosity.

After peering inside the booth, Jeff can clearly see why a large crowd has formed around it. Inside is one of West Hill Fitness’s female personal trainers challenging guys to an arm wrestling contest. Jeff reads the sign in front of the booth. It says for $5, you can try to arm wrestle WHF’s top female personal trainer. If you can beat her, you win a container of premiere strawberry protein powder, a brand Jeff has never heard of before. That doesn’t mean it’s not premiere, however.

Delicious barbecue ribs.
Delicious barbecue ribs.

The money raised will go to charity toward providing free lunch to low-income kids during the summer months. Jeff figures this is a worthy cause, drops a crisp $5 bill into a jar, and stands in line.

He takes a closer look at the female personal trainer to see who he’s about to go up against.

Whoa.

DAMN!!!!!

Curvaceously feminine yet chiseled as a Greek statue, she’s impressively muscular considering her young age. Jeff estimates she’s in her early to mid-20s. She looks like a pro bodybuilder, with a wide chest, broad shoulders, ripped biceps, a finely shaped midsection, and legs as thick as trees. Her plain looking face looks somewhat pretty in the fading summer light, but her real assets are located from the neck down. Jeff has never seen her around town before, but her buff physique is persuading him to consider switching gyms!

Contestant after contestant fails to beat her at arm wrestling. Her name is Zoe, and she’s WHF’s senior personal trainer. At the tender age of 24, rumor has it she began bodybuilding at 19 years old and has never looked back since. Jeff is next in line. He’s impressed Zoe hasn’t wavered yet. Shouldn’t she be exhausted by now?

Finally, it’s his turn. He sits down at the table and shakes her hand.

“Pleased to meet you. So no one has beaten you yet?”

Zoe shakes her head emphatically. “Nope. Do you think you can be the first?” She places her elbow on the table and offers him her hand. Jeff grips her palm and lets out a deep breath.

“There’s only one way to find out.”

Jeff strikes first, forcing her arm backward with all his might. The thinning crowd behind them (most of them have given up trying to defeat her) cheer loudly, half of them siding with Zoe and the other half rooting for the male challenger. Zoe shows off an impressive bounce back move and brings them back to neutral. Sweat drips down his face. Sweat has already been dripping down her face for hours. Jeff is confident he can win, considering the sheer volume of challengers who have preceded him. Surely she’s bound to get tired eventually?

Pushing as hard as he can, Jeff tightens his grip around her hand, causing it to make a cracking sound. Did he hurt her? She winces in pain, telling him that he indeed did hurt her. Feeling guilty but wanting to win, he expulses all the energy he has left and finally slams her arm backward. The crowd goes wild. Jeff looks at her with concern. The owner of the gym, some middle aged dude with too many tattoos, raises Jeff’s noncompetitive arm up in the air and declares him the winner.

He hands Jeff the large container of strawberry protein powder and gives him a free seven day pass to visit the gym whenever he likes.

“Perhaps I’ll stop by sometime this week,” Jeff promises. He’s not sure if he’ll keep his word. His first order of business is making sure Zoe is alright.

When you think of Zoe, think of Dani Reardon.
When you think of Zoe, think of Dani Reardon.

Defeated, fatigued, and in immense pain, Zoe stands up and holds her hand close to her body. Jeff wants to comfort her, but is suddenly pushed to the side by a male personal trainer who immediately tends to her. He escorts Zoe to a nearby ambulance and asks a medical professional to assess her injury. Jeff feels guilty and sullenly walks away from the booth. The owner tells him he has nothing to worry about.

“Zoe’s a tough girl. She’ll be fine. See you later this week!” The owner then opens a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon (yuck) and downs it. Gross.

An hour later, Jeff decides to abandon his friends, who have decided instead of wade around the lake and smoke weed in front of the ducks. Jeff isn’t a smoker, so he has no interest in joining them in hitting the reefer. Instead, he searches for Zoe with the intent of apologizing to her.

Suddenly, he finds her. Standing in front of a row of portable toilets, Zoe has an ice pack taped around her hand. Nervously, Jeff approaches her.

“Hey, sorry about that. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I can get ridiculously competitive at times.” Zoe turns around and smiles at Jeff.

“Don’t worry about it. This isn’t the first time I’ve hurt myself doing this sort of thing,” she says. “I do this every year. Maybe this should be my last.”

Jeff and Zoe chat for several minutes. As it nears 10:00 o’clock, Jeff remembers the fireworks show is about to begin.

“Shall we head toward the baseball field where the fireworks show is going to happen?”

Zoe leans in and surprisingly kisses Jeff on the lips. Jeff’s heart races.

“I have a better idea. Follow me!”

Unsure about what’s going to happen, Zoe leads him (with her good hand) far away from the thousands of celebratory people and toward a dark woodsy area. The sun is almost completely set. They stop at a walking bridge that goes over a creek. Unexpectedly, Zoe unzips her shorts and pulls her panties down to her ankles. She leans against the stone bridge and kisses him again.

“You want to make it up to me? Pleasure me!”

She spreads her legs out wide and shows off her swollen clitoris. Without thinking, Jeff gets down on his knees and puts her enormous clit inside his mouth. He begins sucking away with reckless abandon, unconcerned if any passersby see them in action. Jeff has never seen a clit this big before, but he doesn’t think too much about it. Sticking his tongue deep inside her moist passageway, Zoe lets out a soft moan that quickly becomes louder and more passionate.

“Oh, yes! Keep pleasing me Jeff…”

Jeff nibbles playfully on her clit, which causes her to gasp. He sticks one finger inside her vagina, then two, then three…then all five. He opens her as fully as she’s able to open, all while lapping her clit with vicious ferocity. He senses she’s about to come, judging from her inability to keep her balance.

A romantic stone walking bridge.
A romantic stone walking bridge.

“I’m almost there!”

He stabs the tip of his tongue once more inside her, which sends her over the edge. In the distance the sound of fireworks booms across the sky. Jeff notices several people have stopped what they’re doing and are watching them. He doesn’t give two shits about what they think.

As Zoe’s orgasm ends, she pulls up her shorts and kisses him again, tasting her own essence dripping from his lips. They hug for a long time.

The fireworks show isn’t just happening on the baseball field. It’s also happening right here, between these two unexpected lovers.

Happy 4th of July!

Sexy Summer Short Story #1 – Room 916

The one and only Italian Muscle Goddess Mavi Gioia.
The one and only Italian Muscle Goddess Mavi Gioia.

Hello readers!

With summer in full swing, I’ve decided to spend the month of July writing short single-post sexy stories involving female bodybuilders (who else?) and the men and women who love them. Time is short, we all have busy lives, so who has time to read a massive four-part story when a simple 1,500 word post is sufficient?

I agree, so here’s what I’m going to do: I’m going to launch a series of short FBB-focused sexy stories that are no longer than 1,500 words in length. No need for extensive back stories. No need for expository dialogue (or any dialogue, for that matter). No need for follow through. What happens next to these characters, you may ask?

Who cares? That’s up to your imagination!

So, do you have a story idea that you really want me to write about? I’m going to guess most of you are here for my nonfiction articles, but I do know for a fact a small handful of you actually like my fictional writing, so I’m reaching out to you folks. Post your ideas in the comment section below or send me an e-mail at ryantakahashi87 (at) yahoo (dot) com. If you’d like to submit a short story yourself, let me know as well!

Without further ado, here’s Sexy Summer Short Story #1 – Room 916.

***

From the moment she sat down, I could not keep my eyes off her. Nor could anybody else at the bar, for that matter. Her broad shoulders, swollen arms, and killer calves were a dead giveaway that she is no ordinary woman.

The bartender cautiously approached her seat, as if he didn’t know how to behave around her. Why did he have fear in his eyes as he timidly asked her what she wanted to drink? She appears to be harmless. She’s not dangerous. What’s his deal?

“Whiskey. Straight,” she replies.

I like her already!

As quick as a rabbit escaping a predator, the bartender scurries off to a back room to find the perfect bottle of whiskey for this remarkable customer. In addition to myself, there are eight other people sitting around the bar. Six men and two women. One of these women is her. The other looks to be nearing 80 and carries herself as if she’s lived a depressing life. I feel sorry for her.

I quickly glance at the muscle-bound eye candy to see what we’re dealing with here. We look to be about the same age. She’s blonde, although I highly doubt that’s her true hair color. There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?

With her heels on, she towers over everyone. Standing at a solid 6’, she’s probably more like 5’9” or so. I’ve never had a special affinity for tall women, but I’m about to make an exception. I’ve also never been into muscular women, but I’m definitely going to make an exception.

The bartender returns with her whiskey. He sets it down on the counter. She immediately picks it up, downs it, and requests a refill. Now that’s my kind of gal! The hapless bartender pours her another glass. This time, she takes her time and sips it deliberately.

I look down at my vodka and tonic and feel like a little boy playing street ball with the big kids. I’m not much of a whiskey guy, but I may need to reconsider my drinking preferences.

Wearing a tight pink dress that generously shows off every single muscular curve on her powerful body, my manhood becomes harder with every move she makes. The way she sips her whiskey. The manner in which she watches the evening news with disdain. The mechanics of her impossibly rock hard body that’s undeniably commanding yet unquestionably feminine at the same time. She’s truly a one-of-a-kind…

Just as I get lost in my own thoughts, she catches me staring at her. I try to turn my head away as inconspicuously as I can, but I know I’ve been caught red handed. What’s the point at hiding my fascination with her?

She smiles at me. We make eye contact. I feel my blood boiling. My heart flutters. A surge of energy races throughout my body. She doesn’t appear to be offended or creeped out by my voyeurism. In fact, she seems to welcome it.

I smile back. She nods her head, acknowledging my presence. We may only be 30 feet away, but I feel like I’m connecting with her on a spiritual level. It sounds crazy, but my intuition is almost never wrong about these things. A bored couple walk away from the bar. Our elderly friend also goes home for the evening. The bar is located in the lobby of a swanky hotel, so perhaps this Muscular Goddess is in town for a bodybuilding competition. I don’t pay attention to such things – I prefer baseball and football – but I may need to start to follow the sport if she’s involved in it.

A swanky bar.
A swanky bar.

Ten minutes pass. I finish my drink. The bartender, more comfortable talking with me than her, asks if I want a second one. I decline and ask him a simple follow-up question:

“What’s she drinking?”

I don’t need to point to her. He knows exactly who I’m talking about.

I already know the answer to this, but I ask anyway because I want her to notice that I’m talking exclusively about her. She clearly has overheard our conversation because she offers up the answer herself.

“Whiskey straight. No ice. Just the good stuff.” All ears turn toward her. Her low rumbling voice sends tremors throughout the room. Never in my life have I ever heard a woman’s voice that deep before. Instead of being turned off by it, I surprisingly find myself helplessly aroused by it.

“Thanks. I’ll have what she’s having.”

The room chuckles in response to my lame joke. She does too. She raises her eyebrow toward me and gives me a sassy smirk. I’m surprised I don’t die from a heart attack right on the spot. Thankfully, my blood pressure remains normal and I don’t appear to be meeting my Maker anytime soon.

Minutes later, the bartender returns with my drink. I try to down it with the veracity of the Muscle Goddess, but I cough like a high school kid drinking beer for the first time. She doesn’t hide her amusement. Embarrassed and red-in-the-face (both literally and figuratively), I laugh it off in hopes of saving my dignity.

Whiskey neat. My drink of choice.
Whiskey neat. My drink of choice.

We share a few more flirty glances, but exchange no further words. As it nears 11:30 p.m., she finishes her whiskey and gets up to leave. Deflated, I watch her pick up her purse and walk away, knowing I have absolutely no chance at getting acquainted with her.

She makes a sudden turn toward me and drops a business card in front of my empty glass. She doesn’t speak a word. She makes no eye contact. Remarkably, nobody notices this subtle exchange of information. As she walks toward the elevator (which tells me she’s staying at the hotel), I take a look at the business card:

Katrina Catalina
Professional bodybuilder, personal trainer, and nutrition coach

On the back of the card, scribbled in pen, is a simple message: Room 916. Midnight. Be there.

My breathing stops. I can barely move. Is this what I think it means?

Oh. My. God.

A half hour later, I find myself pacing around an empty hallway on the 9th floor. Standing just outside of room #916, I wonder whether this is a genuine proposition or a mean spirited joke. Well, there’s only one way to find out.

I nervously knock on the door and wait. For what seems like an eternity, I hear footsteps approach the door. My body tenses up. Sweat drips down my face. Is this for real –

The door opens. It’s Katrina. Wearing nothing but a sexy ocean blue negligee, she grabs my hand and fiercely pulls me into her room.

“Come on in!”

Katrina kicks the door closed and leads me inside. We hold hands and stare into each other’s eyes. Without her heels, we see almost eye-to-eye (she’s still slightly taller than me). We kiss. Her tongue invades my mouth. I nearly choke. She giggles and pats me on the cheek. We continue to look at each other for a long moment.

“Shall we fuck?” she asks. Her growling voice is enough to completely turn me on.

“I thought you’d never ask,” I reply.

My best wishes go out to Marthe Sundby, who is battling cancer at the moment. Go Marthe!
My best wishes go out to Marthe Sundby, who is battling cancer at the moment. Go Marthe!

She tears off her negligee and exposes her fully naked body. My eyes greedily take in her magnificent muscular frame. I rip apart my clothes and join her nudity. My manhood is rock hard, ready to enter her. Katrina flexes her big muscles, showing off a double biceps pose that sends me over the edge of sanity. I grab her hips and slam her against the back of a leather couch. She gasps audibly and sticks out her firm bottom, beckoning me to take her from behind.

“Fuck me.”

Will do.

Gripping her hips, I slowly push my penis inside her, inch by inch. We share a mutual moan at the exact moment I completely enter her. A few rhythmic thrusts precede more violent ones as I give her everything I got. Katrina bends forward and widens her stance to allow me to penetrate her deeper. Heavy breathing, the scandalous sound of flesh banging against flesh, and uninhibited screams of delight fill the hot and humid air.

Katrina growls like a wild animal, which further heightens my senses. I know I’m about to come, but I don’t want things to end yet. I want to make love to her forever and ever. But before I can slow our pace, Katrina squeezes her vaginal muscles together, bringing us both to orgasmic climax. I empty myself into her as her wet passageway pulsates with orgasm. She buries her face into a pillow to muffle her scream. I groan as the last few spurts of my ejaculation subside.

We remain like that for several minutes. Still hard, I refuse to pull out of her. She doesn’t seem like she wants me to leave her anytime soon.

She turns her head around and we kiss. We don’t utter a single word.

Pure silence.

And that’s the way it should be.

Faster, Female Bodybuilder! Grow! Grow!

An example of FMG art, via David C. Matthews.
An example of FMG art, via David C. Matthews.

Female Muscle Growth (FMG) stories are a staple of online female muscle fandom. After all, who wouldn’t want to spend some quality leisure time reading stories about big and buff female characters doing what big and buff female characters do?

Well, what exactly do big and buff female fictional characters do? Whatever the author wishes, of course! Bashing in the skulls of dastardly villains, taking on a horde of flesh-eating zombies singlehandedly, warding off an alien invasion, or befriending a small and nerdy male protagonist (usually to the erotic benefit of said male protagonist) are all par for the course. Naturally, this genre of fiction appeals to a wide number of female muscle fans out there in the wider world.

Therefore, one would expect that yours truly, Ryan Takahashi, would be an avid fan of FMG stories. And do you know what? I’m……………..not.

Wait, what?

That’s right. As shocking as this might sound, FMG stories don’t really appeal to me. This sounds especially odd since I’ve published lots of female muscle-themed fictional stories on my blog. Doesn’t it make logical sense that Mr. Takahashi would also be a passionate supporter of FMG tales?

Well, not really. I’ve tried to read some FMG stories posted on popular female muscle websites, but they don’t allure me as much as you’d think. I’m not in any way shape or form judging these writers, editors, and contributors in a negative fashion. It’s not the quality of the writing, plotlines or narrative structures that I find unappealing. Rather, it’s the general concept of FMG that turns me off.

Like always, I shall explain what I mean in further detail.

Before you dust off the pitchforks and torches (as well as the tar and feathers), let me provide a little background on the genre of FMG so you can be assured I’m not speaking out of ignorance.

Female Muscle Growth is a subgenre of erotic fiction that features a female protagonist – although the character could be the antagonist – who starts off as a normal-sized young woman but eventually finds herself transformed into a beautiful, sexy and hyper-muscular She-Hulk of epic proportions. Usually this transformation happens for reasons such as a scientific experiment, a magical spell is cast upon her, special DNA is injected into her bloodstream, a supernatural talisman, side effects from a new brand of medication, a potion created by a sorcerer, latent superpowers that she just discovers, and so on.

The specific reason why our modest heroine is transformed into a Super Muscle Goddess changes, but the general idea remains the same. It isn’t because she’s a pro bodybuilder who built her muscles naturally by eating right, working out like a mad woman, strategically using steroids/human growth hormones, and resting in proper increments. That sort of transformation takes months and years, not mere seconds. It’s not magical; it’s scientific.

She-Hulk!
She-Hulk!

Popular forums for finding FMG stories include Diana the Valkyrie’s Library of Amazon growth stories, Forum Saradas, and various DeviantArt pages. There are of course individual blogs, websites, and Tumblr sites also dedicated to publishing or sharing FMG content. There might be printed books and e-books that follow the FMG formula, but I haven’t done enough research to point you in any specific direction. Without question, all the FMG fiction you want is just a simple Google search away. Isn’t the Internet a swell place?

As mentioned previously, many times these stories also feature a male protagonist who is usually meek, nerdy, socially awkward, and not very popular with the ladies (of any size). Just like a lot of us! I don’t want to paint all of us with a broad brush, but it’s probably not a stretch of the imagination to say that many of us aren’t what one would consider a modern day Casanova. Yes, I know many of you readers are happily married or are in a stable relationship, but that certainly isn’t every single one of you. I can speak for myself when I say my personal history with women isn’t full of proud successes!

So these stories are a perfect avenue for less-than triumphant guys (some would call them beta males, but that’s a whole other story) to live vicariously through these fictional characters. Even guys who are popular with the ladies occasionally want to fantasize about being with a big and buff female companion…if even for a few moments.

FMG stories are usually accompanied by either illustrations of these ladies (often times in the style of Japanese hentai) or images of real women enhanced generously by Adobe PhotoShop. Or there may not be any images at all. Not everyone is an artist or a PhotoShop wizard. Also, not everyone is unethical enough to steal images produced by another artist or wealthy enough to pay a professional artist to sketch illustrations for them.

That being said, why am I not a big fan of this genre of fiction? Well, there are a few reasons. The first is that I prefer muscular women who earn their muscles through hard work and dedication rather than through supernatural means. In all the fiction I’ve written featuring a female muscle protagonist, all of them are professional or semi-professional bodybuilders who became big and strong the old fashioned way. This better reflects the type of characters I find most appealing.

My love for muscular women isn’t just defined by the fact they have large muscles. I love big muscles just as much as any other female muscle fan, but I also love the context behind their fabulous muscles. I love that they had to earn every single muscle fiber they have on their beautiful bodies. I love knowing they’ve had to make difficult sacrifices in order to get that big (no FBB spends all her free time watching TV, drinking beer, and eating pizza). I appreciate their willingness to restructure their lives around building up the muscle mass they need to compete at the highest level. I love their vulnerability, toughness, emotional fortitude, discipline, and supreme confidence.

In other words, I love strong women because of what it takes for them to become strong women.

FMG stories aren’t my cup of tea because these characters don’t earn their muscles. Their muscles are given to them with little to no effort on their part. A magic potion, one individual super strength vitamin pill, a single injection of experimental DNA and things like that are cheap ways to gain unreal muscle growth. But Rene Campbell, for example, is different. She makes sacrifices. She’s costed herself a stable love life in order to pursue bodybuilding. She gets looks of disgust from people all the time because she can’t simply turn off her muscularity like a light switch. Her muscles are with her 24/7/365. They are a part of her identity. They are embedded within who she is as a human being.

A fan-created FMG interpretation of popular anime character Sakura Haruno.
A fan-created FMG interpretation of popular anime character Sakura Haruno.

As fantasy fiction, FMG stories do what they’re supposed to do. They provide quick titillation and entertainment for legions of female muscle enthusiasts. Fantastic! I have no quarrel with that. It’s just not for me. That’s it. I’m not judging the genre, insulting those who love the genre, or calling for the genre to adapt to my specific tastes. My opinion doesn’t amount to a hill of beans in this world. Even if it did, I wouldn’t alter the genre in any way. People love it, so they should be allowed to enjoy it. Sound fair?

It’s just not my cut of steak. That’s all there is to it.

Another reason why I don’t particular dig this genre is that the “beta male” stereotype annoys me. I understand not every single FMG story features this archetype, but many do. Look, I am in no way a “man’s man” or anything like that, but the perception that all guys who dig muscular women are somehow emasculated man-children who fetishize being in a hapless subordinate position to powerful women gets a bit tiring after a while.

One other reason is that at the end of the day, I find realism to be much more appealing than fantasy. I realize that all fiction is unreal, but what I mean is “realistic.” Effective erotic fiction should, in my opinion, reflect a certain degree of plausible realism. That isn’t to say that the sci-fi and fantasy genres can’t be erotically appealing. It’s just that on a personal level, I tend to prefer realistic situations that closely mirror real life.

This preference isn’t for everybody, nor should it be. I’m not judging people who don’t share my views. It’s totally fine to disagree with me. This is just how I assess what excites me.

This is why I find the vast majority of mainstream porn to be boring, stupid, and uninteresting. I don’t want to sit down and watch 30 minutes of two plastic surgery-enhanced doofuses have passionless sex all while hurling fake screams and moans in between painfully written dialogue. Wait, there’s actual dialogue in porn? Yeah, I guess there is. If you care about that sort of thing.

The kinds of porn that I do find fun to watch is when I can identity (or come close to identifying) the people involved. The “plotline” in most porn is so unimaginative it’s become an ongoing joke. Boy meets girl. Boy and girl take off their clothes. Boy and girl then have sex. And more sex. Then from different positions. Then a second boy or girl enters the room. Then the pizza delivery guy knocks on the door. Then mommy or daddy unexpectedly arrives home early, carrying with them the usual assortment of whips, handcuffs, dildos, vibrators, rope, and bottles of lube.

Yuck. We all know how it goes.

In similar fashion, FMG stories tend to (although not all of it is like this, to be completely fair) follow the same general outline. The names, faces, and specific situations may change, but not too much. We are introduced to a girl who is shy and weak. Then she miraculously becomes muscle-bound. Then she meets a boy. Then…well, the rest is up to whoever is writing the story.

A more pen-and-paper version of FMG art, via Diana Valkyrie.
A more pen-and-paper version of FMG art, via Diana Valkyrie.

I suppose I shouldn’t slam this too much. Lots of guys (and gals) in this world love FMG, so who am I to spoil the party?

Different strokes for different folks, I guess. Perhaps a better approach to this subject is to explain not why I don’t like FMG stories, but why other forms of female muscle fiction appeal to me more. I love browsing through photos of fitness models, female bodybuilders, and other kinds of muscular women. Cartoon drawings of such women don’t entice to me as much. I have nothing but respect for these artists (as the tiresome cliché goes, I can barely draw a stick figure!), however I much prefer the real thing. Just spend a few moments and take a look at Minna Pajulahti’s Instagram account. Oh boy. That’ll get your blood boiling!

Want some examples of female muscle fiction that I happen to enjoy? Read “Chemical Pink” by Katie Arnoldi (who herself is a former bodybuilder) and “Devil and Disciple – The Temptation” by L. J. K. Cross (a.k.a. Lisa Cross, the famed British female bodybuilder). These two novels are fantastic reads. Go check them out if you can! It’s easy to order them on Amazon.com if you have a few extra bucks lying around.

Here is how I will tie this all in together. If you haven’t started preparing the tar and feathers and searching for a railroad track to parade me on, go ahead and do so. I’ll wait. In the meantime, what I’ll say is this:

I love muscular women for many reasons. The main one is aesthetic. I REALLY love how they look. On this point, we should all be in universal agreement. Muscular women are Goddesses on Earth and should be treated as such. There’s a darn good reason why many of us fantasize about worshipping their muscles as if they were deities in the flesh. That’s because in our fantasy worlds, they ARE deities in the flesh. And they have a lot of muscular flesh on their gorgeous bodies, ready for us to touch – if they let us, of course.

The other reason why I love muscular women is because they’re beautiful in ways that they have to earn. Nobody gave them their muscles. They didn’t sign their names on the dotted line and a FedEx delivery guy simply drove their pre-packaged muscles to their homes and dropped them off on the front porch. You can’t buy big muscles at Target. You don’t sign any contracts. You don’t sit around and wait for someone or something to hand them to you.

You have to earn it. Every single day of your life.

And that’s exactly what female bodybuilders do. They earn their muscles. Since we love looking at their muscles, logically speaking they also earn their beauty. Unlike the beautiful Abercrombie & Fitch models you see on wall-sized advertisements, many female bodybuilders (although not all) are not born conventionally beautiful. We often get jealous of professional models because they make a living – although recent news stories have reported that there is copious abuse within the industry, which unfortunately shouldn’t surprise any of us – thanks to their natural God-given looks. In a way, that kind of jealousy is understandable.

But not so with female bodybuilders. Their beautiful muscular bodies were not given to them from birth. Good genetics did not automatically grant them their six-pack abs, bulging biceps, broad shoulders, thick thighs, rounded calves, and toned butt. They had to sacrifice blood, sweat, and tears to get those assets. While we may harbor some level of envy toward women who can bench press more than us, at the end of the day she busted her tail year-in and year-out to be able to do those lifts. If we put in the same amount of hard work, so can the rest of us. It’s that simple.

Personally, I'd rather look at photos of real life female bodybuilders like Minna Pajulahti.
Personally, I’d rather look at photos of real life female bodybuilders like Minna Pajulahti.

Getting to the top of Mount Everest isn’t nearly as impressive as putting in the work, strategic planning, and preparation necessary to be able to climb Mount Everest in the first place. The journey is just as compelling as the end goal. In this respect, I love female bodybuilders because of the arduous journey they’re on. We can appreciate the final product, but we can also appreciate the road they had to travel to achieve that final product.

At the heart of FMG fiction is cutting through that long and windy road and getting from Point A to Point B in a matter of seconds. That’s not intriguing to me; not because a particular FMG story isn’t well written or well-conceived, but rather because it eliminates the very core reason why I love muscular women in the first place. They earned their muscles through strenuous hard labor, not a magic pill concocted by a mad scientist.

I want female bodybuilders to grow and grow just like the next guy. But I want the journey to take as long as it needs to. Give me a photo of a young fitness Instagram model over a hyper-muscular ‘roided up cartoon character any day. But if that’s your thing, go for it! I encourage people to express their female muscle fandom in any way they choose (as long as it’s legal and consensual, of course).

But alas, I digress. If FMG stories are what rock your socks, I am in no position of authority to say it shouldn’t. By all means, read, write, and draw all the FMG art your heart desires! Do whatever makes you happy, I say. This is not a condemnation of FMG, people who like FMG, or people who create FMG. This is just my humble take on the genre. I’d be happy to hear your thoughts and reactions in the comments below or by sending me an e-mail at ryantakahashi87 (at) yahoo (dot) com. I may even write a follow-up post sharing what you write (or rant) to me.

In the meantime, I swear I can smell the tar boiling in the cauldron…

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Kudos goes out to David C. Matthews for being a supremely talented female muscle artist. Please check out his comic series Tetsuko if you haven’t already! The FMG drawing of popular anime character Sakura Haruno is created by Pegius. The illustration of She-Hulk is done by Michele Frigo.

Facing the Facts: Why a Female Bodybuilder’s Face Still Matters to Me

My eyes cannot help but fixate on Erin Stern's gorgeous face.
My eyes cannot help but fixate on Erin Stern’s gorgeous face.

When you first look upon a photo of a muscular woman, what do your eyes initially fixate on?

For me, if we’re talking about a full-body shot, or a near full-body shot, my eyes immediately focus on her face. This sounds odd considering my natural inclination is being a “leg” guy, but my brain involuntarily tells me to look at this (hypothetical) woman’s face first before anything else.

Before her legs, before her butt, before her hips, before her arms, before her torso, before any of that. Her face is what matters first to me, for whatever reason. Not necessarily the most, but certainly first. This is not the only thing I look at (obviously!), but old habits are hard to break. In fact, natural habits can tell us a lot about our deeply ingrained opinions, biases, and desires.

Even if she’s wearing a sexy G-string bikini. Even if she’s wearing nothing at all. No matter what pose she strikes or what she’s doing in the photo itself. My eyes will almost always go to her face before anything else. Why is that?

When I see a beautiful non-muscular woman walk down the street or step into an elevator with me, my eyes first go to her lower half: her legs, hips, and butt. I try to do this as inconspicuously as possible, as most of us are experts at doing. We’re all horny creeps to some extent; however some of us are better at hiding it than others. Or some of us are less ashamed about it than others.

But when we’re talking about a muscular woman, my eyes don’t look down, but instead look up. I want to see her face. Her eyes, her cheeks, her lips, her bone structure, her smile. Once again, why is that? The information I want to gather is plain and simple: Is she pretty?

A nice full-body shot of Larissa Reis.
A nice full-body shot of Larissa Reis.

If we’re talking about Larissa Reis or Shannon Courtney, the answer is undoubtedly “yes.” If we’re talking about Jennifer Kennedy or Kathy Connors, the answer ranges from “uh, not really” to “I love them…but unfortunately no.” I adore and respect both Jennifer and Kathy very much, so this is not meant to be an insult to them or their beautiful bodies. This is just articulating what many of us are thinking but are too polite to say out loud.

But the question “Is she pretty” is one that is packed with a whole ton of meaning. Why should this matter? Does this make me a hypocrite?

No matter how many essays I write explaining my position that muscles make women more beautiful, for whatever nonsensical reason my eyes still immediately search her face instead of laser-focusing on her hard-earned muscles. When I’m doing a Google or Bing search – and yes, I actually use both with great frequency – of various female bodybuilders, I still gravitate toward their faces first even though I know for a fact the muscles on their bodies are their claim to fame.

What a strange and unusual thing, indeed. What can be derived from this? Are there any lessons or nuggets of truth to be ascertained from this? Possibly. Let’s look at four of them.

1. Beauty still matters

For all the talk about “body image” and that “real women have curves,” at the end of the day the content of her face still matters a great deal. This might not be true for you, but it’s obviously true for me. Theoretically, I know from a cerebral point of view that I’m attracted to female bodybuilders because their remarkable muscle mass provides an aesthetic that I find particularly pleasing. However, my brain still insists on checking out her face first.

A female bodybuilder can control what her muscles look like. Heck, they dedicate their lives toward doing just that. All that blood, sweat, tears, and protein shakes go toward sculpting the most beautiful muscles possible. However, she cannot reasonable control her face. Cosmetic surgery notwithstanding, the appearance of your visage is determined before you were born whether you like it or not. It’s genetics, not hard work. Muscles are built through labor. A gorgeous face is not. So as a fan of female bodybuilders, why does her face still matter to me?

Alright, here's an apt exception. I know where my eyes go first in this photo of Flavia Crisos.
Alright, here’s an apt exception. I know where my eyes go first in this photo of Flavia Crisos.

Perhaps this reveals the truth that deep down inside, traditional beauty is still important to me. I can try to persuade my inner thoughts to value hard work over unearned genetics, but our brains are wired a certain way for a reason. I may not completely understand those reasons, but it is what it is. Beauty still matters. It always has, and it always will. My fetish for a muscular feminine figure may be strong, but my desire for her to still have a pretty face is also strong (if not stronger).

2. The eyes are the windows into the soul

Well, I don’t necessarily agree with this cliché, but there might be some truth to it. We are ingrained into believing the eyes are the best way to really look at a person. When you speak to someone, the polite protocol is to look at them straight in the eyes. Not doing that is culturally inappropriate (in the Western world, that is) and considered rude in most social circles.

So no matter how much six-pack abs, a round butt or swollen biceps turn me on, her eyes are where my eyes initially go. Other than this being a learned behavior, why is that?

I think this speaks to the fact we value the humanity of the people we encounter, even those we happen to be physically attracted to. For all the talk about “objectifying” people, at the end of the day most decent human beings value each other on some level. Obviously we value our friends and family more than complete strangers, but not too many of us wish ill on others without a compelling reason.

I obviously love female bodybuilders. But my appreciation for them isn’t just physical. I love their toughness, self-confidence, drive, passion, dedication, and service to others (many FBBs work as personal trainers or in the healthcare field). So when my eyes first focus on a muscular woman’s face, it’s an indication that I want to learn more about her: her interests, strengths, weaknesses, fears, failures, successes, feelings, thoughts, likes, dislikes, and so on.

There’s way no way I can actually learn any of that just from looking at a photograph of a female bodybuilder, but the natural instinct to want to know exists nevertheless.

3. A subtle bias against muscular women still exists within me

This is probably a bit of a stretch, but it’s worth talking about. I wrote a post recently arguing that muscles are the great equalizer when it comes to assessing one’s physical beauty. I believe this wholeheartedly, but perhaps there’s still a small hint of bias against muscular women that’s hiding deep within my psyche.

I look at a muscular woman’s face first because I want to assess how “feminine” she is. Is her face “man-like,” as many negative stereotypes go? Does her face have masculine features or does she appear to be traditionally feminine? Intellectually, I understand that not every woman, muscular or not, looks “feminine” as society widely accepts that term to mean. I also understand that years of taking anabolic steroids and human growth hormones can change the way your body (and face) looks.

A classic female bodybuilder from yesteryear: Sharon Bruneau.
A classic female bodybuilder from yesteryear: Sharon Bruneau.

The “hardening” of a woman’s face to appear gruffer and less soft – whatever these descriptors even mean – can happen after higher-than-usual levels of testosterone enter the body. I’d venture a guess that these so-called changes aren’t actually real. They’re more perceived due to social stigmas attached to women with big muscles.

These social biases run so deep that even yours truly believes in them to a certain extent. I’d like to think my “street cred” for supporting female bodybuilders should be unquestioned, but even I can admit that I occasionally give in to what popular perceptions teach us. When I look at a photo of a female bodybuilder for the first time – as opposed to a photo I’ve already seen before – my natural inclination to first look at her face tells me I’m still bias toward women who look traditionally beautiful. I still think of FBBs as being “different” or “freakish,” even though I embrace these differences as being a part of her unique beauty.

Bias is not the same thing as hate, however. It’s just what your brain (whether you know it or not) automatically tells you when you’re digesting new information. The first step is to be aware of it. The next step is to recognize that this doesn’t make you a bad person. The last step is to be able to make your own decisions whether the vast majority of others will agree with you or not.

4. It’s not just about her muscles, it’s about her entire self

On a more positive note, one of the reasons why I first tend to look at a muscular woman’s face is because I’m not nearly as fixated on her muscles as one would think. Maybe it’s because I’m a sucker for a pretty face (which I am!). Or it goes to show you that while I love an FBB’s muscles, I actually love her entire self.

Related to point #2, I first look at her face because I want to learn as much as I can about her as a person. Fantastic. But another important observation is that for me, and obviously I cannot speak for anybody else except for me, it’s not just about her muscles. It’s not the mere presence of big muscles on her body that make her extraordinarily beautiful. It’s the entire package.

People who aren’t familiar with the world of female bodybuilding get perplexed when they see a photo of an FBB because they can’t stop focusing on her muscles. Those of us who are more familiar with this aesthetic see past her muscles and appreciate her entire beauty – both external and internal. I recently participated in a muscle worship session with a pro bodybuilder who talked enthusiastically about her passion for helping others. She works as a personal trainer (as many often do) and loves inspiring people to become happier, healthier, and more confident. She spoke of serving homeless young adults, abused women, and emotionally hurt people who have lost their way. Through teaching them how to lift weights at the gym, she saw their lives turn around for the better. Some of her anecdotes were powerful to listen to.

I quickly decided that for as much as I appreciate her external beauty – and she is without a doubt a beautiful person – her internal beauty shines brighter.

Timea Majorova showcasing her assets.
Timea Majorova showcasing her assets.

Whether we’re talking about a slim pop star, a skinny fashion model, or a big and buff female bodybuilder, where your eyes go first when you look upon her depends on what you value, what you’re looking for, and the context of the situation. If a woman intentionally shows off her cleavage, it’s reasonable why your eyes would go there first. If her long gorgeous legs are front and center of the image, I wouldn’t blame you for your imagination running wild with what you’d like to do with those legs.

But for me, I first look at her face. Even if she has big muscles. Even if her muscles are supposed to be the center of attention. There are many reasons for this. Some of them are logical. Others are pure speculative. But it is interesting to reflect on why this happens to me. Do I need to face the facts about my inherent prejudices against muscular women, even though I’m one of the most vocal proponents of female bodybuilders on the Internet (or at least, on WordPress)? Or does this mean that at the end of the day, I appreciate traditional beauty above all else? Or am I so accustomed to seeing muscles on a woman that its affects are starting to wane on me?

Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down there! Can it be true that I’m getting desensitized to the sight of a muscular woman? Have I plunged so far into the deep end of the pool that looking upon the strong powerful body of Rene Campbell elicits the same reaction as looking upon the narrow skinny body of Taylor Swift?

I’m not showing disrespect to either Rene Campbell or Taylor Swift, but is my brain adjusting to the reality that not only do I think that muscles on a woman are beautiful, but it’s now an ordinary thing to look at?

Hm. Probably not. I don’t think I’ll ever get “used to” seeing muscles on a woman’s physique. No matter how many thousands of photos or hours of video I experience watching FBBs show off their beautiful bodies, I highly doubt the jolt of energy that erupts inside me will ever dissipate. My heart will always flutter. The “Madness” will never go away.

But if it does, is that an indication that I’ve become so saturated with muscular women that I’ve finally accepted that this body type is both “normal” and “not out of the ordinary?” Is this progress or a signal that I’ve become a female bodybuilder junkie, where my usual “fix” isn’t good enough to sustain my appetites?

Alright, this discussion is getting weird. I’m probably overthinking a fairly normal phenomenon. I like pretty faces. That’s it, end of debate. But like all topics related to female bodybuilders, muscular women, and analyzing why people like me love them so damn much, there are endless things to talk about. I haven’t even scratched the surface yet. I look forward to being able to dig a little deeper next time.

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Helping great parents raise terrific kids

Erotic Escapades

Erotic tales curated and cared for by our small band of (deviant) writers...

Fearless Ophelia

Speaking Out on the Unspeakable

Sarah Doughty

Novelist, Poet, Wordsmith

Babbling Beauty

Beauty, life, and the inner workings of a female mind.

Attila Ovari