Taming the Wild Beast: Giving an Orgasm to a Muscular Woman

If Jane looked like this, would Tarzan still want to be with her?

If Jane looked like this, would Tarzan still want to be with her?

There is a common belief out there that men who love muscular women also love (or fantasize about) being dominated by a muscular woman. While there is a close link between female muscle fetishism and BDSM, the two can be mutually exclusive. I would argue they can exist independently.

Nevertheless, the weak man/strong woman motif persists for good reasons. Men who pay strong women for sessions do so for the privileges of wrestling them or worshiping their muscles. Either way, they’re willing to shell out $300 to $500 of their hard earned cash because they love living out the fantasy of being physically and emotionally dominated by a stronger woman.

This fantasy goes a bit further, however. Deep down inside, even the most beta male secretly wishes he can win the upper hand against a stronger female opponent. While there are guys who fetishize the idea of being completely dominated by a woman, there exists other fantasies that go along with that. Primarily, the fantasy of “taming the wild beast.”

For as long as human civilization has been around, it has been commonly accepted that men are naturally stronger than women. This has led to men being the ones who’ve organized society’s political, social, economic, and religious structures. For better or for worse, this is still how things operate today, although that trend is starting to move in the other direction. There is no doubt women are gaining further traction in today’s world, but the way business has been done for thousands of years cannot be radically altered overnight.

Perhaps this “changing of the guard” where men and women are enjoying (more or less) “equal” footing in society’s power structures explains the popularity of men fetishizing being dominated by a woman. There are countless men in this world who are in control but do not necessarily want to be in control. Just as Spider-Man could tell you, with great power comes great responsibility. And great responsibility can be a heavy emotional burden.

Sexologists will argue that the male fantasy of being dominated by a woman is borne out of a desire for powerful men to be able to “let go” and be powerless for at least a few moments in his life. Heavy lies the crown, so the adage goes. This temporary abdication of power is a man’s way of releasing his inner burdens and allowing someone else to take control for once. So perhaps we’re looking at this in completely the wrong way. Guys who love muscular women aren’t necessarily beta males who enjoy submitting themselves to feminine power. Instead, they might just be “average, normal dudes” who crave momentary relief from their male “duties.”

We could go on exploring this issue, but let’s return to the main topic. The association of a muscular woman with a “wild beast” shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone. Pulp novels of long ago used to portray “jungle women” who would capture, torment, scheme against, and engage in steamy sexual relationships with their male counterparts. The jungle motif continues to be seen today in photoshoots involving female bodybuilders and models. Our pop culture associates a strong, muscular physique with keen survival skills, an animalistic personality, and fierce independence.

What if Jane looked like Dayana Cadeau?

What if Jane looked like Dayana Cadeau?

Tarzan wasn’t a weakling. Jane might have been, but certainly not her lover. If we turn the tables around and fantasize about Denise Masino or Alina Popa as modern-day female Tarzans, how many of us would put ourselves into the shoes of Jane? Would we be named James? Or John? Or Jim?

However, as much as we love to think of our favorite female bodybuilders as strong, sexy, independent creatures who can kick our ass at the drop of a hat, deep down inside our imaginations exist an interesting layer to this fantasy. We still want to be in charge. We may enjoy being pinned down, talked down to, and humiliated by a strong woman, but at the end of the day we want to assert our God-given dominance in one way or another.

So how do we do that? In this particular fantasy, the answer – of course! – has a sexual component to it.

If a weaker guy cannot physically dominate a stronger woman, he can assert his dominance in a sexual way instead. How is that done? Simple:

Giving a female bodybuilder an orgasm.

Obviously, not every female bodybuilder who offers sessions will allow that level of sexual intimacy to her clients. That’s not what I’m talking about. Instead, I’m referring to the fantasy of giving a strong muscular woman an orgasm. Let’s talk about this point in further detail.

There are many ways men can demonstrate their dominance over a woman. Not all of them are sexist or spiteful, although these behaviors could certainly be taken to those unfortunate extremes. A guy could show off his strength at the gym, flaunt his wealth at a fancy restaurant, impress his date by introducing her to his high-status friends, remind everyone how much influence he has at his job, and so on. Yeah, many of these things can make you out to look like an egotistical jerk, so I don’t recommend you exhibit these manners too often.

A jungle-themed photoshoot with Wendy McMaster.

A jungle-themed photoshoot with Wendy McMaster.

But…there is another way. It’s less public (at least, traditionally speaking), but it’s a certifiable way to prove one’s dominance. It involves pleasing her in the bedroom. How strange it is that the ultimate act of proving’s one’s manhood involves giving pleasure to a woman. Guys can brag all they want in the locker room about how many women they’ve slept with, but what’s less certain is figuring out how many of these women found the experience of sleeping with you pleasant. You can have sex with ten women in one wild weekend, but if every single one of them left your bedroom bored and unsatisfied, how much of a “Man” are you?

On the other hand, if a man makes love to only one woman – his wife or girlfriend, perhaps – during one eventful passionate evening, and she experiences a multitude of gratifying orgasms, is this guy more of a “Man” than the guy who slept with ten women who didn’t feel a thing while doing the deed with him?

Yes, of course!

This is why a man’s penis is nicknamed his “manhood.” It’s what makes a man a man. Not only does the penis biologically separate a man from a woman, it’s his way of showcasing his dominion over her. Contrast the guy who sleeps with ten women who can’t remember his name with another guy who spends the whole night with one woman who can’t get enough of him. Satisfying climax after satisfying climax, she’s sure she’ll never have it this good ever again in her life. Without question, this guy is much more of a “Man” than the first guy who should really see a doctor about getting an STD test.

A typical "jungle woman" cover from an old-school pulp novel.

A typical “jungle woman” cover from an old-school pulp novel.

Therefore, this explains the fantasy. A female bodybuilder may be leaps and bounds more powerful, confident, strong, and tough than her weaker male lover. However, in the bedroom, it’s a whole other story. There, he can validate his manliness. She may have bigger muscles, but he has a penis that can satisfy her like no other can. All the dildos and vibrators in the world cannot compare to his manhood. Through the act of sex, the tables are turned. During a passionate lovemaking session, he is the dominate one and she is the weaker one – regardless of the size of her muscles.

Women are different than men in regards to what happens post-orgasm. As one young lady I know once told me, when it comes to having multiple orgasms, women “can keep going until they decide to stop.” Good for them! Guys, on the other hand, are much different. We have one…and we’re as good as spent. There’s a reason why many of us like to get off right before going to sleep. It helps us get to sleep! Our energy is drained and it takes at least 15 to 20 minutes before we can get hard again. And if we do get hard again, you can guarantee our level of enthusiasm won’t be nearly as high as it was beforehand.

But let’s ignore this and assume a satisfying orgasm will sap you of all your energy. After successfully providing one’s sexual partner a toe-curling, scream-inducing satiating orgasm, isn’t it like taming a wild beast? The contrast of energy level couldn’t be starker. During sex, people can exert a tremendous amount of energy. Post-sex, it’s like someone took out your battery and flung it out the window. You’re completely and utterly drained.

Tamed, indeed.

This is the origin of this fantasy. Guys who love a wild and dangerous (whether she’s actually wild and dangerous is beside the point; it’s the fantasy that matters most) female bodybuilder feel the intense urge to “cut her down to size” and show her what a real man is like. It’s understandable for a normal-looking man to feel emasculated when in the presence of a muscular woman. Deep down inside, he yearns to be able to make love to her so passionately and so intently that she’s willing to submit to his every whim.

Perhaps submission is the name of the game. One could argue inside every insecure man is an ultra-masculine He-Man ready to jump out and take on the world singlehandedly. I may not feel that way, but I’m sure there are plenty of guys out there who do. I’m not passing down any judgement or trying to psychoanalyze their situation. I’m just trying to make sense out of a fervent fantasy a lot of female muscle lovers share – whether they know it or not.

Post-sex, the image of a strong, powerful female bodybuilder purring like a cat as she snuggles up close to me in bed is enough to get my heart rate going. If she were to whisper sweet nothings into my ear, I might just pass out. Come to think of it, I guess I do share this fantasy!

Taming the wild beast can come in many forms. One could physically show one’s dominance over a muscular woman…but that’s not nearly erotic enough. One could tie her up and play the part of a male dominatrix…but that’s kinky and doesn’t prove anything. Roleplaying is fun, but at the end of the day it’s two consenting adults creating a false reality for the sake of mutual erotic amusement. It’s not real. But having sex with a female bodybuilder and showing her how much of a Casanova you are…well, it’s not like such a thing could actually happen to me, but at least you could consider it an actual accomplishment.

Denise Masino is a wild beast who needs to be tamed.

Denise Masino is a wild beast who needs to be tamed.

Right, there, that’s at the heart of this discussion: showcasing an accomplishment to a woman who has her fair share of impressive accomplishments. Guys who love muscular women also want to “prove” to her that he’s a man and she’s still a woman. The differences in physical strength notwithstanding, guys still want to be the one in charge. They might enjoy being dominated by her for kicks and giggles, but when push comes to shove he still wants the opportunity to assert his masculinity. He doesn’t think he’s superior to her (or that she’s inferior to him); rather he desires to let her know who’s who in this relationship.

Giving an orgasm to a female bodybuilder is the premiere way to prove to her what kind of a Man you are. You deserve the capital “M,” no ifs, ands, or buts about it. And you don’t want to do it by fingering her or performing cunnilingus on her. That’s perfectly okay, but you want to show her you’re a Man the old fashioned way: stick your hard manhood inside her and ride her till she begs for more. And when she does beg for more (assuming your fantasy goes this far), you can choose to either fulfill her wishes or deny her what she wants.

And to make matters better, because it takes guys a little while to get hard again, she has to wait for you to be able to make love to her again. Imagine that!

That’s what this is all about. Whether you want to please her till she’s purring like a kitten or you want to deny her what she desires, it’s your choice. It’s fantasy, and you can definitely see how this could play out in reality. You are a Man. She is a Woman. You dream of demonstrating to her who’s who and leaving absolutely no doubt about it.

She’s still an incredibly strong Woman, but you’re a Man, and there’s nothing that can take that away from you. She is a Wild Beast and you must tame her before she gets out of control. You’re a Man. It’s what you’re supposed to do. She knows it, but she wants to know if you know it.

So there you go. You just want to send her a message. And have fun while doing it. That’s a win-win in my book.

“Taming the Wild Beast” is a fantasy that can be counterintuitive. A weak man who’s with a strong woman doesn’t have to feel emasculated. In fact, he can feel quite the opposite. She may be able to beat him at arm wrestling or deadlift more than him at the gym, but he can still satisfy her in bed and leave her begging for more. This intends to shift the balance of power away from her and toward him…where it rightfully belongs.

I believe this is Julie Bonnett. Can anybody say otherwise?

I believe this is Julie Bonnett. Can anybody say otherwise?

No matter how big she grows, no matter how large her muscles become, no matter how powerful she can be…she can never truly supersede his role as the dominant Alpha Male. A female bodybuilder can pretend to be the Alpha Female, but all that comes to a crashing halt the moment he successfully gives her a fulfilling orgasmic experience. Physical strength can be manufactured at the gym. Sexual prowess is innate. There’s nothing she can do to turn the tide on thousands of years of male/female biological reality.

At the end of the day, he has the penis and she has the vagina. In this fantasy, the vagina is unquestionably subordinate to the penis. Without a penis, the vagina exists in a vacuum. She can masturbate all she wants – and she could very well give herself fantastic climaxes – but there’s still a void left in her sex life. Who can fill that void?

You guessed it. The Man.

Even if this Man is smaller, weaker, and physically unremarkable. Even if the Woman is larger, stronger, and more dynamic. That’s irrelevant. The “Taming the Wild Beast” fantasy ignores those realities and puts the Man in the driver’s seat. This isn’t rooted in sexism, misogyny or even insecurity. It’s rooted in the desire to relinquish control, but not totally give it up. It’s based on the belief that women can be stronger than men, but a man is still a man and a woman is still a woman. Fetishes are often simple to understand. It’s not complicated.

The beauty of this fantasy is the fact that “taming” her doesn’t involve violence or dehumanizing her. That’s out of the question. “Taming” her instead involves giving her sexual pleasure. He gets pleasure out of it as well, but what’s more important is making sure she leaves the encounter happy and satisfied.

She may be a beast on the outside, but deep down inside she can be just as vulnerable as him. It just takes a single passionate carnal encounter to bring these vulnerabilities to the surface. He derives pleasure from giving her pleasure. That’s a win-win indeed.

The Benevolent Voyeur and the Female Bodybuilder – Part One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All of that changed one fateful Tuesday evening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Miss Tanaka,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sincerely,

Jones

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

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

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

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

Writing and sending handwritten letters is a lost art.

Writing and sending handwritten letters is a lost art.

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

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

8:58 p.m.

Fuck!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi Hannah. Where’s Craig?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A modest 4”x3” letter.

Oh fuck.

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

Well, shit.

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

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

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

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

Dear Miss Tanaka,

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace be with you Angelic Sweetheart.

Sincerely,

Jones

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

“Holy fucking shit.”

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

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall: Muscles as the Great Equalizer

Check out the sexy outfit being worn by Kathy Connors.

Check out the sexy outfit being worn by Kathy Connors.

If I could rewrite a classic cliché that exists with the intent of providing a much needed self-esteem boost to the insecure general public, it would be this:

Beauty is only muscle deep.

I’m not sure if this makes any sense, but that doesn’t matter. Indeed, “Beauty is only skin deep” is a tired and true mantra meant to comfort those of us who are – how shall I say this in a politically correct manner – not blessed with natural good looks. I’m sure every single one of you who is reading this article is as gorgeous as a supermodel, but that’s beside the point. We’re all beautiful in our own way, right?

Well, maybe, maybe not. This is not meant to be a profound discussion about body image, media standards, the saturation of Adobe PhotoShop in fashion magazines, culture, identity, or anything of the sort. Instead, let’s start with the general premise that some of us are genetically wired to be more physically attractive than others. I don’t mean to insult anyone who isn’t considered traditionally beautiful. This is intended to state the obvious, which seemingly needs to be done more often in today’s society.

Call it an unfair advantage. Is it fair that Adriana Lima has made millions of dollars working as a supermodel while the vast majority of us haven’t? Not really. If there are people out there who are willing to shell out that kind of cash for the right to plaster her gorgeous face all across perfume and underwear advertisements, so be it. I have no right to say this consensual transaction between an employer and an employee should not exist.

But that doesn’t stop the feelings of jealousy that boil within us. Studies have shown (to be fair, you can find a so-called “study” that can support almost any position you want it to) that attractive men and women tend to make more money, advance faster in their careers, and enjoy certain “privileges” not easily available to their less-than-attractive peers. I have no logical reasons to doubt these findings. It makes perfect sense. We want to be around people who look good because…well, because. You can fill in the blanks.

But what about my argument that “Beauty is only muscle deep?” Here’s what I mean by this.

Women who are naturally beautiful often are the target of scorn and envy because of the fact they didn’t “earn” their beauty and all of the social and tangible benefits that come from it. It doesn’t seem like handsome men are treated with the same level of vitriol. Trust me, I’d know!

So too often, unattractive women feel like they’ve been dealt a bad (and unfair) hand in life. They’re playing with less chips in the poker game. They have to start 15 meters behind the starting line right before the race begins. It’s a sad world we live in where multi-billion dollar industries exist with the sole intent of convincing women around the world they can effortlessly bridge this gap.

Other than pursing expensive (and often ineffective) plastic surgeries and procedures, there aren’t a whole lot of practical ways a woman can enhance her beauty. Cleverly applied make-up can only go so far. Beauty standards set by society – however you define “society” – can change over time, but your gut instinct is your gut instinct. You know a beautiful person when you see one. No amount of social engineering, peer pressure, or “awareness campaigns” are going to change that.

Who wants to go to bed with Rhonda Lee Quaresma?

Who wants to go to bed with Rhonda Lee Quaresma?

However, there is one avenue a less-than beautiful woman can pursue that can, in the eyes of some people, transform her from a Plain Jane into an Irresistible Sex Goddess.

What avenue is that? You guessed it!

Bodybuilding.

While the sport (and lifestyle) of bodybuilding certainly isn’t for everyone, this is without a doubt one tactic a woman – and man – can utilize to improve her physical beauty, boost her self-esteem, and reinvigorate her sense of purpose. For people who love muscular women, we absolutely adore their big strong muscles. We cannot stop thinking about it. Once we’re hooked, we’re hooked for life. There’s no turning back. There is no “on” and “off” switch that can tamper our love for them. We’re completely in their grasp and we wouldn’t have it any other way.

Muscles are the Great Equalizer. A curvy muscular frame can transform Cinderella into the Belle of the Ball with free weights, protein powder, and carbohydrates standing in for the Fairy Godmother. A powerful muscular body can more than make up for a less-than beautiful face.

Don’t believe me? In my opinion, there are plenty of real world examples to back me up. Now don’t get me wrong. I have no intention to insult, demean or shame any of these incredible women. I’m just being completely honest here. Women like Kathy Connors, Jennifer Kennedy, Yvette Bova, and Rhonda Lee Quaresma would not be considered traditionally beautiful if you took a straw poll of 1,000 random people on the street. Please don’t get me wrong! I am not trying to be malicious or nasty toward Miss Connors, Miss Kennedy, Miss Bova or Miss Quaresma! Regardless of how you think of them, I find all four of these ladies to be sexy, sassy, and supremely alluring.

I perfectly understand they are not everyone’s cup of tea, but that’s fine. You don’t have to like every single female bodybuilder in existence. Nor do you necessarily have to defend every one of them from Internet trolls. But there are plenty of guys who really dig muscular women who aren’t considered traditionally beautiful, feminine, or desirable by the majority of society. Even hardcore female muscle fans are split as to how they feel about Kathy Connors, Jennifer Kennedy, Yvette Bova, and Rhonda Lee Quaresma. Some are disgusted by them. Others are completely turned on by them. It’s all a matter of opinion.

Hopefully, we can agree that muscles can be the Great Equalizer. Maybe not for everybody, but for many people they can be. We can be so aroused by an FBB’s muscles that we can overlook her unremarkable face, unfeminine characteristics or disagreeable demeanor. Personality matters, of course, but for now we’re just talking about physical beauty.

People who love muscular women have an expanded definition of “beauty.” We appreciate beauty that’s untraditional. We embrace an aesthetic that’s unconventional. It’s not esoteric, but it certainly takes a particular personality to be willing to value a type of beauty that many people are openly hostile toward.

I really want to go to the beach with Jennifer Kennedy.

I really want to go to the beach with Jennifer Kennedy.

For us, muscles not only enhance a woman’s beauty, they completely transform it. Lisa Cross went from being a dainty little English girl to becoming a Powerfully Tantalizing Muscle Goddess of Epic Proportions after she started going to the gym. Angela Salvagno went from being the cute dark haired girl next door to a Sexy Muscle Temptress thanks to her pursuit of bodybuilding. Mavi Gioia went from being an astonishingly beautiful Italian lady to someone who could make my heart stop mid-beat if I ever were to look directly upon her. Mavi is a modern day Medusa. Except she has curvy muscles instead of snakes for hair. Either way, I’d turn to stone immediately if I gazed at her beauty for even a split second.

Divine, indeed.

If you were to ask me if I’d rather make sweet passionate love to Megan Fox or Kathy Connors, I’d pick Kathy every single day of the week and twice on Sundays. No kidding. Imagine a magician approaching me – wearing a purple cape and golden Gypsy fortune teller hat, no less – with the offer of making this scenario a reality:

One evening only. A secluded beach house by the ocean. A bottle of wine. A delicious meal of steak and lobster. Candlelight. A picturesque sunset. Not a single soul in sight. The offer of one night of total sensual passion with no strings attached or consequences. No specific sexual activity is off the table. Whatever your dirty heart secretly desires your dirty heart will get, guaranteed, no questions asked. Nobody will ever know. Who would you rather choose to experience this with: Megan Fox or Kathy Connors?

Honestly? I’m still going with Miss Connors. Laugh at me all you want.

Raise your eyebrows in puzzlement if you want to (assuming you are able to, obviously). But this is my honest answer. And it’s not even close. If I had to settle for Miss Fox instead of Miss Connors, I wouldn’t complain. If that’s my consolation prize, then at this point we’re just comparing one brand of champagne to another. This hypothetical situation will never ever present itself of course, but this is in fact what I would do. Sorry, Megan. I drooled over you while watching Transformers (because let’s face it, the rest of that movie was pretty stupid), but you lose this particular battle. A middle-aged female bodybuilder with a deep masculine voice, an unattractive face, and pumped up muscles wins my heart over you. It’s not personal. It’s just my preference.

I realize 99.99999999999% of the world’s population would wholeheartedly disagree with me. That’s okay. I won’t lose sleep over that. But that’s none of my concern. I don’t care too much what other people think. I only care about what I think. And I stand by my assertion that an average to below average looking female bodybuilder is more desirable than a Victoria’s Secret bra and panties model. Or pop star. Or movie star. Or viral Instagram celebrity.

Muscles are the Great Equalizer. Like a Fairy Godmother transforming a slovenly housemaid into the object of affection of a handsome prince, muscles can do wonders. They perform miracles. But here’s another point that needs to be said. Muscles are earned, not handed out.

Yvette Bova rocking a sexy cocktail dress.

Yvette Bova rocking a sexy cocktail dress.

This point cannot be stressed enough. A surgical procedure to eliminate wrinkles, reshape your nose or enlarge your breasts are legitimate ways to make yourself appear more beautiful. But there’s something cheap about that. Not cheap in the financial sense, but cheap in the philosophical sense. It seems like a simple and artificial way to conform yourself to other people’s standards. Please don’t misinterpret me, I am not suggesting that people who choose to get surgery done are somehow debasing themselves or “selling themselves out.” That’s not my argument at all. A person has the right to choose what they want to do with their bodies as long as they’re aware of the consequences and all sides are being honest and transparent about what’s happening.

That being said, there’s something glorious about building up muscle mass that isn’t comparable with getting cosmetic surgery. Bodybuilding requires endless hours of sweat, dedication, frustration, pain, determination, grit, and strategizing. You have to earn your muscles. Even synthetic steroids, hormones, and supplements will not magically transform you into a pro bodybuilder overnight. It still takes an immense amount of strenuous work to look that way. Nothing is given to you. You have to take it.

This is why a female bodybuilder “earns” her beauty. She isn’t born with big muscles, unlike Heidi Klum who was born with a beautiful face. I realize many FBBs choose to get surgical work done in addition to sculpting their muscles the old fashioned way, but that’s beside the point. This isn’t about dogma. This is about the basic idea that muscles can make a woman look more beautiful in ways that a single afternoon at the doctor’s office cannot easily replicate.

I think the moral of the story of Cinderella is that beauty is based more on perception than what you actually look like. To my knowledge, the Fairy Godmother doesn’t physically change how Cinderella looks, instead she gives her a sparkly new dress, a high-class horse and carriage, a respected entourage (consisting of mice and other critters, according to Disney), and fancy glass slippers. The Prince notices her not because she looks particularly different than the other women at the ball, but because there’s something unexplainable about her that captures his eye.

What would this antique mirror say about the beauty of female bodybuilders?

What would this antique mirror say about the beauty of female bodybuilders?

He can’t explain it. He just knows. His brain tells him she’s just like any other of the young eligible bachelorettes visiting the palace. But his intuition tells him something else entirely.

It’s the same way with a woman with muscles. She becomes more beautiful. But not just conventionally beautiful. She reconstructs her entire aura that elicit reactions from people that range from utter repulsion to uncontrollable lust. Either way, you cannot look away nor expel it from your mind.

Snow White, a tale from which the mystical chant “Mirror, mirror on the wall” originates, is a character who happens to be more conventionally beautiful than the Evil Queen. This bedtime story compares an apple with a better looking apple. Comparing a magazine model to a female bodybuilder is more like comparing apples to oranges. Or more specifically, comparing an apple with a large, ripe, sweet, and delectable orange.

Muscles aren’t a magic spell. They’re not something an outside power can just grant you with the twirl of a wand. What Snow White was born with and what Cinderella was given by a supernatural enchantress cannot compare to what a determined woman with a plan, a relentless work ethic, and a gym membership can achieve.

Beauty is indeed only muscle deep. But I don’t need a talking mirror to tell me that.

Minna Pajulahti is the Flawless Female Bodybuilder We’ve All Been Waiting For

Flawless? I think so.

Flawless? I think so.

Alright, ladies and gentlemen. Stop whatever you’re doing. Right now. I don’t care if you’re sitting in a waiting room about to undergo open-heart surgery and the nurse just called your name to get prepped. I don’t care if you’re about to have tea with the Queen of England (happy 90th birthday!) or if you’re in the middle of writing your doctorate dissertation that’s due in an hour. Just stop whatever you’re doing and do what I’m about to tell you to do.

Find a device with Internet connection and do a Google search on Minna Pajulahti.

I’ll wait.

Ready to proceed? Great.

I’ve already shared photos of Miss Pajulahti on this blog, but I think now is the time to dedicate a whole blog post to her. She isn’t new to the scene, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t newsworthy at this particular moment. Have you seen what this gorgeous woman looks like? She’s newsworthy 27/7/365. Hopefully we can all agree on that!

There isn’t a whole lot of biographical information about her available, so I’ll summarize what I can.

Minna is a Finnish IFBB bodybuilder who was born on May 4, 1980. At the ripe age of 36 (although she looks 26!), Minna competes in the women’s physique division. She works as a flight attendant and fitness coach when she isn’t busting her butt at the gym.

She placed 14th at the 2010 IFBB Fort Lauderdale Pro, 7th at the 2011 IFBB Toronto Pro, 5th at the 2011 IFBB FIBO Power Pro Germany, 16th at the 2014 IFBB Europa Dallas, and 6th at the 2016 IFBB Karina Nascimento Pro. She also participated at the 2010 IFBB Arnold Amateur International Bodybuilding, Fitness, Figure & Bikini Championships. She might have competed in other contests, but the history on that is scant.

In addition to competing in bodybuilding, Minna is also a powerlifter. She says she also enjoys cheerleading and everything related to fitness. Standing at 5’4”, Minna may not be super tall, but her gorgeous good looks, beach blonde hair, and powerfully built physique makes her stand out above the rest. She currently lives in Nokia, Finland.

A strikingly gorgeous female bodybuilder.

A strikingly gorgeous female bodybuilder.

Every so often I’ll come across a female bodybuilder whose striking beauty and impressive muscular development gives her enough “crossover” appeal to please both female muscle fans and “female muscle skeptics” alike. We all know (or know of) people who are skeptical and irrationally disgusted by strong women. The stereotype they have ingrained in their brains of a female bodybuilder is someone with a man-like face, grossly unfeminine muscles protruding everywhere, excessive body hair, a voice deep enough to make a 17th century pirate blush, and overly aggressive behavior. Minna Pajulahti takes all those harmful images and smashes them with the hammer of Thor.

Minna is different. Despite her huge muscles, her curvy figure is undeniably feminine. Her face is as gorgeous as you’ll ever see. She seems approachable, pleasant, and “normal.” But more important, her incredible good looks makes you stop dead in your tracks. You see her once and you’re hooked. How can you not want to check in on her Instagram every single morning?

First impressions matter. I can guarantee you your first impression of seeing pictures of Miss Pajulahti is to be hypnotized by her flawless combination of beauty, muscularity, and etherealness. She’s so physically beautiful she seems almost not real. She’s like a female muscle fan crafted a flesh-and-blood female bodybuilder from scratch and created the Perfect Dream Woman. Minna is that damn gorgeous.

This is how we react. Will others follow and be captivated by her like we are? Maybe, maybe not.

Whether Minna is likely to become a “mainstream” celebrity isn’t the point. Bodybuilders as a whole, even today’s most popular male competitors, are only known to a limited number of people. Guys like Arnold Schwarzenegger and Lou Ferrigno had what it took to become household names, but this isn’t the 1970s anymore. The sport still exists, but it can’t compete with soccer, basketball, baseball, football, and MMA in terms of widespread popularity. Bodybuilding’s market share isn’t what it used to be.

Minna has fantastic muscle development...

Minna has fantastic muscle development…

In a previous blog post, I talked about the difficulties of maintaining the so-called “perfect balance” of being a female bodybuilder who can appeal to a wide audience. Miss Pajulahti is someone who comes very close. I personally think she hits the nail on the head, but not everyone will agree with me. That’s perfectly okay. They have every right to be wrong!

But seriously, Minna is striking for being two things at once: She looks like a Baywatch lifeguard while at the same time having the muscle mass of an NFL linebacker. For my non-American readers, I apologize if I can’t come up with a better analogy. Heavyweight boxer, perhaps?

If you follow Minna closely on Instagram – and I highly recommend you do if you don’t already – she does everything you’d expect a beautiful woman on IG to do. She posts selfies, photos of what she eats, her friends, her work life, her accomplishments, inspirational quotes, and shots of herself modeling. The fact she isn’t a world-famous supermodel by now astounds me. But I get it. Women with biceps that large can’t possibly draw interest from the general public.

Or can they?

If given a chance, I have no doubt Minna could shake up the advertising industry. If she were 10-12 years younger (though like I said earlier, she looks a lot younger than she is) and were born and raised in Southern California instead of Finland, perhaps things could be different. If she chose to pursue a sport like MMA or if she became famous for posting viral fitness videos on YouTube, Minna could be a bigger international star than she is right now. Today, Minna is only “famous” to people who pay close attention to the fitness/bodybuilding world. But it didn’t have to be that way.

This “missed opportunity” isn’t necessarily tragic, but it is a bit disappointing. Minna is unquestionably beautiful, feminine, and accomplished. She also has bigger muscles that most people aren’t accustomed to seeing on a woman’s body. I can’t fathom how anyone would be shocked or repulsed by her. She would force you to do a double-take, but that’s not the same thing as wanting to turn away from her because you find her appearance unbearably unpleasant.

...and a gorgeous face to boot!

…and a gorgeous face to boot!

How can you not help but stare at videos of her deadlifting, squatting, and bench pressing massive amounts of weight? It’s impressive for anyone to be able to powerlift all that, never mind someone who also looks like she could be arm candy for Hugh Hefner (try not to vomit when you think about that). I am not in the least bit surprised that she used to be a cheerleader. She definitely looks the part.

Is Minna a “flawless” female bodybuilder? Well, that depends on how we define flawless. I find no fault in her physique, attitude, professional goals, and accomplishments. Will a diverse array of people, both those who are already sympathetic to muscular women and those who are not, like her in the same way? That remains to be seen. Sadly, we may never have the chance to find out. This is the missed opportunity I am quietly lamenting.

I will not attempt to project where her career goes from here. Will she score a small role in a big studio Hollywood feature film and become a major celebrity hereafter? Probably not. The odds of that kind of good fortune are nearly nonexistent. However, that isn’t totally outside the realm of possibility given the pop culture trends we’re seeing play out today.

Superhero movies are more popular than ever. The sci-fi and fantasy genres are about to take off to new heights. The rebooted Star Trek franchise and reinvigorated Star Wars universe are prime avenues for non-traditional looking performers to hog the spotlight. New episodes of Game of Thrones is starting to become a national holiday. Lots of popular sci-fi/fantasy books and graphic novels are ready for an HBO or Netflix executive to greenlight. Nobody knows what the future will hold.

So it’s not outside the realm of possibility for a sexy, gorgeous muscular woman to score a role in a major TV or film project that will attract millions of eyeballs. I won’t hold my breath for such an occurrence to happen, but it’s not inconceivable. It may not be Miss Pajulahti who lands this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity per se, but it doesn’t have to be.

I cannot bring up Minna Pajulahti as being the flawless female bodybuilder we’ve all been waiting for without giving proper respect to Shannon Courtney, Dani Reardon (despite an unfortunate domestic violence arrest), Sheronica Sade Henton, Beata Antoninas, Lauranda Nall, and other young rising stars. I wouldn’t say Minna is my favorite current FBB, but she’s definitely one who’s effortlessly captured my heart.

We will definitely be experiencing some turbulence during our flight this evening.

We will definitely be experiencing some turbulence during our flight this evening.

This lineup of young female bodybuilders who aren’t afraid to build abnormal levels of muscularity is impressive and encouraging for the future of the sport. It is unreasonable to expect the sport to become as popular as tennis or golf, but it doesn’t have to be. The goal shouldn’t be to find ways to expand the brand of female bodybuilding just for the sake of expansion. The ultimate goal should be to maximize the amount of support these incredible athletes receive so that they can feel emboldened to pursue their dreams.

Who knows? Maybe sometime in the near future someone else will emerge as the much-awaited “savior” of female bodybuilding. Perhaps this hypothetical person will be blessed with supermodel-level beauty, a charismatic personality, top-notch performance talent, intelligence, wisdom, grace, humility, passion, drive, the desire to be great, and an unapologetically hyper muscular frame. She’ll love who she is and will refuse to apologize for her muscles. She’ll be an inspiration, a one-of-a-kind pioneer, and someone who we can truly say revolutionized the way society views strong women.

That day may never come. Or maybe it’s right around the corner. Either way, all we can do is wait and see. This Ultimate Female Bodybuilder may or may never arrive on the scene. This could just be a pipe dream. Regardless, until that day comes, we’ll just have to embrace Minna Pajulahti – and hundreds of women just like her around the globe – with a full heart and an open mind.

You Can’t Please Everybody: The Difficulty a Female Bodybuilder Faces in Maintaining the “Perfect” Balance

Dayana Cadeau may not be able to please everybody, but she can sure please me!

Dayana Cadeau may not be able to please everybody, but she can sure please me!

There are some people in this world who need to please others. And not just please them every so often; they have this burning desire to please everybody every time with everything they do.

This, of course, is an impossible task. But that doesn’t stop certain people from trying to do so with all their might.

Call it insecurity. Call it a psychological complex. Call it irrational. Or you can chalk it up to good business sense. Being a bodybuilder isn’t just a lifestyle. It’s a business venture. Like all business ventures, success isn’t guaranteed, nor is the formula for success set in stone permanently. In our ever-changing market of goods and services (which is becoming more internationally-driven as the years go on), what works today won’t work ten years from now; just as what worked ten years ago isn’t the same as what works today.

The same is true for how a female bodybuilder has to promote herself to the public. In decades past, there were more “traditional” routes to how she could achieve financial success. Competitions were still fairly lucrative and endorsement deals were there for the taking. The money in it wasn’t always reliable or plentiful, but you knew where it was if you wanted it.

Today, things are much different. Big, brawny female bodybuilders aren’t given the opportunities they once were. They aren’t becoming extinct by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s hard to imagine the glory years of the 1970s and 80s returning any time soon.

Jill St. Laurent is a true saint in my book.

Jill St. Laurent is a true saint in my book.

So here’s the fundamental dilemma: The general public – and whether this assertion if fair or not can be up for debate – tends to gravitate toward people who fit “one size fits all” molds. If we’re talking about strong women, they want these women to fit all these criteria:

  • Tough, yet approachable
  • Strong, yet vulnerable
  • Muscular, yet traditionally feminine
  • Accomplished, yet still physically beautiful
  • Intelligent, yet not condescending
  • Individualistic, yet still marketable
  • Talented, yet unintimidating
  • A woman, yet not defined by her gender
  • Speaks her mind, yet doesn’t ruffle any feathers
  • Dedicated to her craft, yet still has time to do “woman” things like get married and raise children

These hideous double standards are obviously not felt by the majority of male athletes. Whether the typical sports fan would ever admit this or not, this is how we treat our female athletes. In many cases, they feel this way without even explicitly knowing it! Talk about having certain attitudes ingrained into our psyche from birth.

Nobody can chain down Fabiola Boulanger!

Nobody can chain down Fabiola Boulanger!

If a female bodybuilder were to be one of those types who needs to please everybody every single time, she’ll go crazy and would tear all her hair out. Thankfully, the vast majority of FBBs are mentally strong and ignore useless nonsense like that. But this illustrates the predicament that comes with the territory of working in the industry. Female bodybuilders cannot possibly please everyone. The so-called “perfect balance” of being someone who can appeal to all audiences is a myth. Not even the most popular celebrities in our society are universally popular with all people. Singers, actors, TV personalities, writers, sports heroes, etc. Everyone has their fair share of critics. This isn’t a reflection of them, however. This is more of a reflection of the diverse tastes, opinions, and aesthetic standards we have available to us.

So how does one survive in a business where appeal is the name of the game? After all, if enough people don’t like your brand, your earning power will quickly diminish. Blockbuster Video no longer exists because Netflix (and, ahem, online pirating) replaced it as the consumer’s top choice for purchasing cinematic entertainment. Therefore, FBBs cannot completely ignore the importance of mass appeal.

What is she to do? There are two routes:

  1. Appeal to as many different audiences as possible
  2. Appeal to a very specific audience and take full advantage of this niche market

One could argue an FBB would best be served if she pursued route #2. Non-bodybuilders like soccer players, tennis players, basketball players, MMA fighters, and prominent fitness celebrities are more likely to find financial success if she dips her toes in route #1. But this could very well be wrong.

To an extent, appealing to a niche audience is what FBBs do currently. In many respects this is their only viable option to staying financially secure in today’s world. This isn’t a criticism of the “Female Bodybuilding Business Model.” This is just an observation of what actually works.

Ever heard of the “80/20 Rule?” Also known as the “Pareto principle,” in the business world it states that in general, 80 percent of your business revenue will come from 20 percent of your customers. If you open up a coffee shop in the middle of a busy downtown business district, your most valuable clients will be the people who buy an iced latte or white chocolate mocha from you five days a week. The spunky happy-go-lucky traveler who’s in town temporarily to visit his in-laws and decides to stop by your establishment only one time isn’t. That guy may be a totally nice person, but his value to your business is limited. Your repeat customers who loyally visit your shop on a consistent basis are way more important in the long-term.

Brandi Mae Akers posing in a sexy see-through dress.

Brandi Mae Akers posing in a sexy see-through dress.

For an entrepreneurial female bodybuilder, she must take heed of the 80/20 Rule. She may not have the largest number of clients available to her, but she can have a smaller group of fans who will follower her to the ends of the Earth. They may be small in size, but their return on investment (ROI) may be significant. One person who will buy tickets to a bodybuilding competition, pay you $500 for a muscle worship session, and purchase customized swag through your website is more valuable than 20 people who know your name but don’t want to have anything to do with you.

This small group of fans will adore you for who you are. They aren’t disgusted by your large size, shrunken breasts, deepened voice, and blunt personality. In fact, they love you because of all those things! Sadly, some FBBs feel like they need to get “smaller” in order to survive in the industry. That’s sad and hopefully they choose to look the way they want to look regardless of what other people think. But the pressure of being an elite athlete who remains unambiguously “feminine” persists whether we like it or not.

However, that doesn’t mean an FBB should be compelled to sell out who she is as a human being in order to earn a steady income. If she wants to squat so much her legs grow to the size of tree trunks, then she has every right to do that. If there are people out there who want her to stop squatting so damn much because she’ll end up “looking like a man,” here’s a pithy comeback for them:

Go fuck yourself.

That’s right! An FBB doesn’t have to be that crude, but she can be if the situation calls for it. The truth is, not everyone in the general population appreciates thick strong legs on a woman. But for those of us who know who Shannon Courtney is, a small but significant portion of us do in fact appreciate the finer things in life. Miss Courtney’s legs are definitely in the category of the “Finer Things in Life,” right up there with 50-year-old scotch whiskey, the cinema of François Truffaut, Lamborghinis, and Thai cuisine.

Shannon Courtney’s legs might be the best illustration of the 80/20 Rule. A vast number of us would appreciate her hard work and provide her a “you go girl!” compliment. A smaller number of us would willingly pay her $300 for the right to touch her legs. I have no idea if Shannon offers these kinds of services, but that’s not the point. If she wanted to, she could make a healthy buck on the side. For many female bodybuilders, they actually make a living wage offering customers the ability to touch their hard-earned bodies.

Shannon Courtney - definitely one of the finer things in life.

Shannon Courtney – definitely one of the finer things in life.

In order to survive in today’s interconnected world, a female bodybuilder doesn’t have to appeal to large audiences. She only has to find a specific niche and saturate that market to the best of her ability. And there is no doubt that such a niche market exists. It may not be obvious or widely talked about, but there are plenty of guys and gals in this world who share a keen interest in muscular women.

These are the people who matter to an FBB. Not the rest who are openly disgusted by her life’s choices. An FBB shouldn’t waste her time trying to please people who don’t already appreciate her beautiful muscles. Trying to convert them will be an exercise in futility. Instead, she should focus her attention on cultivating meaningful relationships with clients who already love her muscles. That will reap much more ROI.

Thankfully, most female bodybuilders are already doing this! This essay isn’t telling them anything they don’t know already. But it can serve as a reminder to the rest of us that living life as an FBB can be arduous, frustrating, and unpredictable. There are outside forces working against you. The deck is not stacked in your favor. But all is not lost. There are avenues to success that are proven to work on a practical level. The challenge is tapping into those avenues and feeling confident, supported, and empowered to do so.

Indeed, you cannot please everybody. This requires either maintaining the (impossible) “perfect balance” that appeals to all audiences … or diluting your product. The first option is impractical and the second option forces you to compromise your integrity. Either one stinks. So your third option is probably your best option: Screw what the masses think and embrace what your dedicated fans think.

And let’s be honest. Not even your most dedicated fans will appreciate everything you do 100 percent of the time. That’s totally fine. But you know they’re in your corner, cheering for you every step of the way. They may not make up large numbers, but their proud loyalty amplifies their voices ten-fold.

Educating Jonathan – Part Six

Two hungry tigers stalking their prey.

Two hungry tigers stalking their prey.

Two hungry tigers loom in the distance, meticulously stalking their prey. A wounded animal lies on the grass, unable to move and paralyzed with fear. The animal knows its time on Earth is short. He senses his imminent death. Too many times in his life he’s witnessed small creatures like himself helplessly stave off death for as long as possible, only to be disappointed at the end.

Nature is a cruel place. The strong will inevitably triumph over the weak. There is no feeling of injustice or bitterness, however. This is a fact of life. This is how it is. This is how it’s always been. From the beginning of civilization to this present moment, the strong always find a way to destroy the feeble. Even if he could change things, the wounded animal would choose not to and let the course of history continue uninterrupted.

The tigers come closer. He hears a rattling in the bushes. The animal looks down at his bloodied torso and notices his legs are missing. They’re probably hundreds of yards away, being chewed on by vultures with little thought to who they belong to. The vultures don’t care. The tigers don’t care. Even his family doesn’t care. They’ve accepted the fact one of their own will be eaten soon. They secretly wish they aren’t next.

The time has come. The tigers jump on the wounded animal. They tear him piece by piece in the most savage way possible. There is no such thing as a dignified death in the Jungle. Any death is treated the same way. It just happens. Fortunately for those who are strong enough to survive, they don’t have to experience the agonizing pain that comes with death. They can sit back and watch with nihilistic pleasure.

With his dying breath, the wounded animal cries out in pain. It’s a useless expression of suffering, one that will not deter the two tigers from carrying out future massacres. But it’s all he can do. What else is left?

What a beautiful fucking world we live in.

Jonathan opens his eyes and instantly forgets what he was dreaming about. Something about two tigers eating a hapless meerkat? Or was it something more pleasant? No matter. That’s irrelevant right now. He sits up, stretches, and takes notice of how sore he is. That’s what he gets from sleeping on a cold, hard wood floor. The room is still dark. There is no sunlight anywhere to be seen. Silence permeates everywhere. Normally, he’d feel at peace right now. But not today.

Fuck. It wasn’t a dream. Last night wasn’t a nightmare. It’s reality. It’s really real. It happened exactly as he remembers it. And he is powerless to make any of it go away.

He looks behind him and sees Dr. Samantha and Mistress Nguvu cuddled together on the floor. They are also sleeping. Jonathan doesn’t know exactly when they fell asleep, but it couldn’t have been much longer after he did. They were all tired. Physically and emotionally exhausted. How could you not be after experiencing all that?

A pounding on the steel door wakes up everybody. Jonathan leaps to his feet. Dr. Samantha and Mistress Nguvu open their weary eyes and take a look at their surroundings. They too also wish the events of last night never occurred. They are both sorely disappointed.

Breakfast of champions.

Breakfast of champions.

The Short Man enters the room with two of his henchmen. They appear to be still dressed in the same black clothing as the night before. One of the men carries in a pot of coffee. The other has a plastic tray full of bagels, doughnuts, fruit, and pastries. Well, at least these bastards are courteous enough to bring their hostages breakfast.

“Good morning. Or perhaps, I should say good afternoon. It’s a quarter past noon. We let you sleep for a pretty long time,” the Short Man says. “You should thank us.”

The two men place the food and coffee on the carpenter’s table. The third man is still standing outside. Dr. Samantha and Mistress Nguvu get on their feet and glare at the Short Man.

“Go fuck yourself,” Dr. Sammy says. The Short Man gives Jonathan a quick look. Jonathan doesn’t know how to react.

“Women can be so erratic at times, am I right Jonathan?” Upon hearing his captor say his name out loud for the first time, Jonathan refuses to acknowledge his presence. In fact, he agrees that he should go fuck himself. It’s the only thing he could do right.

“Oh well. I don’t exactly expect politeness from any of you. If the situations were reversed, I’d probably say some pretty uncomplimentary things as well,” he says. “As you can see, we’ve brought you breakfast. Don’t worry. Nothing is poisoned. You’re worth more to me alive than dead. So chow down. Enjoy your lunch.”

Nobody moves from their spot.

“Have you heard from my husband? What did he say?” Dr. Sammy asks.

“He said he’s willing to be cooperative. Which bodes well for the rest of you. Soon, we’ll have what we want and you three will be allowed to continue your lives free of danger from us. Sound good?” The Short Man motions for the two henchmen to leave. They promptly exit the room and walk upstairs. Jonathan notices a side door in the hallway that he did not see the previous night.

“Matthew agreed to do what you want him to do?”

“Yes, he did.” The Short Man takes out a cigarette and lights it. He blows a small puff of smoke toward Jonathan’s direction. “I also spoke with my Boss. He’s a very reasonable man. I told him that our kidnapping plot is going just as we planned. He sounded happy. But he also had a hint of intrigue in his voice. I didn’t know why, but now I do.”

The Short Man pauses for dramatic effect. Jonathan’s stomach growls with hunger, but he does his best to get his mind off of food.

“I told him we unexpectedly took two additional hostages. He was okay with that, but mostly wanted to make sure we had the wife in our possession,” he says, puffing more smoke out of his mouth. “However, our Boss decided to call us again this morning. Part of the reason why I’m here is to deliver to you your coffee and munchies. Nobody ever goes hungry under my watch. But…I’ve come here for another reason.”

“And what reason is that?” Mistress Nguvu asks. She takes a bold step forward. The Short Man doesn’t flinch. The man standing guard outside the door doesn’t reach for his gun. They both know the three hostages are smart enough to not do anything foolish.

“The reason involves you two.” The Short Man points at both Jonathan and the Mistress. “My Boss is particularly interested in you two. He wants to learn more. I don’t know exactly why, but I can assure you only positive outcomes will result from all of this. For him, of course. Follow me, please.”

The Short Man turns around and walks out the door. Jonathan and Mistress Nguvu look at each other. Then they look at Dr. Samantha. She nods her head, silently telling them to follow the Short Man to whatever fate lies ahead. Reluctantly, Jonathan and the Mistress walk out the door. The guard shuts it behind them, locking Dr. Sammy in all alone.

Jonathan and Mistress Nguvu walk up a short flight of stairs. Upstairs, the Short Man and his two cohorts have set up camp in a spacious lounge area. Peach yellow wallpaper adorns the room. Like all the other rooms in this God-forsaken building, it is sparsely decorated. Hostage-takers apparently have no interior decorating taste.

The Short Man is talking to someone through a laptop computer. Skype, perhaps? Or a different web communication platform used by shadowy global terrorists?

“Here they are, sir. Both of them. I’ll turn around my computer so you can take a good look at them.” The Short Man rotates his computer so Jonathan and Mistress Nguvu can see who is on the screen. It is an older Mediterranean-looking man with silver hair, a trim beard, dark eyes, and an impeccable tan. When he finally is able to see the two hostages standing in front of him, his eyes widen with sudden and irrepressible lust.

“Oh my fucking God. Ma’am, may I ask you a question?” Mistress Nguvu sighs and nods her head in agreement. The Boss squeals in delight. “How big are you?”

“I’m six foot four.”

The Boss’s eyes widen even more, as if that were even possible. “Delightful! And how much do you weigh? I realize that’s a personal question to ask, but I’m sure you’d be thrilled to inform me!”

“I weight about two hundred and fifty pounds.”

“Wow! Six-four, two hundred and fifty pounds. You are a big girl. I love it. Fuck. Look at you! You have so much muscle from head to toe. Stand back a little, darling.” Annoyed at his patronizing tone, Mistress Nguvu takes a giant step backward. The Boss giggles when he sees more of the Mistress’s muscular body. “I love it! Now, you. Boy. Take step toward me, please.”

Jonathan’s heartrate jumps. He does as he’s told. “You also look like you work out, my boy. Do you?”

“Yes, I do. I’m no bodybuilder, unlike the Mistress here, but I do what I can to look good.”

“Ooh, yes. You do, indeed. Alright. Both of you, get naked. Now! Strip all your clothes for me.” Jonathan and the Mistress stay still. One of the henchmen takes out his gun and points it at their direction. This inspires them to get started. As Jonathan and Nguvu remove all their clothing, they can hear the Boss moaning with delight, as if he were masturbating while watching them strip. Mistress Nguvu drops her corset, panties, and bra to the floor. Jonathan kicks his shirt, gym shorts, and underwear to the side. They stare directly at the computer screen and see exactly what they suspected they were hearing. The Boss is in fact masturbating.

“Oh, fuck yes!” Nobody can see it, but the Boss is clearly jerking himself off at the sight of these two naked people standing before him. Jonathan turns his head away in disgust. He sees Mistress Nguvu’s naked muscular body and quickly becomes distracted by it. Tall, thick, angular, curvy in all the right places, Jonathan notices two remarkable features of her divine body: Hard black nipples that stick out nearly a full inch and a breathtaking clitoris that extends more than three inches outward. Even the Short Man and the henchmen cannot help but stare at Nguvu’s incredible features. The sight of her jaw-dropping feminine endowment gives Jonathan a slight erection. His penis coming to life is enough to send the Boss over the edge.

“Motherfucker! FUCK!!!”

The Boss comes, groaning as he ejaculates all over himself. Thankfully, nobody in the room can see what that looks like. The Short Man turns away, not wanting to witness any of this. The two henchmen are weirded out, but try to remain calm and professional. They do not want to anger their Boss in anyway. The consequences of that would be disastrous.

Slay me, Alana Shipp!

Slay me, Alana Shipp!

“Oooooh, yes. Oh baby. That’s what I like. Jerry!” The Short Man, whose name is apparently Jerry, regains his composure and leans toward the computer’s microphone.

“Yes, sir?”

“At first I was pissed off that you decided to take two extra hostages. But now I see you made the right decision. Call it fate or good luck, but I want to personally meet these two. Send them to the airport immediately. I will order a private jet to transport them to my home. Do it NOW!” The Boss turns off the web chat and the screen goes dark. The man with the gun lowers his weapon and puts it back in his jacket. Jerry takes a deep breath and tries to think of a contingency plan. Transporting two of his hostages to the airport was not part of his original plan. That means his team has to split up. One has to stay here to watch over Dr. Samantha and the others have to escort the other two to a different destination.

Fuck. But if the Boss says this must be done, then it must be done. Jerry and his crew are accustomed to adjusting their plans on the fly, but that doesn’t mean they have to like it.

“Wow. Well, you heard the man. Let’s get going,” Jerry says. “Get dressed. Now.”

Ten minutes later, Jonathan and Mistress Nguvu are escorted back to the dark red SUV. As they pass the door where they were locked up for the night, Nguvu stops and looks at it. She wants to say something to Dr. Samantha. She wants to assure her she and Jonathan will be alright. She wants her to know they’ll both be safe. One of the henchmen grabs Nguvu’s broad shoulders and nudges her toward the parking garage. Jonathan doesn’t offer any resistance.

He thinks about Dr. Samantha too, but doesn’t feel any urge to speak to her. Somehow, for whatever inexplicable reason, he senses she’ll be just fine. Her husband will deliver the x-ray machine and she’ll be secure in his arms soon after. Yes, these people will turn it into a radioactive bomb, but Jonathan doesn’t have the inclination right now to think about that. He still wants to know why the Boss wants to see both he and the Mistress so badly.

Like the ride over to the mystery building, Jonathan and Mistress Nguvu are forced to wear blindfolds. They even put it on themselves. Two hours later, Jonathan can hear the sounds of airplanes landing and taking off for flight. The airport is obviously nearby.

Soon, the SUV stops and the driver shuts off the ignition. A voice instructs them to get out of the car. Jonathan and Mistress Nguvu do as they’re told.

One of the henchmen grabs the blindfolds and hands them to Jerry. The Short Man puts them in his inner coat pocket.

“We’re here. I have no fucking idea why the Boss wants to personally see you two, but for whatever shitty reason he does. Enjoy the flight, fuckers.” Jonathan and Nguvu struggle to adjust their eyes to broad daylight. A few moments later, they peer upwards at a small white twin engine jet. There are no logos anywhere to be seen. A short Hispanic woman walks out of the plane and greets her passengers.

“Good day to you both. If you’ll please follow me inside, our flight will take off as soon as possible. The weather looks fabulous, so I fully expect us to be able to leave without too long of a wait.” Wearing a professional flight stewardess’s outfit, the woman goes back inside the plane. Jonathan and Mistress Nguvu look back at Jerry and his henchmen. They stare right back at them, urging them to board the jet. The two passengers walk up the stairs with no questions asked. The Hispanic woman shuts the door behind them.

“Sit anywhere you like. The Boss will be pleased to see you both. He’s very excited about this meeting. If you need anything from me, just push the green button next to your seats,” the short woman says. “I’ll be by with snacks and drinks shortly after we cruise to 30,000 feet.”

A private white jet preparing for takeoff.

A private white jet preparing for takeoff.

Still in a daze that hasn’t left since last night, Jonathan and Mistress Nguvu choose random seats and sit down. They buckle their seatbelts and stare out the window. Jerry and his henchmen have already driven off. A faint cloud of exhaust is the only indication of their presence at this airstrip.

“Pardon me, ma’am,” Jonathan asks the stewardess. She turns around.

“Yes?”

“How long is this flight, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Nguvu leans forward to hear her answer. The engines start to rumble. The stewardess is right. They do plan to take off right away.

“If we leave immediately, we should be able to get to our destination in nine hours,” she says. “The Caribbean islands are pretty far away, after all.”

The stewardess leaves. Jonathan and Mistress Nguvu can do nothing but sit there in stunned silence. Before either of them could blink, the jet slowly starts to move forward and within minutes they begin their ascent.

Believe It or Not, Muscle Worship May Be a More Intimate Activity than Sex

Shawna Strong's last name is sure appropriate, wouldn't you say?

Shawna Strong’s last name is sure appropriate, wouldn’t you say?

I’ve written at length about muscle worship. If you need a summary of what this is all about, please refer to a previous blog post. I’ve even written detailed accounts of two of my past muscle worship experiences with female bodybuilders.

If you have some unquenched need to live vicariously through me (who doesn’t?), go check them out here and here.

One aspect of muscle worship sessions that I’ve formulated in my mind recently is one that I’m not entirely convinced of, but one I believe deserves to be discussed. Muscle worship is, simply defined, an activity involving a muscular participant (it could be a man or a woman) who allows a client to touch their body, usually for sexual gratification purposes. Other side activities usually occur in addition to this, but the crux of the matter involves intimately exploring a muscular person’s physical body in exchange for payment.

One thought I’ve had about this phenomenon may sound crazy at first, but sort of makes sense the more I think about it. Muscle worship may be a more personally intimate activity than sex.

I don’t want to make any blanket statements and say this is always true 100 percent of the time, but in certain circumstances this can possibly be true. Let me explain further.

Sex between two people is without a doubt a supremely intimate act. Perhaps the most intimate act you could do with another person. We won’t even get into sex between three, four, five or six people! So it seems rather odd that I would say such a thing like muscle worship can be more personal than sex.

Obviously, not all sex is created equal. Context matters a great deal. Sex between a long-time married couple who’s going through the motions definitely isn’t the same as awkward teenage lovers wanting to lose their virginities together during a romantic camping trip. There is a great deal of difference between these two scenarios. The same goes between a prostitute meeting a client versus a couple who has just been reunited after several months away from each other (think of a military veteran returning from an overseas war). Context is everything.

For the sake of argument, let’s assume we’re talking about ordinary run-of-the-mill sex between a couple who knows each other well and has no external drama going on. Got it?

Muscle worship, on the other hand, involves a female bodybuilder – and I’ll be talking exclusively about female bodybuilders, obviously! – providing her client access to her body. The degree of intimacy allowed varies from session provider to session provider, but the basic idea stays the same. Generally speaking, sex is an act where two people share their bodies together for the sake of mutual pleasure. Muscle worship is, by and large, a one-way road where the provider shares her body with her client but the client isn’t expected to share anything back (other than monetary compensation).

A female bodybuilder’s body isn’t just the flesh and blood she carries around on this physical planet. It’s her entire livelihood. From head to toe, even if she isn’t competing in contests, her body is what defines her professional identity. Of course, an FBB is way more than just her physical self. She has her own mind, soul, and divine worth. But her means of making a living depends solely on her body. A tax accountant, for example, offers services that are useful but at the end of the day wouldn’t be described as intimate. A tax accountant doesn’t risk anything personal when they work with a client. They don’t put themselves in nearly the vulnerable position an FBB does when they engage in a session with a complete stranger.

Ebony Goddess Coco Crush.

Ebony Goddess Coco Crush.

If, during a wrestling session, an FBB strains her back and cannot walk properly for a whole month, she loses out on a whole month’s worth of financial earnings. If a tax accountant strains his or her back while raking leaves in the backyard, it would still hurt like hell but he or she could still functionally do their job. Not so with an athlete whose physical body is their entire selling point.

Most female bodybuilders are damn proud of their bodies and have every right to be. And they want their fans to be able to appreciate their hard work with every opportunity they possibly can. But it’s one thing to watch an FBB pose on stage from a distance or watch a video of her on YouTube. It’s quite another thing to be in close proximity to her and feel with your own hands her handiwork. Being a session provider can be a dangerous thing. I’d like to think the vast majority of clients are honest, well-intentioned people, but sadly that isn’t the case for everybody.

You never know these days. There are psychopaths out there who love to do harm to innocent people just to satisfy their sick personal desires. It’s horrific to think about, but unfortunately that’s the reality of our world today. I wonder if FBBs think about this when they exchange e-mails with potential clients. Obviously, they can trust the people they’ve seen before. But what about new people from cities they aren’t familiar with? Can you really trust that the happy-go-lucky person you “talk” to over the Internet is as sweet and harmless as they appear? The truth is, nothing can be safely assumed.

That’s one of the unfortunate realities session providers have to deal with. As mentioned before, the risk factor of facing an accident is also ever present. Injuries happen for a myriad of reasons. You can even hurt yourself at the gym while working out (raise your hand if that’s ever happened to you!). Anything is possible. Session providers who offer wrestling put themselves in harm’s way. It’s not inconceivable for a 250-pound man to inadvertently injure a 180-pound female wrestler during the heat of the moment. Even if the large man got carried away and meant nothing malicious about it, accidents do happen. They’re unavoidable. That’s a fact of life.

An injury can sideline you for days, weeks, months, and perhaps (if it’s serious enough) years. If you are unable to work for several months, how will you make money? How can you continue to lift at the gym and maintain your muscular figure when you’re bedridden for months at a time? Muscle atrophy will eventually kick in. She’ll start to lose her size. After she recovers, she’ll need to build her body back up to where it was before the injury. And that takes time and effort. Think about the lost income that results from that. FBBs who hurt themselves for work-related reasons cannot rely on worker’s compensation insurance to support them during their recovery period. Ouch.

The Asian Muscle Goddess Michelle Jin.

The Asian Muscle Goddess Michelle Jin.

Injury is one valid concern. So is the prospect of a crazy kook wanting to do something harmful to you. Another one is this: The psychological toll of being a female bodybuilder and session provider.

I’ve talked at length about the sexism faced by FBBs. That’s a major issue. But another one is a problem that I’m guessing both male and female bodybuilders face: The pressure to be perfect. In essence, this is what being a bodybuilder – whether you compete professionally or not – is all about. It’s about the continuous journey toward attaining aesthetic perfection. It’s nonstop. There is no end in sight. A bodybuilder can never be satisfied with where they’re at physically. The moment you think you’ve arrived at your “goal,” what is there left to strive toward? Will complacency kick in?

Due to this line of thinking, many FBBs are stuck in a never-ending cycle of insecurity. Women as a whole are definitely stuck in this maddening hamster wheel of self-esteem issues, but FBBs in particular are right in the thick of it. Without a perfectly chiseled body, where would they be? In order for them to be able to do what they love doing, they have to look a certain way. Like professional models, their looks define their livelihood. It’s a brutal world to live in.

I’ve read interviews with Rene Campbell where she talks about being a “bigorexic.” She defines this as being constantly insecure about being small. Anyone who’s ever seen Rene Campbell would know she is the complete opposite of small. She’s huge! She has eye-popping muscles that are as large as you’ll ever see on a woman. She’s a very big lady. But deep down inside, she still thinks of herself as dainty, frail, and weak. Call if “Fat Kid Syndrome.” Kids who grew up overweight still think of themselves like that even when they reach adulthood and are no longer medically overweight. It’s a mental block in your brain that doesn’t ever completely vanish.

Rene’s insecurities about her size is just part of this spiteful equation. Session providers also face other pressures. In addition to maintaining their impressive level of muscle mass, they also have to do whatever they can to look “traditionally” beautiful. Many choose to get breast augmentation surgery in order to look more “feminine.” I’m sure Botox injections and faithful usage of anti-wrinkle cream are also par for the course. There are plenty of clients who do not want to see an FBB who looks “too old.” But age is an inevitability. No amount of medical procedures or cosmetic products will completely turn back the clock.

Rita Sargo werking so hard.

Rita Sargo werking so hard.

The vast majority of FBBs I’ve met for muscle worship sessions have been older women. Most were probably older than 40. The youngest was probably in her mid to late 30s. I know for a fact – though I never asked! – a few I’ve met were older than 50. But that doesn’t matter to me. They were all beautiful women. I mean, stunningly beautiful. Yes, they had wrinkles on their face. Yes, they had crow’s feet around their eyes. But they were still absolutely gorgeous.

I think many of these strong female bodybuilders are way more beautiful than “normally built” women half their age. But that’s just me. I’ll bet if you were to meet them up-close-and-personal too, you’d feel the same way.

However, not all guys are think that way. I’m not suggesting I have an “older woman fetish,” but age doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it does other people. You can cover up your age when doing photoshoots, video shoots, and other multimedia projects. Adobe Photoshop is a hell of a software program. Clever lighting can do wonders. There are tricks of the trade to make a 40-year-old woman look like she’s 30. But when you meet her for an intimate muscle worship session, you see her for who she is. Some guys are turned off by this. Others don’t mind it. But regardless, an FBB can’t please everybody. Nor can she stay young forever.

Once again, it’s a brutally unforgiving world we live in.

The idea that people in certain professions have a “shelf-life” is pretty dehumanizing. But it is what it is. I’m not here to lead any kind of social revolution. It’s unnerving that models, athletes, and entertainers (one could put a female bodybuilder in all three categories) have an “expiration date” set by the powers-that-be in their respective industries. But that’s how the system works. The moment you get too old, too fat, too slow, and not as lucrative as you used to be, you get tossed to the scrap heap. There will always be newer and younger people to replace you.

Can’t hit 40 home runs anymore? Don’t draw the sold-out crowds like you used to? Can’t sell perfume like you did 15 years ago? Here’s the door. See you on the other side. Have a good day. Oof. Brutal.

The revolving door will continue to cycle people in and out. That’s why you have to earn every single penny you possibly can while you can. Cut-throat? You better believe it.

Imagine this scenario: You’re a 50-year-old female bodybuilder who is also a mother of three high school children. All three of your kids are considering going to college. You may or may not be married to the father of your children. Money is tight. College tuition continues to rise year after year. You used to compete professionally, but don’t anymore because the winnings weren’t consistent or large enough. You’re still physically beautiful, but you’re also a 50-year-old woman and there’s no denying that. Your name recognition remains strong, but that is by no means secure forever. You regularly travel the world providing muscle worship sessions. You’re always away from your family. You live out of a suitcase for months at a time. Travelling can be stressful. Setting up appointments with clients is equally stressful. You risk injury and physical harm every single time you meet a client. From the perspective of your children, in today’s social media age word can get out quickly that your mom gives out hand jobs to complete strangers in hotel rooms across the globe. That thought is constantly going through your mind. We also live in the Yelp Age where crowdsourced opinions on the web can make or break your reputation. One bad review or two floating around an Internet message board can harm your ability to earn money (even if those poor reviews are written fairly and objectively and without malice). It’s a savage world we live in. If you put yourself in this particular hypothetical female bodybuilder’s shoes, how would you go about your everyday business? What choices would you make?

You’d probably be a bit stressed out. How would you feel if you knew your body, personality, and reputation was being discussed by strangers on the web? Talk about an invasion of privacy. Talk about breaking down the walls of confidentiality with the hammer of Thor.

While the theoretical woman I’ve outlined above isn’t based on anybody in particular, women like her do exist. That story isn’t unique or completely made up out of thin air. There are women (and men too) out there who could probably identify with some of that. Please, think about this the next time you anonymously berate a session provider on a chat forum just because your $400 session wasn’t quite worth every single nickel and dime you paid her.

Jean Jitomir wearing a sexy black cocktail dress.

Jean Jitomir wearing a sexy black cocktail dress.

So when I say that muscle worship may be a more intimate activity than sex, I may not be too far off. Like I said before, context matters a great deal. I could write for days and days on how intimate sexual intercourse can be. But sex is, for the most part, an intimate act that you share with a limited number of people. You do offer your body to another person, but it’s (usually) kept private, low-key, and doesn’t involve your ability to pay your bills. Muscle worship can be dramatically different. As outlined previously, it’s not just your body you put on the line. You put your reputation, health, wellbeing, livelihood, and family on the line as well. That definitely puts things in perspective, doesn’t it?

I’m not trying to make any definitive statements or be dogmatic about anything. I’m just trying to offer some perspective about what it’s like to walk this earth in the shoes of the muscular women we love so much. It’s ain’t easy, that’s for sure.

Intimacy isn’t just defined by what the activity entails. Sex can be intimate. Or it can be casual. Rather, it’s defined by what you put on the line. What do you risk? What is the price of success? Of failure? When your life’s passions are defined by your body, putting your body in a vulnerable position is the riskiest thing you can possibly do. While I wouldn’t go as far as to call this bravery, it does require a level of fearlessness that very few people can match.

Female bodybuilders are strong women. Being able to deadlift 400 pounds or squat 500 pounds requires impressive strength. But being willing to put your body and soul on the line in the name of doing what you love requires a level of strength that is beyond comparison.