A Most Magnificent Body of Work – Part Two of Five

Debbie Leung showing us her best side.

Continued from part one

Twenty minutes later Deborah is parking her car in stall #17, the spot assigned to her by the apartment complex. Cassandra owns a motorcycle that she hasn’t ridden in at least a year; and probably won’t until her leg fully heals. So until then, Deborah essentially has to drive her everywhere. It’s a burden, but one that she has gotten used to.

Once inside, she pats Bruce on the head. Bruce is their orange tabby whom they adopted from Cassie’s brother, whose new wife is allergic to cats. Deborah never thought she’d ever become a mommy, but that all changed when this adorable ball of fur entered her life.

“Meow,” Bruce purrs with gratitude.

“Meow, meow back to you, little guy,” she whispers. Deborah finishes her banana strawberry smoothie and tosses the cup into the trash. She drops her purse onto the kitchen counter and takes out the envelope. She reopens it and counts the contents inside. Sure enough, it’s 100 $100 bills, which indeed adds up to $10,000. Deborah may never have been good at math, but she can do basic arithmetic when large sums of money are involved. She closes the envelope and places it back inside her purse.

She doesn’t know if Cassie is still awake, so she proceeds cautiously to the bathroom to brush her teeth. All of a sudden, a familiar soothing voice breaks the silence.

“Good evening. Or is it officially morning yet?”

Deborah looks up at the wall clock. It is only 11:30.

“No, it’s still evening. Hello sweetie.” Deborah approaches her lover and kisses her with more intensity than usual. Cassandra heaves after their lips come apart.

“Wow! That’s more than just a simple good night kiss. What’s gotten into you?” Cassandra switches on a light and takes a good look at Deborah. Her hair is unkempt, but that is not unusual. She appears to be like a walking zombie, which is definitely out of character. Usually the Debbie she knows carries herself with more pomp and authority.

“The strangest thing just happened to me as I was walking out of the gym,” Deborah begins. “I still haven’t been able to process it.”

“Well, that’s quite out of the ordinary. Did that asshole start to flirt with you again?” For years this random spray tanned muscle bro would always hit on her at the gym. Finally, he stopped only because Cassie clocked him in the nose after he called her a dyke. There were hundreds of witnesses, but no one felt any sympathy for the douchebag. In fact, the crowd cheered her on.

“No, I haven’t seen that guy for several months. Just as I was leaving, this guy I’ve never seen before struck up a conversation with me in the parking lot,” she says. Deborah goes to her purse, takes out the envelope, and hands it to Cassandra. “He offered me a deal on behalf of his ‘client.’ He didn’t say who his client is. Then he gave me this.”

“What’s in it? It’s pretty heavy.”

“Go ahead. Open it.”

Cassandra does. After looking inside, her eyes become as wide as Deborah has ever seen them.

“Holy shit! Is this for real?” Cassandra takes out the bills and begins to count them one by one. “Holy mother of God, this is a shit ton of money!”

“I’ve counted it. Twice. It’s ten thousand dollars. Real dollars. I used to work at a bank, remember? I know a fake dollar bill when I see one. And every single one of them is real. No doubt about it.” After the initial shock wears off, Cassandra next discovers the business card that is also tucked away inside the envelope. She reads it.

“I’m guessing this is the phone number of the person you talked to?”

“Yes. He told me I should think about his offer. If I want to take him up on it, I should call this number.” Deborah sits down at the dining table. Cassandra, sensing a longer conversation is about to commence, joins her.

“What was his offer?”

Deborah clears her throat. Bruce meanders over to his water dish and drinks from it.

“He says his client wants me to spend the night with him. He didn’t specify what we’d be doing, but you can use your imagination,” she begins. “His client is willing to compensate me with one million dollars–”

“Are you serious?! One million dollars? In cash?”

“He sounded serious. And he gave me this money to prove he’s not blowing smoke. Says I can keep the ten thousand bucks regardless of whether I choose to go through with it or not. He told me I have 48 hours to reply.” Deborah sinks back in her chair and sighs. Bruce jumps on her lap and rubs his head against her hardened abdomen. She scratches the orange fur ball’s underbelly, much to his delight.

There is a long pause.

“This is unbelievable. He cannot possibly be serious.”

“That’s what I thought at first as well,” Deborah says. “I’ve been thinking nonstop about this ever since. I don’t know what to do. He didn’t seem dangerous or anything.”

“Did he follow you home?” Cassandra asks. She peers outside through the window facing the main street. Not a single car has zipped by in the past fifteen minutes. After all, it is the dead of night.

A luscious Monica Brant.

“I don’t think so. He drove off before I did.” Bruce has decided he wants to sleep on his favorite mommy’s lap. Deborah continues to stroke his belly.

“Are you sure? He could have had someone else tail you.”

“Don’t be paranoid, Cassie dear. He didn’t seem threatening. He did give me $10,000, right? That’s not something a scary man would do.” Reluctantly, Deborah also looks out the window. She sees an old retiree walking a dog. Why the fuck would you walk your dog this late at night?

“Hm. 48 hours, you say? What will you do? What did he say if you said no?”

“He said if either I said ‘no’ or I never contact him, he would pursue other candidates or something like that. Either way, I keep this money. I just wouldn’t be eligible to get the bigger prize.” Cassandra stands up and closes the blinds. Deborah is happy to see how effortlessly she can move around without wincing in pain. That wasn’t the case not too long ago.

“Other candidates? What is this, a job interview? Wow. What are you going to do?”

They stare at each other for a long time. Bruce yawns. Deborah feels a yawn of her own sneaking up on her.

“I have no fucking clue.”

***

The screeching of an alarm clock awakes both Deborah and Cassandra from their slumber. Bruce has already awakened hours ago, which isn’t surprising considering cats sleep for twenty hours a day – or so it seems. He dutifully sits next to his food dish, ready to be fed. Today is Thursday, which means it’s Cassie’s turn to give the feline what he demands.

Deborah lies in bed staring up at the ceiling. Was last night a dream? Did that encounter with Thin Fedora Man really happen to her? As Cassandra plops a lump of wet food into Bruce’s dish, Deborah suddenly makes her decision.

“I’m going to do it.”

Cassandra’s ears perk up. Bruce could not care less, chowing down on his food with the ferociousness of a starving Dickensian orphan.

“Really? Why?”

“It’s only for one night. Plus, I can talk to him, ask a few more questions, and back out if he reveals further details that make me uncomfortable.” Deborah sits up in bed and rubs her eyes. “It never hurts to ask, right?”

“Maybe not, or maybe so,” Cassandra answers, with a slight hint of melancholy in her voice.

***

The rest of the day proceeds as normal. Deborah drives Cassie to work. She’s a part-time laboratory tester at a pesticide company. She makes sure new anti-insect products won’t poison humans. It’s a pretty important job.

Deborah also works part-time as a nutrition coach at a fitness gym across town. The gym itself is small, dirty, and low-grade. Never in a million years would Deborah ever train there. But she will earn a small paycheck from them. But would she ever work out there? Not a chance.

“I look forward to our next meeting,” Deborah says to a short overweight man named Calvin. Calvin is one of Deborah’s best clients. He may be overweight, but he used to be much more overweight. So much so, his doctor told him to lose 175 pounds or he might not live to see his 50th birthday. That was quite a wakeup call, to say the least.

“Thank you. See you next time, Debbie,” Calvin says. She prefers that he not call her “Debbie,” but he’s a pleasant enough fellow so she doesn’t mind all too much. As Calvin stands up to leave, out of the corner of her eye she sees a man wearing a fedora walk through the front door. She intently watches the mysterious man, and then sees it’s just Jeff, the boyfriend of the gym’s manager. God, how paranoid is she getting? Deborah then realizes she’s kept a close watch on every single person who’s entered the gym. Why is she constantly looking over her shoulder?

Deborah takes a sip from her water bottle and deeply sighs. She can’t keep going like this. Frightened. Anxious. Suspicious of everyone. Unable to focus on the task at hand. She sees the time is 11:17. A bit early for lunch, but late enough in the day that she can take it. Deborah checks her calendar. Her next appointment is at noon. Perfect.

Ten minutes later, Deborah is sitting in her car with her phone and Thin Fedora Man’s business card sitting on the dashboard. She breathes in deeply like a Buddhist monk and exhales.

“Let’s do this shit.”

She quickly dials the number and waits. Six rings later, a voice that resembles that of Thin Fedora Man answers.

“Good day, Miss Frost.”

“Hello, whoever your name is. Is this the gentleman I spoke to last night?”

“Indeed, it is. Have you made a decision?”

“I have,” Deborah says. She looks around to see if anybody is watching her. Other than a squirrel that has just run up a nearby tree, the coast appears to be clear. “I’m interested in taking up your client’s offer. I’m saying yes.”

“He will be most pleased to hear that,” the voice responds. “Will your girlfriend mind that you’ll be taking on this endeavor?”

Deborah’s heart sinks. How the fuck does he know that she has a girlfriend? How does he know about Cassie? Is her life in danger? Is she being watched after all…?

“How do you know I have a girlfriend?” she inquires with urgency.

“You’ve mentioned her on your Instagram page,” Thin Fedora Man says. “It’s public knowledge.”

A squirrel in a tree.

Oh. Right. That pesky thing. The perils of putting your whole life out there to the public.

“Right. I have talked about her publicly. Silly me.”

“No worries,” he chuckles. “Do you know where the municipal airport is outside of the city?”

“Yes. It’s not too far from here.”

“Good. Now listen to these instructions very carefully. Go there this Saturday morning at 9 o’clock. Park your car in the main garage and grab a ticket from one of the kiosks,” he says. “Then, proceed to the ticket counter and tell them you’re scheduled to ride the Silver Hawk. It’s my client’s private jet. Give your ticket to the front desk employee and he or she will validate your parking. We’ve already paid for it in advance. Got all that?”

“Yes.”

“Delightful. You will be escorted to the Silver Hawk. I will be standing outside it on the runway. Then, we will board and fly off to the location my client has chosen for this little adventure.” Deborah realizes she probably should be taking notes, but so far nothing about this seems particularly complicated. “You can expect to return home by Sunday evening. Are we clear on this?”

Deborah watches the squirrel nibble on a lone French fry that somehow fell on the ground. The squirrel seems so at peace with not a care in the world. She envies the little bugger.

“Crystal clear. I understand.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Unless you have any further questions, I will end this conversation now. Just so you know, the moment I hang up, this phone number will become disconnected, so you can’t redial to reach me again,” he warns. “So the next time we chat will be on the tarmac.”

“Okay. That’s fine. I have no questions.”

“Excellent. Goodbye, Miss Frost. See you in two days.” Thin Fedora Man hangs up. She hears nothing but the dial tone. Deborah ends the phone call and drops her phone on the passenger seat. She can do nothing but stare ahead into the nothingness in front of her. It may be lunchtime but at this moment Deborah has no appetite.

***

That night, Deborah breaks the news to Cassandra about her conversation with Thin Fedora Man. She seems stoic and confident that everything will turn out alright when all is said and done.

“It’s basically a really elaborate muscle worship session, right?” Cassandra asks. For the uninitiated, a “muscle worship session” is a type of erotic service many female bodybuilders offer to male clients. Lots of muscular women – both young and old, married and single, mothers and the childless – do this. There’s no shame in it. It’s not particularly taboo or discouraged by the female bodybuilding community. Deborah has never offered such services before, but at a steep price of $1 million she may never have to work another day in her life again if the evening with Thin Fedora Man’s client goes well.

When you think about Deborah Frost, think about 1970s bombshell Deborah Shelton, who appeared in the TV show “Dallas” and won the Miss USA beauty contest in 1970. Only much more muscular, of course!

“That’s one way of looking at it,” Deborah admits. “I know lots of girls who do that sort of thing. I’ve never done anything like that, but it’s not because I’m a prude. It’s just not something I’m comfortable with. But you’re right. One million dollars is a shit load of money.”

Cassandra approaches her lover and kisses her deeply. She reaches out and feels Deborah’s massive biceps. She’s just gotten back from the gym, so Deborah’s muscles are more swollen than usual. Once their lips come apart, Cassandra unzips Deborah’s jeans and pulls them gently to the floor.

“It is a shit ton of money. More than we could ever imagine. Think about what we could be doing if we never have to worry about money ever again…”

But Deborah is in no mood to think. And judging from Cassandra squatting down and pulling down her panties, it appears she isn’t either.

Five minutes later, the two lovers are in bed. Cassandra is sucking on Deborah’s enormous clitoris, desperately wanting to bring her lover to orgasm. Deborah does eventually come, but she feels no pleasure as her mind has wandered off in another direction. After a full hour of making love – and it’s been several months since Deborah and Cassandra have engaged in a lovemaking session this long and intense – the two lovers find themselves intertwined together, covered in sweat and the grime of the day. They smell awful, but it’s the least of their worries at this moment.

“I’m not scared,” Deborah reassures her partner.

“I know you aren’t,” Cassie whispers back, caressing her lover’s dark brown pubic hair.

***

Two days later, Deborah follows Thin Fedora Man’s directions just as he instructed her. Carrying only a small black suitcase with a change of clothing, lingerie, makeup, a can of pepper spray, a pocket knife, a Tupperware container of food (steak, brown rice, and asparagus), and a hair brush inside it – she decided to “pack light” for this overnight excursion – Deborah drives to the barren municipal airport and parks her car in the main garage. She takes a parking ticket from the nearest kiosk and scurries to the front desk area at a brisk pace.

It’s surprisingly crowded for such an early morning flight. All eyes stare at her, which by now Deborah has grown accustomed to. It’s quite unusual to see a tall muscle-bound woman strut around out of the blue.

“Mommy! Is that a boy or a girl?” a little snot-nosed kid blurts out rather loudly. Embarrassed and apologetic, the woman shushes her son and gives Deborah a regretful look. Deborah pleasantly smiles and walks away. The boy still stares blankly at her, confused and disoriented.

“How may I help you?” a perplexed young man asks. Deborah leans over the counter and speaks to the Front Desk Man in a low voice, not wanting anyone to hear their conversation.

“I’m here to ride the Silver Hawk,” she says.

Front Desk Man checks his computer. After a moment, he gives Deborah a stunned look of disbelief.

“That’s very strange. Usually every flight has a, uh, you know, a flight time. But not this one. It’s just sitting in Runway D waiting for…um, you to show up,” he says. “Is your name Deborah Frost?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

The puzzled young man inadvertently stares at Deborah’s defined pecs peeking out of her low-cut top and raises an eyebrow.

“Wow. You must, uh, work out, huh?”

“I go to the gym when I find the time,” Deborah sarcastically replies. Front Desk Man instantly realizes his inappropriate behavior and furiously works on his computer to process Deborah’s flight. He grabs a boarding pass that emerges from a printer and hands it to her.

“So, um, here you go. Here’s your ticket. Do you need your parking validated? It says here that the owner of the Silver Hawk has already paid for it ahead of time.” Deborah nods her head and hands her parking ticket to Front Desk Man. He enters the code in the computer and tosses the worthless piece of paper into the trash.

“Fantastic. I believe that’s it. Go to your left and walk down that hallway to the security zone. After that, head over to Gate D12. One of our employees will escort you to your flight after you show them your boarding pass,” he awkwardly explains. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No thanks.” Deborah holds onto her boarding pass as if her life depended upon it. She gets the funny feeling that perhaps it does.

“Great. Cool. Enjoy your flight.”

Fifteen minutes later a short Vietnamese girl wearing a suit jacket and a short blue skirt escorts Deborah to the Silver Hawk. Deborah cannot help but imagine what her pussy must look like. She’s always had a “thing” for Asian chicks. Before Cassie, Deborah once dated a tall Chinese girl who played for the school’s basketball team. She possessed the most beautiful pussy she’s ever laid her eyes on. Unfortunately, she spoke broken English so their relationship never felt natural. Oh well.

A luxurious private jet.

“Enjoy your flight,” the Vietnamese girl says as they enter the tarmac. Sitting authoritatively on the runway is a gorgeous twin engine silver colored jet that looks like a dream come true. Deborah doesn’t notice the Vietnamese girl walk away because she’s too busy being in awe of the plane. As if on cue, the side door opens and Thin Fedora Man walks down the stairs to greet her.

“Good morning, Miss Frost. It’s nice to see you again.”

“Likewise. Oh my God, this plane is beautiful! How much does it cost to rent?” A second mysterious person shows up out of nowhere and takes her luggage. Still, Deborah doesn’t notice this. Thin Fedora Man laughs and shakes her hand.

“I couldn’t tell you. My client isn’t renting the Silver Hawk. He owns it.”

Deborah’s mouth nearly drops to the ground.

“Seriously?! He owns this?”

Thin Fedora Man chuckles some more. He takes her hand and guides her toward the jet.

“Of course he does. I think you will discover my client has much deeper pockets than you think.” And just like that, within minutes Deborah is sitting down at her seat and buckles her seatbelt. Thin Fedora Man chooses to sit in the cockpit. She’s all alone, with an endless supply of magazines at her disposal. A stewardess enters the cabin with a tray of scrambled egg whites, turkey sausage, tomato slices, a buttermilk biscuit, fresh fruit, orange juice, and coffee. She sets the tray beside Deborah and promptly exits. A few moments later the engines turn on and the plane crawls forward.

It’s at this moment that her feelings of wonderment dramatically shift to unmitigated dread. She cannot explain why. But as the Silver Hawk prepares to fly off into The Great Unknown, Deborah only has one thought running through her mind:

What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

To be continued…

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The Strap-On Fantasy: Ready, Willing, and Well-Endowed

Denise Masino showing Lisa Cross who’s the boss.

Imagine you’re lying on the ground with your hands and feet tied together with rope. There’s a gag in your mouth. You cannot speak a word. You struggle to move. But for some odd reason, you feel no desire to speak or move. You just lie there. Waiting. In complete silence.

Suddenly, a door opens. The silence is broken. You cannot look behind you, but you can clearly hear the clank of high heels banging against the cement floor. The steps come closer. And closer. And closer. Finally, the clanking stops. You hear a low gravelly voice barking out orders. It sounds masculine, but strangely feminine at the same time. But instead of being confused or perplexed, you’re frightened, nervous, and uncontrollably aroused all at the same time.

A strong pair of hands takes hold of you and turns you around. Finally, you see who it is that has graced your presence. It is that of a muscular woman. Tall, confident, and ripped from head to toe with big bulging muscles, she’s a sight you’ve never seen before. You will never forget this moment, the moment your eyes first see her size and strength. It is forever burned into your memory. And for that, you are eternally grateful.

You look at her gorgeous face, then her pecs, shoulders, biceps, six-pack abdomen, and her tree trunk thighs. She definitely goes to the gym regularly! But the one thing that you cannot help but notice is the enormous strap-on attached to her pelvis. Your eyes focus on a huge ten inch long black dildo hanging between her legs. It is the most intimidating thing you’ve ever witnessed. It looks hard, violent, and unforgiving. It is a tool of punishment. It is her way of asserting her deserving and rightful dominance.

However, no matter how scared you get, there’s a small part of you that desires that dildo to penetrate you. You want it shoved deep inside your body, invading your most intimate parts. You want her to be the one to do it. And from the way she positions herself over you, it appears as though that’s precisely what’s about to happen. Again, you are powerless to object. You cannot escape from your fate. She is going to do it. Hard. Over and over again. Until she decides to stop, not when you decide it should stop. She may want to penetrate you for hours. Or maybe for only a few minutes. Or seconds. Regardless, it’s her choice…not yours.

You fully expect the penetration to hurt immensely. It will be the most painful and humiliating experience of your life. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. You want this to happen, even though you’re terrified out of your wits. You’re sweating. Your heart is racing a million miles per second. If the dildo doesn’t kill you, cardiac arrest might instead. But if that were to happen, it would be tragic but at least you will die happy.

The moment of truth is approaching. She parts your thighs, preparing to enter you. She licks her lips. She grabs onto the black dildo and strokes it up and down as suggestively as possible. She then takes out a bottle of lubricant and dabs a small amount onto her fingers. She reaches down and smears it on you. It feels cold, but comforting. The anticipation has reached a fever pitch. It’ll only be a few moments until she finally enters you. She smiles. You grimace, but you also remain calm. You’ve accepted your fate. You choose to accept what’s coming to you.

At last, she positions her dildo right at your entrance, and she squeezes it in…

Alright, wake up sweetheart! It’s time for school.

Huh? What just happened?

If the following anecdote arouses you in any way, I suppose that means I’ve done my job, which is to act as a (de facto) scribe of your dirtiest inner thoughts. Your fantasy world may not be this vivid or kinky, but I’m sure you’ve had your moments. I can guarantee it. Whether you’re truly into kink or if you’re more vanilla, you’ve probably at some point during your female muscle fandom watched a video or two that features a strong powerful woman wearing a strap-on dildo.

Melissa Dettwiller cannot help but submit to Lynn McCrossin (may she rest in peace).

Maybe she’s penetrating a guy. Or a woman. Or a fellow female bodybuilder. Or maybe she’s just by herself and she’s teasing you with it. No matter the circumstances, this fantasy scenario is not uncommon within the female muscle fan community (believe it or not, such a community actually exists!). Watching a hypermuscular woman wear a gigantic strap-on dildo – the color specifications can differ depending on who you are – can be quite arousing, even if BDSM isn’t necessarily your “thing.”

Why is that? Why do we enjoy watching Angela Salvagno or Yvette Bova wear a strap-on around their waists while they prepare to unleash pain and humiliation upon a hapless victim? How many of us wish we were that victim? Or at the very least, how many of us wish we could witness in-person this act of tyranny up close?

The Strap-On Fantasy is a fascinating one to ponder about. It covers a wide range of ideas that exemplify why female muscle fandom is so perplexing. Whether we secretly wish for an FBB wearing a strap-on to enter us where the sun doesn’t shine or whether we get turned on watching it happen to somebody else, let’s dig deep into this phenomena further (no pun intended).

The first major observation is that many female muscle lovers enjoy watching a muscular woman assert her sexual dominance. Many of us don’t fantasize about making love to an FBB as if she were our equal (although I do!). Rather, many of us desire that she take control, declare her sexual sovereignty, and do whatever she wants with us. However, such a fantasy isn’t just reduced to a powerful woman “being on top” in the bedroom. It takes it one step further.

Any woman – muscular or not – can assert her dominance in the bedroom. Either she decides what transpires or she determines the pace of play. Whichever it is, neither option is particular unusual or noteworthy. But when you add the element of a strap-on into the mix, things get a bit dicey. A muscular woman with a strap-on attached to her isn’t trying to become more “masculine” or “man-like.” It certainly appears that way, but underneath the surface we come to realize that a strap-on isn’t just a fake penis. It’s an external (and material) symbol of sexual dominance.

As a society, we view the penis – for better or for worse – as a symbol of sexual sovereignty. It’s an external organ that, when stimulated, provides pleasure for the person who has it. Women have organs that provide her sexual pleasure as well (her vagina and clitoris, primarily), but neither organ is pronounced enough for our psyches to relegate them as “vehicles of pleasure.” The vagina is internal and the clitoris is very small. For this reason, when we were little kids we thought that “boys have a penis” and “girls don’t have a penis,” as opposed to “girls have a vagina.” Girls do have a vagina, but it’s less obvious. Women can have orgasms without a partner, but far too many across the world aren’t explicitly aware of this ability. You can’t learn anything unless you’re taught, right?

Given this backdrop, a muscular woman wearing a strap-on is an exaggerated and crude way for her to showcase her sexual abilities. It’s her way of communicating to the world that she possesses (even in an artificial sense) a sexual organ that exists for the purpose of giving her sexual pleasure. Obviously, a strap-on is just a toy and doesn’t actually provide her pleasure (unless it’s a double sided strap-on), but that’s beside the point. It’s all about symbolism. If we associate a large sexual organ with sexual dominance, a strap-on hammers this point home unlike anything else.

Along the same wavelength, our culture tends to associate sexual dominance with the ability to penetrate. If you can penetrate your partner, that makes you powerful. It makes your partner subordinate to you. It makes him or her passive. It makes you the active participant who’s initiating the coital act. You are not surrendering your body’s autonomy by allowing someone else to enter it. You are the invader, not the invaded. If all of this sounds violent, it certainly does. On a more serious note, that’s often why we consider rape the highest of all crimes, perhaps worse than murder. Or at the very least, it’s the crime that’s just below murder as the worst possible crime you can commit against another human being. There’s something unholy about entering another person’s body without permission or with ill intent. It’s unseemly, discomforting, and appalling to comprehend. These sentiments stem from our cultural associations of “the ability to penetrate” with “strength” and “being penetrated” with “weakness.”

There’s nothing weak about Angela Salvagno.

Fair or unfair, that’s how we tend to view these matters. I am not here to argue whether or not I like this; rather I’m just pointing out the way things are. So the bottom line is this: Sexual dominance can take many forms, but the ability to penetrate your partner with a pronounced sexual organ is chief among them. Because women do not (normally) possess such an organ, a strap-on is the next best thing; a symbolic way for them to exhibit their power, independence, and authority.

The second major observation is that we enjoy watching female bodybuilders hug that fine line between “feminine” and “masculine.”

Of course, we love muscular women because they’re women with big beautiful muscles. Not because we think they look like men. And not because they exhibit qualities that we traditionally associate with masculinity. Female bodybuilders are feminine. They’re just a different kind of feminine. Or, they’re an “enhanced” version of feminine that embraces muscular curves in addition to her conventional curves.

But on second thought, perhaps there’s a shred of truth to the stereotype that guys who love muscular women are, whether they realize it or not, also embracing the FBB’s “masculine-lite” qualities. Or maybe, and this sounds much more plausible, guys like us are really turned on by strong ladies who walk that fine line between what we are and are not supposed to be attracted to.

We love watching a beautiful feminine FBB sport a large strap-on dildo not because it appears she has a penis – and thus appears to be a “man” of sorts – but because she doesn’t really, but she acts like she does. As men, we may or may not be proud of our phalluses. We may like the power it gives us, or at least the perceived power it gives us. And we love seeing our favorite FBBs share in that power, even if it’s superficial and temporary. Deep down inside our dirty imaginations, we secretly want our FBBs to be strong, powerful, and well-endowed. We want them to act like men while still being women. In our minds, acting masculine doesn’t make you masculine. You can exhibit masculine qualities while still being unquestionably feminine in nature.

As I’ve written before many times, female muscle fans love large clits because it’s their way of demonstrating their sexual power. It’s a (albeit, smaller in size) phallic-like external organ that gives sensual pleasure when stimulated by one’s self or by a partner. It provides orgasm. It becomes engorged when aroused. It grows in size when aroused. And if it’s large enough, it can be sucked on or jerked off to the point of climax. Sound familiar?

Due to extra testosterone in the body caused by both muscle growth and taking synthetic steroids, women bodybuilders often see their clitorises grow significantly in size. There’s a perfectly rational scientific explanation for this phenomenon. So the “female phallus” theme is more evident when we’re dealing with ladies such as Denise Masino (a goddess among men), Angela Salvagno, and Brandi Mae Akers. These women possess abnormally large clits that are gorgeous, sexually alluring, and allow them to demonstrate their power in the bedroom.

We all know that Denise, Angela, and Brandi Mae do not have penises. They have clitorises and vaginas just like every other woman. But without a doubt, the shape of the meat between their legs is noteworthy and sets them apart from the rest of the female species. Their status as women is undeniable. Nobody – at least, nobody with a fully functioning brain – seriously believes these ladies are anything but ladies. Internet trolls aside, it is because they’re strong, beautiful, confident, sexy, and feminine that we love them so damn much. They’ve captured our hearts because they break the mold of what society traditionally expects women to look like while still retaining much of that mold. They don’t defy these notions so much as they redefine them. And that is an impressive feat.

Yet, we are still intrigued by tiny voices inside our heads that tell us there’s more to these ladies than meets the eye. Is it that these ladies expand the definition of “feminine,” as I’ve argued above? Or, do they shatter these definitions completely and flesh out the argument that there’s actually no such thing as “masculine” and “feminine?” Are these labels real or perceived? Are they based on objective biological scientific fact or are they shallow and archaic holdovers from a less enlightened time? Maybe straight men aren’t actually attracted to women…they’re attracted to femininity, regardless of who (or what) exhibits these characteristics.

This brings to mind all sorts of questions regarding sexual orientation, the nature of gender, and whether or not our understanding of biology is totally accurate. But suffice to say is that we know what we like and do not like. Sometimes, someone will come along and challenge our previously held conceptions of our personal preferences. This can be a good thing, but it can also be a confusing thing. The world is a complicated place, indeed.

Meet Mistress Kiana, a London-based erotic service provider.

There is something intriguing about people who are androgynous. We may or may not be attracted to them regardless of who they are – or claim that they are. Female bodybuilders are not always cleanly in the “feminine” category, mostly because the definition of “feminine” changes depending on who is doing the defining. FBBs can walk that fine line between the labels we choose to place on each other and ourselves. Perhaps this ambiguity is what enthralls us the most.

The Strap-On Fantasy forces us to reconsider why we associate a penis with masculinity. After all, we know not to associate big muscles with masculinity. We can think of hundreds of examples of big muscles being very feminine. Muscles are universal, not monopolized only by men. So by that logic, why should we associate a large phallus hanging between one’s legs as being solely masculine as well? What if, instead of the strap-on being designed to look like a penis, it were designed to look like a comically oversized clit? I have no clue if such a contraption actually exists, but the idea should bring a smile to your face.

So, we love seeing a strong woman with a fake penis, but only because it enhances her femininity, not because her appearance traverses into the territory of masculinity. Got that? Don’t worry if you find this confusing. I do too!

The third major observation is how intertwined the concepts of strength, power, and sexuality are. I’ve touched on a lot of these ideas already, so here’s what I’ll say about this. It seems nearly impossible to separate a female bodybuilder from her sex appeal. She isn’t a robot. She isn’t a machine. She’s a flesh-and-blood human being who strives to sculpt the “perfect body” as she sees it. And such an endeavor will inevitably augment her sex appeal. Whether this is intentional or unintentional, as casual onlookers we cannot train our eyes to see things differently. We cannot help but look at a female bodybuilder as a sexual object.

Perhaps we also see her as an athlete, trainer, entrepreneur, model, wife, mother, sister, community leader, celebrity, and most of all, a human being. But how can you not also look at her beauty and find your mind drifting off into all sorts of erotic places?

Don’t make Mistress Treasure (Victoria Dominguez) angry!

Connected to a female bodybuilder’s body is her strength and power. I define “strength” as her pure physical strength and “power” as the dominion she has over her surroundings, including the people around her. We are drawn to FBBs not just because of what they look like, but also because of how they act and what they can do. It arouses us to see them lifting heavy weights at the gym. It turns us on to watch them grapple a helpless male opponent to the ground while he begs for mercy – and doesn’t receive it. We may not fantasize about being the hapless chap whose face turns red while his torso is contorted in all sorts of unpleasant directions, but we sure enjoy witnessing it. Or at least, many of us do. I’m not super into that sort of thing, but whatever.

It’s not enough for us to see our favorite FBBs be strong. We need them to act strong. And not just do stunts like bend steel or crush an apple with her bare hands. That’s all fine and dandy, but what really gets our blood boiling is seeing an FBB exhibit her strength through her sexuality.

These concepts cannot be separated, no matter how much we try to. Strength, power, and sexuality are almost synonymous at this point. They aren’t of course, but that doesn’t stop us from thinking about these ideas within the same framework.

The final major observation is this: No strap-on dildo can possibly compete with a real penis. Regardless of the size of your penis – whether you think it’s small, medium-sized, or large – no dildo in the world can act as a substitute for the real thing. Women often say that as much as they love masturbating with a dildo, nothing beats the feeling and knowledge of a man’s actual flesh entering her. Synthetic materials can provide the same orgasmic effect, but it’s not psychologically the same.

A female bodybuilder wearing a strap-on is just that – a female bodybuilder wearing a strap-on. She isn’t an “honorary” man. She isn’t actually well-endowed. Her endowment is fake. She’s still a woman and a man is still a man. Even a man being anally penetrated by a woman wearing a strap-on is still a man. The power she derives from having a phallus is superficial and disappears the moment she takes it off. A man, on the other hand, never relinquishes that power.

Perhaps this is why erectile dysfunction is considered such a bruise to one’s ego. The inability to produce an erection consistently (or at all) is essentially a form of emasculation. His penis isn’t literally cut off, but it might as well be. It’s limp. It’s useless. It cannot bring a woman to orgasm. In a way, the failure to bring a woman to a satisfying climax is the height of emasculation.

Never mind he can’t bring pleasure to himself. That’s almost beside the point. He cannot successfully penetrate his female partner – which in turns makes him less of a man. “Male enhancement” medication sells like hotcakes for a reason.

However, despite all that, even a small and limp penis is still much more potent – mostly in a symbolic sense – than every single dildo sitting on the shelves of every single sex shop in the world. As an elongated piece of meat that protrudes outside of the body, a phallus is the ultimate symbol for maleness. Women, even muscular women, have no such external symbol. No strap-on ever created in a factory can compete in the long-term with the real thing. An FBB wearing a strap-on has power in the bedroom only temporarily. As I mentioned earlier, the moment she takes it off she instantly returns back to her normal state. She is “emasculated” as well – figuratively speaking, that is.

Porn star Ava Devine teaching a lesson to naughty Brandi Mae Akers.

It provides a small amount of giddiness knowing that men still hold the ultimate bargaining chip: a perfectly functional and real penis. No FBB can possibly match that. Regardless of how big her muscles get and how large her dildo is, she’s not even close to being a man. She can never actually be one of us.

But alas, is that necessarily a bad thing? Sexual power can come from anyone, no matter what is hanging (or not hanging) between their legs. So does it really matter whether a man has a penis and an FBB has a strap-on – or no strap-on at all?

Let’s think of it this way: the next time you see Angela Salvagno or Brandi Mae Akers wearing a large dildo around their waists, ask yourself this question:

Does the strap-on complete her dominating presence, or does it merely complement it?

In other words, does she even need the strap-on in the first place, or is it just a fun toy for her to play with for the time being? In the back of your mind, do you secretly wish that she actually has a phallus hanging between her legs? It could be a penis that co-exists with her vagina or it could be a clitoris that’s grown far larger than normal. Either way, is that a must? Do you clamor for her to have such an endowment? Or are you perfectly content with her having a slit between her legs and allow her muscularity to speak for itself?

Muscles give women power. The penis gives men power. When a woman can have both, it’s understandable why we’d have such vivid daydreams that prevent us from getting to school on time.

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

The gorgeous Laurie Steele.

Continued from part one

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sarah Hayes showing off her triceps.

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

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

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

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

“I should be going…”

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

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

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

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

Coco Crush giving us her best side.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her…

Um, her……………….

………………………………………………………..

Holy shit!

…her enormous clitoris!!!

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

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

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

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

“Is that a, uh, penis?”

There is a long awkward pause.

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

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

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

“You want to take a closer look?”

Autumn Cleveland in her natural habitat – the gym.

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

“Fuck, Max! Oh, fuuuuuuuuuck……”

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

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

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

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

“Oh!”

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

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

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

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

“Ready for round two?”

Tanya leans over and kisses him deeply.

“Ever since we got done with round one!”

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

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

Emery Miller in her natural state.

Emery Miller in her natural state.

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

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

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

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

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

Kathy Johansson showing off her best side.

Kathy Johansson showing off her best side.

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

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

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

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

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

The gorgeous Lindsay Mulinazzi.

The gorgeous Lindsay Mulinazzi.

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

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

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

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

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

What can you conclude by seeing Michelle Tuggle fully nude?

What can you conclude by seeing Michelle Tuggle fully nude?

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

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

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

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

A very sultry Desiree Ellis.

A very sultry Desiree Ellis.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is how she’s meant to be seen.

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

The real Jungle Woman: Rita Sargo.

The real Jungle Woman: Rita Sargo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All I Want for Christmas is My Own Female Bodybuilder

All I want for Christmas is Dena Westerfield!

All I want for Christmas is Dena Westerfield!

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

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

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

Clearly, he takes after his mother.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coins in a fountain.

Coins in a fountain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Double trouble: Brandi Mae Akers and Yvette Bova.

Double trouble: Brandi Mae Akers and Yvette Bova.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s your name?” He asks.

“My name is Morgan.”

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

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

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

May I unwrap Denise Masino now?

May I unwrap Denise Masino now?

“Oh, baby…the things you do to me…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My turn to be in charge!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tina Nguyen in triplicate.

Tina Nguyen in triplicate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my God!”

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

Bridgette – Midnight Rendezvous (part five)

A hot latte for a cold autumn season.

A hot latte for a cold autumn season.

Sipping on a cold vanilla latte, it’s been two hours since Sean left the party. He found a late night coffee stop several blocks away from the Convention Center and decided to stop in for a caffeine injection.

His vanilla latte tastes okay, but he wasn’t looking for taste. He was looking for a place to sit around until he can be reunited with Beautiful Bridgette. Their previous coupling didn’t drain the energy out of his system. On the contrary, it filled him with more passion than ever before. He craved to be with her again. Her musky smell. The feel of her taut skin. Her gorgeous face. Her rock hard muscles. He needed every inch of her. He felt like he could scream with frustration at not being able to be with her at this moment.

How is this possible? Is be becoming obsessed with her? Sean considers himself to be a reasonable man. He knows obsession can lead someone down a dangerous path. He has no desire to become someone like that; someone who lets their uncontrollable lust overpower them. Sean would like to think he’s more level-headed than that.

He quickly glances at his phone. It says it’s 11:40 p.m. His battery is at 28 percent, just enough to last him for the rest of the night. He figures it will become dead at 2 a.m. or so. All he needs is to receive that magical text from her. That would make him the happiest man in the world.

Minutes pass. Sean finally finishes his bland latte. He tosses the paper cup into a nearby recycling bin. The grumpy old barista who’s working the graveyard shift smirks at Sean’s demonstration of environmental stewardship. Sean gives an obligatory smirk back. He decides to shift his attention away from Mr. Tattooed Barista and stares at the late night traffic. It’s surprisingly busy considering it’s nearly midnight. It must be attendees of the bodybuilding competition going home for the night. That must be it.

His phone then buzzes. His heart stops momentarily. He checks his phone. It’s a text. From Bridgette! It reads:

Hi darling! It’s me! I’m finally back in my room. You know which hotel. I’m in room 1245. Come on up! Can’t wait…lol

She’s right. He does know exactly which hotel she’s staying at. Sean doesn’t hesitate for a moment and skips out of the coffee shop to head toward his next destination. Her hotel room. He doesn’t quite know what to expect, but he’s certain he’ll treasure it for the rest of his life. The human mind has a funny way of remembering key moments. Sometimes, it’s the anticipation of a momentous event you remember more than the actual event itself. Perhaps this is one of those instances. Or not.

Moments later, Sean is strolling into a quiet hotel lobby. He seeks out the elevators as inconspicuously as possible. He eyes a row of metal doors and speed walks to it. He pushes “up” and waits. The doors open. He allows a flood of drunken tourists to pour out. As loud and obnoxious as college kids on spring break, he’s glad to walk inside and have the elevator all to himself. He pushes “12” and watches the doors close in front of him. He arrives on the 12th floor faster than he’d expected. Whoa! These elevators travel up really damn fast. Sean is genuinely impressed.

A luxury hotel lobby.

A luxury hotel lobby.

Sean gets lost for a bit, but eventually finds room #1245. Butterflies are swarming inside his stomach. He can’t figure out why. Why is he still as nervous as a schoolboy to see her? It’s not like Bridgette is a total stranger. He knows her! But for whatever incomprehensible reason, he still feels anxious to meet her. It must be this unbreakable spell she’s cast over him. It’s forcing him to act irrationally. He knocks on the door. The door quickly opens.

“Hello. Good evening. Come on in,” Bridgette greets him. Dressed in sweatpants and an old workout undershirt, Bridgette looks as though she’s just showered. Wearing no makeup and none of the elegance she exhibited earlier in the evening, Bridgette still remains as beautiful as ever. She’s dazzling to behold. Her white undershirt generously shows off her muscles. Sean sees a travel-friendly pull up bar set up on the far side of the room.

“I’ve been doing pull ups for the past 20 minutes before you got here. Today is back day for me, but I haven’t had time to get to a gym because of all the bullshit I had to get done earlier,” Bridgette says. Sean notices the sweat dripping down her flawless face. He removes his shoes, jacket and places his phone, wallet and keys on top of a maple wood credenza. Bridgette leaps up, grabs the pull up bar, and astonishingly busts out 15 repetitions before plopping down back on her feet. Sean feels a tingling sensation dance through his system.

“How on earth can you do that?” Sean’s legs quiver underneath him. He isn’t sure if he’ll be able to stand up straight for much longer.

“Practice makes perfect, right?” Bridgette grabs a white towel off the credenza and wipes a drip of sweat off her brow. She looks at Sean and knows she has him in her grip. Not one who frequently enjoys wielding power over people, Bridgette occasionally does get an adrenaline rush from maximizing her sexuality to her advantage. Throughout her adult life Bridgette has realized, not in a narcissistic way, her looks give her power over men (and women). She’s tried to remain humble, but that power can be intoxicating at times. She agrees that power is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

“Practice? More like hard work. You look incredible, Bridgette. But you already know that.”

“Please. I just got out of the shower. My hair is dripping wet and I haven’t an ounce of makeup on. I probably look like a disaster.” She leans in and kisses Sean. She catches him mid-breath, causing him to gasp. When their lips part, he places his hands on her curvy hips and strokes up and down.

“Stop it, Bridgette honey. You don’t look anything like a disaster. You look so…” She places her index finger against his lips. He hushes up. Bridgette suggestively sticks her finger inside Sean’s mouth and he obediently sucks on it.

“I’m kidding. Do you like how that tastes? What do I taste like?” She removes her finger from his mouth. He comes to her and nibbles on her earlobe.

“Sweet as honey.”

“I like that analogy.” Bridgette sits down on the bed and takes a drink of water from her water bottle. Sean plops himself down on a nearby chair. They say nothing for several moments.

“You don’t like crowds all that much, do you?” she inquires.

“I don’t. I’m not claustrophobic or anything. There’s something about big crowds that make me nervous. I feel like I don’t matter, that I’m just an ant marching up a hill along with millions of other ants. I cease to be an individual. Am I crazy for feeling that way?”

“No, not at all. I think I know what you mean.” Police sirens roar by. Bridgette takes another swig of her water.

“But you’re not in that situation. You were the center of attention. All eyes were on you, my dear.”

Bridgette spreads out across the bed and smothers her face into a pillow. “Yeah, which gets exhausting as hell. I love the spotlight, but not quite like that. I couldn’t wait to get out of there.” Sean jumps out of his chair and lands on top of Bridgette. He kisses her on the neck and caresses her massive quads. She strokes his hair.

Jill Rudison is ready for anything.

Jill Rudison is ready for anything.

“You mean you couldn’t wait to go outside with me and do it in front of all those people!” Sean gets bold and reaches into her panties and strokes her clit. It’s already engorged and moist. Bridgette not only allows him to do this, she gasps in response.

“Oh God! You’re getting frisky, Sean!” Pulling his fingers away from her cleft, Sean kisses her lips and lifts her dirty workout shirt off her and tosses it across the room.

“I was sure frisky with you on that balcony.”

“You sure were, dirty boy. I still can’t believe we did it out in public like that. What the fuck were we thinking?” Not to be outdone, Bridgette cups his balls and feels Sean’s erection. She begins to unzip his pants as he pinches her taut nipples.

“We weren’t thinking. That’s the point. We just did what we felt like.” Sean kicks off his pants and rips off his underwear. Bridgette pinches the base of his erection as Sean removes his shirt. Now completely nude, he seeks to make sure she becomes the same way.

“Are we doing the same thing?” Bridgette asks.

“Yes, except with a little bit more privacy,” he says. “Check that. A lot more privacy.”

“Indeed!”

Bridgette slips out of her sweatpants and removes her panties. She lobs them at Sean’s face and he smells it deeply, taking in her feminine musk. Sweet perfume, as far as he’s concerned. She playfully shoves Sean onto the bed and poses for him. Double biceps. Front lat spread. Side chest. Side triceps. Abdominal and thigh. He can clearly see every muscle fiber on her immaculate figure. She sure knows how to entertain a crowd!

“Flawless, dear Bridgette. Absolutely flawless. You are a spectacle to behold.” Sean feels his erection poke his bellybutton. That’s usually a sign he’s aroused far beyond normal. Bridgette definitely knows how to drive a man crazy.

“You haven’t seen a spectacle yet,” Bridgette warns. She sashays toward the light switch and turns it down to 25 percent. The room dims to a romantic dark orange glow. Bridgette then walks to the curtains and opens them wide, letting the bright moonlight flood the darkness. Sean makes his way toward her.

“What else do you have in mind?”

She turns around to face him.

“Let me show you.”

Bridgette swoops in and lifts Sean onto her shoulders. She playfully tosses him onto the bed and lets out an animalistic roar, loud enough for the entire floor of guests to hear. He laughs at her silliness, but quickly discovers she isn’t messing around. Bridgette jumps on the bed and mounts him. Wrapping her strong legs around his torso, she strokes his penis up and down and never breaks eye contact with him. Sean holds his breath in hopes of delaying his gratification. Like a hungry lion stalking its prey, Bridgette squats down onto Sean’s penis, allowing him to penetrate her. They share a collective moan at the moment of their intimate joining.

Unapologetic and as violent as he’s ever seen her, Bridgette rides him with a level of ferociousness that borders on maniacal. He knows he’s going to come faster than he’d like. Bridgette also senses her impending orgasm, and lowers herself to kiss him in hopes of postponing both of their climaxes for as long as possible.

Their lips meet. He bites her lower lip. She feels pain, but enjoys it. She returns the favor and bites his tongue. Sean tastes her sticky saliva but doesn’t mind it at all. They kiss once more before Bridgette’s final thrust fiercely pushes them both over the edge.

Sean groans as he empties himself into her. Bridgette also climaxes as her pelvic movements slow down methodically. He feels her vaginal walls contract powerfully around him. Bridgette, completely sapped of energy, collapses on top of him. They kiss again, this time deeper than before. She giggles. He exhales with satisfaction. Their first coupling of the evening comes to a glorious end.

A comfortable bed to sleep in...and do other things.

A comfortable bed to sleep in…and do other things.

Bridgette couldn’t remember if she drifted off to sleep, but she finally opens her eyes and looks at the bedside clock. It reads 1:45 a.m. She listens closely to Sean and decides he is quietly snoring. His snoring stops as he too awakens.

“I love you, Bridgette.”

“Sweeter words have never been spoken to me before,” she says.

The lovers fall asleep together again.

Two hours later, Sean wakes up to the sound of Bridgette flushing the toilet. He looks at the clock and notices it’s almost a quarter to 4. The night is still dark, perhaps at its darkest. There is enough moonlight to allow him to fully regard her striking beauty.

“God, you are amazing. A true goddess.” Sean sits up in the bed and stretches his arms. Still naked, Bridgette falls to the floor and does 50 pushups. Watching her exercise makes Sean’s heart skip a beat. His erection returns, much to his gratefulness.

“I’m just doing pushups, not summoning a storm or shooting lightning out of my fingers.” Bridgette sits up on the floor and mimics firing electrical bolts out of her hands. Sean pretends to get shocked and falls down on the floor next to her.

“You’ve got me, Goddess. I shouldn’t have displeased you!”

Sean feels the soft rug underneath his skin. “Wow. This is so damn soft. I could sleep down here if I have to.”

“You should. I don’t know where the hotel got it, but I definitely want to steal it.” Bridgette touches the rug with her bare skin and lets out a subtle sigh. She didn’t grow up from a wealthy family, so staying at these hotels is the closest she gets to experiencing the life of luxury. As a pro bodybuilder and part-time pornographic actress, she barely gets by paying her bills month to month. Sean doesn’t have that problem, but he sympathizes with her.

“Do it. I won’t tell anybody.” Sean licks the back of Bridgette’s neck and caresses her firm butt. She rolls to her side and flexes her left arm. Sean kisses her bicep peak. His erection pokes Bridgette in her belly, the tip of his penis bouncing off her six-pack abdomen. He inhales to keep control. Bridgette twists her body toward him and wraps her strong legs around his torso. She playfully squeezes, stealing his breath. Sean attempts to push her bowling ball calves out of the way but fails to counter her impressive strength.

“You’re not getting away that easily, I can tell you that!” Bridgette smiles. Sean can only smile back.

“I have no intention of going anywhere darling,” he says.

She mercifully releases him and spreads her legs out wide. Sean lays a trail of kisses that start at her feet – Sean isn’t a “feet” kind of guy, but he’s willing to change his mind! – and ends at her inner thigh. Sean still cannot believe how incredibly thick her quads are. He bets she could crush a watermelon between her legs if she wanted to. Odds are she’s done feats of strength like that before.

“Well, if you don’t plan on going anywhere, you might as well please me until I beg you to stop.” Bridgette’s innocent smile turns to a devilish grin. Sean knows exactly what she’s talking about.

Angela Salvagno being her usual sexy self.

Angela Salvagno being her usual sexy self.

Sean levels himself and places his fingers between Bridgette’s engorged clitoris. She lets out a modest moan in response to his touch. He dips down and places his entire mouth over her pubis region, his tongue meeting the ultrasensitive tip of her large feminine endowment. Sean purses his lips around her clit and strokes her as his tongue laps the head. He can sense her squirming uncontrollably. Her eyes are closed. She’s doing nothing but enjoying the gratifying sensations running through her entire body.

Bridgette can feel heat rising out of every pore. She doesn’t just feel pleasure; she feels an intense love for a man whom she met randomly on a street corner in the suburbs as part of her job. Memories of their first encounter and riding with him to the luxury condo where they filmed their love scene come flooding back like a tsunami. She’s about to come but her physical experience is the last thing that’s on her mind.

Sean intensifies his oral motions as he notices her writhing more. An audible gasp escapes from her lips just moments before she hits her satisfying climax. Wanting her to enjoy this moment like nothing else before, Sean jabs his tongue inside her throbbing vagina right before jerking her clit off with his fingers. Her meaty labia are slick with moisture. Bridgette raises her pelvis in anticipation of her climax.

Finally, she comes and her entire body shudders. She even releases an involuntary fart as her vaginal walls contract. Sean tries to suppress a giggle but cannot help himself. Minutes later, still basking in the glow of a satisfying orgasm, Bridgette sits up and kisses Sean’s lips – the same lips that gave her immeasurable pleasure just a few moments ago.

“Thank you lover.”

That’s all she can say. Sean doesn’t need her to say anything else.

Instead, Bridgette responds with actions instead of words. She picks up Sean like a rag doll and plops him onto the bed. Then she proceeds to put her mouth over his entire penis. She gently strokes his scrotum as she covers his entire manhood with her warm saliva. Sean looks up at the ceiling and tries to take it all in. He peers out the window and sees the full moon staring back at him. Like a werewolf eating its prey, Bridgette consumes his erection with reckless abandon.

As she laps her tongue around his sensitive endowment, Sean groans loudly. That’s the cue she needs to know he’s close. One last squeeze of his testicles does the trick, as she feels Sean’s penis contract up and down. His hot semen shoots into her mouth. Without being prompted, she generously swallows it all. Even more generously, she cleans up his deflating penis with her tongue and a tissue she finds on the credenza. She throws the smelly tissue into a trashcan. Bridgette doesn’t normally like the taste of semen, but as far as she’s concerned Sean’s juices taste like sweet dessert to cap off a romantic evening.

The time is now 4:18 a.m. Totally and utterly spent, Sean and Bridgette fall asleep into each other’s arms without a damn care in the world.

Big Clits and Little Penises

Melissa Dettwiller catching some much needed sunshine.

Melissa Dettwiller catching some much needed sunshine.

I love big clits.

Many female muscle fans also love big clits. We love big clits. There aren’t too many things in this world that excite us like the sight of a beautiful muscular woman with a large clitoris. As odd as this may sound, it actually makes quite a lot of sense once you start to think about it. I’ve written before about why muscular women with big clits are so fascinating, but it seems like the conversation has just gotten started.

Though analogous with the male penis, a woman’s clitoris is still without question an exclusively feminine organ. For most women, the clitoris is remarkably small and not easily visible. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t significant. On the contrary, the vast majority of the clitoris is actually located inside the woman’s body. While the medical research isn’t in complete agreement, the general consensus (if one exists) is that the base of the clitoris is what we would normally call a woman’s g-spot, an erogenous zone of the vagina that can lead to intense orgasms when properly stimulated. The head is what we see protruding underneath the clitoral hood.

Female bodybuilders who’ve taken drugs (for an extended period of time) that increase their testosterone levels often experience their clitorises growing in size. Fans of female bodybuilders may not know or be able to successfully pronounce the word “clitoromegaly,” but we certainly appreciate witnessing the result of it whenever we get the chance. I know I do!

This is why we cannot stop watching female muscle porn that involves us seeing close-up shots of great big clits. There’s a reason why Denise Masino, Angela Salvagno, Brandi Mae Akers, and Amber DeLuca are among my favorite FBBs of all time. All four of these women (as well as many others) not only are endowed with large clitorises, they are also not shy about showing them off to their voyeuristic fans. How lucky we are, indeed.

These ladies and others are not only willing to show off their clits for the camera, they’re also enthusiastic about masturbating it, pumping it with a clit pump, and allowing a partner (male or female) to suck it to the point of orgasm. They don’t just have large clits. They want us to know it. They want us to desire it. They want us to fantasize about it.

Roxie Rain showing us her pretty kitty.

Roxie Rain showing us her pretty kitty.

Well, it’s definitely an effective marketing strategy. They’ve got me hooked! Many of you probably are as well.

But what is it about a large clitoris that lures us in like a magic spell? Theories abound, but I think I know what’s so special about them. In a previous post titled The Bigger the Clit, the Happier We All Are (NSFW), I presented the argument that guys love female bodybuilders with big clits because a large clitoris symbolizes sexual independence, empowerment, and sovereignty. Skimming through this post again, I can’t say I disagree with anything I wrote. But let’s discuss this topic from a slightly different angle.

My original thesis is based upon the perspective of the female bodybuilder. From her point of view, her large clitoris is an outward expression of her sexuality. She isn’t a passive being who possesses a vagina that exists for the sole purpose of receiving a man’s penis during intercourse. This paradigm reinforces the idea that men are the ones who should initiate sex and that women are only there to oblige. This framework has existed for thousands of years and still lives on today. But times are changing. A female bodybuilder with a large clitoris, however, speeds up the process of society changing its perspective.

Her clitoris is a pro-active sexual organ that can give her orgasmic pleasure absent a man’s penis. In fact, the clitoris exists for no other reason than to give a woman pleasure. All women have clits, but most women’s clits are too small to be seen. Many women’s clits cannot be seen even when she’s fully aroused. That doesn’t mean it isn’t there, however. It’s there…it’s just that the majority of it exists inside her body, away from a casual glance.

For a female bodybuilder who’s well-endowed, her large clitoris is obvious for everyone to see. It can be stimulated to the point of orgasm just like a man’s penis. Rumor has it the clitoris is more sensitive than the penis, which perhaps gives women more pleasurable orgasms. I don’t know if this can be scientifically verified, but let’s assume there are at least a few grains of truth to this. Like the penis, the clitoris is a woman’s way of demonstrating that she is a sovereign sexual creature who can enjoy sex for purposes that have nothing to do with reproduction or pleasing a man. She can please herself anytime she wants to, even if she’s all by herself without a phallic object anywhere in sight.

Of course, you can't have a discussion about female bodybuilders and large clits unless the esteemed Denise Masino makes an appearance.

Of course, you can’t have a discussion about female bodybuilders and large clits unless the esteemed Denise Masino makes an appearance.

This theme of sexual independence is especially pronounced when we’re dealing with muscular women, who are in many respects the epitome of a “strong independent woman.” She’s strong and independent not in a fake pop culture-inspired quasi-empowerment sort of way, but in real and tangible terms. Her big clit punctuates the point that she can control her own destiny, whether it’s in the gym or in the bedroom.

As I mentioned before, this perspective assumes the beauty of a large clit from the point of view of the female bodybuilder. Another perspective that should be talked about is that of guys who love muscular women. What are some other reasons why they love big clits on big strong women?

One significant reason is that a big clit looks like a small penis.

Now, let’s back up for a moment. There exists the misconception that guys who love female bodybuilders are either secretly gay and refuse to admit it or have sexual preferences that are not totally 100% “straight,” however you define the term. I don’t think this is accurate. Also, I’m not saying that being gay is somehow a bad thing or something that one should be embarrassed about. Who you are is who you are, that’s what I say. The point I’m making is that many guys who love muscular women are completely heterosexual and wouldn’t have it any other way. Our love for muscular women is nothing more than an alternative preference that’s a bit far removed from the so-called “mainstream.” That’s it.

That being said, our association of a big clit with a small penis has nothing to do with latent homosexual preferences or anything of the sort. It has more to do with appreciating the accomplishments of female bodybuilders despite their physical limitations.

To illustrate this point, consider the concept of big muscles. Normally, we associate large muscularity and great strength with masculinity. Men have more testosterone in their bodies, which logically means they can build muscle faster. Combined with the fact that human males are naturally larger than human females, you can quickly see why we traditionally associate strength and muscles as being masculine traits. However, female bodybuilders don’t necessarily shatter these perceptions; instead they are prime examples that men do not have a monopoly on strength and muscularity.

Women are at a handicap but do not have to be defined by this handicap. We can think of hundreds of female bodybuilders, athletes, fitness enthusiasts, and gym rats who have strength and muscle mass that surpass many men. So for guys who love FBBs, we love them not because they’re women who look like men, but because they’re women who look like women…strong women to be exact.

Along the same wavelength, we love a big clit not because it looks like a small penis but because it almost is the same size as a small penis (in a manner of speaking) in spite of it being undeniably a clit.

Huh? What does this mean exactly?

Guys who love big clits on big muscular women love the fact these ladies possess a beautiful endowment that is unquestionably feminine yet powerfully autonomous at the same time. A big clit also symbolizes another truth that guys tend to like: No matter what, a man is still a man and a woman is still a woman.

For guys like us, a big clit is a stark reminder that no matter how big and burly a woman can get, there’s still a distinct separation between biological men and biological women. Even the smallest penis in the world (although I will admit I haven’t done a whole lot of research on what the world record is regarding the smallest penis in human history) is larger than the biggest clitoris in the world. At least, I’m assuming that to be true.

Thus, in a titillating way, even the weakest and most sexually insecure man can take comfort knowing he still possesses the larger endowment. She may have bigger muscles. She may be able to lift more at the gym. She’s more powerful, energetic, charismatic, intriguing, popular, motivated, and authoritative. Her clitoris may be larger-than-life and almost (but not quite) resembles a man’s penis. But a man is still a man. And she is still a woman. This isn’t an overtly sexist or misogynist observation, but instead one rooted in how men think of themselves with respects to women.

Desiree Ellis relaxing and spreading her legs wide. No big deal?

Desiree Ellis relaxing and spreading her legs wide. No big deal?

For men, genitalia are ultimately what separate us from the fairer sex. Though men are naturally stronger than women, as I’ve mentioned before, female bodybuilders are proof that biological construction is not an unbreakable barrier. No matter how insurmountable it may seem, a woman can definitely work hard enough to be stronger than many men. Not all men, but certainly she can earn a spot above the vast majority of men on the planet. Social status could also separate men from women, but those barriers are also being blurred as time marches on. So what’s left?

Here’s what’s left: what exists between our legs. Am I right?

Yes. The intrigue of a man seeing a female bodybuilder with a large clit is similar to the thrill of beating a little kid at pickup basketball. 10 years from now, that puny little kid may grow up to be more athletically gifted than you, but at this moment you’re the superior basketball player. This kid may even have the reputation of being a basketball prodigy. You might not have been good enough to play for your school’s junior varsity team. But you are a solid three to four years older and several inches taller, making you the better player as things stand right now. You love beating this kid at his own game even though you clearly have advantages that he does not.

Similarly, guys love seeing a female bodybuilder with a large clit because it reminds us of our masculine qualities. We know we’re supposed to have larger genitalia than women. And despite a few rare instances in recorded human history, men do have much larger genitals than women. Even women with enormous clits that are big enough to make your jaw drop to the floor. She has big muscles and an eye-popping endowment hanging between her legs, but you ultimately have the larger piece of meat when all is said and done.

For guys who are insecure about themselves (which is perfectly normal) this glaring reminder serves as a bit of psychological comfort. We’re still men. We don’t believe that possessing a penis makes us superior or that possessing a vagina makes you inferior, but deep down inside the recesses of our brains we know our genitals provide us a degree (whether it’s earned or completely unearned) of sexual vitality and strength.

An FBB could be bigger than us in almost every facet. Bigger biceps. Bigger triceps. Bigger chest. Bigger back. Bigger quads. Bigger shoulders. Bigger hamstrings. Bigger calves. Bigger glutes. More chiseled abs. Everything about her is bigger, stronger, and more dynamic. Except, of course…

You guessed it.

Her enlarged clit is a valiant effort. It’s a striking testament to the fact that even women can be “well hung” under certain circumstances. But not totally. Her clit is beautifully big and potent, but it ain’t what hangs between our legs. We got something that she doesn’t have and will never have. Even those of us who think we have smaller packages (because a lot of that is based on perceptions instead of reality) can lift our heads up high knowing not even the brawniest female bodybuilder can surpass us in one specific anatomical area.

So that’s what I mean when I say we love big clits because it resembles a penis. We love them not because they are penises, but because they resemble one. There’s a significant difference. A big clit may be a phallic-like organ that provides a woman orgasmic pleasure, but it still isn’t even close to being a penis. Not. Even. Close. Regardless of what trolls on the Internet or impressionable young kids Googling things for the first time may think, a big clit is not a penis. Sure, it sort of looks like a very small one, but that still doesn’t mean anything.

Autumn Raby enjoying a phallic object that isn't her own.

Autumn Raby enjoying a phallic object that isn’t her own.

Yet, they do indeed resemble a little penis. I am not here to deny that. A clit has a thick head, a narrower shaft, and is ultrasensitive to the touch. When stimulated it can produce an orgasm. So the comparison is apt and understandable. When we’re dealing with a female bodybuilder who’s blessed with a large endowment the comparisons become more apparent. But that doesn’t change a thing. We love big clits because at the end of the day, a clit is still an undeniably feminine organ, no matter how large in size it gets. I don’t think this point is even up for discussion, but that’s just me.

In a way, a big clit is similar to big muscles. We love female muscle not because it resembles male muscle; we love female muscle because it’s…muscles on a female. Muscles are neither male nor female. The only difference is which type of body they exist on. Likewise, we love big clits because we love beautiful-looking female genitalia. We love it because it’s feminine, not masculine. We love it because it accentuates the concept of women being independent sexual beings who deserve the delights of physical pleasure. We also love it because in a kinky kind of way, it reminds us men of our own sexual independence. Women have their stuff and so do men. But our stuff is bigger!

A common theme found within discussions about female bodybuilders and the men who love them is the degree to which muscles can break down social and biological barriers. Do muscles make a woman more masculine? Is becoming more masculine even a bad thing? Are men who love muscular women somehow abandoning their social status? Can muscles help a woman elevate her social status, or does it not make any difference at all? Are muscles the great equalizer, or do biological gender differences still act as a brick wall that distinctly separates men from women?

All of these questions are fascinating. I can spend years and decades pondering them. But this clearly illustrates one important reason why we love female muscle: Strong women don’t just lift up themselves. They lift up all of us!